by Aja Cole
“It’s Mr. Perfect Hair isn’t it? What did he do? I’ll gladly fly out there with some of the guys and fuck up that too pretty face of his.”
“You sound way too eager about that.”
“I’ve been waiting for this day, baby sis. Ever since he walked in here and turned up his nose like he was too good to hang out with us.”
I wince, “It really wasn’t like that. It’d just been a long day and he was jet-lagged from coming back after Japan. He thought we were having a quiet night at my place, and I sprung family dinner on him.”
“Yeah, yeah, now tell me the truth.”
“You have to promise not to tell Mom or Dad. Or Corie.”
“You know I can’t not tell Corie. She’s like a bloodhound with that kind of shit.”
I breathe out, resigned, “Yeah, it was just wishful thinking. But mom and dad, you have to swear on Toto’s grave.”
“Kind of morbid.”
“Swear!”
“Alright, alright, I swear on the grave of our beloved childhood pet. Now get to it, I have a date tonight.”
“VaughnandIarenttogetheranymoreandImlivinginamotel.”
Silence.
“Say that one more time, and maybe with a few pauses thrown in.”
“Vaughn and I are separated and I’m staying in a motel.”
Silence.
“A motel?” He echoes.
“It’s just temporary.”
“The fucker cut off your accounts or something?”
“I don’t want his money, and I didn’t want to waste mine on somewhere nicer because I wasn’t sure…”
“How long were you going to keep it a secret from us? How long you were going to be stubborn and act like you have to do this shit alone?” Low fury is just building in Chris’ voice and I’m more chagrined with every second that passes.
“I’m not ready to tell them right now. Just…please.”
“You are something else, Nomi. It’s like you’re bent on doing things the hard way!”
I open my mouth to respond, but close it just as quickly.
No good will come of it right now, because Chris is in big brother lecture mode and all I can do is let him get it all out.
“Do you realize how lucky we are to have the parents we do? They would drop everything if they knew you needed help, hell, we all would and what are you over in California doing? Pretending we don’t exist. How long have you been separated anyway?”
I press my lips together.
“How long, Cecelia Marlow?” He pushes.
“A little under 6 weeks.”
“6 WEEKS!?” He almost shouts but lowers his voice to a near growl, “I…you’re raising my blood pressure. I can’t believe you.”
“Maybe I didn’t want my family to run to my rescue.” I hiss, frustrated. “Maybe I didn’t want to hear the opinions and the I-told-you-sos and everyone saying they never liked him in the first place. Maybe my stupid self actually loved him, and I can’t handle anyone else knowing right now that he clearly didn’t feel the same.” My words come out on a sob that I didn’t realize was going to come out, and I can’t hold the tears back because I’ve been trying my best not to think about what he said to me the night before I left.
Love is just a word to me, Nomi. I just say it because you want to hear it.
Well it’s not just a fucking word to me!
“Mims, stop crying or I’m gonna have to fly over there to tickle you.”
I wipe my face on my old t-shirt, “I hate being tickled.”
“Don’t care, it always got you to stop crying when you were a kid.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I was busy trying to get away.”
“So you’re saying it’s effective.” He teases, then his voice sobers. “Listen, I’ll call you when I’m back at my place, but you’re not stupid and you’re not alone.”
“I know, I just…I’m not ready yet.”
“At least let me have one of my boys come by, check on you. For my peace of mind, unless you want me to catch a red-eye tonight.”
I groan, “Are those the only two options? I don’t like either one.”
“Suck it up, buttercup. One or the other.”
“What friend? Who do you know out here?”
“One that I won’t have to kill for making a move on my sister. I can trust him.”
Typical.
“What if I wanted to make a move on him?”
“If you value his life, you’ll focus on figuring out when you’re gonna tell the rest of the family.”
“What, you gonna give him a checklist of things to look for? If my color looks good? If I’ve washed my hair since I left?”
“Yep, and if the motel you’re at is even fit for my little sister to be there since she’s being stubborn.”
I look around at the faded walls, hear the squeaky bed and the couple arguing through the thin walls for the thousandth time since I’ve been here…and watch water leak from the small spot in the ceiling that I set the bathroom trashcan under.
Well, shit.
3
A loud thud against the wall startles me awake, and I immediately scramble to my knees and bang on the peeling wallpaper, irate. “Have some goddamn decency!”
I don’t hear anything back and they don’t start arguing, so I assume they got the message.
Going back to sleep doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards, so I blindly go through my bathroom routine before I pull out my laptop and start doing what I’ve been doing everyday.
Looking for a job and planning for when I finally do hightail it out of California.
When I moved here, I left a cushy marketing manager job that I’d gotten right before graduation because I thought that there would be plenty opportunities in California. At the time, I didn’t realize that Vaughn wanted a stay-at-home wife. When he explained his supposed reasoning, I agreed with him that I’d worked really hard for years with internships and doubling up on classes so a year or so off would be fine.
In hindsight, I kind of wish my mom had slapped some good sense into me.
To her credit, all she said was that she wasn’t going to waste her breath on something I clearly was intent on doing and she just hoped that I would be happy with my choice.
She’d always been clear that she believed young women should travel and live and really spend time with themselves without being part of a relationship, let alone a marriage because while she loved my Dad; it wasn’t until after we were older that she felt they could focus on themselves and that she could learn more about how she saw herself outside of being a mother and wife.
I reasoned that I’d done study abroad and they’d taken us on trips when we were kids, so it didn’t need to be my priority.
It all made sense in my head at the time.
I didn’t care about anything else but that finally, someone seemed to want me as fiercely as all the stories I’d heard from Mom and Dad. That I’d have a story to tell my kids after they complained about us kissing in front of them and being gross. That they’d know what true love looked like and could be as inspired as we were by our parents.
Sometimes, it feels like three years has been ten. And others…I slip back into that hopeful naivety that I had back then and I wish that I could go back and do it all differently.
Not accept his drink at the bar.
Listen to my mom.
Not quit my job and follow a man across the country.
Confront Vaughn when I noticed things felt different.
Call him out on obvious half-truths.
Stand firm on working.
Have some self-respect.
There’s stuff that happened that I haven’t opened my mouth to tell anyone. I can’t even bring myself to think about them to myself because it’ll make me feel like an idiot all over again.
Moral of the story is…I won’t be trusting my judgment on true love for the foreseeable future.
After I bookmark a few job listings, I send a few
feelers out to some old college friends who I’ve kept in touch with and consider my hard work done for the day.
My phone pings and I glance at it, seeing Chris’ text come up.
Heads up.
I narrow my eyes, wondering if there’s another text coming to explain what he’s talking about but a few firm knocks on the door give me a good enough guess.
I walk the few short steps to the door and rest my forehead against it, already knowing how this is going to go.
“Who is it?”
“Jackson. Chris requested a welfare check?”
Snagging my phone, I send a quick text to confirm, and unlock the door after my brother sends back the emoji with sunglasses and a thumbs up.
The peephole in the door is coated in dust and other debris I don’t want to think about, so the first time I see Jackson, it’s when I’ve opened the door wide and he’s filling up the doorway.
If I opened up the dictionary right now, I know I’d find his picture next to eye-candy because good god.
“Nomi?”
“That is my name.” I breathe, distracted.
He’s a man you need to savor at first glance, and I know how to take my time.
Tall, so tall. I have to tip my neck all the way back to see his face and hair. Slightly curly and inky black, it falls just over his forehead and looks to stop just under his ears. Strong jaw, sexy lips surrounded by low facial hair and twinkling hazel eyes that look like they’re ringed with green. Add all that to the noticeable muscle in his body, the casual confidence in his stance and the way his voice rolled over my name…
There’s not a doubt in my mind that I’m going to ignore the yellow caution symbol and the red no-entry emoji that Chris sent after his first texts.
I lean closer, knowing that I smell like the sugar and limes of my favorite shower gel.
“My brother said that he could trust you, Jackson.” I watch his eyes dip to the shirt that’s falling off my shoulder before they swing back to me, amusement lighting them.
“I’ve been given strict instructions to treat you like my own sister, Nomi.” He smiles easily, and I fall a little bit more in lust. “And I can tell you right now that my sister wouldn’t even set eyes on this place.”
“Really? I thought the loud neighbors and constant trash smell added to its charm.”
“Charming isn’t what I’d call this place.” He invites himself inside, and the already small room feels much smaller with him in it. “Get your things. Chris would fight me if I let you stay here any longer.”
“Orrrrr you could tell him it’s really nice and completely appropriate.”
He scoffs, eyeing the makeshift water bucket in the floor. “Yeah…I’m not telling him that.”
Something tells me that convincing him not to say anything to Chris would be a waste of both our time, so I pack my bags in all of fifteen minutes and toss him one, checking over the room to make sure I haven’t left anything behind.
After I talk to the guy at the front desk, Jackson leads me to his car and opens and shuts the door for me, sliding my bags into the backseat while I buckle my seat belt. When he’s settled on the driver’s side and pulling out of the small parking lot, I do my best not to admire how his large hands grip the steering wheel.
Sigh.
Only Chris would put a man this attractive in my path and not consider what I’d think. Well…he probably knows, hence the hands-off emojis, but trusts Jackson enough to not do anything.
“So…where are we going?”
“I’m about an hour from here. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”
“Your girlfriend won’t mind me hanging out?”
“She loves meeting new people, so I’m sure she’ll be cool with it.”
Fuck.
My spirits sink like someone’s attached a stone to them.
Him being in a relationship means that he’s completely off limits. Hell, I don’t even want to look at him anymore in case I can’t keep all the flirt off my face. Staring out the window and trying to quell the rising and completely irrational sadness I feel knowing Jackson is spoken for, I force out a reply.
“Thanks, but I’ll be going back home soon.”
4
Spoiler alert: She minded.
I don’t know if there’s anything quite as awkward as sitting in the living room while two people obviously argue about you upstairs.
When Jackson’s girlfriend, whose name I discovered was Ansley, stormed up the stairs without saying anything to me with her words but everything with her face; I sent a quick text to Jackson telling him that I promise to book a nice AirBnB and thanked him for his attempted hospitality.
Causing problems in someone’s relationship is not how I want to go about my day.
I’m just about to press order for my Uber when someone bounds down the stairs.
“You’re not leaving, Ansley is.” Jackson says casually, and I notice the suitcase in his hand.
“Uh no, I really don’t want to cause any drama.”
“You’re not.” He crosses large arms and braces his feet apart, like he’s preparing to be especially stubborn. “I told Chris I’d watch out for you, and I don’t need the extra drama either.” We both look towards the ceiling when there’s a muted thud, and then he meets my eyes with a sardonic tilt of his eyebrow. “The decision was mutual.”
I eye him skeptically, “Doesn’t sound mutual.”
“She said a few things that I don’t agree with, and now we’re here.”
The pretty blonde eventually appears with her things and absolutely no love lost for Jackson. When she walks past him, she snatches up her bag, ignores both of us and disappears out the door.
“You might be taking this watching out for me thing a bit too far.” I murmur, finally taking in Jackson’s place. It feels pretty cozy and homey, lots of muted browns and warm neutrals. Not nearly as much glass and pomp as my former home, but I like the woodgrain accents and how things don’t seem like they’re as sterile. It gives off more comfy loft and less untouchable showroom. No matter how much decorating I tried to do with Vaughn’s, it never exactly felt like it was ours or that I could really get my stamp on it because our tastes clashed so much.
He wanted it look perfect…I just wanted it to feel like home.
“It was probably coming anyway, this just gave her a good excuse to get pissed off.”
“Oh, so she doesn’t usually like meeting new people?”
“No, she does,” He pauses, inclining his head. “But maybe not so much the pretty ones.”
“Ooh, relationships not even cold yet and you’re already complimenting me.” I tease, and he startles a bit. I can see him mentally backpedaling.
“Oh, I wasn’t trying to come onto you. I don’t want you to think I brought you here to—”
“To take advantage of how vulnerable I am and have your way with me?”
Jackson blanches and I immediately feel bad for joking with him.
“Nomi, I—”
I put up a hand, rolling my eyes and walking off towards what I hope is the kitchen.
“Relax Jackie, I’m kidding. Now be a good host and feed me, please.”
We had to order pizza because Jackson is easy on the eyes and terrible at grocery shopping.
We talk about easy things and nothing too personal or uncomfortable…until Jackson finishes off his third pepperoni and pineapple slice and wants to know more about how I ended up in a questionable hotel room.
“You seem like you’re in pretty good spirits for a woman with marriage problems.”
The pizza turns into a lump in my throat and I swallow hard, reaching for my bottle of water and taking a few healthy gulps. “Marriage problems? I was happily ignoring that aspect of my life. Let’s go back to talking about pop culture.”
“There’s only so much of it that I can talk about without questioning why I know so much.” He shrugs lightly, “And I’d rather talk about you than Brad and Jen anyw
ay.”
“People head towards divorce everyday. I doubt my story is all that interesting.” I focus on the greasy pizza, avoiding his eyes.
“So no trial separation? Counseling? Misplaced hope that things can get back to normal?”
The wry tone in his voice makes me glance up, and the understanding in his eyes makes me curious. “You say that like you have firsthand knowledge.”
“Been divorced for a handful of years now. Tried counseling, tried trusting her again, but she never wanted to do the real work. Now she’s got a kid and some other poor sap is where I was.”
Oh.
“She cheated?”
“More than once, and even with people I knew. Hell, she lied to one of the guys and now he’s like a real brother to me and not just an eskimo one.”
“You’re friends with someone your wife slept with?” Horror and disbelief are threaded through my voice because I can’t imagine that. Why would I want that reminder? How do you even begin to forgive someone for playing that part?
“It wasn’t his fault. She lied to me, lied to him. Why should I let her selfishness keep me from being friends with a decent guy?”
“Well aren’t you all well-adjusted and unaffected.”
“Nah, I’ve definitely got some things to work on.”
“That’s good, you need some flaws to go with all of that.” I gesture at his face and body with a wide sweep of my hand, making him laugh.
Damn, the man even has a sexy laugh.
It’s deep and vibrant and you can tell it’s genuine because it booms from the depths of his belly.
“I’ve got plenty of flaws, believe me.”
“Like not having any food in your kitchen.”
He chuckles again, dipping his chin. “Yeah, like not having any food in my kitchen.”
I finish off my pizza, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Let’s make a deal, Jackson.”
“I’m listening.”
“We don’t talk anymore about my marriage tonight, or yours and I’ll show you this amazing donut place that I’m certain you haven’t had before.”
“What do I get if you’re wrong?”
“Me…” I pause dramatically, but note the telltale spark of interest in his eyes that he can’t hide. “…Telling you I was wrong but we’re getting donuts anyway because now I can’t get them out of my head.”
