Cairo finally felt well enough to do more than go from her bed to the bathroom. She felt well enough to pad to the kitchen and make herself a warm cup of ginger and lemon tea. As she waited for the kettle to boil, Cairo decided she would check her messages. She hadn’t really done so since she’d been home. She didn’t have the energy to address anything business-related. But feeling a little better gave her the drive to sit down at her secondary workstation that was a part of her kitchen, open her calendar and check messages.
The first few messages were follow-ups for proposed new excavations the companies or landowners wanted Cairo to consider. She made a note of their information in her calendar with a plan to get back with them after she reviewed the information they promised had been forwarded to her email. There were a few more messages that didn’t require any notations. Hearing the kettle whistle, Cairo lifted herself from her chair and padded to the stove, being careful to lift the kettle with a cloth so as not to burn her hand. She’d done that before. It wasn’t fun, and she didn’t need any additional pain. Cairo could multitask, though; listen and pour a cup of tea. Reaching into the cabinet, Cairo pulled down a cup and saucer. A smile creased her lips as she sat the set on the counter. This was her favorite teacup and matching saucer. She inherited them from her Nana, a woman she idolized before her passing and loved still. Half filling the cup, Cairo sat the kettle back on the stove as a new message began.
“Cairo, it’s Israel.”
Those melodically crooned words from lips she remembered fondly stopped Cairo in her tracks. Her movement was so abrupt she nearly dropped her grandmother’s saucer. She didn’t fight the moment, trying to rush to the desk. She just stood there, allowing the depth of Israel’s voice to wash over her. She didn’t focus as much on what he said. Rather, Cairo focused on his tonality, the rhythm of his words, the cadence of his speech, the familiarity of his soothing intonation.
When she was able to move again, Cairo walked to her desk and sat the teacup down. Whatever messages happened after Israel’s would have to wait for another time. She rewound his message, and this time; she listened to his words.
I need to talk to you.
I need to see you.
I miss you like crazy.
Israel left his contact information. The third time she listened, Cairo wrote it down.
“Sunday comes slowly and ends too quickly,” Aziza sighed as she looked around the dining room table at the family she loved so much. Only Omar heard her sigh. He reached out his upturned hand in her direction. Aziza smiled as she folded hers into his. Even after all these years, Aziza loved her husband. Omar was an amazing man, and simply holding his hands sent a rush of warmth through her.
“They grew up so fast,” Omar agreed as his eyes trailed around the table. It seemed like only yesterday, the conversations their sons were having would have been more boisterous. They would have spent some time correcting Ameer’s posture or stopping O’Shea and Basel from squabbling over the last of the hot buns that were being passed around the table. They would have all been momentarily drug into a round of discourse between Israel and Khalid who disagreed about more than they agreed about. Whether it was the latest gaming system or something much more intellectual like which was better, google or Mozilla fox, every member of the family would weigh in with their opinion, and at the end of it, Israel and Khalid would disagree still. It was loud and sometimes wearing, but it was always love. The conversations were still as lively, even livelier with the addition of their two daughters in love, Charity, and Aya.
Aziza was so grateful that Aya and Basel were safe. The situation that Aya being kidnapped and the whole rescue operation put Aziza on edge. A mother’s worry for her children was like none other. They were safe, and that was good. But it did make Aziza want to keep her family even closer. Israel was safely home, too, another reason Aziza’s heart was glad. Their family was expanding and growing, and that part she loved. Seeing her sons grow up to be good men, was wonderful. Seeing them happy was even better. Still, Aziza felt like it was all happening so fast, and there were times she wished she could pause the time clock of life, slow things down, so she didn’t miss a single moment with them. She felt like she’d missed so many already, even though she was always there.
Aziza looked around the table again and noticed that Israel wasn’t as engaged in conversation as he usually was. She studied him for a moment before deciding to get up and make her way to him.
“Israel, come, walk with me,” Aziza said, extending a hand to her son, which he willingly took.
“Mom, are you playing favorites,” Ameer asked, overhearing his mother’s words.
“Never,” Aziza smiled. “You’re all my favorites.”
Israel stood to his feet and took his mother’s hand. He adjusted his stride to match hers as they crossed the expanse of the luxurious dining room. Israel didn’t question why his mother wanted to talk. She always seemed to have a sixth sense about her children. Despite their best efforts, it was difficult to keep anything from Mrs. Ali.
“Tell me about her,” Aziza said as they stepped out onto the balcony just off the dining room. The afternoon air was warm but pleasant.
“Why even bother asking how you knew it was a woman,” Israel chuckled.
Aziza smiled. “I know because your father used to get that same forlorn look in his eyes when he wasn’t sure whether he got the girl.”
Israel turned to his mother and saw the glint in her eyes and the devilish smile that danced on her lips.
“And how many times did you cause that look, knowing full well you had him wrapped around your little finger?”
“Not many,” Aziza quipped, yet the smile remained on her lips. “So, Israel, my son, tell me about her.”
He felt like all he did was sigh lately, especially when it came to Cairo.
“I thought we had something pretty special,” Israel began. “I’m beginning to think I misjudged.”
“Because you saw love in someone who didn’t return the same kind of love to you?”
“No,” Israel commented as he turned away from his mother, his eyes trailing across the acreage their family home sat on. “She did, and I felt it, I know she felt it, too. But then suddenly, it stopped.”
“And she didn’t want to talk about it, did she?”
A wrinkle creased Israel’s brow as he returned his focus to his mom. “No, she didn’t,” he uttered. “What am I missing?”
“You’re not missing anything, son,” Aziza corrected. “What you experienced, what she showed you was that she’s afraid, not of you, but of being in love with you.”
“But why?”
“That I don’t know for sure,” Aziza continued. “What I suspect, however, is that her reason has very little to do with you, directly.”
Israel tried to listen to his mother, not only with open ears but also with an open heart.
“What you have to decide is whether she’s worth your pursuit,” Aziza added. “Is she?”
It didn’t take long for Israel to answer. “Yes, she is.”
Chapter Eleven
That night, back at his home, Israel tried to keep himself busy. Sunday dinner was always nice; being with his family was always good. Yet, now that he was home alone, he realized just how quiet it was. When his thoughts were quiet, his mind returned to Cairo. He was disappointed that he hadn’t heard from her after making the initial call. Israel wasn’t one to give up easily, yet, he didn’t want to chase a woman who had no desire to be pursued. Talking to his mother did offer some additional insight he had to consider. He trusted what she said to be true, and most importantly, Israel trusted that what his mom said came from an honest place based on experience and female intuition.
After finishing up a vigorous workout in his home gym, Israel made his way to his bedroom. Pulling his sweat-soaked t-shirt over his head, Israel turned on his heels toward the adjoining bath. His steps were halted as his cellphone rang.
He didn’t recog
nize the phone number on the screen. There was no name attached. The phone rang in his hand a second time. After swiping the screen, Israel answered.
“Hello?”
He could hear soft breathing on the other end of the phone, but there was no immediate response to his greeting.
“Hello,” Israel said again, this time more insistently.
“Israel, its Cairo.”
He couldn’t see it, but Cairo’s hands shook as she held the phone. She did know it, but Israel’s heart skipped a beat hearing the sound of her voice.
“Hi,” Israel breathed.
“Hi.”
“I don’t even know where to start,” Israel commented. “I take it you made it home safely?”
“I did,” she replied, barely above a whisper. Cairo’s heart was beating so fast in her chest, she could even feel the reverberation putting her body in a state of rapid vibration.
“That’s good,” Israel replied. “When I got home, I realized I didn’t get your phone number. I wanted to check on you before, but I had no way to reach you.”
“I realized that as well,” she replied.
There was a pause before anything else was said. Israel wanted to ask the harder questions, but he didn’t want Cairo to recoil again. He wondered if she would bring it up, offer an explanation for what happened, yet, he wasn’t sure that would happen either.
“I miss you, Cairo.”
“I miss you, Israel, although I don’t want to.”
“You don’t have to,” Israel crooned, the velvet of his voice soothing the ache she had in her soul. “You don’t have to miss me, Cairo.”
“But I have to,” Cairo began. “It’s better to miss you than,” her words stopped short.
“Than what?” Israel questioned. “Please, Cairo, just talk to me, help me understand.”
There was a part of Cairo that wanted to open up to Israel and tell him everything that was holding her back.
“It’s hard to explain,” she uttered.
“That’s okay if it’s hard. I’m here, babe, and I am willing to listen,” Israel lovingly countered.
Cairo felt the pressure of tears forming behind her eyes. She didn’t know what to say, how to say it, whether she should even say it.
“Was I wrong about us?” Israel asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Was I wrong about us, Cairo, about what we shared, experienced together how we felt when we were with each other, was I wrong?”
“No, you weren’t,” Cairo admitted.
“So, if I wasn’t wrong, please help me understand why you don’t want to talk to me, to help me understand, to be with me?” Israel felt very vulnerable at that moment like he was opening himself up to be hurt again, but he had to know the truth.
In the face of everything Israel said, Cairo’s argument felt selfish. But she also knew it was her self-protection mechanism because she didn’t want to be rejected once Israel found out the truth. The dichotomy of feelings wore on her, but Cairo wasn’t sure what to do about it. Israel was trying to be patient, but he wanted answers. He felt like he deserved answers. And when she was unresponsive to his inquiry, Israel let Cairo know how serious he was about getting those answers.
“I’m not going to stop asking, Cairo. I am not willing to give up on what we could be that easily. I’m on my way.”
“Wait. What?” Cairo alerted, both her arched brows pitching high on her forehead
“I’m on my way,” Israel repeated.
“But, but,” She iterated.
“I am on my way. I need to see you, and I need you to see that I meant what I said. I am not giving up on us.”
“But you don’t even know where I live,” Cairo protested even as the beginnings of a smile teased the corners of her lips.
“Are you going to help me with that, or do I need to find you on my own?”
“Israel,” she breathed, swooning because of how much he cared but also nervous because to his face, it would be harder to avoid his questions.
“Cairo,” he hummed.
His voice made further protestation difficult.
“7609 St. Monica Dr.”
“I’m on my way.”
Even after the call ended, Cairo continued to hold the phone. The internal dialog started almost immediately, repeating what she had done before as the right thing to do. But there was a new question Cairo was forced to consider. What if he doesn’t reject you? In everything she knew about Israel, the time she spent with him, he’d proven to be insightful, a willing ear, caring, sincere, and passionate. He’d given her no reason to distrust his character in the past. Israel had only shown her that he cared. So, why not give him a chance to decide for himself instead of deciding for him? That sounded reasonable and rational, true. And as Cairo sat with her thoughts, trying to open her mind and think differently, she learned something about herself that she hadn’t been ready to acknowledge before. She rejected him first because she didn’t want to be rejected. She didn’t want to be hurt. Cairo circumvented Israel’s ability to reject her without giving him the opportunity to decide for himself. And although Cairo emotionally understood why. No one wants to be hurt. She had to learn to accept that it wasn’t fair to someone she allowed to care about her. And she cared about him, too. Cairo shook her head as she owned the fact that in trying not to be hurt, she had also hurt herself in the process. Cairo found herself smiling again, even after that realization and reckoning. Israel was persistent. He could have easily walked away from the whole thing, but he didn’t. Israel was pushing her past her comfort zone, past her defenses. She had to respect that.
And then, another thought emerged that Cairo realized she wasn’t ready to face.
You didn’t give him a chance because you don’t think you deserve one.
It was a hard pill to swallow. Cairo had to sit with that one for a while. And she did, and it was painful.
As soon as the call with Cairo ended, Israel made another one.
“Get the jet ready for a flight to Sacramento. Oh, and I’m going to need a car when I get there.”
“No, driver?”
“No driver.”
“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Ali.”
Israel made a second call to his driver for a pick-up. It didn’t take him long to pack a bag. And within an hour of the call, Israel was on his way.
Chapter Twelve
“I said I wasn’t going to bother you, but I wanted to check on you.”
“You’re never a bother, mom,” Cairo replied.
“That’s sweet of you to say,” Catherine replied, even though she knew that wasn’t always true. Mothers could be bothersome. Catherine was okay with that. “You sound better.”
“I feel better,” Cairo answered as she stood in the middle of her walk-in closet, trying to figure out what she was going to wear.
“I’m glad. Knowing you feel better is enough for me,” Catherine continued. “So, are you planning to take it easy for the rest of the evening?”
“Actually,” Cairo began, “A friend is coming over.”
“That’s nice,” Catherine replied. “Is it someone I know?”
“No,” Cairo smiled. “It’s someone new.” She didn’t dare say it was a man. That would unleash a long conversation and a whole lot of questions.
“Oh,” Catherine uttered. She was curious but decided not to press, at least not at the moment.
“Well, don’t let me hold you and don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t, mom,” Cairo smiled. “Talk to you later.”
Cairo padded over to the table that sat in the center of her closet and sat the phone down. Admittedly, she was nervous about her encounter with Israel. Fortunately, the pain she’d experienced over the last several days was gone, but now her belly was doing a different kind of somersaulting, that feeling she got low in her gut when she first looked into Israel’s eyes. He’d only ever seen her in camouflage type clothing. And naked, of course, she laughed to herself. Is
rael naked.
“Lord have mercy,” Cairo uttered aloud. Just the visual that passed through her mind raised goosebumps on her flesh. Adonis didn’t have a damn thing on Israel.
“Whew, girl, get your mind right,” Cairo laughingly chastised herself. But it did feel good to laugh. Just the thought of Israel changed her disposition. Not just because he was gorgeous and a glorious lover, he was refreshing.
Cairo sashayed over to a rack of clothes, mindlessly thumbing through them, trying to figure out what to put on. She didn’t want to dress up and put on anything fancy, but Cairo also wanted Israel to see her in more than just earth-toned t-shirts and pants with multiple oversized pockets. Her eyes shifted to another section of her closet. When Cairo decided that she didn’t want to put on any airs and just be herself, the decision became very easy. Cairo grabbed a black floor-length sheath style dress, with deep V-neck and dolman sleeves. Satisfied with her selection, Cairo made her way to the bathroom. A long soak in the tub is what she desired, and after adding her favorite essential oils in lemongrass with a hint of vanilla, Cairo enjoyed her bath.
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