Love Delayed

by Love Belvin

  When Sarah sat with the builders for special features on this home that I gifted her for her birthday a few years ago, she dedicated a smaller suite on the opposite end of the house from her own to me. She said I’d always have an open invitation no matter what. I now wonder is Bernard that what.

  I can’t sleep thinking about the finality of Zoey and me. I can’t be so unreasonable as to think Bernard will stay in the place that technically belonged to me back n Philly. I mean, is he going to fuck his wife on the bed where I’ve blown my load in her countless times? The thought of it makes me sick. And Jordan. Bernard would have more access to my little man than I will. Giving up Zo would be life altering for me. Sharing Jordan would be the death of me.

  I don’t know what time I fall asleep. My night and day blends so well that I can’t tell when one ends and the other begins. I do feel it when a groggy Jordan, with his funky ass breath, is in my face, petitioning my consciousness for something to eat. At this point, I have to get up and start my day.

  Kids.

  By the time we quickly wash up and head downstairs to raid his grandmother’s refrigerator, Jordan and I find her kitchen filled and busy with Sarah, Ruth and Zoey. I glance around the room and see a tight faced Alton, sitting patiently at the table, waiting to be served.

  He had to have just rolled out of the bed. I stroll over to him.

  “Did you even brush your fucking teeth before sitting at Mom Duke’s table?”

  Alton’s neck jerks back, feigning righteous indignation, but before he can come back, Sarah shoos, “Oh stop being territorial, Stent. Alton has been waiting patiently for the past thirty minutes.” She rounds me, standing on her toes, she lands a kiss on my cheek. She knows it warms me. “Besides,” she whispers to me. “Everybody knows I only have one son.”

  Sarah giggles as she watches my squinted eyes soften.

  As much as his brutish ways annoy me, it feels great having my man here with me, especially considering this shit with Zoey and her bum-ass boyfriend weighing my shoulders.

  When breakfast is ready, everyone sits for the big spread in the dining room. Sarah pulls no punches. She and her daughters cook every damn breakfast item I can think of. She’s trained them both well. When days were brighter for Zoey and me, she’d always make sure I had a full and hot meal without request. It was as if it was her innate charge. Today is no different as I sneak my glances of her while she moves swiftly, making sure everything is laid out.

  The first plate Zoey makes is Jordan’s. What fucks me up is when she serves Bernard his food next. I almost lose my appetite when it lands in front of him. My plate has been in front of me for a while, courtesy of Sarah. She was able to do this because Ruth fixed her father’s. Then Sarah serves Alton his food. It’s all orchestrated and no one is slighted. But me. Seeing Zoey serve another man and totally skip over me burns the shit out of my pride.

  I feel eyes on me and look over to my right, across the table. Alton’s eyes are imploring me to chill. I acknowledge him, but don’t acquiesce. I’m fucking pissed.

  “Ah, Mr. Barrett! You sho’ got you an assembly line in here with these women cooking like it’s for Master White!”

  That was Alton’s attempt to break the tension. It’s somewhat successful because the only two who do not bust out in laughter are me and Jordan, who doesn’t get the slave-themed joke.

  Fuck my life.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  After breakfast, the guys are sitting outside of the back of the house, killing time. Michael’s best friend, Fred, joins us just as we finish up breakfast. As it seems, he and Alton hit it off well with their coarse personalities in common. It would be perfect if Bernard wasn’t present. His ass makes my skin crawl. Alton acts as his buffer. It’s almost as if he knows how close I am to losing it.

  Sarah and Ruth are to the left of us, underneath the carport talking over Ruth’s iPad. Michael is speaking about the evolution of the black man in America and how there’s been regression in our development. Fred chimes in, often agreeing with his boy. It’s an insightful lecture, but I’m pleasantly distracted by the sight of Zoey, horse playing in the massive green yard with Jordan.

  Seeing my life in one place, interacting gleefully does something to my core. It reminds me of my reason for living. My world. My elation isn’t only sentimental, it’s physical as well. I’m fighting my erection as I watch Zoey’s ass jiggle in her short shorts, and her breasts bounce in that stingy tee-shirt. It brings my mind back to the Zoey I met seven years ago whose curves weren’t as plentiful and hid beneath her loose clothing. The weight gain over the past few years has enhanced Zoey’s appeal. She’s even more beautiful…and especially arousing.

  In the back of my consciousness, I hear Michael excuse himself. Spouting something about an aging bladder as he pads off. My eyes never leave my family.

  “Damnnnnn!” Alton growls while holding his sack. “Seeing Zo’s ass out there reminds me about my piece, coming down here child-free. I can’t wait to drown myself in that ass.”

  Alton is a bit more dramatic than he’s been down here, at the Barrett’s. I don’t flinch because Michael is out of earshot. And not for nothing, Zoey’s natural sexiness had me entranced long ago.

  “I know, man, I can’t wait to be able to say that myself. As soon as she’s official, I’ll be drowning in that all day.”

  As my head snaps over to Bernard, I notice in my peripheral, so does Al’s.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Say what, young man?”

  Alton and Fred damn near shout at the same time. Almost immediately, Bernard’s expression turns sheepish. It’s clear to me he didn’t realize the jewels dropped when he did.

  He isn’t fucking Zoey?

  “Yo, bro!” Alton yelps, and instantly, I see the mischievousness in his eyes. “You mean to tell me you got one of the sexiest women in American pop culture…purely for who she’s affiliated with and you ain’t fuck yet?”

  Fred’s expression matches Al’s. My curious glance doesn’t provide relief. Bernard’s eyes shut, easily giving away his embarrassment. His slip up. He’s not fuckin’ my Niña! My somber mood since he left my bedroom last night suddenly turns triumphant.

  “Well, we tried once…” Bernard tries to explain, but that attempt is weaker than his slip up. He failed big time, intensifying my excitement exponentially.

  I know Zoey; she likes to fuck…and hard. She’s also very straight forward. If you’re hitting it right, she will come back. If she’s not pleased with you, in any manner, she will figure out a way to avoid displeasure.

  Bernard doesn’t know how to fuck.

  “Trust me, son,” Fred pleads with Bernard. “It don’t matter how religious they come. If you make ’em feel good, they gon’ keep coming, ya hear?”

  Bernard glances at him ghostly. I can tell he’s registering that he’s gone against man law.

  “Shiiiiit! I know enough about that ass,” he points directly to Zoey. “…to know she likes to be handled, nah I mean, son? She one of those that makes her wishes known, nah I mean?” Al cups his sacks. If I didn’t know my man, I’d think he’s disrespecting me, my son and his mother. But Alton is communicating territory to Bernard. He’s telling him that I’ve fucked Zoey, properly.

  Bernard gives a half-confident snort. “Well, she is sporting my rock, right?” He takes a sip of his drink.

  “My man,” Fred calls for his attention. “One: That ain’t no rock. Two: a ring don’t equate to love for a woman who ain’t being touched right.”

  When Alton leads his and Fred’s laughter, I almost feel sorry for Bernard. But when I catch a glimpse of Zoey’s ass perked in the air, mimicking a three-point stance along with Jordan, it all dissipates.

  Fuck Bernard. I need to handle Zoey.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  The small banquet hall where Sarah’s birthday dinner is being held is nice. It’s modestly decorated with silver, pink and deep purple Mylar balloons and the tables are covered in pink
and purple tablecloths with exotic flower arrangements as centerpieces. It’s understated elegance, precisely indicative of the honoree. Her and Michael’s table is centered. Seated with them are their daughters, grandson and me.

  I wouldn’t feel so awkward if Zoey would at least look at me. It’s not that I make much of an attempt; my mind is still turning over the fact that Zoey has no sex life. There are so many revelations to be gained from that.

  Angela is in the building with her daughter, Brooklyn. Karen and BJ are here with their two boys as well. I still can’t believe they’re expecting a third. There are a few faces I recognize from being with Zoey’s family over the years. What’s telling of the ones that I don’t know are the stares and attempts to take pictures of me. They are being handled by the security that I have to keep around me, even if at a distance. For the most part, Zoey and Sarah managed their family regarding the fanfare over the years, asking that they not make a spectacle of my presence. That quelled the unnecessary conversations and requests from people I don’t know.

  Bernard left for a show in Greenville after his monumental miscue this morning. Tynisha met Alton here, and afterwards they’ll be headed to Key West for two weeks. That’ll be his restoration vacation before the season starts.

  Although the venue is small, the service is excellent and dinner is served promptly to guests. There are presentations given to the birthday girl including a soloist performance. Sarah seems happy. She’s a modest woman, one who doesn’t ask for anything but for people to live their best lives. She deserves this and more. Zoey put this together for her mother. When I offered to help via email, she declined, leaving me to think of a birthday gift all on my own.

  When it’s time, Jordan and I take to the podium to present Sarah with her gift from us. Jordan starts with a poem he created and memorized for his grandmother. It’s short and sweet, yet beyond what you would expect from a six year old. But that’s JR. He has a seasoned soul. Sometimes I wonder if his maturity is due to him being exposed to so much and being an only child. I’d love to give him siblings, but refuse for it to be with another woman. I don’t want that type of set up.

  After the applause dies down, Jordan looks up at me. I lower my body to the microphone.

  “Good evening everyone,” I clear my throat, uncharacteristically nervous about speaking publicly. The room goes up again. That, I’m used to. It comes with the celebrity. “I couldn’t let this little player steal the show. Sarah may be his grandmother—a super grandmother—but I often feel she belongs to me as well. I’m not a man of public display…” Laughter. “…unless there’s a ball in my hands, that is.” I have to chuckle myself for stumbling over my words. “But for this woman I’d endure the embarrassment to tell the world how great a woman she is and what a…” I lick my lips, braving myself. “…blessing she’s been to me and my fam—my son.” My eyes go to her. “Sarah, I don’t know any mother who loves as hard or extends herself as much for her den. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you…although you never ask. Thanks for…” I bow my head to control my emotions. It’s bad enough that I’m bent over, talking into a fucking mic that is as low as my knees, but my damn emotions are trying to surface, too. “Thanks for being an extraordinary grandmother to my son and a…an unexpected mother to me.”

  I quickly stand and pat Jordan on the shoulder, providing his cue.

  “Now, Daddy?” he looks up at me.

  I nod.

  “Grandmom, our birthday gift to you is a cruise…” Jordan looks up at me again. “What kind again, Daddy?”

  The room laughs.

  “Mediterranean.”

  “Yeah…and a coupon—”

  “Voucher,” I correct.

  “Voucher for a pool in the backyard!” Jordan shouts his joy because, while Sarah has expressed wanting one, he knows he’ll benefit from it most.

  The room goes up louder than they have all night. Folks stand from their seats. Jordan jumps in place, soaking up their response, not having a true appreciation of what he’s just gifted his grandmother. Sarah grabs her chest and cups her mouth at the same time. I give her a wink, having fun with her modesty.

  Then my eyes land on Zoey, who’s just as elated by our gesture as everyone else. Her eyes are wet and nose is red. When we leave the stage, Jordan flies into his mother’s arms. She whispers something directly in his ear. I hear him say thank you, but not much else.

  Then her eyes rest on me and for the first time in years, I don’t see acrimony. I see pride, similar to when I met her.

  “I have someone I’d like you two to meet.” Zoey does a reverse nod, summoning me to follow her.

  We walk a few tables over and come across a table full of people. Because I know Zoey understands how I feel about meeting strangers, I’m at ease. Yet I’m still curious about who this person is.

  “Aunt Lucinda, this is my angel, Jordan, and his dad, Stenton,” Zoey initiates.

  An elderly woman with smooth unblemished sable skin slowly turns in her seat and lifts her chin to regard me. Judging by her languid movement, I didn’t think she heard very well.

  “You’s a tall boy, ain’t ya?” Her dentures are stained, but her smile is bright.

  I give her a slight bow then offer my hand. “Nice to meet you, Aunt Lucinda.” She takes it shakily, which is indicative of her age. She must be eighty or so years old. I then turn to Jordan. “Greet your aunt, kid.”

  Jordan smiles as he offers his hand. “I’m Jordan Rogers.”

  As she takes his hand she jeers, “You must be if he’s Stenton. Your momma only introduced two people.”

  Zoey and I chuckle. Seconds later, Lucinda joins in.

  “Now where’s ya’ other family?” Lucinda tosses over to Zoey.

  Zoey’s expression matches my bemusement.

  Other family?

  “This is it. You’re looking at it, Aunt Lucinda.” Zoey’s soft rub on her aunt’s shoulder mirrors her soothing tone.

  The lady must be a bit senile at her age.

  “No, honey. Ain’t you engaged, too? Where is that lucky fellow?” Lucinda clarifies. The whole table is quiet, raptly watching our exchange.

  Shit! That answers it. Fucking Bernard.

  Zoey’s eyes rise to mine. It is clear that concept is as foreign to her as the ring she wears. She then subconsciously thumbs the underside of her left ring finger…where my initials are engraved. I shrug my shoulders as my brow line rises. This is for her to answer. She scrapes her bottom lip between her teeth.

  Rebounding, she gleams, “Well nothing’s official ‘til I say I do, right?” Zoey gives her faux chuckle. This time I don’t follow suit.

  “It was nice meeting you, Aunt Lucinda. God bless,” I bid cheesily. I need to get the fuck up out of this cypher.

  I take Jordan’s hand and tread toward our table. That’s when I see Sarah ambling our way. Her smile falls as she nears.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” she asks.

  I’m about to answer when I hear, “I’m not feeling too well, Momma.”

  I turn to find a distraught Zoey. I didn’t realize she was on my heels. She didn’t look good.

  Sarah wraps Zoey in her arms. “Is there anything I can get for you, dear?”

  Zoey shakes her head. “I just need to go lie down. I think I’ve pushed myself too hard this week.”

  Just then, Jordan lets go of my hand and takes off running to his grandfather, who waves him on from a distance, not at all clued in to what is taking place.

  “Okay, honey, but you shouldn’t drive.”

  “I’ll just see if Ruth will drive me,” Zoey murmurs sulkily.

  “Ruth is handing out favors.” Sarah glances up at me. “Stenton here can take you home. Right, son? Jordan can ride back to the house with me and Michael.”

  It’s posed in a manner that I can’t decline. Zoey’s eyes ascend to me. I don’t know what this means.

  “Sure.” I pull out my phone. “Let me notify security.”

&nb
sp; Less than five minutes later, we are in the truck, heading to the house with security tailing us. I take the opportunity to chip at Zoey’s brain.

  “So, are you two officially engaged?”

  “We’re committed.” Again, Zoey grabs her left ring finger and rubs at my initials, not the “rock” that Bernard gave her.

  “So am I to my team, but that isn’t an engagement.”

  She shifts in her seat with wide eyes and grates, “What are you getting at?”

  I stare at her for a few seconds, admiring her beautiful angry face. Her features have matured over the years, but she still has the innocence-and-purity aura that she did when I met her. This anger she’s throwing my way is what I’ve caused, so I won’t push her. My eyes go back to the road.

  “Since you and Bernard are talking about moving, I’m assuming you’re moving forward with the engagement.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t assume.”

  “It’s hard not to when you’re wearing that.” I nod toward her left hand, referencing her ring.

  “Bernard shouldn’t have asserted that. We only talked about it briefly.” Zoey shakes her head, clearly frustrated. But that’s who Zoey has become over the years when I’m around. “I have things to sort out before I can make that move with him.”

  “Shit like what? You took the ring—”

  “I told him that I would accept his desire for a commitment to me!” That came out nastier than I’m used to with her. There’s a subliminal message, I’m sure.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means…”

  “Means what, Zo?”

  I hear her sigh. “It means more than you ever gave,” she murmurs.

  I cringe, surprised by her candor.

  “So, you settle?”