The Dawn of Nia

by Lauren Cherelle

  And I think long and hard about sex with Deidra. Sex is the most substantial thing between us. Because it’s a satisfying act, I do it again and again. I swore I would end it— until the night before last when she walked into the living room wearing only a tee shirt. I thought I gave into my desires due to horniness. But now I admit that I surrendered to her full-body massage because sex has bonded us. It’s the only thing we openly share. And the superficial connection has permeated our guards enough to let emotions seep through. The tidbits of information I’ve learned about her— and the aspects of her personality I’ve experienced and like— sustain my desire for more of what little we have. This murky concoction of loss, sex, emotions, camaraderie, and drama throughout the past four-and-a-half months has pulled me under. I can’t just let her fly away.

  While exploring the depths of feelings, confusion, and past actions, I forget to open my eyelids. When I awake, I stretch my legs and roll onto my back— realizing I was never supposed to fall asleep. I stop mid-motion when something other than bedding, something firm makes contact with my arm.

  I glance back to find Deidra asleep. Sunshine saturates my room but it’s cold. I pull the comforter near our shoulders and stare at her. Her peaceful expression makes me feel like I finally did something right.

  I inch closer and touch her waist. Her chest rises, but she doesn’t open her eyes. She reaches for my arm and rotates her hips until she’s elongated, until I can hold her firmly from behind. She likes to spoon just as much as me. “I’ll make breakfast when we get up,” she says.

  20

  THE TIME HAS COME to make a trip to the fifth floor of Methodist East. I lean against the glossy paneling of the elevator for two floors and exit at Oncology. The unit receptionist doesn’t cut her personal phone call short on my account. After she slams the phone down, I ask whether or not Jacoby’s on the floor. She glimpses above the rim of her glasses and says, “Mm-hmm.”

  I walk by patients sitting with their loved ones in front of a towering, glass-paned waterfall. I hate that waterfall. It’s an ugly fixture and failed attempt to ease their anxiety. I open the door to the unit and spot Jacoby sitting behind a computer at the nurses’ station. I approach him from behind and thump his ear. “Let me chart this patient right quick,” he says while typing.

  I don’t mind waiting because we haven’t seen each other since Tasha’s New Year’s Eve party. Plus, a colleague is within earshot so I can’t say much anyway.

  Jacoby pauses mid-stroke and looks up at me as I stand on the opposite side of the desk running my fingers across the slick surface. “Why aren’t you rushing me?”

  “Dang, am I usually impatient? Take your time.”

  He places his stethoscope across his shoulders. “Come with me.” We cross the hallway and go into Exam Room 3. He closes the door behind us and sits on the exam stool.

  Jacoby hasn’t visited since the day Kayla showed up and showed out. Since then, our SVU viewings take place at his house. He knows I’m no longer a single woman. However, he doesn’t know I’ve grown to a two-person household.

  He pushes the stool to the stainless steel napkin dispenser, looking at his reflection on the shiny box to remove his headband and retie his shoulder-length locs. “You still running errands for Deidra?”

  Jacoby happened to call the other day while I was driving Deidra to her sister’s house. “That was just one trip so she could finish moving.”

  “So she’s gonna leave the husband and stay in Memphis? Where she move to?”

  “Nine-one-seven Mount Cedar Lane.”

  He swivels around to face me. “You know the U-Haul thing is a stereotype, not a requirement.”

  No profanity? He’s taking my disclosure better than expected. “It was kind of necessary.”

  “Necessary? Homegirl proves it in the nude and you move her in? That’s more like greed, in a sense. And she’s greedy, too. She saw a fairly new condo with a two-car garage, brand-new furniture, granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances, contemporary finishes, and then decided she had a new residence.”

  I stare out the window at the neighboring hospital. I had one thing to get off my chest, and now that it’s gone I’m not too concerned with Jacoby’s reaction.

  “All you had to do,” he continues, “was close your legs and tell the truth about Pat. You’ve let this newfound love shit get out of hand.”

  “Negro, love don’t live here. And now I remember why I didn’t tell you sooner. You overreact.”

  “She ain’t got a fucking car or a job,” he says, slapping the back of one hand into the palm of the other. “Or a place to live and she’s married. But I’m overreacting?”

  Actually, Deidra does have a job… sort of. I learned more about this source of income when I came home from work earlier than expected one day last week. When I walked inside, she wasn’t in the living room or kitchen waiting for me. And she didn’t spend time in my bedroom without me. That left the patio, office, or guest bedroom.

  So, I walk down the hallway to try the guestroom first. After I knock twice and announce myself, Deidra cracks the door just enough that I notice she’s barefoot and wrapped in a short terrycloth robe. “Hey, give me a minute,” she says and shuts the door.

  I wait a few seconds and then let myself in the room. I hear Deidra rumbling around the ensuite bathroom as I notice a woman standing in the corner zipping her jeans. She places a baseball cap on her head and silently walks past me.

  Deidra reappears immediately after the woman closes my front door. “Didn’t I ask you to give me a minute?” she says. She leaves the bedroom in search of her guest.

  I stay in place, shocked, trying to pinpoint whether I’ve witnessed before sex or after sex. The room smells normal, so maybe I caught Deidra before the act.

  “And who the hell was that?” I ask as soon as she comes back to the room.

  “An old friend. And someone I would like to remain a repeat client. You just can’t walk in when someone’s getting dressed.”

  “I’ll walk through any door I please under this roof.”

  “You’re a foolish one. She was only here for a body wax.”

  “If it wasn’t for the hint of breasts I would’ve mistaken her for a man.”

  “There are studs who prefer to be hairless,” she says. Her unconcern irritates me.

  I notice the waxing chair in a supine position. This is the same chair Deidra and I maneuvered into my trunk on the eve Jacoby called— the same day I found out Deidra has a skill other than cunnilingus. She’s a trained esthetician. I don’t spot an open wax container, but waxing strips are in the trashcan. And the bedspread is undisturbed. I step forward and place my hand underneath her robe. Her hip isn’t bare. But from the wiggle of her breasts, she’s braless. “Is this your uniform?”

  She slaps my arm away and opens the closet door, pulling out a pair of jeans. “Get your mind out the gutter,” she says, stepping into the pant leg. “Nothing happened. I’m sorry about bringing her into your home. On any other occasion, I would’ve met her at my sister’s house. But she was in a rush and I’m not in any position to turn down money.”

  “It’s cool,” I say, embarrassed by my rash assumptions.

  Needless to admit, I overreacted— just like Jacoby.

  “She’s using the hell out of you,” Jacoby says.

  I look at him, pulling my psyche back inside the exam room. “Save the judgment. I just wanted to tell you before Tasha or somebody else beat me to it with flat-out lies or exaggerations.”

  “So what are you getting out of this?”

  I cross my arms and return to my focal point outside the window. I’m stumped. I really haven’t taken the time to evaluate recent changes in my life. I’m on a one-day-at-a-time journey, taking life in as it happens. “I don’t know where things are headed, but I’m glad that I’m in a different place than I was a few months ago. Can you say the same?”

  He furrows his eyebrows. Then he opens the door s
o we can leave. Once again, he avoids discussing his feelings or any significant concerns in his life.

  21

  THE CHERRY STREET DINER is a big square with plain white walls. Mustard, ketchup, and jelly provide the only traces of color. The booths are decorated with napkin dispensers, sugar packs, salt and pepper shakers, and coasters from a closed restaurant. The cooks wear crisp white aprons. Most of the waitresses wear false teeth. Payment is cash only. No bells and whistles, just emphasis on mouth-watering, hip-hugging breakfast.

  With three minutes to spare, I slow my car down and search for an open space to parallel park near the entrance. Lateness is typically unacceptable and I don’t want to start our breakfast on a bad note. I briskly walk to the entrance, admiring the atypical two-inch snowfall, passing the street-level windows of the diner. In my haste, I fling the diner door wide open. Cowbells ding against the glass pane. I ignore looks from patrons and walk alongside a series of booths. Tasha is prompt as usual, except she’s sitting in the booth alone.

  “Morning my friend!” she says.

  I feel a little guilty for being happy about Tasha’s failed love affair. But ever since she detoxed K.D. from her system, she’s been in an especially good mood. Her complaints are at a minimum, and she’s abstaining from sex and dating, again. I like the mature, I’m-doing-me side of Tasha and I’ll enjoy her as long as she’s around. Eventually, regular Tasha will emerge singing a sad tune, laying on my couch and rummaging my kitchen, asking me to play matchmaker with one of my cousins or old college friends.

  “Where’s Jacoby?” I ask, removing my coat. “He’s always on my case about being late.”

  “He’s not coming. Said he’s hung-over.”

  That’s bullshit. We could’ve had breakfast at his place. I have a feeling that Jacoby bailed on breakfast because of me. His absence indicates deeper feelings he won’t express. He’s blowing the Deidra thing out of proportion— especially considering that my status with her has nothing to do with my established friendships.

  Despite Jacoby’s absence, Tasha and I pig out. She has me laughing so hard about her family I nearly regurgitate three scrambled eggs, two servings of hash browns, and the thickest piece of ham east of the Mississippi.

  “Girl, my Mama forwards me a Bible verse through text or email almost every damn day to keep the good book and the good Lord on my sinful, gay mind,” she says. “This is the same woman who told my sister it’s okay to open her pocketbook early if a man has checked all the right boxes.” She grabs her glass and sips. “What about your mama? She still trying to get you to join her church?”

  “As long as I go on Friends and Family Day— and don’t forget her birthday, Mother’s Day, or Valentine’s Day— she won’t bug me.”

  “Speaking of Valentine’s Day, what you getting Deidra?”

  Have I given Tasha the impression that Deidra and I have that kind of relationship? A mutually agreed upon and committed relationship? “Nothing. Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t necessarily like Deidra ’cause she was smiling and smoking all up in K.D.’s face. But you like her, and that’s all that matters. You liked her enough to put a roof over her head. But you don’t like her enough to buy a gift? Shit, I’ll be damned if I’m giving up the goodies and cooking meals on the regular but can’t get a V-Day gift in return. You got eight days. That’s plenty of time to find something nice. Not expensive, just nice.”

  I stare outside at the family of four huddled against the chilling wind. Deidra is far from family. True, I like her. But I haven’t reached the point of obligation. “Why now? I didn’t get her anything for Christmas.”

  “That was two months ago! Look, either you want the woman or you don’t. Either you grow with her or stop wasting your time. You can’t have it both ways. Ain’t no in between. Make a decision.”

  Tasha’s a serial dater with much experience and advice to lend on the politics of courtship. I should consider her suggestion to make a decision because I can no longer stand the gray area with Deidra. We’re drifting with no direction and I need a target. I know from past experiences that we’ll eventually reach an impasse that will demand a serious conversation. But till that day comes, Tasha can’t convince me to swipe my debit card for a woman who lingers in the space between black and white.

  22

  JACOBY PROBABLY FEELS BAD for missing breakfast yesterday. But he didn’t have to ring my doorbell with no heads up. He comes inside holding a greasy brown paper sack from my favorite cheeseburger dive. I prefer a gift card to a dine-in restaurant, but I appreciate his effort. He hands me the bag and requests a cup of coffee, black. He seems pained around the eyes and he’s slumped over, so I graciously make him a cup.

  Before entering the living room with the steaming mug, I peek down the hallway. I can’t tell whether Deidra’s in the bedroom. I was upstairs all morning long so I haven’t seen her yet. If Jacoby cared whether she’s here, he would’ve called in advance. On second thought, he didn’t call ahead on purpose. Is this an ex-lover, best friend inspection?

  I park myself on the loveseat. “What happened to you yesterday?”

  He blows into coffee. “Hangover from fucking around with a stripper from East Memphis. I been turnt up since Thursday.”

  Jacoby isn’t a slight man. He has to drink like a whale to reach the point of sickness. “Why aren’t you at home in bed?”

  “I needed to get out for a while.”

  He hasn’t come over in weeks. I smell an ulterior motive but decide to ignore the scent. I cover myself with a blanket as Jacoby searches for a movie on a free-for-seventy-two-hours premium channel. He selects an action flick and recounts his Friday night fling with Red Delicious.

  The women Jacoby play with have no idea he’s a late blooming wild-child from a loving two-parent household, determined to live out every minute of his twenties with adventures that will develop into legendary stories. Professional by day, nasty by night. Tasha and I love the morning-after tales. We’re vicarious listeners, shielded from the abuses of terrible one-night stands and pointless club hopping.

  “All I remember is lace, stilettos, and handcuffs,” he says, “and I can’t wait to do it again. Matter of fact, I’m calling her tonight. That apple bottom was so good I’ve got to bite it twice. I—”

  The thump of approaching footsteps cuts him short. I take a personal bet on who will strike first this time. Jacoby is 2–0 to date, so I use my better judgment and prepare to police my friend.

  I assume Deidra is leaving because of the massive purse in her hand, but she rounds the corner of the loveseat to sit beside me. She kisses my cheek and says, “Haven’t seen you all day.”

  I feel weird about the display of affection. With the exception of Tasha’s house party, we haven’t interacted or touched in the company of others.

  “Oh, my sister said hey,” she says.

  “Juanita’s being nice to me?”

  “It’s tax season. She’s nice to everyone during tax season. Anyway, how you been, Jacoby?”

  “A’ight. You?”

  Their forced cordiality leads to small talk about the movie we’ve barely watched. The exchange is headed in the right direction until Jacoby says, “How’s the job search going?”

  Sometime last week, I casually mentioned to Jacoby that Deidra is unemployed, but she continues to bring in money— though not enough to live on her own yet. Her clientele is growing, and she’s pretty much turned my guest bedroom into a spa. We’re friends, and friends talk. I wanted him to know things were going well. But now, his question makes it seem like I’ve been running my mouth or complaining. Deidra hasn’t expressed to me any desire to work for someone else.

  She glances at me with narrowed eyes and says to him, “Why do you ask?”

  “I know folks at a few places in charge of hiring. At some point, you gotta work.”

  “And what makes you think I need your help?”

  “You’re living here.”

  �
�By choice.”

  “So why didn’t you choose to use some of that money Pat left you and get your own place?”

  Deidra slides closer to him. “I don’t know what Nia has told you, but I didn’t ask her for anything. She offered, arms wide open… legs, too.”

  “Hey,” I say. Their rising animosity is making me uncomfortable. “Both of y’all chill out.” I’m quickly learning that these two should remain in separate spaces, or I should fit them for restraints. A leash for Deidra and a muzzle for Jacoby.

  “He can rock the boat,” she says to me, “but I’m good.” She grabs her purse to leave.

  Jacoby keeps his eyes on Deidra as she walks out the front door. “She’s got a bad attitude,” he says. “And that deep-ass voice irks the shit out of me. She sounds like my little brother.”

  His criticism of her lower range makes me laugh. He doesn’t know how much I like her voice; it riles the freak in me. He also doesn’t know that I’m laughing to take the edge off my own sudden observation. I can’t determine whether I missed or ignored it before, but the sexual tension between my friend and undefined housemate is crystal clear now. It’s like they’re aiming to squabble just so they can look at and interact with each other longer. I know Jacoby’s behavior is all a cover. He likes a challenge and prefers feisty women. “Easy pussy,” he often says, “ain’t fun.” If the opportunity ever arises for him to proposition Deidra, he will snatch it in a millisecond. Deidra, however, I’m unsure about. The breadth of her capabilities and behaviors are a mystery.

  I rise to my feet and walk to the stairs. “Don’t leave before you sleep that hangover off.”

  Hours later, just before dusk, I go downstairs again. My home is empty. I check my phone to see an hour-old text from Jacoby: I’m out.

  I have the house to myself all night. At random moments throughout the next day, I think about Deidra. I wonder whether I cross her mind this easily. Then I wonder with whom and where Deidra is spending so much time. Does she know another woman with a spare bed?