Commitment

by Forrester, Nia

  And he loved that she wanted to know him, really know him, but sometimes it felt like too much. Always with the fucking questions: what are you thinking, Shawn? What are you feeling, Shawn? Wanting to go deeper than anyone had ever gone before. As if she didn’t own him already. That was his reality; she owned him, mind, body and soul.

  And yet, she had no earthly clue of that fact. Why else would she flip out on him about Stephanie?

  He’d wanted to make what now seemed like a stupid point, to make her feel just a tiny taste of what he felt when Cameron had made his move on her. Show her how it was that he got to a point where he wanted to kill that motherfucker. He hadn’t been prepared that she would get to that point herself, crazy with jealousy because he’d let Stephanie flirt with him a little. At worst he thought she might become pensive, and later seek him out to talk about it. That was what Riley did. She talked things through, always. So when she reacted the way she did, he hadn’t been prepared. He’d never seen her like that before.

  Her reaction had aroused all kinds of conflicting feelings: he was shocked, and honestly, he’d been secretly pleased and more than a little turned on by the sight of her eyes blazing with anger, all because she felt threatened that some other woman was poaching on her territory. There was some satisfaction to that, he had to admit—yeah, he wanted to say, now you know what it feels like when someone goes after what’s rightfully yours.

  But he was scared too, especially now in the quiet aftermath, that maybe he’d opened a Pandora’s Box of craziness in his marriage and they would become one of those couples who co-existed only on a steady diet of fighting and fucking. He didn’t want that for them. Riley was his quiet, his comfort, his solace and he wanted to be that for her as well.

  Last night had been a mistake. Something he did because he still needed proof, day after day after day that his wife would choose to be with someone like him. He’d even given her a hickey, like some high school kid, marking her so that anyone who looked would know she was taken. Thinking about it now, he was embarrassed to admit that that was exactly what had motivated it.

  And so here he was skulking out like a thief in the night, ashamed that he’d played her like that, messing with her head like she did with his. Only in his case, it was intentional and Riley, Riley was just being exactly who he’d known her to be when he married her. Being the only person he would want her to be.

  For the first time since they’d been married, he was actually relieved to be leaving home. Maybe away from her he could figure his shit out.

  “I heard you and the wife got into it at the party last night,” Brendan said without greeting as he slid into the car.

  “We didn’t get into it at the party,” Shawn denied. But we did go bat-shit crazy once we got home. “And tell Chris I said that he’s a little bitch, carrying gossip like a thirteen-year old girl.”

  Brendan laughed. “Ah, so it’s true. What happened? Stephanie give you some wood so you lost your natural Black mind and forgot your wife was around?”

  “I couldn’t give a shit about Stephanie,” Shawn said.

  “From what I hear, it didn’t look like that last night,” Brendan said as he pulled away from the curb. And when Shawn said nothing, he looked at him. “You’re really working overtime to fuck this up, aren’t you?”

  By the time they landed in Houston, Shawn had had more than ample time to think about the folly of his actions the previous night. While Brendan was in the terminal, still waiting for his luggage, he sat in the truck they’d rented, in the waiting zone, gazing at his hand on the steering wheel. He’d removed the wrap and the three sutures from his altercation with Cameron were already beginning to disappear into his skin. They would leave a small, barely noticeable scar when it healed.

  If he wanted to put an end to this madness, he could call Riley right now. He was practically itching to dial the number. She would be getting ready for yoga. If she was in any shape for yoga after last night. Thinking about her face as he moved above her, and her eyes—she almost always kept them open, staring right into his—was enough to make him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

  Yeah, sure he could call, but he didn’t know what he’d say if he heard her voice. He was crazy about that girl, half out of his mind crazy about her. But he didn’t understand her and what was worse, he wasn’t sure he even understood himself when he was with her. Shawn chucked his cell phone into the back seat, well out of his reach, and turned on the radio, wondering whether he would catch one of the promo spots for his show that evening.

  g

  The after-party for the final Houston show was at the house of some new up-and-coming R&B singer who was supposed to be the next Whitney Houston. Shawn watched as she worked the room, wearing a tiny top that looked like a handkerchief tied around her small breasts and black skinny jeans. She was probably about sixteen years old, he thought as he watched her guzzling champagne with her guests. Maybe seventeen.

  When he was that age, he too was being indoctrinated into the entertainment world. He remembered what it was like, getting that first rush from the attention given to him by people who seemed to love him, though they didn’t even know him. For the longest time, it was enough to have the approval of strangers. Now that he was older, he saw it for what it was – hollow and ultimately unsatisfying.

  He sat on a sofa in the corner of the room, twirling his phone around in his hands, yawning. Only an hour in and he was ready to go. Shortly after getting back to Houston from his trip home, he’d done something stupid. He’d answered one of Keisha’s calls and on an impulse, arranged for her to join the show as a dancer. Her attentions were hollow as well, but were for now a welcome distraction.

  A waiter stopped in front of him, offering a glass of champagne. He shook his head. He’d had more than enough to drink tonight. Before the after-party they’d stopped at two bars, and he’d tossed back the Patrón with Brendan and a couple of the roadies until his eyes crossed.

  “You got Sprite?” he asked. “You think you could get me one?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Usually he was pumped up after a show and wide awake, but tonight he was edgy and restless but tired at the same time. The Toyota Center was a challenging venue to fill, but he’d filled it, and even more than that, in spite of his earlier crisis of confidence he’d blown the roof off the joint, having one of the best shows he’d had in a year. He wanted to call his wife and tell her all about it, but it was late and would involve another conversation he didn’t feel ready to have. And Riley hadn’t called him either since that night so Shawn had no idea whether she would welcome hearing from him or not.

  Still, he shouldn’t have flown Keisha out. But things with Riley right now were hard, and Keisha was an amusement, albeit a high maintenance one. After the show, she’d managed to stick to him like glue, even finagling an invitation to the party. Right now, she was near the bar someplace, socializing with people she’d probably only read about in the tabloids or seen on Entertainment Tonight. When they’d walked in, she had held on to his arm proprietarily until he’d excused himself to hit the Men’s Room.

  Brendan came over rubbing his eyes and looking tired himself. It was easy to forget that for every hour he worked, Brendan worked two or three.

  “I’m about to bounce, man. You coming?”

  “Yeah,” Shawn stood right away, following him out.

  As they got into the rented Land Rover, he noticed that it was only just after two a.m.

  “Damn. We must be getting old,” he said. “Remember when we used to be hitting clubs till six in the morning and then straight to grab some chicken and waffles?”

  “Yup,” Brendan laughed. “I don’t think I have that in me no more. You see some of the honeys at the party? They were like . . . prepubescent and shit.”

  Shawn laughed. “It was probably her Girl Scout troop.”

  “From what I heard, she’s no Girl Scout,” Brendan said shaking his head. “Lisa P or whatever the he
ll her name is – how old is she? Fifteen?”

  “I was thinking the same thing. And how ‘bout her crib, man? It was like six, seven number ones before I could afford some shit like that.”

  “Yeah, but that house ain’t hers. She might think it’s hers, but it really belongs to the label. She’s just a tenant. The minute her numbers fall off, her ass will get booted the fuck out.”

  “It’s a cold, cold world,” Shawn said.

  “No doubt.”

  They fell into a companionable silence, and Brendan turned on the radio, scanning radio stations.

  “So what’s up with Keisha?” he asked, a little too casually.

  “I should’ve known that was coming,” Shawn said. “Nothing’s up with Keisha.”

  “Then why’s she here?”

  “To fill in the empty spaces.”

  “Shawn. You’re fucking up.”

  “Nothing to do with you, B.”

  “I’m just sayin’, man. Your wife is not the kind to stand for that mess. She will leave your ass.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me about Riley. I know my wife, a’ight?”

  “Fine. I said what I had to say,” Brendan looked at him.

  Shawn was still restless and awake in his hotel room around three-thirty when his phone rang. He picked up right away, hoping—but not really believing—that maybe it was Riley. It was only Keisha, and she sounded like she had a few drinks in her.

  “Why you leave the party without sayin’ nuthin’?” she whined.

  “Just because the party’s over for me don’t mean it has to be over for everybody. What you doin’ up so late?”

  “What you doin’ up so late?”

  “I asked you first.”

  “I just got in. Wasn’t that house phat? I never been in a place that nice before.”

  “Yeah, it was decent.”

  “What if I stopped by your room?”

  Shawn hesitated. “A’ight. C’mon through,” he said finally.

  Keisha was still wearing her party clothes. Tight jeans and a silver sequined tank top that scooped low in the front and back. She pushed past him and into the room. In her hand was a bottle of wine.

  “I took this from the party,” she said, holding it up.

  “Merlot?” Shawn said locking the door. “You like that?”

  Keisha smiled. “Never had it.”

  “You won’t like it,” he said moving toward her.

  “Why not?” she put the bottle down and folded her arms across her chest.

  “For one thing, you don’t drink it chilled . . .”

  He was directly in front of her now. They were almost touching.

  “How do you drink it?”she asked her voice barely audible. “Hot?”

  He laughed. “Not exactly.”

  Shawn leaned in, brushing her lips with his, teasing her and testing himself; pulling back when she leaned forward.

  “If you don’t drink it chilled and you don’t drink it hot, then how do you . . ?”

  He kissed her to shut her up. Pressing his lips hard against hers, he forced them apart with his tongue. He slid his hands down her sides and lifted her blouse, his thumbs caressing her nipples. Keisha leaned against the pressure of his hands and reached between them, rubbing him through his pants until he was hard. But when she reached for his zipper, he pulled back abruptly.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  Just a sudden attack of conscience. Shawn pushed the thought back down. He’d been toeing the line with this girl for weeks, and now he could either step over it, or turn back.

  Keisha smiled knowingly. “You want me to leave?” she asked.

  g

  Chapter Twelve

  Riley reached out and grabbed a hold on Brian’s hand to avoid being separated from him in the thick of the crowd. He gripped her fingers firmly and pulled her closer until he was shielding her with his body, one arm draped across her shoulder. She stiffened for a moment and then relaxed, allowing him to hold her at his side.

  “I wish we were closer to the stage,” he said, leaning in to speak into her ear.

  “Me too. But it’s pretty cool being here at all. Thank you for thinking of inviting me.”

  “I knew you would kill me if I didn’t and you heard about it.”

  Toni Morrison was at the university, reading from her latest book and some of her other works and Brian had called her the previous evening to find out whether she was interested. Riley was eager to accept. Toni Morrison’s Sula was her all-time favorite book and the opportunity to be in the same room as the author gave her something to look forward to after a week of emotional unrest.

  “You want to grab dinner after this?” Brian asked now.

  Riley nodded and smiled up at him. Brian reached down and rubbed the back of his hand across her cheek. Riley was surprised to feel pinpricks of tears in her eyes at the affectionate gesture. He’d always been such a calming presence, and with all the tumult in her marriage right now, she craved a little calm.

  Since that awful night when Shawn had admitted flirting with that woman just to be hurtful, she was in a tailspin. She hadn’t even been able to bring herself to call him to ask what he meant, and it had been over a week and he hadn’t called her either, to explain or for any other reason for that matter. To say that she was confused didn’t even begin to capture it. Clearly, he was punishing her for something, but she had no idea what.

  After the first couple of days spent debating how to broach the subject, she decided to wait. Shawn had something to sort out, and if there was one thing that night proved, it was that she couldn’t help him do it. So she had to be patient and hold on to the one thing of which she was certain—her husband loved her.

  Toni Morrison had a serene presence, and a voice that was quiet, but strong and certain. She sat at the center of an otherwise empty stage in an armchair, reading to the audience as though to a child at bedtime. The sole light trained on her illuminated the lines and planes of her face and her crown of graying dreadlocks. As she read, Riley felt a chill at the back of her neck. The passage seemed to speak directly to her.

  “She had been looking all along for a friend, and it took her a while to discover that a lover was not a comrade and could never be—for a woman. And that no one would ever be that version of herself which she sought to reach out to and touch with an ungloved hand. There was only her own mood and whim, and if that was all there was, she decided to turn the naked hand toward it, discover it and let others become as intimate with their own selves as she was.”

  Riley blinked back tears and nodded. For some reason at that exact moment, even though he didn’t look down at her, Brian squeezed her shoulder.

  They ate at Luke’s where the food was mediocre but the ambiance was familiar and comforting. Brian ordered his usual gyro and fries while Riley chose the slightly too greasy chicken Caesar salad. As they ate, they talked about the reading and then about Brian’s impending clerkship with a judge he admired in the New York State Court of Appeals, the state’s highest court.

  “So you’ll be in Albany this summer,” Riley said.

  “Yup. Not the most happening town, but I’m excited to learn how the process really works, y’know?”

  Riley nodded. She did know. They’d talked about this a lot once. It seemed a lifetime ago—sitting in her bed with her laptop, Brian next to her with those formidable law school texts opened and spread out around him. He had a clear vision of where he wanted to be and what he wanted to do with his law career. She’d admired that about him—his drive and certainty.

  Brian had at first made her feel hopelessly unfocused in comparison, until he told her one night how much he respected that she’d gone out and seized her passion for writing so early and never wavered.

  You’re brave, he said. I went into Finance because I was too chickenshit to tell my family that if I went into the law, it wouldn’t be at one of the marquee firms that they worked in or would envision for me. But yo
u went for it. I bet you do that with everything— just go for it.

  Riley hadn’t thought about herself that way before he said it. But now she did and some of it was because of him. He taught her think of herself as a fighter for what she believed in, for people she loved, and for things she wanted, and to not take those attributes for granted. Now, with Shawn, she understood how intense love could be and wondered sadly whether Brian had ever been anything to her besides a friend and a teacher.

  “So can I ask how you’re finding married life, or is that off limits?”

  Riley shrugged. “You can ask, but I’ll almost always decline to answer,” she said. “It would be too weird, talking to you of all people about Shawn.”

  “That’s a loaded statement if I ever heard one,” Brian said taking a couple of fries in his mouth and chewing. “It implies that there’s something to tell.”

  Riley blushed. “I just meant talking about him in general.”

  “Sure?” Brian asked. “Because honestly, when I met you at the subway, before you spotted me? I saw you and thought you looked a little sad.”

  “Things have changed so much, Brian, and so fast,” Riley said shrugging. “I’m still adjusting.”

  Brian nodded. “I can see how that might be difficult,” he said, his voice gentle. “I bet it’s a whole different life.”

  “It is,” Riley said, swallowing a lump that rose in her throat.

  “But most of it good, right?” Brian’s voice was cautious, as though he didn’t want to insult her.

  “Most of it,” she nodded.

  “Well then I’m glad,” Brian said smiling at her.

  When she got home, Riley picked up the phone to see whether there was voicemail, hoping that today would be the day when Shawn called; that today would be the day he decided that he wanted to break the silence. But today was not the day. There was only one message and it was from Tracy whom she had been avoiding. If she saw Tracy, it would be immediately apparent to her friend that something was very wrong, and she didn’t feel ready to admit it.