by Imani King
But Nicholas pulls up beside me and again, I think his automobile is the shiniest, most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my whole life.
"Hey, everything ok?" He asks. There's a bit of concern knitted into his brow. God he's sexy when he wrinkles his forehead like that. Those dark eyebrows, those light eyes.
"Well, not really," I say. "My car won't start. I don't know what happened, but I have to get to school to pick up Darius and Chikae. I don’t want to keep them waiting, especially since it’s after hours."
"Well, don't fret," he smiles. "I'm more than happy to give you a lift. I was just going to go home and knock about by myself in my house anyway."
"Are you... for real?" I ask. I can feel that my jaw has dropped open. I hope I don't look like a goldfish.
"Of course," he says. "I'd be happy to."
A million thoughts are running through my head. Do I really want to introduce him to my brother and sister? But it’s ok, he is my boss after all. Why is he doing this? Is he interested in me? What's that sparkle in his eye? Is he maybe, just being nice, and not interested at all? Am I crazy? Do I want him to see our house? Isn’t he married?
The main thing is, I don't really have a choice. No matter what I think about his offer, the most important element in my life right now is those kids. And if he drives me to pick them up, they're going to have the most stable resolution to this problem.
"Well, then, I'd be delighted," I say.
"Excellent." His smile beams. "Allow me," he says, putting the car in park and jumping out. In a moment he's opening the door for me, and I climb out, hoping he doesn't notice the discolorations on the seat, or the stray juice box that I keep pestering Darius to take when he leaves.
I get in and sink down into the most comfortable leather cushion that I could ever imagine. Each curve of the seat cradles my own, and the seat belt goes around my hips with a discreet click. The engine purrs into life tastefully, but with an understated power. SO this is what having money is like, I guess. Every part of your life envelops you, comforts you, takes you where you need to be.
We sail out of the parking garage, and gently into traffic, while music plays softly. I direct him to the school, when suddenly across the speakers there's a telephone call.
"Nicholas," barks the voice on the other end of the line. "I have news!"
"This isn't really a good ti-" Nicholas says, and if I'm not mistaken, there's a bit of a flush coming into his cheeks.
"You're divorced!" The voice brays. "The extra money worked, and she signed. You know what this means? The hell is over!"
"Um, thanks a lot, George,” Nicholas says, “but I have someone in the car right now." He’s definitely blushing. "Can I call you back?"
The voice sounds very mildly chastened. "Sure, call me back, asap."
"Will do." There's a click and then the soft music returns, and along with it a pregnant pause. He's divorced! That means he's available. How wonderful. A surge begins in my heart, warmly glowing, before suffusing through my body.
"Sorry about that," He flicks his eyes at me, for a second, as he negotiates the traffic.
"That's all right," I murmur. He's available. I don't want to embarrass him, so I just give him a few more directions.
"We really weren't meant for each other, Stephanie and I," he suddenly says. He looks at me, and there is a warm depth to his eyes. "It shouldn't have happened in the first place, and I don't hold it against her... It's really nobody's fault, but sometimes things just don't work out."
"Mmmm," I say, not wanting to comment. After all, he is my boss.
"Are you involved with anyone, Adisa?" he asks. "Forgive me, you don't have to answer that." He clears his throat, and I can feel a certain electricity between us, humming in the air between the seats.
"No, not really," I say. I look out the window. The last boyfriend I had was a guy named Jamal, who tended to show up an hour late for our dates and acted as if I were lucky that he even showed up at all. That didn't last, obviously. "Not for a while now." I look at his hands which clutch the steering wheel. They're big, masculine. His forearms look strong, capable. I want to caress them, pull his hand toward me, and hold it in mine. I look away.
"That's a shame," he says. “You’re such a lovely woman.” His voice is low now, and it seems like he means it’s anything but a shame that I’m available. I fight the urge to scoot over next to him. What is going on? Is he trying to ask me out for real? He clears his throat again. "Are we almost there?"
"Yes, just around this corner," I smile, and try to sound business-like. "This is really very kind of you, Mr. Corbett," I say. I'd blame it on habit, but it's really out of fear that I revert back to his full name.
"Nicholas," he says, turning to me. "I love how it sounds in your voice.”
That's it. I am about to grab him and plant the biggest kiss on his lips that he's ever had.
"Nicholas," I breathe. The tension in the car is so thick you could cut it with the proverbial knife. I am tingling.
He reaches over and touches my cheek, before turning his eyes back to the road. I feel like I am made of shimmering molecules. I guess I am, but I’ve lost any sense of my body. I’m simply all electricity.
"Here we are, on the right," I manage to say, and then I see them, looking so small under the streetlamp.
He pulls over and we look at each other, each of us letting out a small sigh. "I'll let them know we're here."
"Yes, good idea," he says, breaking our eye contact, and with it, the moment dissipates into the ether.
I open the door, and Chikae and Darius are running toward the silver steed that is his car, eyes wide with awe and surprise.
8
Nicholas
Keep it together buddy, I say to myself, but it comes across in my brother Rowan's voice. He used to try to look out for me when we were younger. I guess I was always a bit of a sensitive one, and he knew I needed that extra pair of eyes on my back, keeping me safe. We are not all that different, we Corbett brothers. What a group of boys our parents had back in Texas. And now we are scattered. Even if we live in the same city, like Dylan and I do, we are still far apart from one another in some ways. But we still have fun when we get together. And my brother Saint, he almost doesn’t count since he doesn’t seem to want anything to do with us.
Still the relationship between us all is nothing like the obvious love that I see in Adisa's family. Her brother and sister absolutely light up when they see her. Kinda like I do. I don't know what it is, exactly why she is so beautiful. It’s like the French mean by saying she has a certain ‘je ne sais quoi.’ It's not just her physical side, it's also her soul. Something ineffable that glows through her mocha skin. She's a kind person, a person with depth. And all that comes shining through when you see her with those kids.
After they finish hugging, and Adisa settles them into the car, I can tell that she is just about to introduce me when Darius blurts, in a way only a boy can, "Who's this dude?"
"Darius, he's not a dude, he's my boss," admonishes Adisa. He can't see it from where he’s sitting, but there's a gleam of amusement in her eyes. "He’s offered to give us a lift because my car broke down. Please give him the proper respect."
“Ok. Who's this boss?" He says, and now we can't help but laugh. "And where did he get this sweet ride?"
"I'm Nicholas," I say. "You can call me Nicholas."
"Nicholas," says the girl. "I'm Chikae." She squirms in her seat. "And I have to go to the bathroom."
"Can you hold it until we get home, or do we need to stop somewhere?" asks Adisa.
"Are we going straight home?" Her eyes frame her concern.
"Yes," says Adisa. "Straight home."
"Then I'mma be all right," she says bravely. "As long as it's straight home." Her voice is stern.
"Home, Jeeves," shouts Darius, with a sorry attempt at an English accent.
"Darius, respect," warns Adisa, as she cradles her head in her hands. But her shoulders are sh
aking with laughter. What an adorable family. It's so nice to be part of a family, even if it's just for a quick car ride home. I'm going to look forward to taking them to the property and skating on Saturday.
"Sorry Mr. Boss Man," he says, chastened.
"Nicholas," I say again. But I'm grinning hugely.
"Mr. Nicholas," he says, before turning to Adisa. "Is that like St. Nicholas? We learned about him in school last month." He pulls out a dilapidated mess of red construction paper and cotton balls. "His name is Santa Boss Man!"
"Perhaps it is," says Adisa, finally regaining control of herself. "He's going to take you to skating on Saturday."
The kids can't contain their excitement. They’re squealing, bouncing, talking all at once.
"If - and I do mean if - you behave yourselves the next few days," she adds, silencing them for a moment. "Clean up after yourselves, do your homework, and no whining."
"Yes, mommy," comes the high-pitched little voice of Chikae. "I mean, sis." Her eyes go downcast again, but Darius starts loudly singing "Ho, ho ho! Who wouldn't go? Ho, ho ho! Who wouldn't go?" By the time he gets to the "Up on the housetop, click, click, click," all of us join in with "Down through the chimney with good Saint Nick!" and I see the radiant smile coming from Adisa, and both kids beaming in the back seat.
For a moment, one glorious moment, I feel part of a real family, and I clear my throat to try to battle the sudden feeling that I might cry.
"We're here!" says Adisa. "You kids run on in and check on daddy." Her voice is calm, maternal, kind. Turning to me she says, "Thank you so much Nicholas. I don't know what I would have done without you."
"It's really my pleasure," I say, knowing it's true. "I really like your little brother and sister, and I’m most definitely looking forward to Saturday. Should we exchange numbers?"
"Sounds like a plan," she says, pulling out a flip-phone that looks like it's from 1996. I'm almost embarrassed to get out my state of the art phone, so I just tell her my number and ask her to text me. When I get the reassuring sound of a alert coming in over the speakers, I push ignore and the soft music wafts through the car.
"Well I guess I should go in and make some dinner." Her eyes are downcast, her voice a bit more soft.
I think the moment is broken, but then she looks back at me and something in her eyes lets me know that she is touched too. I lean over quickly and brush my lips on her soft cheek.
"Oh," she says softly, her full lips framing the sound. I want to kiss her on the mouth, but instead I lean back again.
"See you Saturday," I murmur.
"See you tomorrow!” she says with a grin and a wink. "Don't forget that I work in your office."
I blush. "I almost did," I admit. "But I won't be in the rest of the week. I have a few things to do, so Saturday will be the first chance to see you again."
I’m floating on air.
She opens the car door and glides inside, and I drive away, to figure out how to make my house comfortable and presentable for Adisa and her brother and sister. I've got two days.
9
Adisa
I feel like I’m in a dream. I don't think I'm fooling myself when I see something in his eyes - something like love. Once I close the door though, the weight of the family descends again onto my shoulders. The house needs vacuuming, my father is nowhere to be seen, and the TV is blaring Spongebob Squarepants.
Squidward's voice: “Do you have to stand so close? You’re making me claustrophobic!”
Patrick: “What does claustrophobic mean?”
Spongebob: “I think it means he’s afraid of Santa Claus.”
Patrick: "Ho, ho, ho!”
And lastly, Spongebob: “Stop it, Patrick! You’re scaring him!”
Ha, ha. When I go into the TV room, there's nobody there. I turn the set off. "Darius, Chikae," I call. Nothing.
Then suddenly, Chikae, screaming. "Adisaaaa! Adisaaaa! Help, it’s daddy!" And then I'm running up the stairs, two by two.
Hospitals are always so cold. The greenish light, the hard surfaces glinting. Even the earnest and colorful drawings, cards and decorations around the nursing station are not enough to make you feel anywhere near happy or festive.
But to be fair, I've been here for almost ten hours, now. Chikae and Darius are at their friend's house. The next door neighbor heard the commotion, saw the ambulance, and ran over, thank heaven, and said she'd take them to school in the morning and make sure they got dinner tonight. My heart went out to them. After all the hospitals when mom passed, the last thing they needed was to hear sirens and see an ambulance pulling up outside the house. Poor little birds.
My father went into surgery not too long after arrival. They did some tests, figured out his arteries were blocked. He'd had a heart attack. Now they were doing angioplasty, and I just gave consent for whatever they thought best.
Myocardial infarction. It sounds so complicated for what it really was --at least in my humble opinion. My dad had a broken heart. He loved my mother so much, that he now wanted to join her in heaven, and couldn't take being away from her anymore.
The room begins to swim as my eyes filled with tears. Suddenly a figure in scrubs appeared before me.
"Hey honey," she says, as I wipe my eyes. "How are you doing?"
"Not great, but thanks for asking," I admit. "Any news on my father?"
"Nothing yet," she replies. "I just thought I would check on you, and see how you're holding up."
I don’t want to tell her that I am concerned that my dad might no longer have insurance. I don’t want to tell her that I am scared to be what feels like an orphan, if he doesn’t make it. So I tell her what I think she wants to hear.
"Just fine," I say. But inside, my own heart feels broken. "Thank you so much."
"Well I do remember you from when your mother was in not too long ago, so I thought you might be able to use a little company. And a cup of tea."
She hands me some hot steaming liquid, and the lemony scent from it is comforting, but my stomach feels too uneasy. I force the corners of my lips up and place it on the scratched table beside my chair.
“Thank you.”
Her kind eyes narrow in concern. “You’ll get through this Adisa,” she said. “You’re strong. I can see it in you, plain as day.”
“Thank you,” I say once again. “I do know, but sometimes it would be nice just to relax a bit and have someone else be strong for a change.”
She pats my arm. “It’ll happen. Keep the faith.” Smiling once more, she adds, “Don’t forget to get some sleep,” and then walks off. At that moment, she seems like an angel. I drop off a few minutes later, into a brief and rocky sleep, but it’s something.
All I can do other than that is wait.
And wonder. And hope that his insurance is still good. I feel like my father hasn't been at work in a long time. Is there something that he's not telling me? Does he still have his job? And if not, what am I going to do? A hospital stay, surgery. Anesthesia. All these things cost a lot of money if you're not insured. I shiver a little, but it’s not due to it being cold.
It might be a pretty lean year (or even few years!) if I can't figure out how we are going to cover this kind of cost. But the most worrisome thing is that I know I am thinking about this because I don't want to consider the really scary part: the chance that daddy doesn't make it.
I breathe in slowly and pull my cardigan around my shoulders. I manage a sip of tea, and I focus on the steam and the fragrance of the liquid to try to keep me grounded.
10
Nicholas
That evening, I find myself singing, and realize that I’m feeling happier than I have been in a long time. Finally I am completely done with my marriage, which at best can only be described as ‘ill-advised.’ However, at the very least, I can feel good about the way I have treated my ex-wife through this ordeal, and can truly close the book on what happened with us. “Good endings make good beginnings,” I think, as Stephanie’s f
ace fades from my thoughts, and Adisa’s swims into my consciousness. Her sparkling and rich brown eyes, glowing skin and full lips, all framed by those gorgeous curls; all of it fills me with excitement. My lips tingle as I remember the brief feeling of her soft skin against them. I wonder what it would be like to kiss those lips, to take my time, slowly and surely savoring her beauty, her kindness, her soul.
But I hope she feels the same way about me. I am tempted to text her, but I don't want to bother her. And besides, I am sure Rain will probably ask her a million questions about what is going on with us tomorrow - I would love to listen in. I don't want to fuel that fire by showing my face, or else those ladies might get nothing done. But I have to admit, I'd love to talk to her, make a little contact. Maybe I’ll just text. "Good night, sleeping beauty," it might say. Gah, I have it bad.
I arranged to have some specially decorated cookies delivered here, so that the kids will have something special to enjoy on Saturday. The baker was pretty confident that she would know the exact combination of teddy bears, superheroes, cartoon characters, animals and so on, that they'd be blown away, which is good because I’d be hopeless at that sort of thing.
I also ordered some skates in case they do want to take a few turns around the pond. I went a little overboard with that, I have to admit. But it's easier for us just to get them a bunch of sizes and have my assistant return the ones that don't fit, or just store them for guests, than it would be to spend our day in a crowded mall. Having a lot of money has some advantages - one being that I don’t have to deal with people if I don’t want to. Driving around a crowded parking lot is the last thing I want to do with an incredible woman.
While I don’t always love people so much, I sure would love to be around horses a bit more. I wonder if Adisa would let me take her on a trail ride sometime. I imagine her butt swaying on the saddle, her turning her head to smile at me, or us cantering through a field, her curls bouncing… Maybe a picnic after, with fine wine, some fancy cheese, grapes. Some chocolate cake. Whatever she’d like.
