With his slow drawl, good looks, and maturity, he was definitely my type, no question about that. He and Nikki would have never worked because, according to her, “Southern black men might as well be cavemen.” She wasn’t too far off but that’s one of the things I’ve always loved about them. Maybe that makes me a bad feminist but I don’t care. I’m traditional. I like the chivalry. Ain’t I a woman?
More than anything else, though, it was Tony’s intelligence that reeled me in. He wasn’t showy about it either, because it was innate. Even without all his degrees, the man would have still been brilliant. It was such a turn-on.
As I stared at him, I reached up to touch my head and knew instantly that my hair was a mess. “Why didn’t you put my scarf on my head last night?”
“I have no idea how you tie that thing and I didn’t wanna accidentally do it wrong. You ain’t blaming your bad hair day on me.”
I cut my eyes at him and swung my feet to the side of the bed. It hurt.
“Sorry to do this to you but I have to go in today,” he said.
“It’s Saturday,” I replied, stating the obvious.
“I know but I told you it was gonna be like this for a while. You said you understood.”
It was true. He was going up for tenure soon and was spending most of his time at his office, preparing. “I’m trying to,” I said. “How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know but I’ll definitely be back in time for dinner.” He always came back in time for dinner.
“Okay. Sorry about last night, by the way. I told you I wouldn’t fall asleep and then I passed out, right?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, but I’m used to it. You’re all talk.” He stared at himself in the mirror and applied oil to his beard. I felt a twinge of guilt.
“I’m serious, I had every intention of following through.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I studied his body. “You look nice.”
“Oh, yeah?” He raised his eyebrows at my reflection. “Listen, don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“I can finish. This time.”
We both laughed at the lie, an uneasy breaking of tension that masked the sore feelings surrounding the issue. We still had sex, and it was perfectly good when we did, but I knew Tony was unhappy with the decreased frequency of our encounters.
The fall-off started even before I got sick. I felt bamboozled and I’m sure he did, too. All the advice folks had given us about marriage—both sound and foolish—and none of it had anything to do with maintaining the level of attraction and chemistry you came into the relationship with. It happens to everyone, I have no illusions about that, but I still miss those days when I couldn’t get enough of him.
My major weakness is my inclination toward obsessive behavior. When I find something I like, I fixate on it. Nothing in moderation. It’s the reason I didn’t have sex early on in a relationship, and never on a first date. It wasn’t my inner southern Baptist good girl (I silenced that wet blanket a long time ago). I just didn’t trust myself to be able to think clearly afterward, especially if I liked it. But after all those years of being careful, I slipped up. With Tony.
It was our second date. We’d had dinner downtown and then taken a walk through Centennial Park. It wasn’t a super romantic date, but I enjoyed being around him, listening to him talk about the city. He was an expert on all things Atlanta and I was his enthusiastic audience.
A spring rain had saturated the air with moisture and my hair grew bigger and bigger the longer we walked. Tony kept looking at it and I was feeling self-conscious until he finally said something. The right thing. “I don’t know if you noticed but I’ve been staring at your hair all night. I love this. Can I touch it?”
The last line gave me chills. I nodded and he reached over and touched it, softly, rubbing his fingers up and down a small section of my strands before giving them a gentle tug, sending a jolt through my scalp and down my spine. I shivered, relishing in the intimate moment. It was official at that point, he had me. He watched me intently, a slight smile forming on his lips. He knew he had me.
I returned his gaze and we stared at each other for several seconds, each daring the other to break. A tug of war, winner takes all. I could feel the intensity emanating from him and my body responded, the sensation startling me so much I averted my eyes. He had won.
We didn’t say much in the car on the way to his place. At one point he put his hand on my bare thigh and caressed it gently as he drove. I was woozy like I’d had too much to drink. We both knew what was going to happen and he seemed relaxed by the certainty. I, on the other hand, was nervous. I’d debated telling him I wanted to go home but in the end, I wanted it too much.
I don’t remember how I made it out of the car and into his townhouse, but there we were in the foyer, kissing, me feeling like a lustful teenage girl making out with her boyfriend after school. He finally pulled away and grabbed my hand, silently leading me down the hall. I was glad I shaved and wore my nice panties.
His bedroom was at the end of the hall. He pulled me inside and closed the door behind him. Not wasting any time, he took his shirt off and my eyes feasted on his upper body. Broad, muscular shoulders gave way to well-defined biceps and veiny forearms. I hadn’t expected him to look like that. He was more fit than I was and that made me even more nervous.
Because I’m me, there was one small misstep. I tried to be cute and unzip my dress slowly but my bracelet got caught in my hair in the back. I must have looked like a fool struggling to untangle myself but he didn’t react. He moved behind me in a trance-like state and untethered my bracelet before unzipping me all the way. As he slid my dress down my shoulders, his lips brushed the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and relaxed my body against his, feeling his arm snaking slowly around my side. He gripped the front of my neck and I let my head fall slowly back onto him in full surrender. His fingers squeezed my throat gently and he kissed my ear, lightly brushing it with his tongue. That was all it took. I was ready.
I lay on my back on the bed. He turned the light off, and as my eyes adjusted, I could see him looming over me. He slid my panties down past my thighs, one foot, then the other. It was too dark to see exactly what he was doing but I heard a drawer open and close. Crinkling plastic. I convinced myself it was a condom and we got right to it.
I gripped his back and air slowly sizzled through his teeth. He quickly found a rhythm and I let out my own sounds of pleasure. Yessss. I whispered my approval and he moaned his assent. Only one word was decipherable. Deep and guttural. Fuuuuuck. And so I did. We did. And it was so good.
Tony was smug. He made love like he was doing me a favor, although something about that turned me on. He was also dictatorial, making me sit on his face that first night and becoming angry when I backed away. My inability to handle it set him off.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled.
“I can’t—”
“Look at me. Right here, look.”
I looked down at him, breathless, and he admonished me through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me chase it.”
He sounded like he meant it but I started to whine anyway. “Please, I—”
“Nah, fuck that. Come here.”
I hesitated, not sure if I appreciated the way he was talking to me. I looked down at him and he glared up at me.
“I’m not asking. Do what I say.”
He definitely meant it. Thick fingers gripped my thighs and forced me back down onto him and I decided to let go and obey. He made me wonder why I ever resisted.
He was a wolf, and he consumed me like his survival depended on it. It was exciting, being dominated. I wasn’t ever one to curse but Tony brought it out of me.
His bedroom manners were as coarse as the beard that scratched my face and neck and thighs when he got close, reminding me that my southern gentleman had a rough edge to him. But he knew how to switch it up, and sometimes it was deep and slow and romantic. We were completely
lost in it, not knowing up from down. Dizzy and powerless, hungry and desperate for each other. Backward and forwards, top to bottom, every single solitary inch relinquished and explored.
I lost myself, as I had known I would. Completely gone, nose wide open, recklessly devoted. There was nothing I wouldn’t do. He became my pusher, enabling my addiction while skimming his own pleasure off the top. We went hard like that for months until one day it just...stopped. I had reached the point of satiation and was content with sex at regular, spaced-out intervals. He adjusted quickly, probably grateful for the reprieve, but we hadn’t reached those heights since.
Those days were long past. I thought about them sometimes but reminiscing was painful. No matter how good the memory, you can’t go back. And that hurts.
What we had now was good. Not perfect, but good, and I loved so many other things about him. But I still wondered where the spark went.
I closed my eyes and willed myself to get out of bed. I would need aspirin, at least four, and a bottle of water. Tony came back in the room smelling of cologne and toothpaste. The cologne used to bother me until I saw the hags in the history department. If anything, they probably made him want me more.
He gathered his laptop and file folders and put them in his leather messenger bag. “I’ll be back in time for dinner, I promise.”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
I don’t know why he bothered asking. I could fall on my knees and beg him not to go and it wouldn’t matter one bit. “I’m sure. I know you have stuff to do.” That was an awfully passive-aggressive way to describe how hard he was working and I knew it. He had been preparing for tenure his entire career. I should have been far more supportive than I was, especially now that he was the only one working.
He leaned down and kissed my cheek, his beard grazing my face. “What are you gonna do today?”
“Clean up. Maybe get started organizing the closet. I keep saying I’m gonna do it.”
“If you feel up to it. Are you in pain?”
“A little but I’ll be fine.” A lie. “I just need to take a few aspirin.”
He picked up the bottle on my nightstand and shook it. “Do you have enough?”
“I think so.”
“You want me to bring you anything from downstairs? Water?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He studied my face. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’m fine, I promise.”
We said our I love yous and I laid back down and watched him leave. I hadn’t asked him for anything on purpose, thinking I would be forced to get moving if I had to get it for myself. An ill-conceived plan if there ever was one...
I OPENED MY EYES AND stared at my phone. 2:33. How had I slept for four hours? I had fully intended to get up and shower. Letting myself fall asleep was such a stupid thing to do. There’s nothing worse than waking up disoriented from a long nap.
Time to clear my mind and reorient myself. It was light outside. It was afternoon. The sky was blue and it was warm. It was a nice day. I didn’t miss anything. There was still time to be productive. And normal. What was I supposed to be doing? Oh right, cleaning up. But first I needed to shower.
Another five minutes ticked by. Beyond the pain coursing through my body, there was a heaviness weighing on my soul. It was those missing girls. They were still in my head. I brought the tide in three times. No dice.
Rolling onto my left side sent stabbing pains through my shoulder so I rolled onto my stomach. That wasn’t as painful but it was an awkward position for looking at my phone, and I needed to look at my phone. I loved that thing, it was a wonderful distraction.
The right side ached but no stabbing. That was better. I scrolled through my newsfeed. Boring. A notification at the top of the screen announced that I had a missed call. Nikki. Why didn’t she just text what she wanted? She knew how I felt about phone calls.
I steeled myself and dialed the number.
“Hey Nik, I saw that you called. What’s up?” I asked, trying to sound normal. I needed to get better at pretending.
“Did you get a chance to look at the stuff yet?”
“No, I’m just now getting up.”
“Oh, sorry. How are you feeling?”
“Fine, just hungover. Text me the link.”
“I did.”
“Oh.”
She sighed loudly. “Just go look and let me know what you think. Also, I need you to do something else for me.”
Wasn’t that enough? I took a deep breath. “What is it?”
“Don’t be mad. I talked to my dad this morning and I happened to mention that I saw you.”
“Oh. Tell him I said hi,” I said, my voice flat.
“He wants you to call him. I know how you are but I think his feelings are a little hurt. It’s been a while. Can you give him a call? It doesn’t have to be today but soon.”
Dr. Thomas was good people, he really was, but I didn’t want to call him. I didn’t want to call anybody. “I’ll call him.”
“Thank you! And don’t be afraid to cut him off because I know he rambles on and on.”
“So that’s a family trait?”
“Shut up.”
I rubbed my eyes. “It’s fine, I’ll call him. You know I love your dad. I’m just not a phone person.”
“I know. You’re weird. Alright then girl, don’t forget—”
“To look at the stuff. I know. I’m doing it now.”
“Tamara. Please, I’m asking you as a friend. I need you to help me with this.”
“I will.”
I set the phone down next to me. First things first, a shower. Yes, that would make me feel better. Yet as I gazed across my lovely transitional bedroom with the ugly brown tufted headboard that my husband insisted on because light colors were too feminine, my bathroom door seemed miles away. My hangover was gone but the fog still hadn’t lifted.
Dr. Thomas had taken an interest in me years ago, probably because he felt sorry for me. The man had come to Nikki’s rescue plenty of times in college but there was no such cavalry waiting to charge in and save me. I wasn’t close to my dad. Barely even knew him.
Once during sophomore year, someone broke into my car and stole my laptop and stereo. To add insult to injury, they stole my windshield wipers. What kind of sadistic bastard steals windshield wipers?
I nearly had a nervous breakdown until Dr. Thomas swooped in. He bought me a new stereo and wipers and gifted me with one of his old laptops—not brand new but fully capable of getting me through the next two and a half years of papers, presentations, and assignments. I was grateful and thanked him profusely both verbally and in a handwritten note. And yet...for some reason, I never felt quite right about it. It was confusing in a way I couldn’t explain, even to myself. I pulled away from Nikki for a while and declined an invitation to spend Thanksgiving with the Thomas family. Not my finest moment.
I would definitely call him. But first, I would shower and clean up. Shower. Closet. Call Dr. Thomas. Shower. Closet. Call Dr. Thomas. I repeated the list to myself as if doing so would magically make me a productive person who kept my word and didn’t make a mountainous feat out of actions normal people were able to complete without a second thought.
I don’t remember which word I was on when I dozed off.
Chapter 3
IT WAS A MONDAY, THE first day I should have been back at work, and I was sitting on the floor of my closet trying not to break down.
I missed work already. It had been difficult to explain to my boss why I was leaving. There was no terminal illness ravaging its way through my body, although sometimes I think I would be better off if I knew there was an end date to my suffering. I was sick, and there was no end in sight. Only constant, nagging pain. This was it, forever, unless someone figured out a way to cure me. To be quite honest, I occasionally thought about ending things myself. I wasn’t suicidal, and perhaps that’s splitting hairs, but I didn’t actively want to ki
ll myself. I guess I just liked knowing I had the option.
Mark hadn’t seemed surprised, although I had called out so much over the previous year that he had probably expected it. You know what would have been nice? If he or any of my coworkers had shown some sadness or regret over me leaving. But there was nothing. They didn’t seem phased at all.
Seven years at the bank. Two-thousand days of seeing the same faces. I had gotten to know everyone pretty well, or so I thought, but apparently, the feeling wasn’t mutual. That was the story of my life, though. No fanfare, no announcements, just goodbye and see you around. I doubt anyone would miss me, or even notice I was gone. But I was used to being invisible.
I sighed loudly in my empty closet, a pathetic feeling washing over me. I couldn’t think of a worse place to be black and rudderless than Atlanta. The Black Mecca. Where everybody is upwardly mobile and hustling, or at least pretending to be, and everyone has a title. Journalist. Professor. Engineer. Attorney. Doctor. Even the hoteps who sell oils and bootleg DVDs call themselves Entrepreneurs.
I once read that Atlanta is the sugar baby capital of the country. That might have been a way to go if I wasn’t married. It was a title, at least.
Oh well. I was just a nobody with nowhere to go, and instead of being productive, I was sitting in my closet panicking. My intention was to move all of the clothes from our dresser and the spare bedroom into the master closet. My beautiful closet that I had spent months designing.
Visions of a giant walk-in with an island and shelves stocked with our beautiful clothes had danced around in my head for years before we bought our little house. The reality was a little different: the closet was modest-sized and there were wire racks where the shelves should have been. No island, but there was enough space to put a small dresser in the middle that could pretend to be an island. And so I set about trying to find an inexpensive way to recreate my vision.
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