My Daughter's Boyfriend

by Cydney Rax

  “Oh.” I was hoping Derrick’s asshole-itis wouldn’t take over.

  His pause choked the air, suspended with suspense.

  “I see you’re not answering my question.”

  “What question, Derrick?” I asked him. “Yes, I found everything,” I told the cashier.

  “What did you say, Tracey? You talking to me?”

  “I’m in the checkout line at Randall’s, Derrick, buying groceries. What did you want? I’m about to get off the phone and go home.”

  “Well, are you going to be busy later on tonight?”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be busy or not. Who wants to know?”

  “When will Lauren be home?” he asked.

  “You know, I’m really not sure. She may be spending the night with her friend again.”

  “Again?”

  Damn!

  “Yes, Derrick. Lauren stayed with Regis last night.”

  “So what did you do after I saw you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean by all these nosy questions.” I had popped open the trunk of my car and was trying to load plastic bags in the back and talk to Derrick at the same time.

  “Tracey, just answer the question.”

  “What are you getting at, Derrick?”

  “Tracey, I need to ask you something, and I know it might be a big stretch, but I’d like for you to be honest.”

  I gritted my teeth and plopped my butt in the front seat of the car.

  Derrick asked, “Are you doing inappropriate things with Aaron?”

  “What you mean? Inappropriate like what?”

  “Sexing.”

  I sat up and pressed my lips against the phone, wanting to spit through the mouthpiece but knowing it wouldn’t do any good. “Excuse me? Derrick, who the hell you think you are to judge me?”

  “Hey, I thought it looked very scandalous—”

  “I don’t give a damn how you think something looks, you just can’t sit up and judge me and assume that I’d do something . . . I mean Aaron . . . th-that’s Lauren’s boyfriend, Derrick . . . you know that.”

  “Tracey, I’m not stupid, of course I know that, I was just—”

  “You were just smoking crack, reefer, or whatever the hell the druggies use these days. Derrick, I suggest you break out your HMO card or start dialing 1-800-MANIACS and make an appointment ASAP.”

  Click.

  It’s rare that I throw up. That’s why, when I opened the car door and puked on the ground, I didn’t think it would harm anything. After all, it was so rare that I did that.

  AS SOON AS I GOT HOME I YELLED, “Lauren.”

  No answer. Good. I checked caller ID. Aaron had just called. Shoot. I really wished he wouldn’t call me at home. I mean I was glad he was calling, but I still wished he wouldn’t do that.

  The apartment seemed so dead and lifeless. Or maybe it wasn’t so much the apartment as my optimism. All the thoughts of what happened with Derrick came crashing against my mind. My head was hurting so bad I ran to the medicine cabinet and jammed three Advils down my throat. My aching body pleaded with me to get some sleep but every time I tried to lie on the bed, I’d hop right up and go look out the window. Lauren still hadn’t pulled up. So I fell across my bed and jumped up three minutes later to get a sip of apple juice. Then I picked up an Essence magazine, one from June 1998, and by the time I read Susan Taylor’s column, it might as well have been written in Arabic.

  My mind skipped to my daughter.

  Maybe I’ll call her. Maybe she’s waiting for me to come get her.

  I picked up the telephone and started punching buttons.

  “Hello? Hello?” Sounded like someone was talking inside the phone.

  I put the phone against my ear and sat on the couch. “Hello?”

  “Tracey, I’m trying to call you and it sounds like you’re trying to call out. You trying to call me?”

  “Hi, Aaron. Nope, I was trying to call Lauren. Have you heard from her today?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Oh, well, her father called me a little while ago and he asked me the foulest question.”

  “Which was?”

  I held on to my answer for a bit. “He asked if you and I were sleeping together.”

  “Oh yeah? What you tell him?”

  “Told him to go get some therapy.”

  “Tracey. Why’d you say that?”

  “What did you expect me to say? ‘Oh yes, Aaron and I have been screwing for a few weeks and he sure knows how to make me moan’?”

  “No, noooo.”

  “Then what? Huh?”

  “It’s just that you need to know how to give an answer that doesn’t put things back on Derrick.”

  “Wait a second, Aaron. I hope you don’t think I’m going to go around and willingly tell people I sleep with you, even if it is true. Haven’t you heard of discretion?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Look, if you’re going to be with me, if we’re going to do this, do not blab and give people the juicy details. You cannot kiss and tell, you hear me?”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “I’m very serious, Aaron. I’m not trying to threaten you, but nothing, absolutely nothing’s going to happen if you act all happily juvenile and tell people whatever they think they want to hear. I don’t want to lie, but this is nobody’s business.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “And please don’t be so insecure as to think that just because I haven’t gone on Jerry Springer to tell America I sleep with you, that I’m trying to deny you. Hey, I have a job, a kid, I can’t just go out and behave like I don’t have a bit of sense. They’re already going to think I’m nuts.”

  “See, there you go. You’re too concerned about what other people think. I told you this relationship won’t work if you care too much—”

  “It’s not that I care—”

  “But see, Tracey, you do care. You do care what other people think, or else you wouldn’t be going off like you are. You’re afraid of Derrick Hayes. You let him scare you just by his insinuations. Just by his questioning. Have you thought about what you’re going to say when the truth really comes out? Then he’ll know you’ve lied to him.”

  “Huh! Like I care.”

  “But Tracey, you do care, or else you wouldn’t have played it off, am I right?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know.”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s slow this down.”

  He paused.

  “You need me to come over? You want me to call Lauren and get this over with right now?”

  “No!”

  “No, to both questions?”

  “Yes. Don’t come over, Aaron. I’ll be okay and please don’t tell Lauren anything just yet.”

  “You changed your mind, Tracey?”

  I was silent.

  “Tracey? Tell me—”

  I hung up.

  Lauren was home.

  It was too late for me to delete Aaron’s incoming calls from caller ID. So instead of me hurrying to erase any fiber-optic evidence, I grabbed a damp dishrag and started wiping down the kitchen counter. Rub, rub, rub I went, rubbing dirt that didn’t even exist—at least not on the counter.

  “Hey, Lauren. Indira drop you off?”

  She looked me up and down, then answered, “Yeah.” Her face was so sour-looking you’d have thought all the malls in America had been foreclosed. Her gloomy mood made me put that rag down real quick. I went into my bedroom and locked the door. I rubbed both my arms and rocked on the edge of the bed.

  A few minutes later I heard knocking.

  “Mommy? Did Aaron call me?”

  “Uh, yeah. You gonna call him back?” I yelled, my mind distracted.

  “Oh, I don’t know. We’re having problems right now.”

  Aw, damn.

  “You—you want to talk about it?” I mumbled.

  Just say no, please just say no.

  “Yes.”

  I sighed and took a deep br
eath before opening the door. Lauren walked in, and the first thing she looked at was my unmade bed. Then she looked at me, but I went and got in bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.

  “What’s going on with you two?” I asked through clenched teeth.

  “Mom, Aaron’s not acting like himself. He treats me like he doesn’t have time like he used to, like he doesn’t want to be with me. Not sure why, though.”

  “Hmmm, have you asked him?”

  “No, not really. I keep thinking he’s going to go back to his old self. But so far he’s still like a stranger. Like I never knew him.”

  She tapped me on the leg.

  “Mom? Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?”

  I yawned, produced a few crocodile tears, and rubbed my moistened eyes.

  “No, I don’t know what you’re talking—”

  “I mean, do you have any idea of what it’s like to be involved with someone who suddenly seems like a stranger? Like you thought you knew them, but you find out you didn’t know them at all?”

  I turned over in bed, facing the wall and wishing other walls would suddenly spring up and surround me; helping me to disappear. Maybe that way Lauren couldn’t see me, the flawed parts of me that I wasn’t ready for her to see.

  “I, um, that too bad,” I said and slurred my speech.

  “Mom, are you listening? You going to sleep on me?”

  “Lauren, I’m just tired right now.”

  “Well, I won’t bug you anymore. Daddy called and said he’s going to pick me up.”

  The hairs on my neck rose.

  I sat up.

  “He is? Wh-when he say that?”

  “He called me while I was at Regis’s house,” she said, and lifted her eyes toward the ceiling like I should have been able to know all that without having to ask.

  “Did he? I didn’t know he even knew that number,” I murmured, and hoped my enlarged eyes wouldn’t betray me.

  “Daddy has all my friends’ numbers. You know Daddy,” Lauren said with a wide wave of her hand.

  “All your friends?”

  “Yes, Mommm,” she sang. “He always wants to know who I’m involved with, where I’m going. Anyway, he said he’ll pick me up and later we’re going to get some burgers.”

  “Hmmm. Interesting.” I pulled at my hair, yanking the strands and twisting them between my angry hands.

  “You going to spend the night with him, or will you be back?”

  “Oh, I’ll be back. I’m tired of being everywhere else except at my own home. Anyway, go on back to sleep, Mom. I’ll see you later.” She brushed my cheek with a dry kiss.

  I stared into a blurry and unfocused space and stroked my cheek once I was sure she had left.

  LATER THAT NIGHT I CALLED INDIRA. I was sitting on the edge of my unmade bed, with pillows surrounding me like I was in a cave, and bedcovers sprawling partially on the floor.

  “Indira, it’s me,” I sniffed, and dabbed underneath my nose with some facial tissue.

  “Oh, hey.”

  “Uh, thanks, girl, for letting my daughter stay over there.”

  “No problem. Were you able to handle your emergency?”

  “Y-yeah. Somewhat.”

  “Hmmm. You wanna talk about it?”

  “God, Indira,” I said, reaching down and pulling the misplaced covers over my shoulders, “I feel sooo stupid,” I whispered.

  “What, what?” she whispered back conspiratorially.

  “It’s sooo crazy,” I exclaimed with one big astonished shake of the head.

  “What, Tracey,” she laughed, “are you talking about?”

  Even though I was at home by myself, I sprung up, closed and locked my bedroom door, walked all the way to the back of my walk-in closet, and sat in the dark, Indian-style.

  “First, Indy, promise me you won’t judge me,” I commanded, “because what I’m about to tell you is very sensitive and all I want you to do is listen, that’s all.”

  “Okay.”

  “The quickest way for me to go from being your friend to your enemy is for you to judge me. So please listen and maybe you can help me to make sense of this.”

  “Gosh, girl,” she said, “you’re scaring me.”

  My voice softened. “I don’t mean to scare you, I just need an ear that hears. You got it?” I pressed, knowing I was being anal, but making sure Indy was with me nonetheless.

  “Got it.”

  “Well, Indy,” I told her, my voice rising, “Lauren’s boyfriend and I are . . . are talking.”

  “Okay. You and uh . . . what’s his name again?” she said, sounding a bit embarrassed for not remembering.

  “Aaron,” I told her. His name rolled off my tongue like melted butter, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Okay, you and Aaron are talking. Uh-huh,” she said, sounding like it was the most boring so-what-ish news flash of the week. “What y’all talking about?”

  “Nooo, Indira.” I laughed like I was releasing something and glad that there seemed to be something to laugh about. I don’t know, maybe Indira would be happy for me. Maybe this thing wasn’t as bad as I thought it to be. Maybe.

  “It’s more like a we-like-each-other kind of talking.”

  “Uh-huh, hmmm.”

  “Indira—”

  “Okay, let me process this. And Lauren—she doesn’t know, right?”

  The air thickened and so did my throat, and so did my guilt, and so did my conscience.

  “Right,” I muttered. “She does not even know.”

  “Good,” she said, and sucked in her breath. “Well, has it gotten . . . uh, has it become intim—”

  “Yes!” I told her. Because she was my friend, I didn’t want to lie to her; I wanted to let out all that was inside, that is, if I could afford to be transparent without suffering too much. At this point, what difference would it make? The cat was all the way out of the bag and looking me smack in my face.

  “We’ve gone there, Indira.”

  “Okay . . . okay,” she said, sounding like she was trying to be supportive but finding it challenging. And at that moment it seemed that the thing I hoped was so beautiful might not have been as rosy as I yearned for it to be. Why couldn’t the thing that I wanted run smoothly, have no ramifications, and at the same time be something that couldn’t be judged as right or wrong?

  “Indira, I’m doing things with my daughter’s boyfriend that I didn’t even want my own daughter to do.”

  “Jesus, Tracey, my God,” she exclaimed, sounding like she hoped I’d say no and was wounded to hear me say yes.

  Then silence. Whether it was the silence of judgment or the silence of comfort, I couldn’t tell. I sat in the dark and picked at my fingers, surrounded by thick air, tall ceilings, and thin walls, walls that I wished I could walk right into and then mercifully become a part of, because if that disappearing act happened, I’d be unknown, unaccountable, and free from having to make confessions.

  “How are you feeling, girl?”

  The sound of her soothing voice made me wrap both my arms around myself and rock back and forth, back and forth, so very desperate for understanding, so full of need. “Happy, terrible, desired, afraid.”

  “Wow, Tracey. I hardly know what to say. I’m not judging, I’m just—”

  “Repulsed?” Ewww, it hurt to say that, to think that.

  Indy made a quick gurgling sound inside her throat. “No, sweetheart, liking a younger man ain’t nothing new . . .” Her voice drifted away slowly, the sound of a distant thunder.

  “But why do I have to like this particular younger man?”

  “Tracey, what exactly do you like about Aaron?”

  I smiled through my scattered emotions.

  “Our conversations, his kindness and attentiveness to me. He’s very affectionate, and I know it sounds strange, but I like what he’s giving to me.”

  “And—so, how does he feel?”

  I raised my chin, thankful there was something sol
id to tell her. “He lets me know how he feels by the way he treats me. It’s strange, Aaron may be younger than me, but sometimes it seems like he’s on the same level. Sometimes.”

  “So, it sounds like you like all this, yet you’re . . . hesitant?”

  “Absolutely. My child—she doesn’t know a thing. I think that we— that Aaron—is going to break things off with her. Soon.”

  “So y’all can be free to get together?” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Indira, you’re judging me?” Can I please find someone else to blame beside myself?

  “Nooo, I’m not.”

  “I can tell by your voice. You’re talking in that she-can-believe-that-junk-if-she-wants-to type of voice.”

  “Wait a sec, Tracey. What you tell me doesn’t extend beyond me. Shoot, who the hell am I to judge you? All I can do is listen and be supportive. For all I know, my own day may come when I’m telling you some tripped-out stuff about my own life. I’m doing this now because should I ever be in your position, I’d want you to do the same for me, girl.”

  I closed my eyes and a gush of tears flowed and swirled across my cheeks, but at that moment all I wanted to know was if my tears would eventually stop falling or were my eyes just beginning to well.

  A HALF HOUR LATER, INDIRA WAS in my living room, perched on her knees, with her bare feet exposed. She removed a large red brush from her purse and started raking it through the back of my hair, sweeping its thickness over and over again. With every stroke of her brush, I moaned. I felt so blessed to have her there with me, especially because I hadn’t asked her to come.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before now, Tracey?” she gently fussed.

  “Huh! Ain’t like anyone is going to rush out and spread news like that. Gotta think long and hard before you go telling people stuff like that.”

  “I hear ya.”

  “So, Indy?” I said, turning my head toward her. “What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

  “I’d take ’em off,” she said, rocking back and forth on her knees.

  “Funny,” I said, ducking and covering my head with my hands, which she promptly removed and resumed brushing my hair.

  “Hey, babe, it’s easy for me to say what I’d do, but I’m not in your shoes. I—I guess anything is possible, though. We usually end up with a guy we never thought we’d be with, am I right?”