by Mia Caldwell
Mari’s nearness soothed him, and being able to hold her to him made him happier than he’d ever felt.
As small as her apartment was, there was no other place he’d rather be.
He felt free around her; possibilities seemed endless.
It felt as if the two of them could do anything.
He brushed his finger against her cheek.
How could he be growing so attached so quickly? Was it because she’d caught him at a particularly vulnerable time?
She didn’t really plan to kick him out sometime later today, did she?
He’d make sure she didn’t have time to think about it.
“I’ll make coffee,” she mumbled against his chest, and she started pulling away.
He reluctantly let her go.
He kept his eyes on her, planning to take in every inch of her bare skin, but she skillfully grabbed the top sheet off the bed as she got up and shielded her nude body from him.
“Oh, now you’re shy?” he teased, disappointed at being thwarted, but delighted at her modesty.
He watched her until she was out of sight, then buried his face in her pillow, breathing in deep as if it would help him keep part of her with him if she kicked him out after all.
Even if she decided she’d gotten all she wanted from him and was tired of harboring a stranger, he knew he wouldn’t let her get away so easily.
He’d pull out all the stops, use all the advantages he had to woo her to stay with him longer.
He heard her moving around the kitchen and waited.
Then he heard her enter the bathroom.
He took the sound of the shower turning on as his cue.
Damn her modesty—he was going to see all of her, dripping wet in broad daylight.
* * *
“Do you have anymore meetings and interviews today?” he asked as she finished getting ready.
He really wanted to ask how it was that she hadn’t had sex in years, yet had a condom at the ready.
“Um...not really. I pretty much dropped off all I had yesterday since I was pretty sure about that one job. Anyway, without you here, I suppose I would be researching more opportunities, getting ready for another drop-off day tomorrow.”
“I see. Well, I know it’s important to you, and I don’t want to belittle your efforts or desires by making another job offer—although the offer still stands, by the way—but would you mind taking the day completely off? I’d like to take you on a proper date, and I suppose we can start with breakfast…”
He rubbed his chin, thinking about the possibilities.
“No, no—I’m making breakfast, buddy. You have not lived until you’ve had one of my omelets.”
“Is that right? Well, what makes yours so special?”
“Oh, I’m definitely not telling you! Next thing you know, my secret recipe is being capitalized on, my intellectual property stolen…”
He raised his hands. “You’ve got me—I’m definitely always looking for opportunities to take advantage of other people’s ideas, abilities, and whatnot.” He paused. “You’ve got my job all wrong, you know.”
She just looked at him, as if uncomprehending.
“You’d be surprised how unexciting a lot of it is; I mean, we’re talking about finances here—investments, consulting. Okay, so it has its cutthroat moments, but it’s not exactly what I’ve always dreamed of doing. I’ve been trained to take over for years, so it’s pretty much by rote by now; therefore, I don’t feel unprepared to take the reins from my dad someday at all, it’s just—I’m not sure I want to.”
She turned fully to him, pausing her vegetable chopping.
“What is it you want to do?”
He shrugged. “For so long, there wasn’t even space to consider anything else. My skills seem to line up adequately enough for this world. I just...I think I want to be involved with people more.”
“Aren’t you quite involved? Financial consultants are all up in your business, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, but not like that; everything’s so cold and impersonal.”
“You’re strange. Most people would rather be in the position you’re in, you know—everything lined up easy peasy after graduation. Immediate job security, an unquestionable inheritance.” She shrugged. “Guess it’s like everything else; people want what they don’t have. Some with straight hair want curly hair and vice versa, some with excessive boobs would rather itty bitty titties and vice versa…”
Jim laughed, watching her throw various things into the egg mix.
“Don’t misunderstand me—I do get the privilege in this case. It’s just that I never had a chance to explore other options, that’s all.”
She pulled out cheese and started grating it.
“I’ll be honest—sounds to me like you just want a break and after that break, you’ll probably end up where you are now. I mean, you didn’t shout pilot or engineer or anything—you have no other passion or interest; you just hate to feel forced by your dad. You hate that he thinks he knows what’s best for you and it seems he didn’t allow other considerations, but ultimately, you’re probably where you belong.”
He shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Either way, it seems like you have some questions you want answered—issues that can be resolved in solitude and quiet reflection or on a crazy detour. You’ve been safe so long, maybe you need some adventure. Some change. Nothing wrong with that. Go ahead—take a leave and backpack through Europe to your heart’s content.”
He grinned at her.
“Only if you come with me.”
She smiled, averting her eyes.
“I don’t have the luxury of taking off that kind of time…”
“Obviously, I have the means to support you. Money is no object.”
“Yes, but what you don’t get is that if we were to hypothetically take off for a while, when you get back, you always have a place. I return with a gap in my resumé that hirers do not look favorably upon. I cannot operate off of the assumption that things will be fine and dandy between us; I have no safety net.
“Say we return and you decide you’ve had your fill of me—I am left at a severe disadvantage. It’s hard enough as a woman, and certainly as a black woman. So as lovely as vacationing for shiggles sounds, please don’t ask me to take some reckless leap of faith that it might take far too long to recover from. You can afford to do such a thing whenever you want. I can’t. Besides, I am perfectly happy with my chosen path.”
“Ah, yes—what is it you want to do again? What have all of your interviews had in common? What’s this particular field you’re trying to get into, Mari, that I can’t offer you a place in? You’re clearly not pursuing some artistic field, and obviously not admin work because I’ve offered that. What is your dream?”
She stayed silent, avoiding his eyes as she started cooking the omelets.
“You really don’t strike me as someone who’d travel all the way here without a proper plan, Maribel Gibson.”
“That’s fairly accurate. I decided to move here after I had a positive response to putting my feelers out. I was pretty much a shoe-in for this particular job…”
“Doing what?”
“Copyediting.”
“You came all this way to be a copy editor.”
“You must understand—copyediting here is different from copyediting in Alabama.”
“I don’t believe that’s all there is to it; it’s okay if you moved here just because it’s far more exciting. I understand wanting to break away from where you were. It’s just that I was sure there was more…”
“Sure there is—I want to find a way to help people. And I don’t mean anything super hands-on like physical therapy or nursing or something. Something less intimate. Listen, my mom’s an elementary school teacher, my dad’s a service technician for a cable company. My sister ran away with some guy. I’m pretty much the last…”
“Hope. I know, Mari. Look, I’m aware you think we co
uldn’t be more far apart, and in some ways, we are, but I get it; we have quite a few things in common too. We’re both under pressure to take the lead, we both have sisters...”
She rolled her eyes, dumping the first omelet onto a plate and pouring in the egg mix for the second.
“Of course, mine was adopted from East Africa so I guess that’s another difference, but in all seriousness, the biggest thing we have in common is that we both haven’t given ourselves time to come up for air.”
“Well, as I said, the likes of you can afford to do that. For people like me, taking a break is a terrible idea. You can probably never work again in your life if you don’t want to. Just drink bourbon and play golf every day, a different girlfriend each day if you want.”
He laughed, accepting the breakfast she offered him.
“And yet, as wonderful and exciting as playing golf every day sounds—not to mention with a live blow-up doll at my side—I’m not doing it. Strange, isn’t it?”
“My point is, I’m staying put. I’m not taking off with you, and I’m not moving back home, no matter how bad it gets. I might not have a job right now, but the taste I’ve gotten of this place is enough to keep me trying to make it here. You know, I’m actually glad my sister left now—I felt sort of resentful when she took off and didn’t look back, but I understand completely—she had to get out and make a life for herself, whatever the cost. I do still feel terrible about my parents being stuck there alone now, and I wish I could encourage them to move somewhere else—somewhere more open, diverse—but for some people, no matter what, home is home. I was born and raised there, but it’s not home to me—I’ve been looking forward to leaving it behind since I was a kid.”
She paused, smiling, then dumped her own omelet onto a plate.
She sat next to him and began to eat.
“I haven’t been here that long, but I really love New York. Everything is so different—the pace, the number of people per square inch…”
Jim chuckled, wolfing down his own food.
She truly had a knack for omelets.
“You know that’s only a slight exaggeration, Jim. I saw a stack of mimes the other day, riding a unicycle and, at first, I was all, look at that—another spectacle. But then I remembered, nope—you’ve got to carve out more space to move through one way or another. Usually by going up, hence all the high-risers.”
Jim laughed again.
“All right, that’s enough of that. Time to take you outside. Have you been to Greenwich Village yet?”
She shook her head, chewing.
“It’s a must. It’ll also take up a good part of the day.”
“What’s there?”
“It’s a nice, picturesque stroll. We’ll check out any of the little shops you want—and trust me, you’ll want to pop into quite a few. We’ll definitely stop by any of the cafés that interest you for lunch. We can maybe even head over to the Hudson, or check out the Freedom tower. Later, we can take in a show—a comedy, a musical…maybe Hamilton—whatever you’d like; I can get tickets to anything. Oh, and Washington Square Park is a must. There’s a lot to see there—chess players, jazz musicians. I’ll even take a pic of you under the arch for your Facebook if you want.”
“Oh, my gosh. I’m not one of those types.”
“When you see the Washington Square Arch, you will want a photo, trust me. Anyway, I hope it won’t be too overwhelming for you. We may or may not encounter art installations, magicians, yoga classes...possibly even a full performance of some Shakespearean play. We can watch Pigeon Man conduct the pigeons…”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard correctly. We can listen to whatever Piano Man’s got on his schedule. There could be juggling, rats…”
“Wait, did you just say juggling rats as in rats that juggle?”
He laughed.
“I can’t even correct you because you never know. We could run into some rats juggling, or someone juggling actual rats. There could even be a protest today—I don’t know. You never know, and that’s what makes it amazing. It’s full of surprises. The best way I can describe it is that it’s like living in a cartoon. Birds are fluttering all around, squirrels darting… There might even be some chick in a pink bodysuit and one of those fluttery things from rhythmic gymnastics doing an interpretive dance. Something’s always going on there; the landscape is always changing. The characters, the shows, the events…you’re right, Mari—New York is probably one of the most dynamic places you’ll ever visit. You can’t get bored here and anyone who does has chosen to be.”
“You’re really excited about this—look at you,” she said, smiling at him with what he could only interpret as affection.
Warmth rushed through him.
“I don’t get a chance to go there often with a date since most prefer seclusion rather than public outings. But this village and the park—I love the energy, the open air, the natural environment. At any moment, a pigeon could poop on you—although, I suppose that could happen almost anywhere. Anyway, the park is my favorite—strange yet peaceful all at once. People of all ages and backgrounds, students, performing artists… Once, I witnessed a jazz band come together, starting with a solo guy on a sax. Next thing you know, he’s joined by other random musicians, and maybe they set it all up beforehand, but it seemed like it just happened to all come together and it was awesome. And it didn’t stop there—some artist showed up, set up his easel, etc., and in no time, he’s drawing this newly formed, perfectly in-sync band. A truly magical moment.”
“You’re adorably boyish right now, Jim Craig.”
“We’ll see about boyish when I bring you back home.”
Her cheeks flushed as she looked away, looking terribly embarrassed.
“Which reminds me—I should probably stock up while we’re out there,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her as she finally looked back at him.
She looked away again, making him chuckle.
“About last night,” she began, “I saw your face when I whipped that package out, and I just want you to know that my best friend advised me to always have at least two condoms on me—which she provided me with when she bought a box for herself—because you never know, and one should always be prepared. Never thought it would come in handy since I don’t do casual relationships, but there you go.”
“You carried that thing around for years?”
“Well, one year—she gave me the advice about a year ago.”
He shook his head.
“I’m glad to break your dry spell, Mari. And I assure you that what I feel for you is not casual, so you don’t have to feel bad about breaking whatever deal you had with yourself. I’m happy to prove how much you mean to me, beginning with our date today.”
He extended his arm to her and she took it, and once he again, he was flooded with the feeling that stars had aligned; everything just felt right.
They belonged together.
Chapter 11
Maribel
“I truly love this place,” Jim said as they walked down Bleecker Street. “No one knows my face, so I come here dressed down, dressed up, with shades or without, and I take in everything in peace. Probably the only moments of peace I get. Well, outside of…”
She shoved him, silencing him.
“Where do you go to clear your mind, Mari? Before moving here—where was your ‘village?’”
“I definitely didn’t have a place like this. There’s nothing like this,” she said as she looked all around her.
“Not even in college?”
“My own dorm room, I suppose, away from everybody. But that’s behind me. And it’s nowhere near as peaceful as this place because the stress was constant. It ebbed and flowed, but there was always some paper due, some test coming up, some book I was waiting for the bookstore to restock. Sure, I had friends I’d hang out with, but whatever we did, wherever we went didn’t matter—just that we had all decided to take a break, so there was no specific pl
ace—only the space made with certain people.”
“But before you came here, what were you up to? You graduated months ago, correct?”
“Well, I worked over the summer, saving up money to come here and pursue my dreams.”
“And why New York?”
She looked at him like he was a little crazy.
“Is it not the concrete jungle where dreams are made?”
He laughed.
“Yes, something like that, I suppose.”
“Besides, it seems more integrated here. More…advanced in a number of ways. I know New York has its own problems, but let’s remember I’m coming from the deep south. I’ve heard people say it feels they’ve traveled back in time a few decades when they come to visit. It’s still pretty shamelessly segregated in parts. You and me doing what we’re doing right now in parts there? Boy, the stink eyes we’d get. And more.”
“It’s hard to believe it’s still like that,” he said, shaking his head.
“Believe it. That social segregation permeates pretty much all aspects—whether you’re filling your tank at the gas station and the cashier decides to help the white person who came in after you first, or you boldly get watched and followed in a department store. Like, in additional to institutionalized racism, people actually still yell the N-word from their cars.
“I remember one time seeing my mom crack up at something on screen—something as simple as a genuine interracial friendship being represented or a white customer service type treating a black customer respectfully or something. That was like comedy gold to her; she was practically in stitches. Anyway, where I lived, because some parts really keep to themselves, I wasn’t directly affected so much. I pretty much got the worst of it when I went to the state college. There were several incidents during my time there I’d rather not get into while we’re on this lovely date.”
She paused to smile at him but he didn’t smile back.
“Mari, I’m dating you now. I want to hear about all aspects of your life. You don’t need to spare me any sordid details—we are here together to have fun, but also to learn more about each other. So lay it on me, partner; I can take it.”
