Commitment

by Forrester, Nia

  “Staying at a friend’s place in Dupont Circle. He wants to know if we want to stop by for a drink.”

  “He came for the rally?”

  Tracy shrugged.

  Riley smiled, knowing that he probably had. She and Brian had talked about his spirituality a lot and he said that Buddhism was the belief system he most identified with. She should have known that he would be here. The thought gave her pause. Did she know he was likely to be here? Was that why she’d wanted to come? She tried to recall whether he’d mentioned it the last time they saw each other at the Toni Morrison reading.

  It was true that she was running out of excuses to keep spending time with him. And he, too, might feel as though it took something as momentous as a Toni Morrison reading to justify a call to her.

  “Let’s go,” Riley said.

  Tracy looked at her, seemingly uncertain. “Okay,” she said after a moment.

  Brian’s friend was a fraternity brother, who already had a couple years of law practice under his belt. When they arrived, they found that the quiet drink they had in mind was probably not going to happened. His red brick Dupont Circle townhome was filled with people dancing to nineties music and holding bottles of expensive beer. Tracy and Riley made their way through the throng, looking for Brian. They finally found him, standing among a group of good-looking guys who looked like they spent their days on Capitol Hill and their nights making irresponsible decisions at house parties like this one.

  Brian was clearly already drunk and as soon as he caught sight of Riley and Tracy yoked one arm around each of them and planted wet kisses on their cheeks. Tracy pulled back and wiped it away while one of Brian’s friends stepped in to introduce himself. Riley looked at Brian, amused but pleased to see him having such a good time.

  “Wow. I’m guessing you didn’t waste too much time on the Mall today,” she said. “Started drinking as soon as the clock struck noon is my guess.”

  “Noon?” Brian said, pulling her into the crook of his arm. “Try ten a.m.”

  “Better to get it out of your system now,” Riley said. “Soon you’ll have to be a responsible citizen up in Albany. Righting the wrongs in the world.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” Brian said loudly. “I want to dance with my girl!” Then he stopped and theatrically put a hand over his mouth. “Oops. I forgot. You’re someone else’s girl now. C’mon, let’s dance.” He dragged her with him to the dance floor in the middle of a living room cleared of furniture and they started moving to the music.

  As if someone had diabolically cued it up, the song playing was ‘Missing.’ As they danced, the words rang in Riley’s ears “And I miss you . . . like the deserts miss the rain.” Brian put his hands on her hips as they danced.

  “You found some better place . . . and I miss you, yeah, like the deserts miss the rain,” he sang in her ear.

  Riley danced out of his reach and tried not to attach too much significance to the words. That this song was on was one of those cruel coincidences that the universe seemed to have an insatiable appetite for. As she spun and moved, she caught sight of Tracy who was being talked up by Brian’s friend but who seemed interested only in watching them on the dance floor.

  Riley turned away from her and held Brian’s arm. “Let’s stop,” she shouted over the music.

  Brian agreed without protest and danced toward the bar, getting them both a beer. He handed one to her and knocked his bottle against hers. He was flushed and a little breathless from the dancing; he looked down at her with such affection in his eyes Riley suddenly felt she was doing something wrong just by standing at the bar with him. She smiled at him and he took her free hand, placing it on his cheek. She left it there and he closed his eyes, turning his face to kiss her on the palm.

  Riley pulled away as though he’d stung her, shaking her head.

  Brian gave her a sad smile and tossed back a long gulp of beer. Having a conversation in this crowd and noise would be close to impossible, and for that Riley was grateful. She didn’t need to hear him say it; she could see it in his eyes.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” she asked loud enough to be heard.

  Brian laughed and took another gulp of beer. He leaned in, close to her ear. “You think that’ll take care of it?” he asked.

  Riley said nothing.

  “I think I know what will take care of it,” Brian said. He began swaying to the new song that was playing. “You want to hear my theory?”

  Still Riley said nothing.

  “I think,” Brian said, directly in her ear again, “that you should walk out of here, don’t look back. Don’t call me, or answer my calls. Or my email. Or my text messages . . .”

  She pulled back and looked at him, searching his face. He was drunk, very drunk. But he meant it.

  “. . . and maybe in a year,” he continued. “Or in two years, or five, we’ll run into each other on the street. And I’ll be able to hug you and kiss you on the cheek, and wish you well without feeling like someone is twisting a fucking knife in my heart.”

  Blinking back the tears, Riley looked up at him and he emptied his beer bottle and shrugged, giving her a wry smile. She searched her mind and her heart for something to say, but came up empty.

  “I tried,” Brian said, serious for a moment. “But I can’t.”

  Then he was shouting across the room to one of his friends and grabbing another bottle of beer off the bar, dancing into the crowd until he disappeared from view.

  g

  Shawn was in bed, watching ESPN when she got home on Sunday. The lightness she felt at seeing him more than compensated for the absolute horror of the previous evening. When Tracy had dropped her off, she had practically bolted for the elevator, saying a silent prayer that he would be home so she could lose herself in him. She didn’t care if he initiated or not, she needed him and she was not taking no for an answer this time. Whatever the hell they were working out, they would work out later. But right now, she wanted her husband. He had a MacDonald’s bag next to him on the side table, and a glass of juice. A heap of his clothes lay on the floor.

  “Been out already?” she asked dropping her overnight bag at the foot of the bed.

  “Had to eat.” Shawn pulled the covers back and Riley climbed in next to him kicking off her boots and peeling off her jeans and t-shirt. Shawn watched her warily as if he didn’t know what she had planned.

  “And I guess cooking something was out of the question.”

  She kissed him on the cheek, distracting him as she tried to wrestle the remote from his hand.

  “So did you free Tibet?” Shawn asked, holding the remote just out of her reach.

  Riley smiled. “Not quite. But I did get to see Richard Gere. He was a quarter mile away onstage but I did see him.”

  Shawn laughed. “So basically, it was worth the ride down there?”

  “Not even remotely,” Riley said. “I should have stayed home with you.”

  “Yeah, you should have,” he said half seriously.

  She lurched forward unexpectedly and grabbed the remote from his fingers, tossing it across the room onto the armchair. Then she crawled backward on all fours, lifting the sheet over her head, kissing his chest, going lower and lower, teasing him by stopping at the waistband of his boxers. She felt his hands under her armpits, pulling her up.

  “No, Riley,” he said. “Wait.”

  “No, you wait,” she said.

  She put a hand behind his head and pulling his head toward her, kissed him, feeling his resistance dissipate then lessen to nothing. Holding his arms down at his sides, the way he sometimes did to her, she kissed his neck, licked his chest, gently rolling his nipples between her teeth. His breath was coming in short, fast bursts and Riley smiled because her power was back. She raised her head. His eyes were half-closed, and he seemed to be fighting a losing battle with self-control.

  “Do you want me?”

  She knew the answer; it was more than physically apparent. But
she wanted to hear him say it. She needed to hear him say it. Working her way down his chest again, this time she moved the waistband of his boxers lower as she went.

  “Do you want me?” she asked again.

  Then unexpectedly, he was flipping her over onto her back and Riley’s mouth fell open in surprise.

  “Hell yeah,” he said.

  Before she could object, or say anything to slow him down, he was kissing a path down her chest and stomach. But he didn’t stop at her underwear as she had done. He pulled it down and off, bending her knees, spreading her legs and resting them on his shoulders. Then she felt his tongue, hot and wet, searching and pressing and pulsing against, over, inside her.

  She tried to arch her hips but he tightened his grip, his tongue slowly stroking her, until she was moaning unintelligibly. It didn’t take long before she was quivering, her entire body tense and just as suddenly, slackening so that it felt as though she had no muscles at all and was just a trembling mass of sensation.

  Riley lay still for a few moments, her head sideways on the pillow, eyes half-open, recovering. She was floating away on a cloud of feeling, mindless and weightless. Then Shawn’s face was looming over hers. He’d gotten off the bed momentarily and she hadn’t even felt it. She smiled, thinking how beautiful he was, allowing her knees to fall apart again as he sank between them. She raised her hips, felt him nudge her thigh, and reached down to guide him in. But he felt different. Rubbery.

  Riley looked down and thought her heart would stop. He was wearing a condom. She sat up, pulling away as though she’d been burned.

  “Why’re you wearing that?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  Shawn swallowed. “I just thought maybe . . . while you were away . . . and while I was gone, that maybe you didn’t take your pill.”

  Riley froze. He was lying. She knew it because there was something she had never seen before in his eyes—not just apprehension, but fear. She thought she could hear the blood pounding in her ears. The whole room closed in on them both and on that thing he was wearing. Ever since they were married and even for quite some time before then, he hadn’t worn one. So why now? Why was he wearing a condom unless . . .

  Tears of comprehension sprung to her eyes and she blinked them back.

  “Shawn . . . did you . . . were you . . ?” she didn’t know how to complete the question.

  He was already shaking his head. “Baby, I swear to you. It was just . . .”

  “Oh my god,” she said, not really speaking to him, so much as to herself. It all made sense now, his evasions, avoidance, being nice but not wanting to touch her. “Oh my god.”

  “Baby . . .”

  “Ohmigod!”

  She didn’t know where the sound came from. Was that even her? It was as though she was watching herself from far away.

  “You . . . you’re fucking someone? You’re fucking someone!”

  She kicked at him and at the sheets, pushing him off her, arms flailing wild.

  “Riley. I swear to you, it was nothing. It was a mistake . . .” he approached slowly, arms extended, as though trying to talk her down from a ledge. His chest was heaving, his eyes wide. He was scared.

  She barely heard him. She was too busy scrambling to the edge of the bed to get away from him so he couldn’t touch her. If he touched her, she would be sick. She ran toward the bathroom and he followed, but not closely enough.

  Riley slammed the door in his face and turned the lock, leaning against it, hearing herself cry and whimper, scarcely believing what was happening. She was sobbing and hyperventilating, gulping and feeling her heart; her heart literally ached.

  “Baby, I love you,” she heard him say on the other side of the door. “I fucked up, but I love you . . . Riley . . . open the door. Please . . .”

  She stuck her fingers in her ears, knowing how childish it was but not caring, not wanting to hear his voice. It didn’t matter how long he was out there. She was prepared to stay in here twice as long.

  g

  Chapter Fourteen

  Every morning when Shawn woke up after another uncomfortable night on the sofa, Brendan came out of his bedroom and on his way to the kitchen or bathroom, and said the same thing.

  Go home, man. Go home.

  But he couldn’t. If he went home Riley would leave, and if she did, he’d have no way of knowing where she was or even how to reach her outside of work. Something told him that if she moved out of the apartment, it would be over. Although right now it felt pretty damn close to over anyway.

  He kept reliving that morning and thinking of how he could have done things differently. Like just out and out lied. That had always been the plan if confronted with something like a phone call from Keisha, or a chance encounter between Keisha and Riley at some industry party.

  Deny, deny, deny.

  But she came in earlier than expected, and he was caught off guard when she crawled into bed with him like that, and wasn’t thinking of what it would look like for him to wear a condom when he’d hadn’t done that for months. Wasn’t thinking about much of anything other than getting close to her again. And most of all, he hadn’t counted on what it would feel like to try to lie to her to her face. Looking into her eyes, seeing the hurt and confusion had rendered him pretty close to speechless and he quite literally could not lie. Not to her.

  Even though there was no point in replaying the same old tape in his head, he couldn’t help himself. Riley had been coming on so strong, eager to get closer to him for days and he’d fought every natural impulse he had and pushed her away. So while she was in D.C. he bought the condoms, planning to construct an elaborate tale if forced to use them.

  But in the moment, it was clear that there was no story she would have believed even if he’d had the guts to tell it. She’d looked right through him and saw the truth. A fucking condom. It had to be the all-time dumbest shit he’d ever done.

  “You still here?”

  Shawn barely looked up. Brendan was coming out of his kitchen, a bowl of milk in one hand, the box of Cap’n Crunch in the other. Shawn sat up and made room for him on the sofa then watched as Brendan turned on the television and started flipping channels.

  “So what’d Tracy say when you talked to her last night?”

  Brendan was already digging his spoon into his bowl of cereal staring at the screen.

  “I told you, Tracy’s not giving up jack. I asked her point blank.”

  “And what’d she say?”

  Brendan looked at him. “She said, ‘I’m not giving up jack’.”

  Shawn doubted Tracy had used those words, but he got the point. Brendan was getting tired of him asking.

  “So she didn’t say anything about a divorce or anything like that?”

  “How many times I got to tell you, man? You need to go home. Talk to your wife.” Brendan shrugged. “In a way this might work out better because the shit was bound to come out one way or another.”

  “Oh, this might work out better?” Shawn said. “I didn’t realize till just now it was a good thing my marriage getting fucked up.”

  “Look,” Brendan said holding his spoon up at him, milk dripping onto his wrist. “You did this shit to yourself. Ain’t nobody feelin’ sorry for your ass.”

  “Thanks, man. Nice lookin’ out.”

  “I tried to look out. Before you sent Keisha that plane ticket who was it that told you to hold up? Who told you to watch yourself when she was pushing. . ?”

  “A’ight, a’ight . . . but if you could find out from Tracy if . . .”

  “Shawn. I told you. Tracy is not stupid. She knows that whatever she tells me, she might as well be hollerin’ at you, so she doesn’t tell me squat.”

  “I bet she’s happy this shit happened,” Shawn said bitterly. “Probably offered to drive Riley to the courthouse the day she heard.”

  “Shit. What would you tell her? You been married six months, man.”

  Shawn held up a hand. “Yeah, okay . . . whatever.”
>
  Brendan shrugged. “See what I’m saying? You don’t listen. That’s what I been telling you. Bottom line? You were ready for Riley to be married to you, but you weren’t ready to be married to her.”

  “That’s real deep, man.”

  “I told you what you have to do. Go home. Talk to her. And if I was you I’d be trying to come up with some real groveling type shit.”

  Shawn leaned back. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want Riley to move out if he went home. He also didn’t know what to say to her. ‘I’m sorry’ was about the only thing that came to mind and that just didn’t seem to cut it. If this was another woman, he might buy her something expensive; something that would dazzle her. But knowing Riley, jewelry at a time like this would send her over the edge.

  “She won’t even take my calls,” Shawn said.

  “That’s why you have to go home. You want her to get used to not having you around? Wake up one day and say to herself, ‘This isn’t so bad.’?”

  Shawn looked up. He hadn’t thought of that. And between Tracy and her mother, he was sure she was already thinking along those lines. As far as he knew, she might be already moving her stuff out, looking at apartments. It wasn’t as though she didn’t now have the financial means to make that happen in short order if she wanted to.

  “Maybe I can go to her job, catch her coming out for lunch.”

  Brendan looked at him. “You sure you want to do that, man? It could get ugly.”

  Shawn laughed. “I got a better chance out on the street than in room with just the two of us.”

  Brendan thought about it for a second and nodded his agreement. “You might be right.”

  It took him thirty minutes to shower and dress, then Shawn took a cab over to the magazine’s offices on Chambers Street, but once he got there he had no idea what to do. He loitered on the curb for a few minutes but people recognized him and kept staring. Then he noticed two girls across the street pointing excitedly and he knew he had to get inside if he didn’t want a crowd to gather.

  Power to the People was housed in an old red brick building on the more picturesque side of Chambers, near Chinatown where some of the roads were still cobblestone. This particular building was familiar to Shawn because it had a unique painted ceiling and semi-circular staircase that made it a favorite location for music video directors.