The Lover

by Forrester, Nia

  “That’s for me, right?” he said indicating the coffee mug Ryann was holding.

  With a resigned air, she extended it to him. “Of course.”

  Grinning, Spencer took it, and cupped her butt with his free hand while drinking his first sip.

  “Not going to work today?” he asked.

  “Yeah. But I got all caught up in talking to Rick so I figure I may as well wait a little and drive in after the rush hour traffic dies down.”

  “Wish I could do that.” Spencer took another gulp of the coffee and then set it on the counter, half-full. He watched as Ryann eyed it, knowing that the moment he was out the door, she would drink what was left in the mug, and then later pretend she hadn’t, if he remembered to ask.

  “Oh, today’s your appointment with the Boy King?” she asked.

  That was what she had taken to calling Tone because they had come to learn that though he pretended to be an easygoing and Zen type of guy, it was a façade. He wanted things the way he wanted them, when he wanted them. Sharma, his assistant, was his executioner. While he got to maintain a good relationship with everyone, she was the one who dropped the axe, delivering bad news or making unreasonable demands that he, as the affable ‘good guy’ didn’t have the appetite to do for himself.

  “Yeah. Hopefully I’ll be done with him by noon.”

  “Say ‘hi’ for me,” Ryann said. She turned to leave him in the kitchen but Spencer pulled her back by the arm, pressing his lips into hers.

  “Why d’you do that?” he asked, mouth still on hers.

  “Do what?”

  “You never say goodbye. You just jet.”

  “You’re the one who’s … jetting,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah. And I want to say goodbye first, so sometimes, why don’t you just stick around long enough to let me?” He kissed her again, then released her, walking around the center-island to leave the kitchen before she did. “See there?” he asked. “That’s how that’s supposed to work.”

  “Goodbye, dear,” she called after him. Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Spencer didn’t miss the smile beneath it.

  “You know the last time I had an orgasm?”

  Ivy almost spat her tea across the table onto the front of Ryann’s blouse, but caught herself quickly enough to clamp a napkin over her mouth.

  “Stop acting brand-new, Ivy. As much as you and Eli do it? Don’t think I didn’t know what was really going on when you went upstairs last weekend before we went shopping, to change,” Ryann said, making air-quotes with her fingers. “And took almost an hour to come back.”

  “Of course we ‘do it.’” Ivy made air-quotes of her own. “I just don’t feel the need to talk about it all the time, like you do.”

  “That’s because you aren’t having any trouble getting a nut,” Ryann said.

  “Spencer losing his touch?” Ivy teased, looking up coyly from beneath her lashes.

  “No. That’s the thing. I’m sure I’m wearing the poor man out. He can go for a really long time, but …”

  “Thank you. That’s plenty enough information.”

  “No, I’m serious,” Ryann said grabbing Ivy’s hand. “He does everything I like, just the way I like it, and it feels good … God it feels good. But y’know when you just can’t cross that last little bit into …”

  Ivy nodded. “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. It was like that back when I found out about Gavin’s little habit. And we’d always had a great sex life, but the couple of times we did it after I found out? I just couldn’t come … no matter what he did. It wasn’t physical. It was purely a mental block. The first guy after my divorce? Forget it. I exploded like the atom bomb.”

  “You think that’s what it is for me? A mental thing?” Ryann asked, not quite believing she was asking Ivy for sex advice.

  Ivy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. But what could be blocking you from feeling like you can completely let go with Spencer? Especially now. I mean, you’ve got a good thing going with him, you’re … you seem happy, you’re pregnant …”

  “Maybe that’s it. The pregnancy. Maybe it’s some hormonal thing.”

  “But you said you want to have sex all the time, so …” Ivy shrugged again. “Doesn’t seem like that could be it. Something physical I mean.”

  “Well it’s driving me crazy.”

  “How about Spencer?”

  “How about him?” Ryann asked, not following.

  Rolling her eyes Ivy shook her head. “How does he feel, not being able to get you off?”

  “You know Spencer. ‘It’s okay, baby, I’m sure it ain’ no thang. We’ll work it out.’” Ryann mimicked a baritone voice. “He isn’t entertaining for a second that it has anything to do with his … skills.”

  “He calls you ‘baby’ now?” Ivy said in a sing-song voice.

  “Shut up. And yes, he does. All the time.”

  Her friend laughed. “I can’t even wrap my mind around this,” she said, shaking her head. “Look at you. Pregnant, and in a relationship. You just … transformed, Ryann.”

  Ryann picked the edge off her croissant. “It still feels weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  “Like I’m faking. Like this isn’t real. Next thing you know I’ll be like you smug bitches, dropping ‘my man’ and ‘my boo’ into every conversation.”

  Ivy looked at her, and Ryann saw sympathy in her friend’s eyes. She knew what Ivy really thought of her—that she was broken in some way; that she couldn’t comfortably receive good things.

  And maybe she was right. Because just when things seemed to be on an even keel with Spencer, when they had agreed what they wanted to be to each other, her damned libido decided to go on the blink. As if part of herself—the hedonistic part, or the cynical part—was taunting her. ‘Who are you kidding with this relationship BS?’ it seemed to be saying. ‘The only need you have for a man is if he’s able to make you babble, and moan and scream his name.’

  “You’re not used to it, that’s all,” Ivy said, reaching out and touching her hand. “And it all happened so fast. Is tomorrow still on, though?”

  “Yeah. Still going over to meet the fam.”

  “Excited?”

  Ryann lifted her eyes again to meet Ivy’s gaze. “Do I look excited?”

  “A man takes you to meet his mother, and sister and you can’t muster a smile?” Ivy shook her head. “Sometimes I just don’t understand you, Ryann. For real.”

  Ivy was her closest friend. And she was looking at her with exasperation, tinged with the slightest bit of anger. She was irritated that Ryann did not seem to feel the things that people in her situation were supposed to feel. But that wasn’t what hurt. What hurt was that despite how well Ivy knew her, she still didn’t see what was beneath all that. She sensed it sometimes, alluded to it at other times. But she had never really seen that Ryann was terrified.

  And never more than she was now.

  Because now she had a man who called her “baby” and not in that generic, offhand, falsely-intimate way; but to soothe, comfort and reassure her. Because now she woke up every day to the physical evidence—in her burgeoning middle, tender breasts, and the mysterious flutters deep inside—that she now, finally, she was going to get something she really, really wanted.

  Because she had never been the kind of woman who wanted to meet a man’s family, or who cared if that family liked her, welcomed her, accepted her. Except now, suddenly she was that kind of woman. And because Spencer had been everything to her that he said he would be, and was growing to mean even more than that.

  She was terrified. But that was not an emotion she could own up to. Not even with her best friend.

  “Are you going to return the favor?” Ivy asked.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Introduce him to your mother.”

  Ryann grunted. “Believe me, that wouldn’t be a favor.”

  “Is that why I’ve never met her?” Ivy asked. She was keeping her tone
light, and picked up her tea to take a sip, but Ryann knew the question was loaded.

  “Why would you want to?”

  “No reason in particular.” Ivy shrugged. “It’s just that we’ve been friends for almost a decade, and she lives right here. In DC. You’ve met my mother, and the aunt who helped raise me and they don’t even come here once a year. It just seems like I would have met your mother, even accidentally.”

  “That’s because you don’t understand the relationship I have with my mother.”

  “What don’t I understand?”

  “Damn, Ivy! If I wanted to be psychoanalyzed, I would pay one-hundred fifty an hour and get that done by a professional. All I called your ass for was to have an afternoon coffee break, and talk about my sex life!”

  Ivy blinked impassively. She had known Ryann for far too long to be deterred by her purely-for-dramatic-effect outburst.

  “We already covered that. Whatever it is that’s blocking you from ‘getting a nut’ as you so eloquently put it, is entirely in your head. And until you figure that out …” Ivy shrugged.

  “Thanks,” Ryann said dryly. “For nothing.”

  “All this gotta come up,” Spencer said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  Standing at the foot of the stairs of his latest rehab, Spencer surveyed the wood flooring beneath his feet. Then he crouched and beckoned for Jerrell to join him, pointing out the gaps and splits in some of the risers.

  “See that?”

  Jerrell nodded, running a hand over his head. “Sorry, man. I thought the kid knew …”

  “Yeah, but where were you at? He did the whole staircase before you even made it to the job. So, where were you?”

  Jerrell rocked back onto his haunches, but said nothing.

  “You been makin’ your meetings?” Spencer asked.

  Crouched this close to Jerrell, he thought he smelled the slightly sweet, but stale odor of recently-consumed alcohol.

  “Sometimes, but …”

  “Every day,” Spencer said, standing once again. “You have to go every single day, man. That was the deal.”

  “Yeah, I know. But my ol’ lady …”

  “She want you drunk and back in jail?”

  Jerrell stood as well, this time wiping a hand over his face. “Nah, ‘course not. But between the job and the meetings and tryna help her out with the kids …”

  Spencer took a breath, setting aside his frustration for the moment.

  Jerrell was one of the oldest guys in his crew, and until recently, one of the most responsible. He’d been in the pen for twenty years, and come out a straight arrow, ready and willing to be an upstanding citizen, until the realities of a criminal background slapped him in the face.

  He’d gone down as a violent, drug offender, and no employer wanted any parts of that. So, the straight arrow had messed up for a while, drinking and brawling until a fight almost landed him back in prison. That was when he showed up at the Coalition with his woman in tow, looking for help. According to Greg, he showed up every day at seven a.m., checking the job boards, going to AA meetings, asking around for anything he might help with for a few dollars.

  In his occasional stops into the offices, Spencer took notice of Jerrell. He was consistently clean and neatly-dressed, and seemed to find some solace in being at the Coalition, even if there wasn’t much for him to do all day except for marathon group meetings, and watching television in the rec room. Spencer admired his consistency, and finally made him a job offer to work on one of his crews, just so long as he didn’t drink, and kept up his AA meetings.

  “I’ma have to suspend you, Jay,” Spencer said now. “Tearing up this floor and doin’ it over is gon’ cost me in time and money. That’s on you. And I can tell you been drinkin’.”

  Jerrell didn’t even try to deny it, but just looked at the floor, nervously sniffing, and repeatedly wiping his nose with his thumb. Spencer narrowed his eyes. He didn’t think Jerrell was into anything other than alcohol, but one never knew.

  “Go home, man. And just … meet me at the office tomorrow, so we can work out what we gon’ do about all this.”

  “I can’t go home and say I lost my job, Spence. I can’t.”

  “You haven’t lost your job. Yet. Come in tomorrow and we’ll talk about what you gotta do to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  He watched Jerrell walk out of the house and then exhaled, crouching to look at the flooring again. There was no way this was going to pass muster with a potential buyer. Spencer had an open house scheduled in two days, and if he wanted to be ready, he was going to have to rip it up, soon. Ideally tonight, but he had already sent all the other guys home, so if it was going to be tonight he would have to do it on his own. It was already almost six, and Ryann had told him about a reception she had to go to that evening. She didn’t insist that he come with her—she never insisted anything of him. And so, he’d volunteered. Volunteered, and now he had to cancel.

  Reaching for his phone, Spencer looked at the face, undecided. He already knew what Ryann would sound like when he called. Resigned, and unsurprised. Like she expected him to flake on her. Most days, they were cool, but it felt like there was always a part of her that was waiting and watching, expecting him to mess up. He had lost a lot of ground with her because of that fight after Chicago, and was still working to make it up. This cancellation wasn’t going to help his cause.

  Ryann picked up on the second ring, already sounding irritable. She was probably caught somewhere in the snarl of traffic, heading out of DC and into Maryland.

  “Hey,” Spencer said. “What time’s that party again?”

  He knew full well what time it was, but was recalibrating, recalculating, and wanted to gauge the sound of her voice.

  “Nine.”

  “Where at, again?”

  “Bethesda. Not too far from Ivy’s house. I can text you the address. Why? You can’t make it?”

  Already. There it was. The resignation.

  “Not sure yet. Might be a little late, and I know you probably want to be on time.”

  “How late, Spencer?” She only ever used his name when she was gearing up to be annoyed. Except lately, that annoyance was cleverly masked beneath politeness.

  “An hour tops. But I thought you said it wasn’t a dinner party?”

  “Not, it’s not. But any more than an hour late and you may as well not come.”

  “Okay, so maybe I should just back out,” he said, hoping she would think it was her idea. “I’d rather do that than have you expect me and then not show.”

  “Okay.” Ryann’s voice was cool. “Whatever.”

  And then the line went dead.

  ~23~

  “What are you doin’?”

  “Taking off the seatbelt,” she said.

  Out of the corner of his eyes, Spencer saw her roll hers.

  “Yeah, but why? The car’s still moving and I don’t want to listen to that stupid beeping all the way to my sister’s house.”

  “It’s digging into me,” she said, the hint of a whine in her tone.

  The whining was a new and unwelcome development in Ryann’s temperament.

  “That’s why seatbelts loosen and tighten,” he said, trying to sound patient. “So loosen it a little and then put it back on. You know, the way seatbelts usually work?”

  Issuing a melodramatic sigh, Ryann snapped the seatbelt back in place. “Fine. But it’s digging into your child,” she said. “Just so you know.”

  “He’ll be a’ight,” Spencer said. “I mean, he survives me diggin’ into his mother, right?”

  Ryann spluttered into laughter. “You are so … just … whatever, man.”

  Spencer grinned and took a hand from the steering wheel, sliding it between the lap-belt and Ryann’s stomach.

  He touched it sometimes when she was sleeping, so its firmness didn’t surprise him. Already, the skin was taut, and smooth. One night, parading around in her underwear, Ryann joked that it was the firs
t time since she was twenty-two that she had a firm, tight stomach. And when Spencer told her he hadn’t known her when she was twenty-two but that he thought her body was perfect, she’d gotten all teary-eyed. Along with the whining, that was new as well.

  “You think it’s a boy?” he asked, moving his hand back and forth against the fabric covering her abdomen.

  “I don’t know. But we get to find out for sure next week.”

  “Next week?”

  “When I go for my ultrasound,” she said offhandedly.

  “When? You didn’t tell me.” He took his eyes away from the road for a couple seconds to look at her.

  “Did you need to know?” she asked.

  What the …? Was she serious?

  “Because, Spencer,” she spoke slowly, “the excitement of an ultrasound is in knowing the result, not in standing next to the examining table holding my hand like we’re in a …a … Lifetime movie, or some-fricking-thing.”

  Removing his hand from her stomach he bit into his lower lip and tried to concentrate on the road rather than on his irritation. “What day is the appointment?”

  “If I had known you were going to get all …”

  “When, Ryann?”

  “Tuesday,” she said, sounding chastened. “I’ll text you the time, and …”

  “And the address.”

  “Yes, and the address.”

  Spencer exhaled slowly, but audibly. They drove in silence for a mile or two.

  Then he heard Ryann sigh and her hand came up, taking his off the steering wheel, and resting it on the bump once again.

  “Are you mad?” she asked.

  Since when did she care that he was mad?

  “Because I thought I handled it pretty well when you stood me up for that reception the other day.”

  “You didn’t even expect me at the reception. You didn’t invite me to the reception, I basically had to Bogart my way into you letting me come. So instead I wound up finishing up some work one of my guys messed up.”

  “Okay, but once you said you were coming, I was excited about being there with you. And the food was really good, too. They had these lobster puff pastry things you would have loved, and …”