The Lover

by Forrester, Nia

Spencer looked at the ceiling. He didn’t need advice, he needed the damn address. And when he got there, Ryann was going to hear from him exactly how he felt about this childish-ass disappearing act.

  “… don’t come with any attitude, or puffin’ your chest out.”

  “I can handle Ryann. Don’t worry ‘bout all that. Just send me the address.”

  “Already hear in your voice you gettin’ all hype, but don’t do it, man. I’m tellin’ you. Not today.”

  “Eli. I won’t disrespect you and Ivy, and I’m not comin’ up there to start nothin’ but the way I deal with Ryann is my business.”

  “Man, you ain’t listenin’ to me!” Eli said. “I don’t know how much I can say without …” Eli took a deep breath and Spencer heard more movement, then the shutting of a door. Suddenly it was much quieter on the other end of the line, and Eli sounded almost sober. “Look, this is none of my damn business. And Ivy would tar and feather my ass if she knew I was about to tell you what I’m about to tell you, but I’ma tell you as one man to another …”

  Spencer’s eyes opened wide, and he leaned against May’s kitchen table to bolster himself for what he knew was coming.

  “… you gon’ be a daddy.” Eli lowered his voice. “She just found out yesterday morning. She’s pregnant.”

  The sand-flies were eating her alive.

  Ryann especially disliked this part of being close to the beach, but tonight she almost didn’t mind it. The sun was setting, and she could smell the saltiness in the air. Half a dozen of Ivy and Eli’s friends were standing around the grill. One of the men had taken charge of the table Eli had set up as a makeshift bar, asking anyone who approached what they wanted to drink, his voice elevated so he could be heard over the music coming from the house.

  Ivy shifted from one leg to another—probably because she also, was being bitten by the annoying little insects—while Eli stood next to her. One of his large hands rested low on the her back, where the curve of her ass began. He occasionally moved it a little lower, the gesture an obvious sign that he wanted to be alone with her, and soon. Their sons, Jaden and Zion were still on the beach, but visible from the house, tearing back and forth the way little boys do, with no apparent purpose except to expend energy.

  They were all committed to being together, at least for as long as it took for the fireworks to explode over the water. Afterwards, the guests would leave, and Ivy and Eli would retire to their room, the door firmly shut.

  That was when, normally, Ryann might feel a pang of wistfulness, or envy, which she would pretend to herself was neither. Tonight, though, she welcomed the solitude, whenever it might come. Because it was only once everyone had gone home, and she was alone in her room that she could take out and examine this new feeling she had: joy.

  It all started with the crab cakes.

  Eli had grilled some the afternoon they arrived, now two days ago, and Ryann had eaten a large one, with coleslaw, and rough-cut fries. The meal had gone down well, except for a vaguely metallic aftertaste on her tongue that Ryann thought she recognized as possibly being seafood on the verge of going bad. She hadn’t wanted to insult Eli but later that evening, when she found herself hugging the toilet bowl, she’d called Ivy into her bathroom to discreetly tell her she thought they all might have been poisoned.

  ‘Then why’re you the only one sick?’ Ivy asked her, reasonably.

  And at exactly the same time, their eyes had widened to the size of saucers.

  ‘Do you think …?’

  ‘No,’ Ryann said quickly. But only because she didn’t want to allow herself to hope, and to be let down once again.

  ‘But let’s check!’ Ivy said.

  But by then everywhere was closed, most especially the kinds of places that sold pregnancy tests, so instead, Ivy had spent the night curled up with Ryann on her bed—much to Eli’s chagrin—ministering to her with a cool rag on her forehead. With Ryann’s head on her stomach, Ivy had talked well into the wee hours of the morning, fantasizing about the possibility of a pregnancy that they didn’t even know yet was real. Ryann fell asleep thinking that she wasn’t the only one with baby fever. Ivy seemed to have the same affliction, and she had it bad.

  First thing the next morning, when Ryann opened her eyes, Ivy was already sitting there, pregnancy test in hand. She had run out as soon as she was sure something would be open, to get one.

  ‘Take it,’ she insisted. ‘First morning pee is most accurate.’

  Ryann didn’t want to, because she was sure she knew what it would say. The nausea had passed during the night, and she no longer felt even the tiniest twinge of it, except for a little tenderness in her abdomen from all the vomiting.

  But she took the test anyway, just to humor Ivy. Almost as soon as the first stream of her morning urine hit the stick, the color changed and the little window delivered the news: Pregnant.

  ‘Ivy,’ she called, her voice trembling. ‘Get your ass in here.’

  When Ivy entered the bathroom, she was still squatting on the toilet, the wand in hand, her sweatpants around her ankles, her hoo-hah in plain sight. But she didn’t care. She handed her friend the stick and Ivy took it, and then let out a loud whoop.

  Moments later, Eli had come charging into the bedroom, and Ivy had to slam the bathroom door in his face to avoid giving him full view of Ryann, half-naked and on the commode.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, sounding like he’d come running from the far end of the house.

  And before Ryann could tell her not to, Ivy had yelled: ‘Ryann’s pregnant!’

  Recalling it now, Ryann smiled, and her hand moved from the arm of the lounge chair she was sitting in, to her stomach. Then, realizing what she’d done, she let it drop again. She couldn’t start doing that. She had to wait. Until she was back in town and went to Dr. Billingsley to confirm, she couldn’t allow herself to become attached to the idea that she might be pregnant, only to have that hope dashed once again.

  But it already felt real. Even Jaden and Zion’s almost incessant yelling and screaming hadn’t irked her as much once she got the result of that test—and the three others she and Ivy had gone to get just in case of human error with the first one. Now, she heard the boys and wondered what it would be like to have that as the soundtrack of her life, and not just that of her friend’s.

  “What time’s the fireworks?”

  Ryann jerked in her chair at the familiar voice and turned around.

  Spencer was standing there, just behind her, looking all kinds of delicious in yet another plain white t-shirt that hugged his chest and biceps, and his well-worn jeans. Seeing him was like having a cool glass of water after walking a mile in the blazing hot sun. Forcing herself not to smile, and then remembering that she was angry with him, Ryann turned determinedly away, once again staring out at the water, and the boys playing on the sand.

  She saw Ivy look in their direction, and then start as though coming toward her; and then Eli’s hand, tightening around Ivy’s waist and leaning in to speak against her neck, just as he realized where she was headed. Ivy’s shoulders relaxed, as whatever Eli said seemed to placate her.

  Ryann felt as Spencer lowered himself into the chair next to hers. Her nostrils flared at the familiar scent of his cologne. It smelled stronger than usual, and she almost smiled because now she knew that it was probably because lately, everything did.

  “Still mad at me?” He leaned in closer toward her as he spoke, and she felt his breath against the side of her neck.

  It made Ryann want to grab and hold onto him, which surprised, and scared her. Her silence felt like a role she was continuing to play out of principle, rather than any real commitment to playing it.

  “C’mon.” This time he did press his lips against her neck. She felt the deep rumble of his voice, as well as heard it. “Don’t be like that.”

  Goosebumps rose on Ryann’s arms, and she shivered a little. Spencer pressed his face even closer, his facial hair tickling her. Almost ag
ainst her will, Ryann felt herself tilt left, her cheek against the top of his head.

  “Two weeks I haven’t seen you,” Spencer said, his voice still low. “That’s too damn long.”

  Ryann wanted to ask him how he’d known she was there, but she thought she knew. Ivy had probably called him. She was enough of a romantic to think that he should be included in the good news. And truth be told, Ryann had been barely able to stop herself from calling him.

  “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he added.

  After replaying their fight in her head, she wasn’t sure he would even be as happy about the news as she was. But he was the person she most wanted to tell. Spencer, and her brother Rick, who would probably neither see nor hear fireworks tonight; not where he was.

  Of all the things they had become, she would have probably first said that Spencer had become her lover. But he was also her friend. Besides Ivy, the only real one she had. So, even if he hadn’t been the father of this child, he was the person she most wanted to share the news with.

  “Fireworks are at nine,” she said, answering the question he had probably forgotten he’d asked. Her voice was a croak.

  She felt Spencer smile against her neck.

  “Mind if I sit here? And watch them with you?”

  “Suit yourself,” she said.

  Spencer pulled away, and sat back in his chair.

  Ryann wished, immediately that she was the kind of woman who could just say, ‘pride be damned’ and move over to sit on his lap. If she did, Spencer would hug her closer, and hold her there, for as long as she wanted, until she no longer needed to be held.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, no longer touching. Then Eli wandered over, a beer in hand, which he gave to Spencer.

  “Everything a’ight?” he asked.

  “Yeah, man. We’re cool,” Spencer said. “What you got goin’ on over there on the grill?”

  “Everything. Ribs, chicken, couple a’ steaks might still be there. C’mon get you a plate.”

  “Thanks.” Spencer stood, taking a swig of the beer before looking down at Ryann. “You want somethin’?”

  His eyes were more than attentive, they were almost tender. Ryann wondered whether someone had told him.

  “No. Thank you, I’m fine,” she said.

  When he and Eli had gone over to the grill, Ivy came and took his place.

  “Ryann,” she began. “I swear …”

  “No, I guessed it was Eli when he came over here,” she said, waving away Ivy’s denial. “They gave each other one of those ‘thanks-for-lookin’-out-bruh’ looks.”

  Ivy laughed. “I can’t say I’m sorry he’s here though. You were going to have to tell him. Sooner, or later.”

  “I know. I plan to. Tonight, probably, if he stays.”

  “Oh, he’ll stay,” Ivy said, turning to watch Spencer over at the grill taking his pick of meats. “After you avoided him so well for so long, I doubt he’ll ever let you out of his sight again.”

  Ryann followed Ivy’s gaze, watching Spencer lower a slab of ribs to his plate, a smile of satisfaction on his face.

  “How do you feel?” Ivy asked.

  “What do you mean?” Ryann asked, feeling almost guilty, as though Ivy had read her mind, or her face and figured out just how ecstatic she truly was.

  “About telling him. I know you think that fight was about him wanting to back away, but he didn’t act like a man trying to back away these last couple of weeks.”

  “I don’t care how he acted the last couple of weeks, something was going on with him when I got back from Chicago.” Ryann watched Spencer as he greeted two of the other men that Eli was introducing him to.

  “Well whatever it was, he seems to be over it. So, you get over it. And don’t …”

  “Don’t what?” Ryann looked at her.

  “Make it difficult for him, just for the sake of being difficult. You know how you do with men.”

  With men. But Spencer wasn’t ‘men’.

  And what made that stupid fight that much worse was the fact that in those moments he was acting like ‘men’. Not like the Spencer she had come to know and even trust a little bit. Somewhere along the way, her expectations of him had changed.

  “Anyway, here he comes, so let me leave you two to it,” Ivy said. “Just don’t …”

  “Yeah, you said. Don’t be myself,” Ryann said sarcastically.

  “Exactly,” Ivy said over her shoulder as she walked away.

  She and Spencer paused to greet each other with a brief, friendly kiss on the cheek, then he was sinking back into his chair, his plate heaped with meat, and a small ear of corn, perched at the edge like an afterthought. Setting the beer bottle down in the grass next to him, he went to work on the ribs first, making a sound of appreciation after the first bite.

  Ryann rolled her eyes as she listened to him eating noisily next to her, desperately clutching at whatever last remnants of her annoyance she could find. But in only a few short minutes she was smiling at the sounds he made, and shaking her head.

  Spencer held out a chicken drumstick, slathered in sauce. “Want some?”

  “No thanks,” she said, hiding her smile at the barbecue sauce at the corner of his lips.

  “You sure? You know how you like to eat.”

  “Don’t have much of an appetite,” she said coolly.

  Across the lawn, Jaden and Zion came running up from the beach, excited and springing around like two jumping beans.

  “Oh yeah?” Spencer said, taking another bite of chicken. “Why’s that?” He chewed and swallowed, his hazel eyes fixed on her.

  “Spencer.” Ryann sighed. “You’re not slick. I’m guessing Eli told you.”

  Looking down at his plate, he picked up another piece of chicken and bit into that, chewing slowly this time, thoughtfully; and then swallowing again.

  “Is what he told me true?” he asked. His voice was even, calm, and measured.

  Ryann gave a slight nod, eyes fixed on his, trying to read them in the dim light of the backyard. Nearby, Zion and Jaden were hollering, and the adults had begun to settle into chairs and on the grass, anticipating the start of the show.

  Spencer stared back at her for a few beats then set aside his plate, wiping his hands on a napkin.

  “C’mere,” he said.

  Ryann could barely hear him. Then someone turned off the music and suddenly it was quiet. When she didn’t move, he said it again.

  “C’mere.” He beckoned her with his head.

  She still didn’t move, so he leaned in; and holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he kissed her. Ryann’s eyes instinctively closed and she leaned into him as well, tasting the barbecue sauce, and the beer. But best of all, tasting him. His tongue sought out and found hers, then he pulled back, kissed the corner of her mouth and rested his forehead briefly against hers.

  Ryann’s heart hurt.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Spencer’s smile. And beyond him, in the distance, an explosion of light and sound as the fireworks began.

  ~21~

  The moneymakers in Ryann’s line of work were people like Donovan Simmons and his wife, Chrissy. Whether as donors or clients, the money they spent was the least of their concerns. What they wanted to buy was respectability. Donovan Simmons was still viewed in many circles as a trashy ambulance-chaser, whose clients were merely monied riff-raff. And his wife, didn’t improve that image much.

  Ryann watched Chrissy across the room in her sapphire-blue cocktail dress, that was just a smidge too short. She was about fifteen years Donovan Simmons’ junior, and still hadn’t gotten out of her system her beauty queen’s need to be the center of attention. Flitting around their well-appointed living room, her eyes bright, she made brief vapid conversation with her guests before moving on to the next person.

  Donovan watched his wife with a look that was a cross between amusement and irritation, while Ryann watched him. Though he didn’t even know it yet, he
was a man in search of a way out.

  “She’s something, isn’t she?” he asked. He sounded almost apologetic.

  “She’s very … vibrant,” Ryann said, remembering the word Ivy had once used to describe a garish shade of nail polish she tried.

  Donovan Simmons laughed. “That she is.”

  Ryann had an inkling he understood perfectly what she really meant.

  “You’re not drinking,” he commented. “The 2012 Dalla Valle Napais is excellent, if you like a nice, herbal white.”

  “No, thank you. This is fine.” She lifted the glass with her ginger ale and ice.

  No one could tell just yet, because all she had was a little bump. A hardening slope of her abdomen that did little more than make it difficult to close the zipper on her skirts and slacks.

  Sometimes, Ivy touched and stroked Ryann’s stomach, with a goofy smile on her face, almost as excited as though she was the one pregnant. Ryann always smacked her hand away and told her to stop fussing, but it wasn’t that she didn’t like being fussed over. It was quite the opposite. Now, more than ever, she wanted to be touched with love, even though it frightened her each time, to feel one more brick in the walls she’d spent her life fortifying begin to crumble.

  Spencer touched her as well, or tried to. Mostly in passing, because she would not allow him to linger. He did it when she walked by him, or if he opened a car door for her. And once when she was at the Coalition for a Board meeting, he’d followed her out of a room and cornered in her the hallway, his hand on her abdomen as he demanded to know why she looked so “washed out”, and whether she’d eaten lunch that day.

  It melted her when Spencer touched her, and so she had taken to avoiding it. They hadn’t spent the night together since Ocean City, or been intimate since they resumed contact. Ryann missed it, but it felt safer for now. It was too easy to do, and dangerous as well. That, if nothing else, was what she’d learned from their fight.

  “Do you know what my wife likes to drink?” Donovan asked. It felt like he had moved a little closer while her mind was wandering. “Moscato.” He pronounced the word with disdain.