by C. L. Donley
I remove mine, revealing a black lace bra. My boy brief underwear is mismatched and pink.
“I mean you’re basically asking for it,” I say, straddling him. We kiss.
“We’re supposed to be meeting them for dinner,” he says, nuzzling my neck, his hands perusing my back.
Noooooo. My heart sinks.
“When?” I whine.
“Five hours.”
Hallelujah, I think to myself as I smile.
“God, I love Spain,” I breathe.
Dale puts a lace covered nipple in his mouth as I undo his belt buckle.
“Me too,” he replies wistfully.
Thirty
Chapter 30
Mya
First of all, returning to the real world feels, oh I don’t know, like being kicked in the head by a horse into a half frozen lake.
When we landed stateside I had to start using my own money for things, and it was painful. Almost instantaneously, when I began using it, the stuff started running out.
Not to mention I was beyond tired. Even though I slept on the jet, even though once we landed it was basically Monday morning again on the west coast.
We were in the air only a few hours before he was asking me if I’d made a decision. It was then that I remembered who I was dealing with. I got the feeling he needed an answer ASAP, before he spent any money, time, or resources on a dead end. For a man in his shoes it was practical. And it helped me make my decision to say “no.”
I gave all kinds of excuses: that we were virtual strangers, didn’t have anything in common, he works non-stop, I work non-stop, I live an hour away, etc. etc. He simply nodded.
I had a bad feeling afterwards. Relationship-wise, he’s a great guy by all accounts. If I had any inclination that we would have something to talk about after the magic had worn off, I might’ve been willing to give it a shot.
I wished I had the courage to tell him my biggest hurdle— that I’m squeamish about our race differences and I’m confronting the realization that I’m 100% intimidated by my family. Black love is pretty much a given in my house, a notion I never before had to question. I felt bad for Kim’s brother Jamaal, who was always sneaking his white girlfriends around my family. It dawns on me that it probably matters a great deal to them who I decided to love. All this after I’d given him so much shit for supposedly doing the same thing. Hey, I’m glad you’re woke and open to relationships with black women, now please go away, you’re white. Even though you’re hot and kind and Scrooge McDuck level rich. We have standards.
It was just too much to deal with over one crazy weekend.
But then, when I tried to get some, he was all, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not if we’re properly going to move on.” So that was humiliating and awesome.
He was right, of course. And of course, I hadn’t even thought about that because I have zero idea about how flings work. So I spent the majority of the ten hour flight alone in the bedroom, and tried not to leave the room if I could possibly help it. Sometimes I slept, sometimes I cried. Half out of embarrassment, half from disappointment. I sort of had my heart set on some mile high action. The thought that I’d already had my last hoorah with Dale and hadn’t savored it made me a bit melancholy. Do women usually cry after their flings are over?
Am I an idiot? Both of my best friends seem appalled at the idea of a one night— okay, two night— stand with Dale. I’m just trying to be sensible.
So he wants a relationship. Big whoop. And when he’s done with me, then what? I’ll be ruined for love and real life. I’ll be a basket case like Amara was, probably worse.
If “Gramara” had gone any other way, the whole thing would’ve just been tragic and disgusting. Who knows what Amara would’ve done to her life after that? The fact that Grayson happened to be in love with her was beyond luck, it was a freaking miracle. What if everything had gone according to plan? Or what if he’d gone through with suing her?
It’s what happens to most people.
I’ve worked hard my entire life, and I’m still surprised at every opportunity that comes my way. Yeah, luck is opportunity coupled with preparation, but those two things still have to meet, and that’s never a given. Sometimes people work their whole life and get nothing. Sometimes your best friend’s parents become drug addicts, and your family just has to suck it up and feed three more mouths, so that the kids won’t get separated.
I’m just not willing to risk it all for just the slight possibility of love. Sure he was sending my body into withdrawals right now, but in the end we’ll each of us be fine.
Dale will certainly rebound. He’s been drowning in pussy since before I could drive a car. Me, not so much, but Swan Lake is five months away and now it’s time to focus.
Operation Proper Virginity Sendoff is a success. I can’t— won’t— ask for more.
Dale
Once we land, I drive Mya the short distance to Amara’s where her white Honda Civic is still parked. Gingerly, we commence parting ways.
“So I guess… this is it?” she says.
“For now.”
Mya nods. She extends her hand for me to shake it.
I laugh. I take her hand reluctantly. I want to kiss her, I want to make love to her right there in the driveway. I’m not into the on again/off again thing, but with Mya I’m suddenly willing to make the exception.
“It’s been real, Abernathy,” she says.
“You’ve no idea,” I send back smoothly.
She giggles as she pops open the door to my SUV. Maybe we’ll be fine, maybe we will be friends after this. I can still make her laugh, at least.
I watch from my seat as she gathers her things, transferring them from my car to hers, and then finally getting into her own car. I should get out to help her, but I don’t trust myself not to completely go back on my word and hike up that plain grey halter top jersey dress against the hood of my car. Plus, I like watching her muscles work as she carries things. I let out a quiet string of curses from the driver seat as she lifts the trunk of her car and puts her luggage inside, the muscles in her smooth back working gracefully on the task. She looks like a prowling panther from behind, and I suddenly realize we never had sex from behind. I make a noise that’s half laughter, half crying like a baby as I think about it. I was so mesmerized by her front that I forgot about her back.
Ten hours on a plane with Mya, not touching her, at all, was excruciating. Her turning me down with a load of bullshit excuses helped a little, but not much. If she really wanted to make it work, then obviously that stuff wouldn’t matter. I’ve used the whole “we don’t know each other that well” line once or twice, and it didn’t feel good to get it back. She’s certainly embracing her inner modern woman.
She looks back and smiles when she gets in her car and shuts the door. The engine sputters a bit when she starts it up. Fuck, and now I want to buy her a car.
I return to work feeling unsettled. And distracted.
Bad for productivity, but I like it.
Mya really turned me down. Me! Damn. How had I not won her over?
I can’t make sense of it. I know what we shared during sex and I know she felt it too. I was her first, and there’s no simple erasure for that. She probably doesn’t know all sex is like that, and I cannot entertain the thought of how she would go about finding that out. Because it’s making me think some very irrational thoughts. Like how I could probably have her tailed without her finding out.
Taking her virginity has really impacted me. Positively. I don’t regret it. In fact, it gives me relief to think about it. She chose me because she trusted me. And I accepted because I didn’t trust anyone else to do the job proper.
I should’ve addressed the whole “white wife” misunderstanding, but I don’t know how to do it without giving away the fact that I spied on her and Kim’s conversation, which I’m pretty sure doesn’t help my case. Should I send her a text? “BTDubs, I wasn’t saying I only date white women, that one time. In case you
were wondering obsessively about that. I don’t know if you are, it’s not like I heard you bring it up or anything. I am not a stalker.”
I spend my days wondering how it would make me feel to run into her again. If she starts seeing other guys, now that I’ve opened the floodgates, as it were. How would she feel seeing me? She’d likely try to hide it from me. Poorly. I smirk.
I spend even more days wringing out the last drops of the moments we had during that weekend. I was wrong about her, she is sweet. Unbearably so. And shy. She recovered nicely, but while she was delivering her maid of honor speech, I honestly thought she was going to fucking die. I definitely almost died watching her.
For someone who was out of her depth the entire weekend, she was pretty damn impressive. She has so much presence, all while pretending to be invisible most of the time. Always skulking off into a corner and averting attention when it gets too hot. I thought maybe it was some childish cry to be seen, but it’s far too disciplined. Her devotion to making no noise rivals any monastery. Yet there’s nothing about her that’s passive. I think about our deliciously tense moment on the dance floor, which surprised the shit out of me. I’m starting to realize that she probably hides for the sake of everyone else, otherwise their shine would be ruthlessly stolen. Catching her in the ballroom that night pretty much confirms it. What else was she doing besides finding a space that was large enough where she could feel comfortable being herself unfettered? I know grown men who would pay good money to bottle what she is throwing away. If we were together, she would be doing no such thing. I wouldn’t have it. I’m pretty sure the two of us would cause car crashes. I smile stupidly.
Reel it in, Abernathy, she’s just a girl, I counsel myself. But obviously it’s too late. It’d been too late. Making love to her had already turned my infatuation into a full blown avalanche. I’m pretty sure, that I am 100% right about her, and not knowing her in virtually any other context outside of sex has turned Cupid’s arrow from a wound to a fatality.
Hot damn, I’m officially in love again. And this one hurts. It hurts soooo fucking good. I’m a miserable man and I refuse to apologize for the way I am.
I think I can probably still win her heart without making too much of an ass of myself, but I’m not entirely sure how to. I’ve never been in love with someone who didn’t at least pretend to feel the same. So far it’s been radio silence from all parties. I’m having trouble remembering why it matters that she doesn’t seem to want me. I want her and I’m confident that I can make her see that she does, in fact, want me. Right? Is that what I want? Would I ruin both our lives? Good lord, my overthinking and underthinking are mixing together.
And so my mind goes on and on. Round and round, day after day.
Grayson
After a month, Amara and I return from our ridiculously perfect honeymoon and I’m back at Webster, checking on Dale and making the rounds at headquarters. I should pay myself for single-handedly keeping morale from plummeting. As sociable as Dale is, he spends little time checking in with personnel, which I’ll never understand. But then again, he’s only been a CEO for a year. He’s used to not worrying about anything but his job. And he’s busier now than he’s ever been. Sam is with me as usual, in his baby carrier.
“It’s been a month and he’s twice as big. How is that possible?”
“So, would you like to hear the news?” I say.
“Tell me.”
“It looks like Kim got her Christmas wish.”
“You are shitting me.”
“I shit you not.”
Kim is pregnant. By Bel Hafiz, billionaire CEO of MeTV.
“How do you know before me?”
“Because Bel doesn’t even know.”
Dale drops his jaw.
“Kim called and told Amara last night she’d been to the doctor.”
“This has clusterfuck written all over it.”
“How many insane relationships have you been able to successfully talk Bel out of?” I ask rhetorically.
“And now he’s tied to this one forever.”
“Not forever. Eighteen years, at the most,” I smirk.
“Jesus,” Dale shakes his head. I just laugh.
“Amara has assured me that this can only end well,” I say with dark humor. Dale snickers as he rubs his brow.
“That’ll be one smokin’ hot baby,” he concedes.
“No baby news for you, I take it?”
Dale chuckles, then takes a deep breath, and for a second I swear I can feel the sorrow emanating from him. He doesn’t look up as he answers.
“Can you imagine? The press would go insane.”
“But everything’s still good between you two?”
“As far as I know,” Dale answers truthfully.
“Good, because we’re going to see her in Swan Lake in November. You in?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
When he adds nothing else to the conversation, I know that he’s probably already planning to see Mya with or without us. Especially since the ballet company would be performing A Midsummer Night’s Dream in three weeks. If he’s not mentioning it at all, it’s not because he doesn’t know. It’s because we’re not invited.
It was the last ballet that his mother had professionally performed. She played the part of Helena. A VHS tape I had been subjected to many a lazy afternoon. When his mother had put on the play, virtually single handedly at the community theater, Dale had been cast as a fairy.
By simply being surrounded by all things ballet from an early age I never dreamed he’d grow to appreciate it at all. But he had. And the moment he met Mya, I knew he was going to be a gonner in the best way.
Leah
It’s been six years since mom passed, and for me it was hard, but for Dale, the youngest and the only boy, it was the hardest. When Dale and Mya hooked up at the wedding this past June, I just thought “okay Mom, you’re hilarious.”
All this the same year that her old ballet company is resurrecting Midsummer for the first time since she last performed it. To me, it was an obvious sign. She wanted us to go. She wanted us to start remembering her again in a way that wasn’t sad. Leslie and I took turns ganging up on Dale until he agreed. Maybe it’s because Mya was going to be performing in it, but it was much easier than we thought it would be.
Dale’s silence is deafening. We’ve all been dying of curiosity since the wedding. We all know that he and Mya hooked up, and our demand for details is being largely ignored. He usually talks to all of us about his potential suitors. He loves going overboard, and we love helping him. Obviously he doesn’t do it about every girl, but I just can’t imagine that whole thing being nothing. I mean, they like, disappeared off the face of the Earth after the wedding. Mya is so left field, so wrong for him on paper, that it might actually work. We all thought she loathed being around him, but it turns out she was hot for him, which is a total fucking teenage movie plot, and holy Molly Ringwald, I am obsessed. Part of me hopes that if Dale’s doing something different, then it means that maybe this one will be different.
There’s a possibility that we’ve been putting too much undue pressure on him. We know him well enough to know that if we have any chance of having a sister in law anytime soon, we’ll have to lower our enthusiasm. Bombarding him with “way to go” texts at the wedding probably wasn’t the best idea in hindsight, because now they aren’t together for some odd reason.
Everyone expected Dale to be married by now. And exactly no on expected Grayson to be married to anyone. If we’re this impatient for Dale to find “the one” and start a family, then I can’t begin to imagine how he feels.
When we ask if Caroline wants to come, she says she isn’t ready, and we don’t press the issue. No one had the courage to even ask dad. We meet for dinner and then go to the theater after. Dale has of course gotten us premiere seats.
“Do you know which part she’s playing?” I ask, referring to Mya.
“No idea.”
“
You didn’t ask her?”
“She sort of doesn’t know we’re here.”
I stare at him blankly.
“I didn’t want to make her nervous.”
“What is the deal with you two?”
“There’s no deal, we’re just friends.”
“Friends.”
“We hooked up, that’s it.”
“With Amara’s best friend?? Why?”
“It’s fine. We agreed we don’t have anything in common, we were just… having a third wheel pity party.”
“Must’ve been a pretty amazing party if you’re secretly coming to see her dance.”
“Don’t be gross, Leah. She’s a brilliant dancer, that’s all. You’ll see what I mean.”
“Reminds you of mom.”
“No.”
“No?”
“She’s way better than mom ever was,” Dale says matter of factly.
I’m silent for a moment. I don’t know my brother to be anything but objective, but it didn’t make the statement sting any less.
“You better not be exaggerating, asshole.”
He wasn’t exaggerating.
The whole cast is exceptional, but of course, Mya is the bright spot.
As the lights dim I feel a rush to my blood. Nerves. Not for Mya, for myself. I wonder how long it will be until we wait for her entrance.
Not long it turns out.
Out walks Mya during the first act.
Hermia? She’s fucking Hermia?
Even I know that’s a big deal.
Holy hell, Mya is a fucking ballerina! Not only that, she’s brilliant. Her performance is compelling. The story is so clearly and emotionally expressed through her that one didn’t need to know the play at all to follow her story line. She even got a few laughs.
She is perfectly cast. Short and feisty and romantically turned around. No doubt she sees the irony, because she is transparent in her dance. On occasion I look over at Dale and Leslie. Each time Mya comes out they both gasp. The moment Helena makes her entrance we all cry. The dancer that plays Helena is blonde, young, and beautiful. Even her hair is done the same way our mother had worn it.
