The Dawn of Nia

by Lauren Cherelle

  She slides her hand up my thigh, her finger tips an inch away from where I want them to be. “It’s okay to show me.”

  What? This can’t be happening to me. I’ve never received what I desired, from whom I desired, when I actually desired it. Except now, I’m sitting in the comfort of my own clean home on the brink of a best-case scenario— a good first date and some ass from a nice-looking woman who hasn’t presented as crazy. What should I do next? Which part of her should I touch first?

  On second thought, this is too good to be true. I gently take her hand and move it back to her lap. No need to postpone the inevitable.

  She smiles. “You’re moving in reverse.”

  I stall by consulting with myself. This internal discussion thing is involuntary behavior I can’t control when I drink liquor. The rum insists that certain parts of my body move forward, quickly. She wants me closer, and I don’t need to appear afraid of touching her. The sensible part of me that’s still swimming above the rum fights back until she touches my leg again.

  I abandon my thoughts and place my glass on the ottoman to sink into a pool of lust. I rub the honey-coated calves I’ve marveled at all evening and trace my fingers to the hem of her dress.

  She remains still as if her body is high-value cargo, watching my hand to see whether I’ll handle her with care. I’m too tipsy to care whether I pass or fail. I pull our chests together and press my lips against hers, and then pause like I’m allowing someone else to capture the moment. Maybe myself. She prods me forward, her bottom lip parting my lips, waiting for my tongue to explore this new region.

  The passing of our tongues, my elevated blood-alcohol level, and the soothing rain are more than enough reason to thump the good angel from my shoulder. Even the residual smell of her cigarette incites my carnal desires. And I want this. I’ve thought about this for days. And apparently, I’ve done something right because Deidra has transitioned from keeping me at arms length to caressing dangerously far up my leg.

  My tiered metal earrings chime when she pulls my hips closer to massage the nape of my neck with strong kisses. She blows on my moist skin, triggering the most sensitive part of my body to prick my panties. The piercing tension is pleasing but begs for mercy. Accordingly, I stop and pull Deidra to her feet.

  She follows me, hand-in-hand, up the stairs to my bedroom. She stands in my dark room as I kick a box out of the way and then pull the comforter to the foot of the bed. I step to the window to open the shutters a bit. I want to see her without the invading presence of overhead lighting. The full moon softens the shadows of my room— the perfect mood lighting. We kiss until we join my crisp, new sheets.

  She touches me, deliberately— preceding her kisses with the stroke of her fingertips along my neck and chest. I like her hands. Fresh hands. Free of infidelity, bad communication, and letdowns. I miss the excitement of unknown touches. Fresh hands exploring all over, trying to figure out what pleases me.

  When Deidra reaches my navel, I stop her. She can’t know this hot spot just yet. I take hold of her hand and kiss it once. She smiles. I’ve never experienced this level of sensuality during an initial sexual encounter. I let go of her hand and she removes my shirt, lifting the hem up my torso until I stop her again.

  “What’s the matter?”

  I’m nervous but I can’t tell her this. I don’t want her to think I’m reconsidering sex. I’m all go for fucking. I’m stalling because I can’t stop thinking about how I’ll look once my pushup bra is removed. I exhale. This is not the time for insecurity to surface.

  “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

  She rubs my legs and hips and I begin to relax, letting all the tingles of arousal lessen anxiety about exposing my body. “No worries,” I say.

  She kisses my lips while pulling up my shirt. I stop breathing when she unhooks my bra. The straps fall from my shoulders. The first reveal is always the most difficult, but I have to get it over. I pull the straps down my arms as she nibbles on my neck, emitting a poison that paralyzes me onto my back.

  She travels south to savor my breasts, sending waves of anticipation through my core so strong that I moan and squirm my hips. She mounts my lap to keep me still and suckles my breasts like they’re bountiful gifts. She explores wherever she pleases until I sit up to meet her face to face. Unaware that she’s lifting her head, too, our foreheads collide. She giggles and rubs my forehead before touching her own.

  “Is this a bad one-night stand?” she asks.

  I’m tipsy and clumsy and could enjoy staying on my back until morning. But, I don’t want Deidra to feel she’ll be the sole top tonight. I roll her over in preparation of what I want next. This also gives me a moment to pull myself together. “You’re not a one-hit wonder,” I answer and pull down her panties.

  Lightning flashes, illuminating her silky skin as I trail down her midsection with licks and kisses. She strokes my hairline, reminding me how much I love being touched by a woman, also teaching me the joys of this new hair cut. When I reach her pussy, I take a moment to take all of her in: the warmness of her inner thighs, the hypnotizing smell of arousal, and the wetness coating hairless folds of skin. I push her knees farther apart and kiss as closely as I can without grazing her most sensitive zones. She responds to my teasing kisses with deep breaths.

  Month after month, I devoted myself to Pat’s diagnosis and increasing sickness. Her slow and physically debilitating death reinforced the importance of living. So I choose to indulge in Deidra’s body without considering tomorrow morning or possible consequences.

  8

  MY WORST FEAR is standing on the opposite side of my front door. I place my eye at the peephole again. Kayla grips her purse strap and knocks three more times. I pull away and wait a few seconds. I knew the risk of letting a mutual friend serve as my realtor. It didn’t take her long to leak my new address to Kayla. I want to tiptoe away and pretend I’m not home, except my open garage and car have exposed me. I wait a moment longer to see whether Kayla will take a hint and leave. She calls out my name while ringing the doorbell.

  I flip the deadbolt and crack the door open. “What is it?”

  “I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d stop by.” We stare at each other. “How long do I have to stand outside in the dark with bugs?”

  I should have known that forty freaky minutes with Kayla would result in her poking in and out of my life without my consent. With Kayla, there are no boundaries. She has no regard for the meaning of ex-girlfriend. I switch on the porch light to attract more critters.

  “Seriously? Nia, let me in!”

  “Scream all you want. Nobody’s paying attention to you anyway. Why are you here?”

  “To talk about the bitch who’s stealing Pat’s estate.”

  Those words grant her instant access. I follow Kayla through the foyer to the dining room, which now has a table. She rests her hand on a chair as her eyes explore the kitchen and living room. “Nice place. How much did this run you?”

  “Stay on topic.”

  “I cannot believe Pat gave everything to that low-down ass daughter of hers. Can you?”

  Really? Did Pat actually have a relationship with Deidra? “That’s Pat’s business. At this point, I’m liable to believe anything given I just found out about her two and a half months ago.”

  She crosses her arms and considers my words. “But didn’t you at least expect Pat to include us in her Will?”

  I couldn’t care less about the fate of Pat’s stuff. I shift the conversation to what concerns me. “Is she not family?”

  “The bitch is blood, but she ain’t never been a part of this family. Never made an effort to be. So why does she get the house, land, car, and life insurance? You know Pat co-owned the funeral home, so she’s entitled to that, too. She ain’t did shit to deserve a dime from any of it!”

  Kayla can’t hold a coherent conversation when she’s upset. I need her to simmer down before she begins to interject stuff I�
�m not interested in. I have questions and can’t risk her emotions altering the facts. While she gets comfortable on the couch, I make drinks. I pour us both a glass of orange juice, adding a short pour of gin to hers. I can’t give her any excuse to not drive home after this.

  I sit across from Kayla and we shoot the breeze. She smiles and bats her false eyelashes as we talk about random nothings— her attempt to prove we can coexist, we can talk without bickering, we can indeed be friends. I know Kayla; she wants me to reciprocate, to laugh until I open my heart to her again. But she has turned my affection to stone and trust to disdain.

  Eventually, she kicks off her sandals to sit cross-legged. I push the conversation along when she reaches out and touches my arm while speaking. Her two-second touch is intentional. One touch could lead to a rub that leads to a kiss that results in sex and more hard feelings.

  I slide a few inches away from her and ask, “Did y’all know she was the beneficiary before we cleared Pat’s house?”

  She exhales. “Mama was told that Pat’s lawyer would send her a copy of the Will after the funeral so she could go to probate court and file for a hearing. Two days after the funeral, she still hadn’t heard from him. So she went to the clerk’s office to get a copy herself. That’s when she found out Pat submitted a new Will and that she isn’t her personal representative anymore. It’s public record. Our names are nowhere in that Will.”

  I’m offended. I’ve done a good job staying clear of Carter family politics, which is one of the reasons I never asked her or Loca Tres about Deidra. If I want to dabble in other people’s mess, I can turn to my bio family.

  “Pat asked us to donate her things,” Kayla reminds me. “We didn’t do anything wrong. But now we can’t get anything done because we don’t have ownership or access to anything.”

  “Has anyone contacted her?”

  “Mama has, but she won’t answer calls or reply to texts.”

  As I continue to pry, Kayla consistently refers to the ‘low-down ass daughter’ as she. Pat’s daughter remains nameless, as if saying her name will validate kinship. Deidra almost slips off my tongue twice, but I maintain my ignorance.

  To my disappointment, Kayla doesn’t know much about Deidra. She gives me gossip instead of relevant details. Prior to the funeral, she hadn’t laid eyes on Deidra in nearly five years, and that encounter was in a restaurant by accident. All she expresses is hearsay and animosity. “I think some of the distant cousins keep in touch with her because they went to high school together, but not us.”

  Really, Kayla’s disregard for Deidra is learned behavior. Her condescending attitude is a product of environment. If I want to know the root of Pat’s past secrecy— as this is the only thing I inherited from her— I will have to turn to Deidra or Loca Tres. Kayla is a dry well incapable of satiating my curiosities, so I have to kick her out. I press her departure with, “I need to get some sleep. I got a long day tomorrow.”

  I actually have the day off but she takes the bait. “I’ll talk to you later,” she says and leaves.

  I, however, have no intention of talking with her again. Our short talk confirmed what I’ve already suspected: Kayla sees confiding in me as an avenue to friends with benefits. Bullshit.

  I place our glasses in the dishwasher and return to the couch. I rub my hands across the smooth beige cushion while thinking about last night. This is the cushion Deidra and I sat on when I said, “You have the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  When she laughed and responded, “Your lips are Cover Girl perfect.”

  When I glanced below her belly button and said, “Your lips fit perfectly on my lips.”

  When we shed our clothes and straddled each other.

  We slid off this cushion and onto the floor for positions better suited on a harder surface. Her distinct taste and textures linger on my tongue.

  The blinking notification light on my cell phone catches my attention. I grab it from the ottoman and open a text message from Deidra. Coincidentally, she sent the text while Kayla was here. I slouch into the comfy padding and sigh.

  Since meeting at Gillespie four weeks ago, Deidra has visited me three more times bearing sensual gifts wrapped in silk and lace. She’s so down to earth I couldn’t help but drift into erotic desires. She has become the break in my routine.

  I still don’t know anything about her other than casual facts and vice versa. But that’s okay for now. A little anonymity protects both of us. It only matters that we’re compatible, sexually. A single, mutual expectation.

  The only problem is there always has to be a problem. And this time it’s a monumental problem. I’ve separated Deidra into two people. On one hand, she’s the bed buddy who graces me with orgasms worth committing a crime for. On the other, she’s the core of Carter family drama and the cousin of my ex.

  I pick up my phone again to reply to Deidra’s text. I’ve invited her to Tasha’s house party. She wants to know what time she needs to get here tomorrow. After texting her, I place the phone face down and close my eyes. I enjoy Deidra’s company, but it’s time to strike deceit from my agenda.

  I’ve created a deep dilemma for myself. Where in the world is the rope to pull myself out?

  9

  THOUGH IT’S THE FIRST WEEK of November, the weather is warm enough for Deidra to flaunt a short hem and plunging neckline. She isn’t afraid to show off her all-natural assets— clothed or unclothed. Her streaked hair isn’t pulled into the bun she usually sports. Her barrel curls smell like almond conditioner and bounce of her shoulders. She looks like she’s ready to have some fun. I tuck those thoughts away and focus.

  At first, I was reluctant to pick at Deidra’s privacy. I didn’t feel right digging into her personal and familial worlds while guarding my secret. Now, I’m hungry for details and ready to move past our sex-only association.

  To start, I want to know about her car situation. She never drives herself to my place. And when she’s ready to leave, I’m the one who drops her off at a fairly decent house in a working-class neighborhood on the opposite side of town. No questions asked until now. “Who brought you here?”

  “My sister.”

  Sister? Interesting! “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve picked you up.”

  “She passes your exit on the way to work.”

  “Well I’m glad you didn’t ride the bus. You don’t need to be on anybody’s bus dressed like that. Someone might mistake you for a street walker.”

  “Do I look slutty?”

  “No, you look high-priced.”

  “Watch yourself,” she says and laughs.

  She has the prettiest smile, the type of smile that brightens her eyes and my day. I’m okay with the jokes and careless chatter, but my patience is thin. I have to pry. “What’s your sister’s name?”

  “I’m not giving you any more money, Juanita. You’re getting on my last nerve, Juanita. Take care of your kids, Juanita. Clean up sometimes, Juanita. Jua– ni– ta,” she sings the syllables.

  I chuckle. “Do you live with her?”

  She nods.

  “How old is she?”

  She stiffens her back. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just killing time.” I wanted to guide the conversation to other leaves on her family tree, but apparently, I’m too nosy for her.

  Deidra keeps staring at me. As she assesses my aura, I do my best to not set off alarms. I don’t want her to sense that I’m nosy for a reason. I keep my calm expression steady and let the moment go by grabbing the remote to surf the channel guide.

  She ends the silent interrogation and says, “Tell me about your friend.”

  Tasha is a bank teller who moonlights as a bartender with her aunt’s catering company; my best friend since meeting in middle school; the sister I always wanted. She’s the kind of friend that rarely holds her tongue, will never let me go without, and loves when I’m happy.

  “She’s good people,” Deidra says. “I look forward to meeting her.
”

  10

  THE DRIVEWAY AND CURBSIDE PARKING at Tasha’s townhome is lined with cars. I make a U-turn to find an empty space farther down the poorly lit street. Tasha lives in a questionable neighborhood. The former middle-class community has a shrinking tax base and increasing mentions in the news. I grab Deidra’s hand and quickly lead us along the sidewalk.

  “You look really nice, Nia. Blue fits you well.”

  Her approval makes me proud of my decision to wear a tailored, two-piece cropped pants suit. “Thanks. I rarely dress like this. I feel weird when I’m not in scrubs.”

  “Maybe I can change that,” she says and smiles, almost stopping me in my tracks.

  This isn’t the first time Deidra has made a statement suggesting influence over me. The statements are strange because they imply us being in a relationship— us being more than fuck buddies. I can’t decipher whether the statements are an extension of her personality or an undertone of her intentions with me. She never seems to mind that I don’t respond, so I ignore her and pick up my pace.

  The night sky is clear. The humidity is subtle, and the bugs are sparse. I thought Tasha would take advantage of such a good night, but the backyard patio is empty. We enter the kitchen through the back door. Several women are congregated over a card game. R&B and fried food fill every inch of the space.

  “Hello, hello, hello!” Tasha says. She passes her cards to a lady on her left and approaches us. She welcomes Deidra with a hug and two disposable plates. Then she looks at me and says, “You’re late, again.”

  “You said ten-ish,” I remind her.

  “I meant nine.”

  “We’re right on time then.”

  She thumps my arm and chats with Deidra while I look around at all the new and familiar faces. My friend lives for cooking, entertaining, and partying. Tonight, her house is at least fifteen occupants overcapacity. And she loves when half her houseguests are strangers. But it isn’t a true house party unless a third of us have nowhere to sit.