As he walked into the restaurant, even the smell of deep fried fish and chips couldn’t force away his nervous stomach. What he noticed first was the view of the crystal-clear water, pelicans swooping in for their midday meal, and the sun sparkling off the surface. Then he noticed his mother seated at a corner table, her face plastered in a smile that made alarms go off in Mohammed’s head. He wasn’t going to get his appetite back anytime soon. He matched her smile as he walked over, kissed her on her cheek, and took a seat across from her.
There was polite chit-chat over iced tea, and when the grouper sandwich baskets arrived and Mohammed went in to take his first bite, Parveen got down to business.
“Do you ever intend to marry Emma?”
Mohammed choked and sputtered and, for a second, worried that he would never have the opportunity to marry anyone let alone Emma.
Parveen handed Mohammed his glass of tea. “Drink,” she directed as a mother would.
After successfully swallowing the obstacle that had been lodged in his throat, and after wiping the moisture from his eyes with a scratchy napkin, he answered his mother’s question … with a question.
“Did you invite me here to ask me that?”
“I love to spend time with my son, but I admit, it was on the agenda.”
“What else is on the agenda?”
“You answering that question.”
Mohammed tossed the crumpled napkin on the table. “I don’t know, Mom.”
“What don’t you know?”
“I have so many things I need to do first before considering marriage.” Not a lie. “I have years of school until I complete my bachelor’s, and who knows, I might even go on to get a graduate degree. That takes time, and effort, and money. I need to focus on that instead of a wedding.”
“I bet Emma is focusing on a wedding.”
“Most women her age are.”
“True, but you shouldn’t lead her on if you have no intention to marry her. It’s not a nice thing to do.”
Although minimal, Mohammed felt some relief. He was worried that his mother would badger him about marrying Emma, not dumping her. “So, what are you suggesting exactly?”
Mohammed went to reach for his sandwich but decided to wait on taking a bite, just in case his mother tried to kill him once again. Parveen exhaled slowly. “I would love for you to get married and face all those things you just explained but with someone as lovely as Emma. It’s easier to face hardships with an understanding partner, and I believe that Emma would be an understanding partner.”
His sense of relief was short-lived. “Mom, what’s the rush?”
“There is no rush, but why wait? You’re my only son, and I would love to have grandchildren while I’m relatively young.”
“So, you want me to get married so you can have a baby?”
“A baby is a blessing.” She placed her hand over Mohammed’s. “Your father and I were blessed with you the day you were born. That was the happiest day of my life, and I can say it was your father’s too.”
He was positive people were guilted into having children, but he wasn’t going to be one of them. “I love you and Dad too, but I’m not ready to be a father.” He shrugged slowly, his gaze falling to the sandwich he still gripped. “Maybe one day, but I can honestly say that it won’t be happening anytime soon.”
Parveen tapped the top of his hand twice. “Then I guess I will have to wait.”
At that moment, he felt like a fraud, a liar, and a bad son. His parents wanted a child, his child, and in his heart, he knew that was never going to happen. If he had balls, he would fess up right then and admit that he preferred men over women, preferred their company especially in the bedroom. But he knew that would kill her, her chances of ever having a grandchild crushed in one sentence. Why was it so hard to say, “Mom, I’m gay”? Mohammed knew why. Because it would change everything.
Chapter Eight
In a moment of madness, or maybe intelligence, Isaac texted Mohammed, asking if he was home and if so, could he stop by his place. He was answered with a winking smiley face. Contrary to what Mohammed believed would be happening, he was wrong. This visit wasn’t about sex. It was about answers and possibly, a resolution. Isaac had to wipe his hands on the front of his shirt more times than he could count, his damp palms making it difficult to turn the steering wheel.
When he pulled into the parking lot of Mohammed’s apartment building, he spotted his car parked between a motorcycle and SUV that needed a trip to the carwash. For a brief second, he wanted to throw his car into reverse and drive away, be anywhere but there. He had made a mistake, Isaac told himself. He didn’t want to be there. But he knew he had to be.
He briskly walked to Mohammed’s apartment, and when he arrived at the door, he knocked three determined raps. He refused to pay attention to his heart skipping beat after beat until a shirtless Mohammed answered, wearing nothing but baggy khaki shorts. Blood sounded in his ears over the erratic thumping. He knew that what he was about to say was going to be difficult. Very fucking difficult. But he had no choice. He blurted it out before anxiety made him mute and before Mohammed could say a word.
“I think I made a mistake.” There. I said it.
“We all do that from time to time.”
Isaac couldn’t pull his eyes away from that silky black hair stretched across Mohammed’s chest … trailing down his flat abdomen … leading to his… Focus! “I’m being serious. I think we should break up?”
“Break up?” The words were said smoothly. “Are we going out?”
“No,” Isaac sputtered. “I mean… You know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“You have a girlfriend.”
In a swift movement, Mohammed grabbed Isaac by his arm and yanked him inside. “This is between you and me and not the rest of my nosey neighbors.” He closed the door but didn’t release Isaac. “What brought this on?”
“Me getting a conscience is what brought this on.” He shook his hand free. “And you doing that is making it very difficult for me to sustain one.”
“You seemed fine with it yesterday.” His smile was sexy, and his eyes matched those lips. “Forget about everything else and only think of that.”
Mohammed stepped in close, his unique scent better than any cologne, causing Isaac to see dancing black spots in his central field of vision.
“Speaking of, why don’t we have this conversation over there?”
Isaac didn’t have to follow Mohammed’s line of sight to know he meant the bed.
Isaac stood firm, refusing to give in to the testosterone running rampant in his body. He shook his head, his jaw tight. “No. This is not a booty call.”
“But you have such a nice booty.” Mohammed’s tongue skimmed along his bottom lip. “Seems a waste of a trip, and I have the rest of the afternoon free.” Chills ran up Isaac’s arms as Mohammed made his move, fingertips stroking along Isaac’s forearms, causing his resolve to crumble. He didn’t have the strength to put distance between them or to ask Mohammed to stop.
Isaac swallowed, and he willed himself to proceed. “The reason I want to stop whatever it is we are doing is because I’m fooling myself.”
“In what way?”
Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.
“I’m attracted to you.”
“The feelings mutual.”
“But I’ll want more from you than sex,” Isaac admitted. “I know me. I don’t do sex well.”
Mohammed’s chuckle was low and gravely. “I beg to differ.”
“You have to stop this or—”
“Or what?” His head tilted slightly, and his brow arched as if daring Isaac to go where he didn’t want to go.
“Or I’ll have sex with you again.”
“Is that so bad?” Mohammed asked.
“Just the opposite.” But a broken heart would be.
* * * *
The rest of the afternoon, they rediscovered each other’s bodies and
discovered new pleasures. Isaac was unaware of time. He was lost in Mohammed. He forgot about the way he would no doubt feel after making love to Mohammed, the high from the here and now taking precedence over what was to come. He would deal with the consequences later, maybe with the aid of a stiff drink. He was in heaven, and he intended to stay there as long as he could … but intentions aren’t always met.
When there was a gentle knock at the door followed by a cheerful birdlike voice calling out, “Mohammed.”
Isaac’s blood ran ice-cold as they both scrambled from the bed.
“Hide,” Mohammed whispered urgently. His eyes appeared crazed.
Isaac looked around the efficiency apartment, lost for ideas.
“You won’t fit under the bed,” Mohamed said, continuing, “so I suggest you hide in the bathroom.”
He ran to the bathroom, closed the door, and then jumped in the bathtub and drew the shower curtain for extra protection. Isaac stood statue still, even fearful of taking a breath, as Mohammed answered the door. He pressed his back against the tile wall and squinted his eyes as if that would help him become invisible. He prayed that he would go undiscovered, offering a life of servitude if he got the chance to escape from this mess unscathed. He made a mental list of all the charities he would offer his time to, anything to take his mind off of what was happening less than ten feet away.
At first, he heard murmuring followed by laughter, which led to more muted murmurs. Not knowing what was happening in the other room driving him wild, he decided to move closer to the door to see what he could decipher. In the process, he didn’t see the bottle of shower gel sitting on the edge of the tub. It was only after nudging it with his right knee and sending it falling to the floor did he realize it was there.
“What’s that noise?”
The first thing that popped into Mohammed’s brain came out of his mouth. “Rats.”
“Rats?” Emma repeated.
“Or maybe just one.”
Emma looked suspicious as she scanned his body. The only article of clothing he had time to throw on was his shorts. “What were you doing before I knocked? Were you sleeping?”
It was a wooden smile, but it was the best he could offer. “Yeah. Catching up on some z’s. I didn’t realize how sleep-deprived I’ve been with school and all.” He added a yawn, but her expression didn’t change.
“Did you call maintenance about the rodent problem, or you thought you’d wait until after your nap?”
“I haven’t put much thought into it.”
There was another crash from the bathroom and a mumbled whisper that sounded suspiciously like the word “shit.” Emma’s eyes narrowed as they went from Mohammed to the bed, then to the closed bathroom door and back to Mohammed.
“Who’s in there?”
“No one.”
“You’re lying.”
“I promise you, no one is in there. I told you already, the building has a rat problem.”
“Rats don’t curse.”
“You’re hearing things. Why don’t I throw on a shirt and shoes and take you out for coffee and those little French pastries you like?”
When he went to reach for a T-shirt earlier tossed on a nearby chair, Emma darted around him and threw open the bathroom door. Her gasp said it all. Mohammed turned just to see Emma’s hands fly up over her mouth, her face distorted in shock and confusion.
When she was able to speak, she said, “What are you doing here?”
Isaac stepped into the room. He was holding a towel wrapped around his waist. “I came to use the shower because my water was turned off.” His voice wavered, and his smile was feeble. “Mohammed was kind enough to offer his. That’s what I get for not paying the bill.”
Emma saw right through the lie. And she saw a fresh love bite beside the old one on Isaac’s neck. “I don’t believe a word of it.” She turned to Mohammed, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “What’s going on?” she demanded through sobs.
“He was about to take a shower.” Mohammed sauntered over to the bed and sat on the edge. “What are you implying? That we’re fooling around?” He gave Emma his best poker face as he prayed she wouldn’t challenge him.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Her hands fell to her side, and she stumbled a few steps backward, knocking against a nightstand. “It would explain so much, why you don’t want to have sex with me anymore, why you refuse to look me in the eye and tell me the truth. I’ve suspected that you’ve been seeing someone, but I never thought that you would be having an affair with a man. That’s disgusting.” Understandably, there was venom in her words and hate in her eyes.
Mohammed stood and walked toward Emma, but she flinched and ran between him and Isaac, heading to the door.
“Emma, wait!”
“I don’t want anything to do with you.” She was at the point of hyperventilating. “You’re a horrible person. How could you do this to me?” Her hand landed on the doorknob, but Mohammed got to her first before she could open it and escape.
He spun her around, forcing her to look at him. “Emma, get hold of yourself. I can’t let you leave like this.”
She struggled against him, but he held her firmly. “Let me go,” she pleaded. “I can’t stand you, and I want to go home.”
“Please let me explain.”
“What’s to explain?” Strands of damp hair stuck to her cheeks. She jerked her head in an effort to dislodge them. “You like men. You’re gay. Even I can see that now. How could I have been so fucking stupid?” Emma wailed the last sentence.
Mohammed felt sorry for her. He wanted to make it better, but he knew that there was no way he could. Their relationship was irreparably broken. Emotion strangled him and tears stung his eyes.
“I never wanted to hurt you. You have to believe that.”
“How can I?”
“I just can’t help myself.”
Emma made a derisive noise in the back of her throat, and she turned her face away. “Let go of me.”
He loosened his grip, but his hands remained on her arms. “What are you going to tell my parents?”
She made that noise again. “Don’t you think that you should be the one to tell them that you fuck boys?”
Involuntarily, his hands opened to release her. It was as if he sustained an electrical shock. “Please, don’t tell them. It would break their hearts.”
Emma took her chance and lurched to open the door. “But you have no problem breaking mine,” she said without looking back.
“I never meant to.” Mohammed watched as she walked down the narrow hallway. For what felt like an eternity, he stood there until she walked out of view. It was only when Isaac placed his hand on Mohammed’s shoulder that he came out of his dazed and desperate fog.
“It will be okay,” Isaac said.
Mohammed jerked his shoulder, freeing himself of Isaac’s touch, which was no doubt meant to be consoling but was stifling instead. “Get dressed and get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to look at you right now.”
There was a sharp intake of breath. “What?”
“You heard me.” Mohammed used his most hurtful tone, going for the jugular. “You’ve ruined everything.”
“Me? I didn’t do anything. This is all on you.”
Mohammed didn’t have time to hear excuses or indignations. He needed time alone to figure out damage control. “Leave. Now.”
Chapter Nine
Isaac could hardly see through his tears as he ran to his car. His brain swirled, his mind playing over the last fifteen minutes of his life. His intention was to head home, but he found himself at Mitch and Josh’s instead. His body was on autopilot as he knocked on their door and waited to see if anyone was there.
Luck was finally on his side when Josh answered the door. Before he could say anything, Isaac fell into his friend’s arms and allowed himself to sob. He felt the jerk of his own body as he buried his face into Josh’s chest. When the intensity of his emotional pai
n began to subside, Isaac explained what brought him to his door. Josh didn’t say “I told you so” which, Isaac was thankful for. If the shoe was on the other foot, he wondered if he would have. But that’s why he confided in Josh. Deep down he had a gentle nurturing soul that he only fully showed to a few individuals.
After shoving a bottle of ice-cold beer in his hand and placing Isaac on the couch, Josh started asking questions that any good friend would.
“What do you plan to do now?” Josh took the space beside Isaac, watching intently.
Honestly, he didn’t know how to answer his friend. He took a deep breath, giving it some consideration. Is shrugging my shoulders a viable answer? “I don’t really know,” Isaac finally said. “I like the guy … a lot, but he does have some major issues.”
“He certainly does.”
“I really don’t see a way forward.”
“Take it day by day. Do what feels right.” Josh cocked his head. “I don’t know what other advice to give except I’m always here for you.”
“Means a lot, buddy.”
Isaac took a few deep gulps from the bottle, the cool liquid easing his irritated throat. “Would you think I was crazy if I told you that when we were having sex, it felt more like making love? And I know it wasn’t only me. He was tenderer than before. There was a difference from the other times.”
Josh’s look verged on doubtful.
“I know I’m not making it up,” Isaac said. “I could feel it.”
“I believe you,” Josh assured. “Obviously, he’s into you. Why wouldn’t he be? You have plenty of great qualities. You’re kind and loyal—”
“It sounds like you’re describing your childhood dog.”
“Cletus was not kind or loyal. He bit me more than once, and after many attempts, he finally ran away and never came back. We stuck to cats after him.”
“I’m allergic to cats.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“What is your point?”
The Boys of Banana Court: Box Set Page 22