“Okay,” Eli said. “So, you do know what I’m thinking.”
Ryann laughed and smacked him on the leg. “One of these days, Eli Thomason,” she said. “You’re going to wake up and realize that you do like me after all. I promise you that.”
“What’s not to like?” he said. “Holdin’ it down for your man when he needs you? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that in my book.”
~33~
Day and night seemed to have switched places on him.
Spencer couldn’t sleep when the sun went down, and only between four a.m. and dawn did he feel like he might be able to shut his eyes and have them stay that way. Ryann came and went in a flurry of subtly feminine scents, a blur of belly, and kisses and hastily uttered hellos and goodbyes. He had been to his own home only three or so times since his mother’s funeral, not trusting himself behind the wheel of a car because of the exhaustion that never seemed to leave him.
May and Joyce were the only people besides Ryann that he wanted to speak to. They were safe because they didn’t feel the need to lower their voices in sympathy, or say that they “understood how he must feel,” were “sorry for his loss,” or that his mother was “in a better place.” They talked to him about mundane things, like whether he had eaten, slept, or gone outside that day. And they accepted his response without comment when he invariably said ‘no’, or that he couldn’t remember. But even May, Joyce and Ryann were mistaken about how he felt. They thought what he was going through was grief.
But really, it was more like anger.
He was so close. He would have, if she only held on for three months more, given her two more grandchildren. She would have seen him truly become a man. He would have given her the peace of the knowledge that he was going to be a better father than the one he had. But instead, she was gone, cruelly close to his finish line.
Spencer had never felt like he truly made it up to her for going to prison. She had never shamed him for that, nor been ashamed of him. She had never expressed the hurt he knew she had to have felt when at sixteen he declared her past tense and chose to live with his father. She had never, in his memory, ever been truly, deeply angry at him about anything. Even when he had, for so many years, unjustifiably been angry at her.
And now he was angry again.
He hid from that anger in sleep, but first, in Ryann. He reached for her late at night, and in the wee hours of the morning when she could barely keep herself awake long enough to allow him to cling to her, push inside her, and try for a little while to disappear from himself. She held him, she kissed him, and she soothed him; and only then was he able to find sleep.
This morning, she woke him before she left and Spencer was so groggy, his eyes were crossed.
“Dr. Billingsley today,” she said, her voice almost a chirp in its excitement. “We get our last look at the babies before B-day.”
Spencer nodded and turned onto his stomach when she reminded him of the time, and let him know that she had set the alarm so he would get up on time to get showered and ready to meet her at the doctor’s office. And just as she’d threatened, the alarm had gone off, blaring and intruding on Spencer’s dreamless, drug-like sleep, so that he had to get up and walk across the bedroom to turn it off. And once he was up, it came to front of mind again—the appointment. He couldn’t miss it. He didn’t want to miss it. This was an ultrasound appointment, too. So he would see his children’s faces, and if he wanted to, learn their gender.
So he dragged himself to the bathroom, and took a shower, and shaved the best he could with one of Ryann’s disposable razors. Standing under the water, he smelled the rancid odor of his own body, and wondered how Ryann had stood having him lie next to her. He remembered showering only every other day or so, and was now, a little irritated at himself for allowing things to get that bad.
Speaking of things getting bad … He didn’t even know what was happening at work, and at the Coalition. He had been dodging those calls, unable to figure out how to even pretend to give a shit about all that. But now, under the hot water, feeling his pores open, and feeling little sparks of excitement at the ultrasound, Spencer wondered whether he should call Greg. His partner would be taking care of business. He knew that for certain, and maybe that was why he hadn’t cared to check in. Greg would have it under control.
So maybe one thing at a time. Today, his family. Tomorrow, his business. Maybe.
The shrill noise of the landline came just as Spencer exited the bathroom, and he reached across the bed and picked up the handset on instinct. He expected that it was probably Ryann, covering all her bases to make sure he was awake.
But instead, he heard a mechanical voice, announcing a caller from a Virginia correctional facility. For a moment, he considered hanging up, but he remembered all too well what that was like—to call the outside world, hopeful and expectant, only to have his spirits sink when he couldn’t reach anyone. Calls with folks on the outside were sometimes the only thing that kept a man going.
“H’lo?” he said.
“Who dis?” The voice was gruff, aggressive.
“This Rick?” Spencer asked, ignoring the question.
On the other end of the line, there was a brief silence before the caller responded.
“Yeah. Who dis?” And then before Spencer could respond. “Ahhh.” He let the sound drag. “The baby daddy.”
Narrowing his eyes, Spencer sat on the edge of the bed.
“You postin’ up in her crib now?” Rick asked. “Moved all your shit in that joint, I bet.”
Biting back his instinct to immediately clap back, Spencer took a breath. This was Ryann’s brother, and they had never met. He could cut the brother some slack, this one time.
“Look, man …” he began.
“Don’t ‘look’ me, nigga. Put Ry on the damn phone.”
“She ain’t here.”
“Yeah. But you are.”
“Yeah. I am,” Spencer said, trying to manage his temper. “And considerin’ where you’re at, you ain’t gon’ have shit to say about it. But maybe I’ll tell her you called.”
“Spencer,” Rick practically spat. “That’s you, right? Li’l bitch-ass nigga name. Lemme tell you somethin’ …”
Spencer listened, taking in every word, but mostly, taking in the tone. He had sisters, and so he knew what it was like, learning for the first time to see and accept your sister as a sexual being, who might have boyfriends, or lovers. It wasn’t an easy realization to come to.
When May was pregnant, her husband had been especially touchy-feely with her, and Spencer had squirmed every time he witnessed anything that hinted at the intimacy that led to his sister being pregnant in the first place. Hell, even now, sometimes Spencer still looked away when he saw Quincy pull May in for a kiss, or surreptitiously make a grab for her ass.
But never once could he remember feeling the way Rick sounded. There was only one way to describe it—territorial. Although he couldn’t see him, Spencer heard the rage, and pictured someone who was practically frothing at the mouth as he spoke.
He waited through Rick’s diatribe, letting him spit this vitriol and exhaust himself. Finally, when he had an opening, Spencer spoke.
“You got all your shit off?” he asked. “A’ight, good. Now you listen to me …”
Ryann was waiting for him just outside the doctor’s office. Just before she spotted him, her brows were furrowed and she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Then he came into view, and she brightened. She was wearing a grey wool dress that stopped just above her knees, black tights and flats. Spencer realized with a start that though he had seen her as she left that morning, he hadn’t even processed, or retained the memory of what she was wearing.
His mind had been in a fog for far too long. How could he have forgotten this? Ryann, always a beautiful woman, was more so now. Her hair was lustrous, and no longer platinum-blonde since she read somewhere that the chemicals might be harmful for the babies. Instead, she had an au
burn rinse that was henna-based. Spencer was surprised he knew that. It was crazy the things that stuck in his head from listening to her talk about the changes she’d made after finding out she was pregnant.
“You didn’t think I was going to make it, did you?” he asked as he approached.
“No, I knew you would,” she said, taking his hand.
But she had averted her eyes.
“You look pretty today.”
She was wearing makeup. Not as show-stoppingly obvious as that she used to wear, but subtler. The lipstick a pale pink, and her eyebrows arched and shaped, but no longer with the almost fierce tapered ends.
“I got some sun, that’s all,” she said, touching a hand to her cheek.
“No, you just look pretty, that’s all.”
They were at the reception desk to sign in, but Ryann paused to look up at him and smile.
“You’re looking pretty yourself,” she teased. “You shaved, I see.”
Spencer ran a hand over his jaw. “Yeah. Almost cut myself to pieces with your dull razor, but yeah. And how’d you get all tan like that? I hope you haven’t been bakin’ my kids outside in the sun.”
“It’s winter in case you hadn’t noticed. So no, I haven’t been … baking your children.”
The nurse-receptionist smiled at them indulgently and indicated the clipboard for them to sign in, then they sat in the waiting room, settling in until they were called.
While they waited, Ryann was on her phone, sending email and text messages, and even once stepping out into the hallway to take a call. Spencer realized he didn’t even know what she was up to these days. In less than three weeks, he’d lost a little bit of touch with her life. Yet she didn’t seem to have any issue with that.
Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall her being anything but understanding since he heard the news about his mother. Never pressing him to get out of bed, try to eat, take a shower … or just get on with it. But she’d been there—always present, never overbearing. His mother had barely gotten to know her, but now more than ever, Spencer was sure they would have grown close. Because his mother was the same way—she did what needed to be done, and though she hardly ever spoke her support, she always gave it.
When finally, Dr. Billingsley called them back, she was far sunnier in outlook when she looked Ryann over and took her vitals. During the pelvic exam, she looked up and raised an eyebrow, pulling in her lower lip.
“I think you both probably remember me saying this, but it bears repeating … multiples scarcely ever go to the full forty weeks. Thirty-seven is most likely. So, Ryann, you’re getting closer and closer to the time when I recommend moms come in every other week.”
Then it was time for the ultrasound, and Spencer held his breath, watching and waiting for the Big Reveal when they would know the babies’ sexes. So far, they were just Baby A and Baby B, or that was the way Dr. Billingsley referred to them. He wanted to see them, think about who they might become, and give them names.
“Uh oh,” the doctor said, pressing the wand into Ryann’s side. “Someone’s not cooperating.”
Onscreen, one of the babies had their back turned and was curled into him—or her—self. The other was only partly visible.
“We can’t tell?” Ryann asked, sounding disappointed.
“Not unless you want me to prod them a little and see whether they’ll move.”
“No!” she and Spencer said simultaneously.
It was the word ‘prod’ that got him.
“No,” he said a little more calmly. “Looks like they’re sleeping anyway …”
Dr. Billingsley laughed. “Looks like it. It’s the strangest thing. Babies never seem that active when they’re in my office, and I’ll bet you anything they’re like little jumping beans just as soon as you leave here. But they look and sound fine. Strong, steady heartbeats.”
When Spencer and Ryann left, she paused at the sidewalk and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’m glad you made it,” she said. “But I have to go back to work. See you later?”
He looked at her, surprised. “You don’t want to have lunch, or …”
“No. Can’t. I have an appointment I can’t miss. But since you’re up and about, maybe go see your sister?”
“Yeah. Good idea. So … later then?” he asked, still uncertain, and searching her face for any sign that she was really, secretly hoping to spend more time with him.
“Yup. Bye.”
Then she was walking down the street toward the parking garage she always used for her doctor’s appointments, leaving Spencer curious and confused.
He stopped by his place since he was in town, and was surprised by how sterile it seemed. Having been at Ryann’s for so long, made anywhere else feel less like home. Spencer didn’t linger. He packed a few changes of clothes and emptied his refrigerator, locked up tight and then headed out again.
As he drove, he called his sister, May, and they shot the breeze about nothing for a few minutes, then he told her about Ryann, and how unbothered she’d seemed about him simply leaving after the appointment, and how preoccupied she’d been as they waited for the doctor.
“So she’s busy,” May said. “Her life didn’t revolve around you before, did it? So why would it now?”
“I don’t need it to … revolve around me. I’m jus’ sayin’ …”
“Just be glad she isn’t expecting too much of you right now. Meanwhile, Joyce is talking about coming down to help clear out the house this weekend. I’m not sure I’m up to that yet, are you?”
They hadn’t yet gone back to their mother’s place, and for all any of them knew, there would still be food in the refrigerator, dishes in the sink.
“Nah. Not yet. If she wants to do it, let her have at it.”
“Are you crazy? She’ll be like the hatchet-woman, tossing everything out. If she comes down, we have to go do it with her.”
“Then tell her not to come yet. I don’t think I can …”
“You call her. She doesn’t listen to anything I say.”
“And she listens to me?” Spencer asked.
Just then, he turned onto 14th heading north, then turning right onto P Street toward the Whole Foods. Out of habit, and boredom, he maneuvered into the parking garage and went in, idly perusing the aisles. He could have gone to work, because he was close enough both to his office and the Coalition. But he didn’t feel like going to either place. Instead, Spencer bought a cake, telling himself that he hadn’t fully formed an intention to go where he went next.
Where he went next was north on 14th Street. And ten minutes later, he was parked outside Ryann’s mother’s building. He locked his car, took the cake box with him and went in.
“How come you’re so late?”
Ryann jumped at the sound of his voice, and turned, looking surprised to see him in the kitchen. These days, she was used to coming home and finding him watching television, sightlessly staring at the screen, or upstairs sleeping.
“It’s not that late.” She glanced over at the time on the microwave. “Eight-thirty.”
“Is this when you’ve been coming in lately?” Spencer asked.
She looked confused. “Yeah … why?”
He shrugged. “There’s a lot of things I haven’t been noticing, that’s all.”
Cocking her head to one side, Ryann put a hand up to his forehead and he grinned, shoving it away.
“You sound delirious,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I was thinking. You want to go out tonight?”
She was still looking at him a little warily.
“You know what May said ….”
“Once the babies are here …” Ryann said letting her voice trail off. “I know. We’re going to be like hostages.”
“So, you want to?”
Smiling she slid her pocketbook off her shoulder. “Sure. Where did you have in m…”
“Anywhere you want, baby.”
“Okay. Should I change?
”
“Yeah,” Spencer said, deciding for them. “Let’s go downtown. Check out that jazz joint in Adams Morgan we went to that time, or someplace in Georgetown.”
Ryann smiled wider. “Dinner first?”
“Yup. We’ll find a place once we’re there.”
Ryann’s eyes lit up with genuine excitement. “Give me a half hour to get ready,” she said.
Spencer took her to BlackSalt, the place where they’d had their first date. Probably their only date if he thought about it. After that, what they’d done could be called many things, but ‘dating’ was not among them. It seemed like a long, long time ago now.
This go ‘round, Ryann didn’t order caviar. Instead, she had a very sensibly-priced dinner of scallops while Spencer had the New England chowder. As she ate, Spencer smiled at how she was forced by her belly to sit back a little from the table, and to reach farther to get to her food.
“Want to share what’s so amusing?” Ryann asked without looking up.
“Not amusing,” he said. “Amazing.”
Then, she did look up. And smiled back at him.
After dinner, they toyed with the idea of going to the jazz club, but the truth was, neither of them was up for it. Ryann had been yawning since dessert at the restaurant, and Spencer wasn’t keen on being in a noisy place surrounded by a whole bunch of people just yet. So instead, laughing at themselves and each other for their “old folks’ hours”, they went back to his house, just because it was closer.
With Ryann there, it didn’t feel as ascetic as it had just that afternoon. They watched television, Ryann sitting on the floor between Spencer’s legs while he massaged her neck and shoulders. When she turned to look at him, he cupped her chin in his palm and kissed her. They lingered that way, lips pressed together for a moment even when the kiss ended. Ryann rested her head on his knee, hugging his calf.
“I don’t think I can get up from this floor,” she said.
“Then don’t.”
“I won’t,” she said warningly. “It’s comfortable down here.”
The Lover Page 33