My Daughter's Boyfriend

by Cydney Rax

  LAUREN WAS UP.

  Several bright blue nylon travel bags were spread across the living room floor. One was jammed with underwear, slacks, pajamas, shirts, and socks. Another one seemed to be packed with toiletries. Then there was the bag she’d carry on board, her ever-present duffel that held a couple of books, her camera, boxes of raisins, dried fruit mixed with nuts, and a purse-sized New Testament.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  I raised my eyelids. So much had happened, I couldn’t recall if we were still on speaking terms or not.

  “Hey there,” I replied softly. She looked calmer than I thought she would. I knew that flying rattled Lauren’s nerves even if she had a travel companion. I thought about Derrick’s earlier call, and rubbed her on the arm.

  “You okay, Lauren?”

  She nodded but wouldn’t look at me. Too busy sitting on the floor perched on her knees and folding a few pair of blue jeans and another shirt or two.

  “You hungry?” I asked.

  “I ate a little bit of grits and a boiled egg. Not really hungry.”

  “Well, are you excited about seeing your grandparents? It’s been, what, about three years since you last saw them.”

  She smiled but didn’t exactly light up.

  “I’m just glad to get away, more than anything.” My heart tore. Here I was glad she was leaving, and I didn’t think she’d be glad to get away, too. I fought the inner voice that said it was because of me that she wanted to go. I knew that trip had been planned long before I ever started screwing up her life.

  “Oh yeah?” I paused. “What time you get in last night?”

  “Oh, it was so late I don’t even remember. I was so tired I just crashed.”

  “Uh-huh. Did you see, uh, Aaron?”

  She looked at me. Pain flashed across her face. “Yeah, he—he finally admitted . . .” She winced and continued in a barely audible voice, “He told me the reason why he broke up with me is because of another girl.”

  I almost bit off my tongue. “A girl?”

  “Yep. He didn’t say who she is. I guess it doesn’t matter, though.”

  I sat on the couch and crossed my legs. Then I uncrossed them and started fiddling with my fingers, tearing off the dead cuticles and flicking them onto the floor like it didn’t even matter.

  “Yep. Sometimes I don’t understand. I knew our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was decent, you know what I mean?” she said, and set a pair of jeans on her legs. “Only thing, the only thing we didn’t have was a—a sex life. That’s it. And I think that’s a foul reason to break up with somebody.”

  “Hmmm. Well, it happens.” I shifted in my seat. “Hey, when I was about your age, well, actually, I was fourteen, I met this guy named Yuri. I liked him a lot and he seemed to like me. He was probably two years older than I was. Well, he kept pressuring me for sex and I wanted to do it, but not with Yuri. So, when I kept stalling, he dumped me. Sure did. Funny thing is I never forgot Yuri and I’d bet he never forgot me, either.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Yes. Lauren, guys will remember you if you told them no, just like they remember the girls who said yes.”

  “But will saying no make Aaron want me again?”

  I wanted her to feel better, but hey, let’s not overdo things here. And even though what she said shook me, I managed to smile with sympathy. “He may want you in his mind, but I can’t promise you he’ll try and get back. Usually, once a guy is done with you, it’s over. No repeats. But you never know. Why do you ask?”

  “Mom, I just can’t shake the feeling that what we had isn’t over. Even though Aaron gave me a little bit of closure by telling me something as opposed to nothing—I still think there’s some unfinished business. You know what I mean?”

  I nodded but in reality, I did not know what Lauren meant.

  “OKAY, TIME TO GO,” I SAID WITH finality.

  It was 7:00 P.M. Bags were packed, tickets were in hand. I had to drive Lauren to Hobby Airport, which was a good thirty-minute ride. I liked flying, but every time I had to drive to the airport, my stomach would tighten and I’d get this gutted, fluttery feeling, like I was on the slow, upward crawl of a steep roller coaster. I guess my daughter inherited the same reaction. When we were finally settled in the car and began backing out of our parking space, Lauren kept looking at the apartment building like she’d never see it again. Even after I’d driven fifteen yards, she turned her head like she was trying to create a mental picture of our building. Maybe she’d miss being home more than she expected.

  The airport bustled with the usual activity surrounding holiday travel. I spotted numerous vans from Channel 2 and Channel 13 with reporters interviewing people about their impending flights. We checked Lauren’s luggage and I escorted her to the Delta terminal. Sat next to her for a few minutes and grabbed her hand.

  “Why so gloomy, girl? You’re about to have a ball. Your pockets are padded, you’re on break. Hey, you may meet new friends.”

  She smiled weakly. “Yeah, I guess I should look on the bright side of things, huh? I do want to see my grandparents and stuff.”

  “All they’re going to do is spoil you, take you shopping at Lennox Mall. Better enjoy it while you can.”

  She smiled. “Yeah, you’re right. Well, Mom, I know you don’t like sitting around in airports, so go on and leave. I’ll be okay.”

  “Sure?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  I stood up and gestured at her. She stood with me. I pulled her body into my chest, closing my eyes and hugging her tight. She hugged me tight, too. Rubbing me on the back.

  “Okay, ’bye, Mom. Have a good Christmas. I’ll call you when I get in. Try not to get too lonely,” she said with a teasing gleam in her eye.

  “I’ll try,” I said without returning her smile.

  We waved at each other and I headed toward the parking garage.

  I drove ten minutes before picking up the Nokia.

  “Hey, Aaron, it’s me,” I said solemnly. “Lauren’s gone with the wind.”

  Aaron 24

  As soon as I intercepted Tracey’s call, the only thing left to do was to scoop up my prepacked overnight bag, a bag I’d actually prepared and stored right inside my bedroom door the night that Lauren came over.

  Earlier that morning, after a grueling night’s sleep, of course, the first person I ran into was Brad. Both he and I were yawning like we hadn’t slept since 1975. I grabbed my favorite chipped cereal bowl and rummaged through the cupboard for some Cap’n Crunch.

  “Morning to you,” Brad said, coming into the kitchen with a pick stuck to the back of his lopsided Afro. He had on a violet muscle tee and black karate pants, and was barefoot.

  “What up?” I answered and took a seat at the breakfast bar. My bones popped as I stretched, and then I starting pouring the last of the gallon of milk over my cereal.

  Brad hovered in the kitchen, staring me into my uncomfort zone. When I looked back at him like What the hell is up? he averted his eyes and started fumbling around the dish rack, clanking dishes and bowls. After five minutes of this nonsense, he finally blurted, “Yo, Aaron. Why’d you play Lauren so tough last night?”

  I was enjoying the sweet crunchiness of my cereal, but paused and asked, “Excuse me?”

  “I came home last night and she’s standing outside crying and looking like someone set her puppy on fire.”

  “Oh,” I said and returned to my breakfast.

  “Damn, it’s like that, A? I thought you didn’t want to hurt her.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt her,” I insisted in a loud voice.

  I wondered if Brad believed me.

  Then I wondered if I believed me.

  “Yeah, Aaron, I could really tell you were going out of your way not to hurt her. She told me how you kicked her out of the apartment and didn’t even have the decency to escort her home.”

  “Damn, man, she’s only telling you her side of the story. There are always two sides
to every story.”

  “Sounds like to me there are two sides to every man.”

  What he say? This was getting ridiculous. “Look, why would you even care, Brad? What happened between Lauren and me is between me and Lauren.”

  “I don’t think so, Aaron. Not when I return to our home and your woman, or whatever the hell she is, is out there crying and bitching about you, and filling my ear up with all her pain. And on top of that, what’s with all the glass that I found scattered across the kitchen floor? For a minute I thought I was in Kmart’s parking lot.”

  “Aw, man, she was flipping out on me,” I said, dismissing his comment with a wave of my hand.

  But instead of responding to my excuses, Brad remained steadfast both in his observation of me and in him staying put. I began humming a tune that nobody on earth had ever heard before, but when he still didn’t leave, I looked at him and asked, “What exactly did Lauren tell you?”

  “That you got another woman—and you dumped Lauren for her,” he said, raising his chin and looking back at me with intense eyes.

  I shrugged and tipped the bowl, finished off the remaining drops of milk.

  “Hey, A, I don’t mean to dip, but would this other woman be Lauren’s mother?”

  I froze and gripped the bowl between my hands. “Is that what Lauren told you?”

  Brad just looked at me, but didn’t say anything.

  I walked to the kitchen sink and started seasoning it with some disinfectant cleanser. Turned on the hot water faucet.

  “Hey, by the way, Ms. Tracey Davenport called you this morning,” Brad said casually.

  I faced Brad and raised an eyebrow.

  “And?”

  “And nothing . . . just thought I’d let you know.”

  “That’s cool,” I replied, and gave my attention back to cleaning the sink.

  “Hey, man. Is it that good to you?” he asked.

  I paused, then answered without looking at him. “I’ll let you decide.”

  THE ENCOUNTER IN THE KITCHEN was the only time I was around Brad that day. He hit the shower and was gone before I even thought about how much I wished I were by myself. I liked having a roommate but sometimes I preferred privacy; I didn’t want to have to answer to anybody and didn’t feel like I should have to just because we shared a few expenses. So with him gone, I felt free, less scrutinized, which made me feel better, and that was key.

  After a few minutes of contemplation, I hopped in my ride. Drove around the corner and several miles away to the nearest YMCA. Worked out and did some treadmill for a little over an hour, an hour that forced me to think about the events that had recently unfolded. In some ways I was relieved. For Lauren’s sake it was better for her to know something, even if she didn’t know everything about why I dumped her. I’d been around enough women to know that most demand closure. Some women act like being dumped is no biggie; they’ll put on a hard façade like it’s business as usual. But then some ladies tend to be borderline suicidal. Not that I thought that Lauren would take that route. As much as she and I dug each other in the past, I doubted she was that strung out over me. I knew Lauren would come to terms with what had happened, and let the past stay put.

  Once I returned home from working out, I spent the rest of the afternoon concentrating on getting rid of anything that reminded me of Lauren. For every room I entered, I’d notice tiny slips of paper where I’d written her name. It sounds kind of juvenile, but yep, back in the good old days, whenever I’d think of Lauren, I used to scribble her name. Would write it down, then look at it and get a warm and fuzzy hit just from realizing I had a woman as sweet as Lauren in my life. Even though I never told her, in my heart I felt that Lauren was one of the sweetest young ladies I’d ever met. She was the type to call me first if I didn’t call her, and cared absolutely nothing about boy-girl protocol. And who else would think enough of me to call my answering machine and serenade me with the song “Angel of Mine”? I’d come home from work or class and hear Lauren’s nasal voice singing the chorus, a smile in her voice, a longing that extended from her heart to mine. When I’d ask her why she left a message like that on my answering machine, she’d say, “That song reminds me of you.” I’d smile to myself and shake my head, realizing the things that Lauren did were what made her who she was.

  After venturing into the kitchen, I found myself removing a yellowed sticky note that was lodged behind a coffeepot-shaped refrigerator magnet. Lauren’s flowery handwriting was scribbled on the paper along with her dad’s phone number. I looked at it with a lump in my throat, but crumpled the tiny sheet of paper and dumped it in the trash.

  Walking through the apartment, I stepped on a couple of her bobby pins that I promptly picked up and tossed in the garbage. I dug out Lauren’s copy of a Sandra Kitt romance novel that had slipped between the couch cushions. And when I went into my room, I remembered to look in the closet and get that Magic 102 T-shirt that was given to her on the day we went to the Phenomenal Women’s Empowerment Expo.

  Once I gathered a few more Lauren-related items, I dropped her belongings into an HEB Pantry grocery store bag, tied the top into a firm knot, and stuffed it inside a garbage container.

  AFTER TRACEY CALLED AND TOLD me that Lauren was gone with the wind, I scooped up my belongings and headed east toward Williamstown Apartments. It was approximately seven o’clock when I pulled up in front of Tracey’s unit. A few minutes later Tracey pulled up in her Malibu and cut off the ignition. She moved slowly like she was tired but sacrificed a smile anyway. I waved and rushed to open her door. She got out and leaned against the car for a moment. God, how I wanted to comfort her, take her in my arms and reassure her that everything would be all right.

  “So, she’s on her way to GA, huh?” I said walking alongside Tracey up the stairs.

  “Yep, plane leaves in fifteen minutes.”

  “So, what are we going to do tonight?”

  She smiled. “Not what you think we’re going to do. Got plenty of time for all that.”

  I followed Tracey through the doorway, and instead of letting me dump my stuff on the couch, she held out her hand. I pretended like I was going to give her my overnight bag, but put my hand in hers instead. She shivered. “Ooh, that’s just what I needed.” I wriggled my finger in the center of her hand, and she blushed and rolled her eyes.

  “Let me get your bag for you, Aaron. Make yourself at home.”

  She looked longingly in my eyes, but gathered enough composure to stow away my things.

  She returned from the bedroom and had changed clothes. I loved how she looked wearing a Capri blue jean skirt and a red drawstring shirt. Then she smiled at me while she wrapped a large yellow apron around my waist that said, DANGER: MEN COOKING.

  “Okay, Mister Man, you’re going to help me prepare the meal tonight,” she announced.

  “Oh yeah?” I said.

  “Yes. I’ve already done a little cooking earlier this afternoon. Tonight we’re just going to make the stuffing. Tomorrow we’ll do the birds. No big deal.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I told her, and went to wash my hands.

  And for an hour and fifteen minutes, cook we did. I sliced onions, celery, turkey necks, and gizzards for the stuffing. She made a few pans of homemade corn bread. Had the house hot and smelling as good as a spice factory.

  I tore away from Tracey for several moments to call my mom. Knowing Nethora Oliver, she was long past sleep; seven o’clock was usually her bedtime, so I knew I’d be chancing it. Mom and I said our hellos and good-byes, then I was back at Tracey’s side.

  “Now that the food is taken care of, when are you going to take care of me?” I asked. I had removed my shoes and loosened my shirt.

  “Let’s do it now, before you have a fit.” She pouted and rolled her eyes. She made a quick move toward the couch, sat down, and patted the spot next to her. We touched thighs, and she let me place my arm around her.

  Soft music played on her stereo, strains of the Boyz II
Men Christmas Interpretations followed by Donald Lawrence’s Hello Christmas CD.

  I started rubbing her hair, massaging her scalp. Ain’t nothing like being around a woman whose hair is soft, clean, and smells like fresh flowers. My older lady smiled deeply in my eyes and caressed the left side of my chin with the back of her hand.

  Tracey looked tired but beautiful, as beautiful as a woman who’s lived long enough to know the true essence of beauty, and wasn’t too insecure to forget. When I reached underneath her skirt to caress her thighs, her hand popped my hands real quick.

  “Just hold me, okay? That’s all I want you to do.”

  So hold her I did. I placed my arms around her curves, felt her breasts brush against my chest. She was soft, authentic, a precious woman in my sight. Smelled of a touch of perfume, her skin as ripe as peaches. Again I started to trace the upper part of her thigh, but she blocked me when my middle finger neared her more sensitive part. She shook her head. I sighed and sank my face in the crevice of her neck. The rain and thunder intruded upon our holiday concert, but once we started kissing, it was like nothing else mattered. I would have loved to do more than attack her lips with a smooth kiss, but she wouldn’t let me. And since kissing Tracey was the only thing I was allowed to do, I began to enjoy the taste of her lips like it was the last sweetness left in the world.

  “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about,” she moaned softly. Her tender voice was breathy and raspy, pockets of air stealing her normal volume.

  “What, babe?” My eyes misted and I felt like putty, melting, moldable in her hands.

  “I love this too much to let anything take it away,” she sighed in satisfaction.

  “I know, I know.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yep, I do, Tracey,” I moaned, hoping so desperately that she could hear my heart.