So I’m surprised when their conversation sours— signaled by the frown on Deidra’s face. She places the call on speakerphone so I can hear the rant flying out of this woman’s mouth. “Eric has done nothing but love and provide for you, and he provided for you despite your transgressions. You don’t think I know you were cheating on him for years? Hell, do you know how many times I questioned leaving you alone with my husband? But I was there for you, even after you moved to Memphis and got with Miss Thing. And you know how I feel about homosexuality. My Bible says that’s a sin and I still opened my home to you. I thought she was the home wrecker, but this mess is because of your nasty ass.”
I take the phone from her hand to end the call and verbal assault. “Why does she think it’s all your fault?”
“I was part of his circle of friends and family up there. She doesn’t know the truth about what happened between us. Who knows what Eric has told people since I left.”
“That’s no reason for her to disrespect you.”
She drops her head, bruised by the betrayal of words from her closest friend in Virginia. “That part of my life is over and done with, and so is she. I’m going upstairs.”
She walked away before I could console her. Unfortunately, the stresses of life didn’t stop there.
The next morning, I left home to visit my parents for a few hours. When I returned, I went in the kitchen to sift through mail. I called out my love’s name but she didn’t answer. Her car was in the garage so I knew she was home. I went to the bedroom to see whether she was asleep. The bedroom was empty. I went back downstairs to get my phone and call her.
“I’m outside,” she says.
When I exit the back door, she’s staring at the wood fence that encloses our rectangular patio. She lifts a cigarette to her lips and inhales long and hard, causing the smoldering end to glow momentarily. She drops her hand to flick ashes past her bare feet. Then she’s still for a moment. Only the diamond hoops dangling from her ears move a bit.
She lifts her hand and pulls the smoke harder, as if she needs it to alleviate a pang. Deidra stopped smoking on Valentine’s Day. Abstinence from tobacco was her gift to me. I’m too scared about the answer to ask what the matter is.
After another drag, she shifts her gaze and says, “Shannon may be pregnant.”
My first thought is Phillip. Then it switches to Deidra. I don’t need her to express the weight of her disappointment. It fills every inch of this confined space so tightly I can’t step toward her. I stay in front of the storm door until she’s ready to welcome my support.
“Before Shannon moved here, I told her that men don’t care about your feelings. They only care about expectations. And then I told her that my entire marriage was sex for money. I got what I needed as long as I met his expectations. But most of his expectations were around my body. The words were insensitive, and they probably hurt her feelings because I was criticizing her dad, but I wanted her to understand how easy it is for women to turn their temples into trashcans. I wanted her to know that even in marriage, some women use their bodies to guarantee keeping a roof over their baby’s head and food in their mouth. I wanted her to know that…” She shuts her eyes to hold back the emotions, shaking her leg to fend off the tears she doesn’t want to overpower her. “That I made a lot of mistakes with my temple, but she didn’t have to make those mistakes or deal with the aftermath because I’ve already committed her sins.”
Tears fall from her cheeks. She wipes them away and puffs again. “I told Shannon her body is a source of pleasure and this is a good thing— but sexual gratification needs to be on her terms and for her benefit because no man will treat her with any degree of respect if she doesn’t exercise her right to speak and choose first… God, sometimes I wish my baby was gay,” she says and laughs with tears.
I laugh, too, hoping my laughter will take the edge off Deidra’s worry. She’s shared with me the difficulties of being a teenage mother and the precautions she took to ensure Shannon wouldn’t repeat the cycle. She wanted her daughter to experience youth and young adulthood before motherhood and to obtain education beyond high school. “I’ve done everything I can to make sure Shannon has the love, resources, and autonomy to live a better life than me,” she said.
I hate that she feels her guidance and efforts are fruitless now. “Baby,” I say at last. “Lesbians got issues, too.”
She smiles at me. “Trust me, I know… I just can’t stand the idea of a man mistreating her.”
“So Shannon doesn’t know for sure if she’s pregnant?”
“No. When you left, I went to campus to take her out for brunch. But she said she was too sick to come outside. I went in to see what was wrong and she wouldn’t look at me. There’s only one thing she’d hide from me. So I flat-out asked ‘are you pregnant’ and she said ‘maybe.’ I told her to walk her ass to the car so we could get a test, but she wouldn’t move. I got mad at her and she got mad at me. The next thing I know she’s screaming for me to leave. The situation took me by surprise so I left.”
Deidra and Shannon are inseparable. They talk to each other daily. I envy and appreciate their relationship. I wish I could have experienced that kind of bond with my mother as a young adult. The pain in Deidra’s eyes compels me to do something. Regardless if Shannon is pregnant or not, I can’t let the altercation separate them.
I take Deidra’s hand and escort her upstairs. Once she’s comfortably in bed, I drive to the nearest drugstore for a pregnancy test. Forty minutes later, I’m approaching the flight of steps to Shannon’s apartment. A roommate answers my knock and lets me inside their cylinder block dwelling. When Shannon opens her bedroom door, she doesn’t seem a bit surprised to see. And she doesn’t say anything. She just widens the door so I can cross into her dim room. I sit in her purple computer chair and she climbs onto her elevated bed. She lets out a short breath like the effort has winded her. Shannon stares at the TV and combs her fingers through her frizzy hair. Then she lies on her side and looks at me.
“I didn’t come over here to give you a speech. What you’re feeling could be a symptom of a number of things. But you can rule out or confirm pregnancy with this.” I open the plastic bag in my lap and pull out the test. “I took one of these my sophomore year. I was living in the dorms by the Athletic Center. The common space is different, but my room was setup like this. Anyway, I waited to take it because I was too scared to look down and see a positive stick. I didn’t want to deal with considering an abortion or possibly dropping out of school. But eventually, I had to know.” I stand from the chair. “I’ll leave this for you.” I place the test beside her laptop, praying she will take it soon.
Nearly three hours later, Deidra receives a text from Shannon: It’s negative.
After those emotional blows, I don’t want Deidra worrying about whatever she’s planned for my birthday. We can have a good time any weekend. But she insists her spirits are high and reminds me that people have been contacted and things have been scheduled.
“Be ready by five,” she says and rolls out of bed.
When 4:00 rolls around, I do as I’m told and dress appropriately in flats and tights. I’m ready for the pole-dancing lesson I shouldn’t know about right now.
45
I DIDN’T EXPECT DEIDRA to drive me to the Warehouse District— an emerging downtown neighborhood with pop-up stores, trendy restaurants, and art galleries. We enter a restored brick building and climb steep steps to the second floor. The foyer opens to a wide lobby where my birthday crew is standing. I should have grateful surprise across my face, but I can’t fake astonishment. Instead, I hug my guests, starting with Tasha and Sabrina; my cousins, Shonda and Raya; my college friend, Ebony; and my colleague, Maria.
After a moment of exchange, Deidra pokes my waist. “You knew about this?”
I grin, unsure what to say as she cuts her eyes at Tasha.
Deidra opens the door to a dance studio with ten gold poles dispersed along shiny hardwo
od floors. A lean dance instructor welcomes us and cues the music as my cousins and friends change their footwear. Deidra reaches into her purse and hands me a pair of heels I’ve never seen before.
“Where’d you get these?” I didn’t plan on dancing in anything other than flats.
“Purchased just for you,” she says.
I cooperate and slip the black heels on my feet. Everyone, except Sabrina, grows almost a half foot taller.
This is my first pole dancing experience and I’m excited to experiment with swaying hips and sexy stances. The instructor leads me to the pole of honor and kicks off her lesson with a basic around-the-world dance move. Before long, we’re gap-legged and seducing ourselves through the wall of mirrors. I don’t have the shoulder strength to invert myself on the pole. But thanks to gravity, I kill the spins and splits.
Sabrina is the star of the class. She’s a tomboy by birth but down for the lesson and shameless in her dancing. She pulls up her baggy pants and works the pole, never skipping a challenging spin or a sensual slide.
My poor cousin Shonda, however, hasn’t possessed an ounce of rhythm since she stopped playing the triangle in elementary school. She’s a step or two behind the entire one-hour session. She doesn’t mind though. She’s content with just gripping the pole and looking sexy in bejeweled stripper heels. And she keeps the heels on after we end the class and head down the sidewalk to our next destination.
We walk two blocks east to a new restaurant with a mix of Southern and Latin American foods. It’s a monotone space with minimalist furnishings and splashes of mood lighting. The host escorts us to a sleek black table in the far corner of the restaurant reserved for our privacy.
Once our entrées are placed, I garner everyone’s attention. “Let’s toast.”
“To what?” Tasha asks.
“First, let’s toast to Sabrina, who’ll receive a trophy from me in about a week engraved with Pole Dancer of the Fucking Year.” After the laughs die down, I continue: “To my love and bestie, for doing a great job with the guest list. To Shonda, for shamelessly announcing in the middle of pole dancing that she ‘don’t need rhythm to ride a mean dick.’ To Raya, for not pushing her sister off her stilts. To Maria, for letting her hair down and shaking a tail feather with me. And last, but not least, to Ebony, for being a good friend even when I fail to uphold my end of this friendship.”
Ebony is a sensitive soul. Her wine glass doesn’t make it to her lips following the toast. She replaces her glass with a napkin to dab tears. I hug her and we all drift into good conversation.
Deidra doesn’t say much as we eat and swap updates, gossip, and exaggerations. She sits to my right as an active listener, as if she’s learning about me by observing and listening to everyone.
“What’s next for the two of you?” Maria asks her.
Deidra glances at me first like she’s too shy to answer. “We have a list of adventures planned between now and summer. But what I look forward to the most is continuing to grow with Nia. She’s shown me the joys of a partnership, and I want to give her that and more.”
“Aw,” my friends sing as I blush.
“What about diapers and binkies?” Ebony asks.
Deidra and I eyeball each other, agreeing to keep the matter between us. “We’ll get there,” I answer.
“So y’all are for-real-for-real?” Tasha asks. Something about her question and hard stare make me feel as if she wants a vow before my closest friends and family; as if she wants me to testify about my relationship, declaring that I’ll never allow challenges to diminish our bond; as if she needs me to impart hope for her and Sabrina. “Is she farting around you? Have you seen her pop in or pull out a tampon? If so, I know y’all are serious.”
I smile at Tasha’s litmus tests as Deidra laughs and turns to me for an answer. “Believe me when I say we’re past the point of no return.”
“Right,” Deidra says. “So, I guess that’s why you have no shame asking me to bring you a roll of tissue while having a full-fledged conversation and wreaking havoc on the toilet with the door wide open.”
We expose more of each other’s quirks through a few minutes of embarrassing confessions and laughs. Then we leave the restaurant and walk a couple of blocks over to an urban lounge for drinks, music, and dancing. Deidra and I mingle and line dance to a song, but eventually we find our way to a sitting area to cuddle and flirt.
“Why you being so chill?” I ask.
“I can’t steal all of your attention. I have to share you with others sometimes.”
“Have a drink with me.”
“You know I can’t hold liquor.”
“I won’t get anything strong.”
I flag a waitress and order strawberry ale. Deidra takes two sips and claims a third will make her tipsy. “These hips are no good when my head is swimming.”
“Oh, that’s next on the itinerary?”
She winks. “Possibly.”
We remain secluded, guarding purses and drinks until closing. Before parting ways, everyone promises to not wait until my thirty-first birthday to hang out again. “As a matter of fact,” Tasha says, “let’s get together next month. Y’all can come to my place. I’ll cook, just bring your smiles and trash talk.”
Deidra drives us home along the sparse streets, holding my hand as we listen to soft tunes. Once home, she closes the garage door and kills the ignition. We stay in the confines of her two-door sedan to talk. The enclosed space amplifies the distinct sounds of our voices. Our slightest movements are audible. The blue light from the gadgets on her dashboard barely shows our faces. This is our odd couple’s thing and we take advantage of the intimate moment whenever we can. We usually stay in the car for about an hour, or until the air gets stuffy, or until one of us has to pee. Tonight, we’re taking the time to reminisce about the highs and humors of the evening.
“Did you have a good time?” she asks.
I reach across the console and bring her closer. I give her a kiss for the entertaining birthday, another kiss for keeping everything simple, and a third for making me feel special. The smack of our lips and the lull of her moans are a symphony to my ears.
Deidra gets cold after a while, so we leave the car and retreat to the bedroom. I rest against the headboard as she changes into a tee shirt. “I know I said no birthday gifts, but I just changed my mind. I want a pole.” I point to the empty corner between the wall and chaise lounge. “We can put it right there.”
“I’ll get one tomorrow if you promise to use it.”
“I plan to watch…and tip with sexual favors.”
She thumps my arm and kisses my cheek. “I actually have a gift you can open right now.”
My eyelids are too heavy for anything beyond groping. I want to relax and fall fast asleep since it’s shy of 6:00, but she wants to make love. When Deidra opens the nightstand drawer and pulls out a small gift bag adorned in my favorite color, I realize she has something else in mind.
“Open it.”
I take the blue bag and reach beyond the metallic tissue paper. A soft fabric brushes my skin and I pull out the contents. I love you beary much is embroidered on the baby bib between my fingers. A fuzzy bear with a big smile is in the center of the terry cloth fabric. Though we envision a baby in our future, the premature timing of the bib alarms me. I hope this isn’t a cry for expediency. I look at her for an explanation.
“Ugh, don’t look so scared,” she says. “I’m not rushing you. I’m ready for many more birthdays with you, for life with you. The bib is just a symbol of how I feel about you now and what we’ll have in the future.”
She wants a verbal reaction except I’m relieved and speechless. My concern declines even more once I consider all the kick-ass gifts I’ve received in my thirty years. Very few had this level of meaning and significance. Most gifts I received prior to this moment were more expensive and immaterial— usually outdated or useless after a year or two. This is one I want to cherish. “Thanks. I like your o
riginality. This is cool.”
She hands me a small silver box.
“What’s this?” I ask, masking my delight.
“Just open it.”
I place the box in my lap to untie the blue ribbon as a smile takes over my face. When I lift the lid, my excitement vanishes. I freeze with my hand suspended mid-air. Hardly breathing, I can only fully manage the movement of my eyes. They dart from the box to Deidra and from her to the box again and again before I finally close them from shock and a bit of oxygen deprivation. I’m lightheaded until I force myself to inhale and resume motion.
“You’re good?” she asks.
Does she want to know whether I’m satisfied with the gift or clear of a panic attack? I don’t answer. I just breathe and sort my emotions. After settling from shock, I’m overwhelmed by confusion, except I take a few seconds to think before sharing my feelings. Then I shift from confusion to curiosity— a desire strong enough to end my daze.
“Where’d you get Pat’s bracelet?”
“I’ve had it all along.”
I exhale as questions rush my brain. “Why did you keep it from me?”
She looks across the room before catching my gaze. “I made that bracelet because I was begging for Pat’s love. It’s really the only part of me she ever had. She gave it back the day we recorded her reading the Will. I know I’m selfish and vindictive for keeping it from you, even after you told me you looked all over her room for it. I apologize for acting out that way, but… I was too bitter to hand it over. I’m giving it to you now because it doesn’t belong to me. It’s rightfully yours. It’s time for me to accept the relationship you had with Pat.”
I can’t find the words to express the gratitude and surprise I feel— not just for the bracelet, but her honesty as well. Her evolution. Her choice to forgive Pat’s mistakes and grow with me. I want to tell her this, but more words aren’t necessary.
She turns the lamp off and pulls my waist to hers so we can stretch out, spoon, and finally rest. I stroke her hand and occasionally glance beyond the aqua bracelet on the nightstand to the windows. The glow behind the curtains grows brighter by the minute. Dawn is cleansing and welcoming— as new and enlivened as this tide in our relationship.
The Dawn of Nia Page 23
