My Daughter's Boyfriend

by Cydney Rax

  Ooooh. Ugghh.

  I bent over.

  Uggghhhhh.

  I placed my hands on my throat and gently squeezed; a thick and harsh bile climbed swiftly up my throat, hot stinging tears filling my eyes with blindness. My guts were being ripped from my body, Steve’s actions a dagger mauling my already bruised heart. Taking no time to think, no moment to rationalize or surrender, I lunged at him and palmed the side of his face.

  “Who the hell you think you are, dammit? How you trying to play me, huh, Steve? You will not disrespect me. Not today.” I ground my teeth, hitting, slapping, absorbing every heated sting from pounding his hardened skin, and with each punch, I felt tears spill from my own eyes, as if to hurt Steve was to hurt myself. And I was surprised yet saddened that instead of stopping me, he let me strike him again and again.

  One frustrated slap later and Steve’s glasses flew off his face, the force so great that they veered toward a nearby bush. He pinched his jaw between his fingers, eyes bulging, nostrils flaring, and looked at me like he didn’t know who I was or what I’d turned into.

  Chest heaving up and down and sweating, I clenched and unclenched my fists and began pacing the front walk in small, jerky steps. When I turned back toward Steve, Lani, who’d watched from her car, ran straight at me. I moved away from her, but she jumped at me from behind and bashed me hard in the back of my head with something so thick it felt like a damned hardcover dictionary. I blinked a couple of times and turned around, but was met by her long fingernails flailing wildly at my face.

  The strength in me rose up and I blocked her twice, but she nicked me on my neck and I took one deep breath and, shoving with every ounce of power I possessed, I rammed her voluptuous ass right into those skin-piercing bushes. She began shrieking.

  “Three words, Stacey. Watch your back.”

  I glanced bitterly at her and then at Steve, who was diligently pulling aside branches.

  Wiping my eyes, I got in my car and burned rubber driving away.

  Lauren 4

  It was just like Aaron to have me get dressed up for my birthday, just to take me to Pizza Hut. We were standing at the front of the lobby, waiting for someone to show us to our seats. Aaron had this mischievous grin on his face and I felt embarrassed for wearing my long gold-layered dress, which was cute but seemed to clash with the atmosphere.

  “Aaron, is this your idea of a joke?” I asked.

  Aaron’s answer was a gentle kiss to my cool lips. I raised my face to meet his, closed my eyes, and let our kiss last longer than normal. But I pushed him off me as soon as I felt a familiar stirring that reminded me things were progressing beyond my control.

  “Lauren, no joke. Just wanted to see what you’d do.”

  I blushed and inhaled the aroma of tomato paste, pasta, and grease. Since it was a Thursday night, the place wasn’t crowded. Following the female hostess, I slid my butt in the nearest booth. Aaron sat across from me and smiled.

  “Everybody loves pizza, Lauren,” he continued, “and I know you do.”

  “Yep, I love pizza, but I don’t know that I want to eat it wearing this dress.”

  “Believe me, the pizza does not know and it won’t care. So don’t be worried about how you’re dressed. You’re looking fine and you’re with me.”

  “Gracias.”

  “Voy a ordenar la pizza, mi amor, espereme aquí?” he told me in Spanish, something he’d speak occasionally to try to help me out with my language class, just one of my courses at Sharpstown High.

  “ ‘I’m going to order the pizza, my love, wait for me here?’ ” I smiled.

  “Muy bien,” he agreed with approval.

  “Very good to you, too,” I said and waved at him while he went to get our food.

  Aaron Oliver and I first crossed each other’s paths at my part-time cashier’s gig at McDonald’s. It was during the weekday lunch rush and there were already twenty or so people in my line. This irate customer was yelling at me because his order wasn’t ready and Aaron, who was standing in line behind him, calmed the man down, paid for his meal, and talked so soothing to me I couldn’t help but melt under his graciousness. He told me about himself, that he was a student and a part-time employee. After revealing more info about his background, he asked for my number. I told him no. He returned to my job a few weeks later, talked real sweet, gave me a five-dollar tip, and asked for the number again, which I reluctantly revealed. Aaron and I started out talking on the phone every few days, with me warming up to him as time progressed. Then once my mom met and approved of him, he and I would either go to the movies, Astro World, the malls, or swimming at the beaches of Galveston Island. That was several months ago and we’ve been love connecting ever since.

  Aaron returned to our booth bringing a sample of every type of pizza on the buffet, breadsticks, lasagna, and tossed salad.

  “Aaron, I can’t eat all this,” I laughed.

  “I know, Bunny. I just want it here for you in case you’re hungry.”

  “I’m not that hungry.”

  I gave him a flirty, sexy look, the one where my mouth is partially open and my chin is uplifted. He stopped what he was doing to zero in on my facial seduction dance, and I shook my head.

  “Uh-oh. Better stop this. We came here to eat, celebrate, and get away from the house.”

  “Hey, Lauren. Don’t think that this is the highlight to your birthday.”

  “You mean there’s more? What else you get me?”

  “As soon as we’re finished eating, you’ll find out what your gift is.”

  I shoved my plate to the side. “I’m done.”

  A half hour later we were headed toward Aaron’s apartment. Transportation was provided courtesy of his five-year-old black-and-gold Acura Legend, a decent-looking ride that his parents bought him when he graduated from high school.

  “Let’s go,” Aaron ordered after we pulled into his reserved covered parking space. Aaron’s home is in the Parkwood West Apartments, on the southwest side of town. For the past year and a half Aaron has lived there with his roommate, Brad McMillan, who’s originally from Detroit. Aaron, a native Houstonian who decided to remain in state to attend college, met Brad in a sociology class at the University of Houston.

  Aaron and Brad’s apartment was very different than most of the ones I’d been in. You walked in the door and located directly to the right was a hallway that had two bedrooms and a full bath. If you kept going straight you’d come to the dining room, the kitchen, and then the living room, which was in the back of the apartment. There was a nice-sized balcony, but it was full of junk: mountain bikes, snorkels, tennis rackets, and other sports equipment.

  After walking in Aaron’s home, I clutched my purse next to me and sat on the edge of the couch. On the other hand, Aaron had removed his coat, his suit jacket, and even his shoes. He went into his refrigerator and poured us sparkling white grape juice in champagne glasses. I smiled when he handed me a glass. I crossed my legs and reached to take a small sip. After one soothing taste I ended up guzzling a little bit more. Then I emptied the glass and placed it on a wooden coaster on Aaron’s cocktail table.

  Meanwhile, Aaron seemed to be in his own world, moving about the apartment, pulling out various CDs and placing them in the disc changer: Brian McKnight’s Back at One, Mariah Carey’s Rainbow, and Maxwell. I watched him standing by the speakers. His eyes were closed and he was swaying to Maxwell’s distinctive high vocals.

  A minute or so passed, but I refused to remove my coat.

  “Hey, Bunny, you all right? Why you still got your coat on? Is it too cold in here?”

  “Huh? Oh no. I’m okay.”

  “Sure? I can turn up the heat.”

  “Oh no. D-don’t do that, Aaron. I’ll take my coat off in a few.”

  I yawned hard enough to make him yawn too, and leaned my head against the big cushy pillows.

  “Is it okay if I take off my shoes?” I asked.

  “Nope, it’s not okay. I know yo
ur feet smell like hell.”

  “Well, if you already know that, then it shouldn’t be a problem,” I said, and slid my feet out of my slingbacks.

  “Fortunate” happened to be both Aaron’s and my favorite slow jam. When Maxwell’s screams filtered from the CD player, it was a matter of seconds before Aaron extended his hand and I stood up. Aaron slid my coat off my shoulders and dropped it to the floor, but I ducked down and placed the coat on the recliner. He smiled at me and held out his hand, and I put my hand in his and we walked to the open space of the living room.

  I loved slow dancing, loved it so much that I did not complain at all when Aaron grabbed me around my waist and started rocking. I love to tilt my head and look in his eyes, and he really gets on my nerves because he knows I love looking into his eyes, but he closed them, so I ended up pinching his waist until he opened them again. So we kind of held each other, bodies merging into one another, and rocked to the music. And when the song ended, I wasn’t surprised when I heard Maxwell start screaming again. I figured Aaron had put the song on repeat, and I didn’t know if I wanted to repeat the same dance steps over and over again. I knew something had to give, I just wondered what and when.

  Aaron took that moment to wet his lips and placed a smooth, warm, and oh-so-tantalizing kiss right on my neck and I wanted to melt like butter on a scorching griddle.

  “Bunny?”

  “Y-yeah?” I said in a soft, petrified voice.

  “Ready?” he half-whispered.

  I stiffened. He acted like he didn’t notice my reaction and kept rocking. His lack of response irked me.

  “Hey, Aaron,” I said, but he shushed me.

  The dress I had on was one of my favorites, but right then I wished I hadn’t worn it because it had a zipper in the back and I could feel Aaron’s hands on the zipper and yep, you guessed it, I could hear the doggoned zipper being unzipped and frankly I didn’t know what to do. So I didn’t do anything and before I knew it, my dress had been slid over my hips and down my legs and then it was crumpled around my feet and I knew I didn’t buy that dress just to have that happen.

  “Uuhh,” I said in a scatterbrained tone, “Aaron, wh-where is the gift you said you got me?”

  “This is the gift, Lauren. Making love with your man is the gift.”

  I sighed and kind of hoped Aaron didn’t hear my sigh, yet I hoped that he did because maybe my sigh would say what my words could not.

  By then Aaron’s hands were sliding up and down my nervous and twitching back. He was rocking back and forth and we were still twirling around the living room and that’s when I noticed something that gave me the jolt of reality. Aaron’s erection talked to me. I had its complete attention and it was indeed rare that my body felt something as hot and aggressive as that and why was it so close to me and did it have to be so obvious by prodding and poking my thigh? In all the time I’d known Aaron, we’d kissed and caressed each other’s shoulders and arms, but he’d never gone this far, never held me this close.

  A shaky “I gotta go,” was released from my divided soul, and I pushed him off me. Even though our bodies were no longer in contact, my mind still latched on to the memory of how warm and snug Aaron had felt against me. I shuddered, bent down, and pulled up my dress over my shoulders, and I didn’t care if my dress was zipped or not.

  Aaron looked at me and had this messed-up expression on his face, like I was trifling and I had some nerve. I averted my eyes and slipped my feet inside my shoes and clutched my coat and walked around the corner and stood at the front door.

  The music stopped playing and Aaron approached me and I was too afraid to look up at him, so I looked at the floor.

  He stepped to me, waited a while, and lifted my chin.

  “Let’s talk!”

  He grabbed my hand and we returned to the breakfast bar. I sat down while he leaned against the counter.

  “What up?” he asked with a look of confused hurt on his face.

  I swallowed what little spit was left in my mouth.

  “Aaron, we—we’ve been over this before and I know what you want, how you feel, but I just don’t think I’m ready to accept your gift.” I laughed, hoping he’d join in.

  He stared at me like not a damn thing was funny.

  “Um, I care about you. I want you, even, but I’m . . . I’m still not ready, Aaron, tooooo . . . have sex with you.”

  “So, when will you be ready to . . . to make love with the man who wants to make love with you?”

  “Ewwww,” I said, feeling hurt and humiliated. “Why’d you have to put it like that?”

  He just gave me a lingering look that made me feel even more uncomfortable.

  “Well, Aaron, to be honest, I don’t know when that time will be. Soon, maybe, but I just can’t say.”

  His eyes grew so dark that I stood up. “I am sooo sorry about all this. My birthday has been really great and I thank you for the pizza, and the money you gave me when we were in the car, but I just want to go home . . . right now.”

  I flashed him a look of assurance that I didn’t feel, and headed toward the front door.

  “Are you done?” he said. I felt him behind me, his breath humidifying my neck.

  I swallowed hard and turned to face my beau.

  “Aaron, all I know is I do want to be with you and when I’m ready I know it’ll be for the right reasons and at the right time,” I said, hoping he’d believe me and know it was the best I could give.

  He narrowed his eyes and paused a moment.

  “Tell you what! Give me a rain check and I’ll wait on you.”

  “You will?” I exhaled and stepped closer to him.

  He nodded and grabbed me around my waist and pulled me against him so close that my chin smashed his shirt collar. At that moment I knew beyond a doubt that I’d made the right decision.

  Tracey 5

  The only place I knew I could go unannounced at ten o’clock at night was my friend Indira Collier’s house. I’d known Indira for almost eight years. We talked on the phone at least once a week and occasionally met for dinner. More important, Indira and I used to belong to the same worship center. And last year, after I elected to leave Solomon’s Temple, she was the only church member who behaved like I still existed.

  Indira, a forty-year-old native Houstonian, was a widow whose husband, Malcolm, had died of lung cancer. Malcolm owned a successful architectural firm at the time of his death, and he was wise enough to leave Indira with several hefty insurance policies, enough to quit her florist job and burn the mortgage on their quarter-million pad in a fancy southwest subdivision.

  I made a left turn toward Indira’s cul-de-sac and pulled in the circular drive of their two-story peach stucco home. Took me a few minutes to punch in Indira’s phone number on my Nokia. She answered on the second ring. Moments later I saw her slightly open the front door and wave me in. Wearing a royal blue lounging gown, Indira grabbed my hand and we retreated to the game room, a gathering place that featured a wide-screen television, an oak wall unit with a DVD player and sound system, and an off-white Italian leather sofa. I sat on the sofa under several studio lights that glowed from the ten-foot vaulted ceiling.

  Indira is five-foot-eight, has broad shoulders, long eyelashes, and a small but consistent smile. That evening the front of her hair was set in large pink rollers; the back portion was braided and rested at the tips of her shoulders.

  “Something to drink? Eat?” she asked while she waited to play hostess.

  “No, I’m—I’m okay for now.”

  She knelt and settled on the floor next to my feet. Patted my thigh.

  “Tell me what happened, Tracey. Start from the top.”

  I recounted the night’s events to Indira and dared to look in her eyes.

  She flashed me a “been there” look.

  I fumed about how I didn’t appreciate Steve telling me one thing, but backing off it when Lani reappeared.

  “That pissed me off. I mean the fact th
at, first of all, he barely acknowledges my presence until after she’s left. What was that? He made me feel as if I was delusional about being in a relationship with him. All these months of spending time together and that’s how it’s laying? You don’t even treat a dog like that, you know what I mean?”

  Frowning, Indira waved at me. “I know. Keep going.”

  “And don’t even get me started on Lelani. Talking about I need to go and get a life. She barely graduated from college, her parents buy her everything she wants, and I need to get a life? Can you believe that?”

  “I hate to say it, but based on what you’ve already told me about Lani, heck yes.”

  “Then he totally confuses me. He goes from saying ‘Lani’s the head’ to ‘You’re the only woman for me’ in less than three minutes. Does the brother know what he wants, or what? Make up your mind. I can take it.”

  “I know that’s right,” Indira said, pumping her fist in a display of female power.

  “It’s either me or Lani ’cause it damn sure as hell can’t be the both of us.”

  “He may want to have his cake and eat it, too,” Indira said pretending like she was holding a fork.

  “Well, which one of us is the real cake?” I asked with a horrified look.

  “Girl, you got me,” she grunted. “So what’s next?”

  “I don’t know, Indy. I mean, I’ve had run-ins with Lani before, and Steve would always take my side. But this . . . this is something different and I don’t know . . . I don’t know if he was showing off because she was there or what. But I made sure and put some serious whip-ass on him just in case.”

  Indy looked at me strange. “Mmmm, I won’t ask,” she murmured. “Well, what’s up with Steve? Why would he string you along if he knew he wanted to be with her?”

  I stared at Indira, answerless. I couldn’t believe I was even going through this. It’s a trip to wake up in the morning and think you’ll know what’s gonna happen by the end of the day, just to find out there’s no such thing as a sure thing.