by L. D. Davis
My heart thumped out of tune for several beats, taking my voice and breath with it. When I found myself able to breathe and speak again, I tried to look solemn.
“Okay what?” I demanded. “Get on with it.”
“I only meant to see you once and to be done,” he finally confessed. “But once wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stop after that.”
We were already standing very close, but Grant moved so much closer. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, and smell that scent that was so…him.
“When I called your name outside the coffee shop, I only meant to talk to you that once and to be done,” he murmured. “But once wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stop.”
Breathing regularly was so overrated. I struggled to take in a breath so I could ask my next question.
“What if I would have kept on walking today?”
I was proud that my voice was still steady and unwavering, even though the rest of me trembled slightly.
“The fact is that you didn’t keep walking.” He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “And now I can’t stop.”
He lingered for a few seconds, and then he was gone.
I let out a loud breath and turned to watch him go.
When I turned back around, I almost walked right into Kyle. He didn’t say anything, but he looked at me with a rare grin. It was an attractive and playful grin that sometimes made me mildly empathetic to both Emmy’s and Lily’s tenderness for the guy, but I wasn’t feeling that empathy just then.
I didn’t know how much he saw between Grant and me, but he had evidently seen enough to know that I didn’t do what I told him I was going to do. He most likely had even seen my dithering response to the man.
“Stop grinning at me,” I snapped.
He held his hands up in defense but didn’t stop smiling. In fact, the smile grew wider and more amused.
“You know what, Kyle? Why don’t you tie a couple of cement blocks to your feet and go jump into the river?”
“I’m sorry, but,” he started, though he was clearly unapologetic, “I can’t stop.”
Chapter Seven
“Emily thinks my nipples are chew toys for her two new teeth,” Donya said.
“That’s nothing,” Emmy cut in. “Gracie has significantly more teeth and she thinks it’s hilarious when I screech after she bites me.”
Not to be outdone, my cousin Tabitha said, “I never had a problem with Len and Adri, but with Nicolo, breastfeeding hurts. Neither of us can just enjoy mommy-baby time because I can’t wait to unlatch the kid.”
That was met by sympathetic noises and comments by the other mommies. I wanted to throw myself out of a window.
I interrupted my cousins, staring at my phone with disgust. “I thought we were supposed to be talking about our beach vacation. I really don’t need to know about anyone else’s nipples but my own.”
“When you have kids of your own, you’ll understand,” Tabitha said with a soft chuckle.
“My vagina—with the exception of a few days a month—is an entrance and not an exit. I don’t want anything growing inside me like some tumor and I don’t want aching, chewed up nipples. Can we please move on with the planning before one of your offsprings wakes up?”
It took a couple more minutes for them to pull it together. Then we were able to carry on with planning, but I was beginning to have some regrets. I truly loved my cousins’ kids, but I’d be the only childless, single person in our group.
Emmy and her husband, Luke, had three children. Donya and Emmet, Emmy’s older brother, had four kids—one each from previous marriages and two they spawned together. Tabby and her husband, Leo, had three children. The last time I visited them in Miami, Leo had told me that he planned to keep his wife barefoot and pregnant. How barbaric!
Emmy, Donya, and Tabitha must have had a pregnancy pact because each of them popped out a baby three months apart. Emmy’s baby was first, followed by Donya, and then Tabitha. Even Tack, who is Tabby’s brother, had a child only a couple months older than baby Nic. I was convinced that breeding was contagious, which made me happy that I was not in a position to procreate.
I was happy for my cousins, although I didn’t see why anyone would want to have more than one kid. They were often like The Mommies in the office. Emmy and Tabitha were convinced that I’d be a happier person if I only settled down with a guy and had a kid.
“When Nina got pregnant, Tack’s whole life changed,” Tabitha always pointed out. “He’s been happy and healthy ever since.”
“When I was younger, I didn’t think I was mommy and wife material, either,” Emmy often shared. “But I wasn’t giving myself enough credit. I love being a mom, even when they’re driving me up a wall, and I love being married to Luke, even when he’s driving me up a wall.”
Donya was the only one who never pushed me. She had settled down with a seemingly perfect guy and had a kid, but her fairytale had an unexpected and violent ending for her and her daughter. Emmet later adopted Rosa, and Donya had become a very happy woman. She believed me when I said that I didn’t want to have children. She hadn’t believed her ex when he had said it, not until it was too late.
I knew Donya wouldn’t harass me while we were on vacation, but Emmy and Tabitha would more than likely drive me a little insane, but not nearly as much as Emmy’s mom, Sam. She called me often to ask if I’d found a man yet.
“Your vagina was meant to be used,” she told me once in her southern lilt. “Sex toys and self-manipulation don’t count. It should be used by a husband, but at this point, honey, even just a friend with benefits would benefit you.”
I had responded with, “Does he have to be my husband, or can he be someone else’s?”
She had hung up on me.
Since I had no man and my vagina was not in use, I had to share one of the bedrooms at the shore house with three little girls. The youngest still wore diapers. I was so not thrilled. All the parents had to share a room with their youngest children, but they were all babies and would be sleeping in a crib or some kind of contraption. The chances of them kicking and peeing all over their parents wasn’t very high. The adults would feel free to copulate once those children were asleep, whereas I would not be free for even self-manipulation with three kids in my bed.
As we nailed out the details about who’d sleep where, I wondered how everyone would react if I showed up with Grant. Their shock would probably only last for about three seconds before they started planning a wedding and telling me I had good hips for breeding.
At the thought of Grant, my mind wandered away from the conversation entirely. I was only vaguely aware of my cousins’ voices over the line.
He had called me on my office phone yesterday afternoon. Obviously, he knew where I worked, but I was still surprised to hear his voice.
After I had recovered, though, I felt rather grouchy. “You’re calling me at work now?”
“Yes, now that we have an open line of communication.” His tone had seemed casual and unhurried as if stalking me and calling me at work were everyday occurrences. “Listen, I have to work early tomorrow, so I won’t be able to see you in the morning. Let’s have lunch Saturday.”
My nose wrinkled. “Why?”
“Because I want to see you and talk to you.”
“You can see me and speak to me Monday morning, can’t you?” Then. I’d hastily added, “Not that I’m encouraging you to screw up my day again.”
He’d laughed lightly, grudgingly causing me to smile a little bit.
“You have already proven to me today that you can’t walk and talk at the same time,” he’d teased. “I want to talk to you without rushing, in a setting where you are very unlikely to get hit by a car.”
I’d pinched my lips to keep myself from laughing, but my humor faded quickly.
Everything was happening too fast. He had just tumbled back into my life a few days before. I still found myself reeling from his return, as well as all the things he had tol
d me in the few short minutes we had spent together. Those minutes had not cleared away the anger, pain, and resentment I had borne with me for thirteen years. Although I had tolerated Grant’s appearances—just barely—I didn’t have to give him anything more than what he had already taken.
“Where do you want to meet?” he’d asked.
Clearing my throat, I’d adopted his air of casualness. “Nowhere. I’m not going to have lunch with you.”
He was undeterred by my rejection.
“Because you’re still bitter.” He’d said it as a fact and not as a question.
“Yes, I’m still bitter,” I’d said, incredulous. “Our little tête-à-tête this morning didn’t fix anything between us.”
“No, it didn’t fix anything. But will you be any less bitter if you don’t have lunch with me on Saturday?”
I’d shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “No, but—”
“I know you’re scared, but—”
“I’m not scared!” I savagely objected.
He’d raised his voice and talked right over me. “But, it’s just lunch, Mayson. It’s just food and light conversation. So, even though you are afraid—”
“I’m not afraid!” I’d lied.
“I’m glad to hear it. What time should I pick you up?”
The note of satisfaction in his voice had made me clench my fist with irritation.
“Twelve-thirty, and don’t be late!” I’d slammed the phone down before he could say anything more.
I had to take a few minutes to calm down and to slow my heart rate back to normal levels.
“At least, I’ll have my freakin’ mornings back,” I’d said aloud to myself.
However, my Friday morning didn’t feel like my other mornings before Grant. I used to walk to work in my own bubble, blissfully oblivious to the people around me and my surroundings, but the bliss had vanished. People probably casually glanced at me every day, but my heart jerked every time I discovered a pair of eyes on me. I looked over my shoulder so often, that by the time I got to work my neck ached.
Admittedly, I’d searched for Grant, but I also kept a watchful eye for other faces that held some familiarity. What if someone else decided to follow me around? Grant had done it so easily. It wasn’t unreasonable for me to believe that anyone else could do it.
“Maaaayson,” Emmy sung out my name, bringing me back to our phone conversation.
“What?”
“Were you listening?”
“Not really,” I admitted.
While I was zoned out, it seemed that everyone’s kids started to wake up around the same time. I could hear Tabitha’s muffled voice as she scolded a child—or her husband, I wasn’t really sure which. Emmy threatened bodily harm to her oldest child, Lucas, and young Emily cried on Donya’s end. I held the phone away from my ear as I listened to the cacophony of motherhood.
Tabitha’s voice rose over the noise. “Leo wants to know if you can go ahead of us a couple days to the house to let the cleaning service in and make sure everything is ready.”
I didn’t really want to go to the house like the help and let the other help in, but I was only an hour away from the house. “Yeah, sure.”
“Is anyone else super excited?” Emmy asked fervently.
There was a general murmur of agreement from the other girls as I blandly said, “Stoked. Are we finished? You all have children waiting to suckle at your breasts, and I actually have things to do.”
“Your Saturdays are usually spent on your couch in front of the television while you eat enormous amounts of ice cream,” Emmy said. “I don’t think that really constitutes as ‘things to do.’ Let me know how many things you have to do after you have a kid.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’m actually getting off the couch today. I will be showering, putting on deodorant, doing my hair, and getting dressed. Meanwhile, you’ll be walking around all day with baby feces and vomit on you and leaking milk all over the place.”
Before Emmy could truly digest the insult, Tabitha the peacemaker cut in.
“What are you doing today, Mayson?” she asked lightly.
I suddenly wished I hadn’t opened my mouth, but it was too late to go back, and I couldn’t think of a good lie.
“I’m having lunch.” My response was simple, but I hoped that it would be enough.
For a few seconds, only the sounds of children chattering, crying, and whining could be heard from the other three lines as my cousins waited for me to continue. When I didn’t, Emmy casually asked, “Who are you having lunch with?”
“Just…someone,” I said vaguely.
There were another few seconds of only background noise.
“Oh my goodness,” Tabitha said breathlessly. “It’s a guy. That’s why you’re being all weird! Because it’s a guy!”
“Who!” Emmy demanded. “Who is it? Where did you meet him? Oh, my god, I really started to believe what my mom said about your vagina was true!”
“Give us a name,” Donya said, much more subdued than the others.
They waited.
I sighed.
“Grant. It’s Grant, okay?” I felt all prickly after feeling forced to say his name.
“Grant,” Emmy murmured, confused.
“Who’s Grant?” Donya asked.
“Grant?” Tabitha nearly shouted. “Grant Alexander?”
“Grant Alexander!” Emmy said triumphantly as if she had thought of it all on her own. “You’re kidding me, right? When did that happen? I thought he lived down south somewhere.”
“Who is Grant?” Donya asked again, a little louder.
Before I could explain, Tabitha and Emmy took turns doing it for me.
“He’s her ex-boyfriend,” Tabby said excitedly. “They dated for a few years when Mayson was younger. You weren’t really around then; you were so deep into your career by then.”
“He fell in love with her even though she was a heroin addict and he didn’t do drugs,” Emmy added dreamily. “He used to call her his little butterfly, which sounds sappy and stupid, but it really wasn’t. One time I asked him why he called her that.”
Tabitha and Emmy had not been on speaking terms back then, but somehow Tabby knew how Grant had responded. It made me wonder how much information the two cousins had traded about me.
“He said that Mayson was a butterfly. He said that even though drugs were doing ugly things to her, that she was beautiful and didn’t know it yet. He said that she was in her ugly caterpillar stage, but when she was ready, she would begin to transition and emerge from her chrysalis a beautiful and brilliant butterfly.”
“And then I said that most butterflies die after a few weeks, which is a total waste,” I said loudly, putting an end to their fairytale crap. “It’s just lunch. There are no butterflies. Just lunch.”
“We should let you go,” Emmy said, and I could hear the grin she wore. “You need to get all sexy for your sexy man.”
“He’s not my man.”
“What does he look like?” Donya asked curiously.
“Hmm,” Tabitha sounded thoughtful.
“A hot, hot cup of chocolate,” Emmy purred.
“He looks like that British actor,” Tabitha said, and I could hear her snapping her fingers. “I don’t remember his name.”
“Black guy?” Donya questioned.
“Yeah,” Tabby said. “You know the one, right?”
“Ohhhh,” Donya said breathlessly. “Yeah, I do. I forget his name, but Mayson, if this Grant looks anything like that guy…wow…”
“It doesn’t matter what he looks like,” I snapped. “Because we’re just having lunch! It’s just lunch!”
“For now,” Emmy said slyly.
“So, you’re Shari’s big brother from Texas,” I had said to Grant Alexander the very first time I’d met him.
It was the beginning of the summer, about nine or ten months after I’d first met Sharice. I’d snuck out of the house early that morning, the
moment my mother left to run errands.
She’d become stricter than ever, but it only pushed me that much more into rebellion. That day, however, my dad would be coming home for a few weeks. I’d wanted to get back home soon so that I could go with my mom to the airport to pick him up.
While Sharice got dressed, I sat at the kitchen table interrogating her brother.
“Yeah,” Grant had said as he moved about the kitchen preparing breakfast. “Who are you? Are you one of the kids Shar babysits?”
I’d straightened my shoulders and raised my chin. “I’m twelve years old. I don’t need a babysitter. Shari is my best friend.”
His mouth pulled up on one side in a small amused smile, but he’d made no comment.
“Why don’t you have an accent?” I’d asked.
“Not everyone in Texas has a southern accent,” he’d said in a way that made me think he had said it a million times before. “Besides, I have only been living there for four years.”
“My Aunt Sam has been living up here for twenty years, and she still sounds like she’s just stepped out of the swamps of Louisiana.”
He’d laughed and gazed at me with wonder.
“You’re a strange kid.”
“I have been homeschooled my whole life and haven’t learned proper socialization.”
“I’ve known a few homeschooled kids, and none of them act like you.”
“Well, they don’t have my mother. How old are you?”
“Seventeen. You want some breakfast?” He’d gestured at the pan of eggs he had just taken off the stove.
I’d declined with a quick shake of my head and continued with my interrogation.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
He’d given me another funny look. “Not at the moment, no.”
“Are you a virgin?”
The question had taken him so off guard that he’d began to choke on the orange juice he had just sipped. It had taken him almost a full minute to stop coughing.
