That time I was the one who had slammed my way out of the house, going back to my place to fume and sulk until he showed up the next evening and we put it all behind us in a sweaty, noisy and very satisfying bout of make-up sex on my sofa.
I smiled and shook my head thinking about it now, while lying naked in his bed listening partly to the television, and partly to the low hum of his voice from another part of the house ordering dinner for us.
Maybe he was right, and we were just two people, doing the best we could to help solve deep systemic societal issues that were, in many ways, unsolvable.
Would I prefer to be with a man who wasn’t even in the fight? Someone like Ray, who absolutely cared about those problems, absolutely wanted to see them fixed, but just as absolutely didn’t want to put anything he valued on the line?
And it wasn’t as though Gideon was … I don’t know, his brother Gabe for instance. Gabriel and I hadn’t warmed up to each other one iota as my and Gideon’s relationship progressed. He still tried to bait me whenever we were in each other’s company, and still spoke with scorn about the movements I was involved in. If, one day, there were to be a viral video somewhere of Gabe abusing his power, so help me, I didn’t think I would even bat an eyelid. He and Gideon had sworn the same oath, but they could not have been more different men. Even the way Gideon moved through the world was as unlike Gabriel’s arrogant swagger as a panther’s light tread was from a rhinoceros’ ponderous charge.
Sighing, I rested the flat of my palm on my stomach and tried to picture what was happening deep inside me, beneath the skin and muscle. A person was forming, one cell at a time. Girl or boy, there was no way of knowing, but I felt a different kind of knowing—they would be self-aware and aware of the world around them, they would care deeply not only about their own fortunes and future but about the collective human community. I knew this, because I knew myself, and I knew Gideon and I believed that we would not raise any child of ours to be otherwise.
Reaching over, I found the t-shirt Gideon had shed before getting into bed and pulled it over my head, ignoring my underwear and other clothes nearby. I liked that the t-shirt smelled like him and kept him close to me even though he was elsewhere in the house and angry.
“… new developments tonight in yet another part of the city,” the announcer on television said. “We’re going now to …”
I muted it, but left it on, wanting to remain just plugged-in enough to know what was happening, but still, listening only to my own thoughts.
* * *
“Food’s here.”
I opened my eyes at dusk to Gideon’s voice, and realized that I must have dozed off and stayed out for quite some time. He was still in his boxer briefs and had opened the French doors to the deck off his bedroom, letting in a slightly cool, late summer breeze. From there, we could just about see a hint of the lights downtown and a good portion of the northern part of city. When we spent long weekends in bed, the deck became our dining area like it was tonight.
Gideon had brought up the plastic takeout containers, plates and utensils, two bottles of beer and two of water. Only when I sat down did I see that what he’d ordered was Jamaican food again, from his favorite place. I smelled the pimento in the jerk chicken, the rich, gingery spices in the oxtail, and the earthy fragrance of the red beans and rice.
Saying nothing, I sat opposite him and we reached for our respective meals, portioning some out and leaving the rest because we liked to trade and share dishes. Gideon reached for one of the bottles of beer and I reached out as well, pretending not to notice when he grew very still, waiting to see whether I would pick up the alcohol, or the water. I, of course, chose the water.
My defiance the other night, in taking red wine out to have with my leftover Chinese food had been just that. And meaningless defiance at that, since Gideon wasn’t even there to witness it. I hadn’t drunk any of it. I wouldn’t have.
Gideon and I ate in silence, the only sounds the clinking of forks against plates. We were in the middle of a “fight” but it didn’t feel like it. The night was quiet, with very little by way of traffic noise since folks weren’t going out much or staying out late since the pandemic and civil unrest. I could even hear the distant sound of barking dogs, of crickets and other night bugs and creepy-crawlers.
Middle of a fight or not, I felt secure here with Gideon; and secure in the knowledge that for tonight at least, he was safe with me.
He cleaned up when we were done, taking everything back down to the kitchen without asking me to help.
I brushed my teeth, I washed my face, I climbed back into his bed with the television still on, images moving noiselessly onscreen.
I heard Gideon talking to someone again, his voice slightly elevated, excited and lighter. There had been news, good news I guessed, about Dom. Then I heard him turning things off, and his tread as he came back upstairs.
I was reclining lazily against the pillows, half of my attention on whatever was happening on television, the other half of my mind already fuzzy and reaching for sleep when Gideon joined me in bed. I focused only when the television went completely dark. He had turned it off.
He didn’t speak, just reached for me.
We kissed and took a minute to tussle with each other’s sparse clothing before getting it off. Then he was on top of me and cradled between my legs though not inside me yet. He pressed his mouth to the base of my neck, arching his back so he could go even lower, down the center of my chest, from one erect nipple to the next. I squirmed beneath him, trying to position myself so he would enter me if he angled himself just so.
“I want to marry you,” he said.
He was breathless, and his voice almost a whisper. I remained still for a few seconds, not out of any sense of doubt, but because in Gideon’s tone I could tell he was the one entertaining the idea that I might possibly say ‘no’.
I lifted my head to look at him and he raised his to look at me. In the near dark, I could just make out his eyes.
“I want to marry you, too,” I said.
“So … yes?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes,” I said. “Of course yes.”
He smiled, and then his lips were crushing against mine, almost painfully.
I didn’t expect it, was distracted by the kiss when he slipped inside me, easily, almost frictionless. He went deep so the pressure was vaguely uncomfortable the way it sometimes is for a split second before transforming into that strange, tingling, primordial sensation that is unmatched by any other pleasure in the world. I heaved a long, slow breath and we moved together, rocking and clasping and gripping and holding each other until spent.
Gideon stayed on top of me, his face nuzzling my damp neck, his breath cooling me just behind my ear.
The air felt serene.
Over his shoulder, through the open deck doors, I noticed a glowing orange light in the distance, and at its core, deep crimson. Putting gentle pressure on Gideon’s chest, I sat up, feeling him slide free of me and the evidence of our lovemaking slippery and slick against my thigh.
“Look,” I said, pointing. “More fires.”
Gideon turned to look for himself.
Somewhere in our city, there had been another conflict, and another conflagration. It would burn bright and high in the sky for a while, and because of the scarcity of personnel in fire stations these days, maybe it would persist throughout the night. It had been that kind of summer.
My mind went to Demetrius and the other kids. I wondered with a sliver of reflexive worry where they were. I had the fleeting urge to call Viv, to put out the alarm, to suggest tracking one of them down … just to check, just to see.
Then Gideon’s hand was on my hip, smoothing along it. And he was sliding downward, his head was bowing, and he was kissing me on my belly, right at the spot where earlier my hand rested while I fantasized about our baby.
He kissed me, a featherlight touch just beneath my belly-button.
“It’s
okay, baby,” he said, his voice soothing and calm. “There’s gonna be flare-ups, there’s gonna be fires … all that. We’ll just have to put them out.”
About the Author
Nia Forrester lives and writes in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania where, by day, she is an attorney working on public policy, and by night, she crafts woman-centered fiction that examines the complexities of life, love, and the human condition.
Subscribe to Nia Forrester’s Newsletter for free reads, exclusive samples, short stories, giveaways and more: https://bit.ly/2UorIXl
Reach her at: [email protected]
Also by Nia Forrester
The ‘Commitment’ Novels
Commitment (The ‘Commitment’ Series Book 1)
Unsuitable Men (The ‘Commitment’ Series Book 2)
Maybe Never (A ‘Commitment’ Novella)
The Fall (A ‘Commitment’ Novel)
Four: Stories of Marriage (The ‘Commitment’ Series Finale)
The ‘Afterwards’ Novels
Afterwards (The Afterwards Series Book 1)
Afterburn (The Afterwards Series Book 2)
The Come Up (An Afterwards Novel)
The Takedown (An Afterwards Novel)
Young, Rich & Black (An Afterwards Novel)
Snowflake (An Afterwards Novel)
Rhyme & Reason (An Afterwards Novel)
Courtship (A Snowflake Novel)
The ‘Mistress’ Novels
Mistress (The ‘Mistress’ Trilogy Book 1)
Wife (The ‘Mistress’ Trilogy Book 2)
Mother (The ‘Mistress’ Trilogy Book 3)
The ‘Acostas’ Novels
The Seduction of Dylan Acosta (The Acostas Book 1)
The Education of Miri Acosta (The Acostas Book 2)
The ‘Secret’ Series
Secret (The ‘Secret’ Series Book 1)
The Art of Endings (The ‘Secret’ Series Book 1)
Lifted (The ‘Secret’ Series Book 3)
The ‘Shorts’
Still—The ‘Shorts’ Book 1
The Coffee Date—The ‘Shorts’ Book 2
Just Lunch—The ‘Shorts’ Book 3
Table for Two—The ‘Shorts’ Book 4
The Wanderer—The ‘Shorts’ Book 5
À la Carte: A ‘Coffee Date’ Novella—The ‘Shorts’ Book 6
Silent Nights—The ‘Shorts’ Book 7
Not That Kind of Girl—The ‘Shorts’ Book 8
À la Carte: The Complete ‘Coffee Date’ Novellas
Standalone Novels
Ivy’s League
The Lover
Acceptable Losses
Paid Companion
The Makeover
After the Fire: The ‘Shorts’ Page 10