by D J Parker
My mind was made up.
It was hard for my mother to understand. Women of her generation, those born and bred for the role of second and third place, no longer existed. My father had once said, a man’s own family would make him strong. He’d have a will to fight. But I disagreed. A family weakened a man. It made him vulnerable to his enemies. That was why casual flings like this, without expectations, were easy to have.
But if I were to imagine my wife, she’d be a lot like Reign—beautiful, smart, independent, soft, hard, compassionate, and powerful.
It would be an endless list of things that could cripple me if my heart was still there. Still, I had given in to the imagination, picturing the creases around my mother’s mouth as she pronounced “Reign.” A frown would pinch the middle of her face as she tried to wrap her head around her name. That was when I’d say her name—Reign. Not as in what fell from the sky but what was royal. Sovereignty.
“What are you thinking about?”
“What?” I cut my head to the side to look at her.
“You’re smiling,” she noted, as she took another dish from my hand. “I’m just curious what you’re thinking about.”
Of course, you are.
Because, on top of everything else I listed, Reign was an observer. It must’ve been the lawyer in her. She missed nothing. Like me, she practiced caution, never revealing too much of herself. The closest we’d come to talking about work was a few weeks ago when she spoke about the new departments she was spearheading. Bianca, her assistant, had attested to that. According to her, Reign was more focused on social issues. That should’ve put my mind at ease, but the other heads of the families were steadfast in their belief that the new district attorney was bad for business.
They were afraid of Reign Johnson, the prosecutor, because there was no window of opportunity to get to know her. No way of truly knowing her weakness or what her price was. Everyone had a price—an amount that could sway their decision. I was still trying to figure out what price would sway Reign.
“My mother would be happy that this came out semi decent,” I lied, shoving the truth down my throat.
Her lips broke into a smile. “If this dish is anything like hers, then you did an amazing job. This was absolutely delicious.”
You’re delicious.
I bit down on my tongue to keep from admitting it out loud. “It’s not as good as the one she cooks on Sundays.”
“So, that’s where you go on Sundays.”
“Family dinners. It’s the only time all of my mother’s…” I paused, feeling a jut in my stomach. “It’s the time when we all get together.”
I took heed to Salvatore’s advice and made sure that the only son she had left was still here. It was the only day of the week I forced myself to look at my mother. She’d aged at least ten years since Vincenzo’s death.
“I bet it’s hard when you’re traveling,” she commented, putting the glass casserole dish into the cabinet. “You miss out on all that good cooking.”
“I got used to it. Besides, I can use the break from time to time.” That was another lie.
Reign walked over to the barstool and tugged it from under the island. “Can I ask you something?”
I nodded.
She avoided my eyes, looking down at her fingers instead. “Are you getting tired of me?”
“Tired of you?” My eyebrows drew together like what she’d said offended me. “How can I be tired of you when all I want is you around?”
She continued fidgeting with her fingers. “When you start to get tired of me, whether it’s because you find another woman you want or you’re just over this, can you please tell me? I won’t ask any questions. I just don’t want to be left in the dark.”
I doubted I was capable of wanting another woman as much as I wanted Reign. And no matter how hard I tried, I only wanted her.
But that’s the truth she’ll never hear.
Reign
“Hands down, Police Academy will always make the list as top five comedies of the 80’s,” I declared.
The oven timer went off, causing me to look away from Nicolai’s smoldering eyes staring at me from across the kitchen. I was almost sure his gaze was permanent and not somehow personalized just for me.
Then again, we’d spent the past month around each other.
I grabbed the oven mittens from the counter and tugged the oven door open. The mouthwatering mixture of cayenne pepper, lemon zest, and creme fraiche greeted me.
“How are we looking?”
“I think we got a winner,” I crowed over my shoulder while holding two individual heart shaped ramekins. Yesterday, I’d told him about a scallop gratin recipe I’d seen on a popular YouTube channel called Food Wishes. He had suggested that we make it together.
I turned around and nearly dropped the ramekin dishes on the floor.
A shiver passed through me as I watched him lift his hoodie over his head. He continued to strip another layer off until his bare chest was the only thing I could see. You’d think I would get used to seeing him this way, especially since we typically roamed his house naked. Like each time he caught me staring at him, his lips would hike up into this devilish smile that made my insides curl.
God, I dread the day when I have to leave this man alone for good.
Today made four weeks since I had informally agreed to our “arrangement.” It wasn’t a relationship. Although, it was starting to feel like one. We hadn’t discussed expiration dates or how life would be after we went our separate ways. Truthfully, I think we avoided the conversation.
We’d fallen into a routine that included morning sex, which sometimes caused me to stroll into work around 9:30 instead of 8:30. Every morning, he’d have the chef whip up a quick breakfast that I could take on the go. We had our afternoon check-ins, which consisted of either a text or phone call. We both promised not work past seven o’clock and so far neither of us had broken that rule. By the time the evening rolled around, he would be outside ready to take me to dinner at a restaurant or bring me back to his place where we would make dinner together like tonight.
I spent more time at his place than I had at my apartment. While that hadn’t bothered me at first, I really started paying close attention to how much time we were spending together when Nicolai had contractors remodel the walk-in closet in his guest bedroom. He had converted it into a boutique-style closet and presented it as a gift to me. Though the alarm bells were going off, I settled into the closet, storing my clothes in there like I was gearing to move in. He had even begun to refer to the closet as my own. It had even got to the point where Nicolai stopped saying let’s go back to my place and started referring to his place as home—“Let’s go home,” or “Should we eat dinner at home or go out?”
Even though I held no maddening reservations, I found a problem in not having a problem with this. I should not have been wrapped up in a man I could never commit to. Although we made no false promises to each other, there was no denying the convulsive nerves damaging my body with foreign emotions.
I’d spent more time regulating my emotions and keeping myself in check while he feathered a finger on each emotional trigger. I wasn’t sure if he was battling with the same heavy emotions as I was, or if he felt anything at all. In either case, it scared the hell out of me for more reasons than one.
This arrangement of ours didn’t need to be complicated by the noise in my heart. I couldn't decide which was worse; the feelings or the quick timing. As much as I wanted to blame these feelings on everything I didn’t receive from Keith, I knew I was fishing for excuses to deny the obvious.
Damn him! I mentally cursed him and scowled.
“It needs to sit for a few minutes, right?” he asked, as I sat the ramekin down on the counter.
“Yep,” I replied as I crossed the room to grab two plates. “My mouth is watering.”
“Is it?” He glared at me. His jaw tightened almost like a war was waging underneath his skin. For a
moment, he stared at me, taking a much-needed moment to mentally check himself. It was a wild guess on my end, but I was sure he was trying to reboot and reprogram.
“What’s the other four?” he finally asked, referring to our top-five game.
“Let’s see.” I tapped my index finger against my chin. My eyes lit up when I thought of the next movie on my list. “Airplane!”
The corner of his lip lifted slightly, causing my thighs to squeeze closely together. It was almost as if his lips had been too lazy, so it settled on a half-smile. It was sinfully sexy, a pussy-tingling tease he’d given me often.
“Can’t argue with that.” He nodded. “What else?”
“Coming to America.”
“Never heard of it.”
“As much as I want to judge you right now, I’m gonna give you a pass on that one,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Just know it was one of Eddie Murphy's best work!”
“Best work, huh?” He snorted. “Was it better than his Beverly Hills Cops?
“Beverly Hills Cop has nothing on Coming to America.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “I guess my final two are See No Evil, Hear No Evil, and Harlem Nights.”
“Airplane doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near your list.”
“Reserve judgment until after you’ve watched the movies I listed,” I said, walking over to the cutlery drawer. “What’s on your list?”
“It’s real simple,” he said nonchalantly. “Spaceballs, Ghostbusters, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Airplane, and The Naked Gun.”
“Just as I suspected.” I shook my head dismissively. “That’s a weak list.”
“We’re gonna have to spend a Saturday watching all of these movies. You’ll see why my list is better than yours.”
“Or you’re just gonna learn about real comedy that day,” I retorted as I grabbed a spoon and walked back to the ramekins. “You want to taste?”
“You or the scallops?”
I smiled. “The scallops.”
“I’d much rather taste you. But this will have to do for now.” Within a blink of an eye, he was beside me with his mouth open. I slid the spoon down the body of the scallop, scooping up the creamy sauce.
“Damn, that’s fuckin’ good,” he growled, as I slipped another spoonful into his mouth.
I slipped a spoonful into my mouth. He was right. I’d been too consumed with the different flavors bursting on my palate to respond. I hadn’t realized that I’d squeezed my eyes shut until when I opened them and found Nicolai staring at me.
“Sorry,” I spluttered, dabbing the corners of my lips with a napkin.
“Don’t be,” he demurred, moving his phone with him as he walked. “I like watching you.”
“Is that why you prefer for me to be here?”
“In part…”
I wanted to ask him a follow-up question to his answer, but my cell phone started ringing. I walked over to where it had been charging.
I groaned inwardly when I saw Keith’s name appear. No sooner had I sent his call to voicemail did a text message appear. I froze.
Keith: Buzz me up, I’m in front of your building.
“Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Nicolai asked as he turned around to face me holding the ramekin dish and a spoon in his hands.
Should I lie or tell the truth?
I looked up from my cell phone and tried to play it off. “Keith is in front of my building.”
On second thought, maybe I should’ve lied. The look on his face was something new that I had never seen before. It was dark, eerie, and cold.
He sat the ramekin dish down on the counter.
“I’m sorry, but I have to leave.” I backed out of the kitchen, shoving my cell phone into my back pocket.
When he didn’t respond, I looked over my shoulder at him. He was still in the same position, staring off in the distance. I gathered my purse and slid my heels back on. I reentered the kitchen and walked up to him.
“I’m not sure why he’s in town,” I said, offering him an explanation that he hadn’t asked for. He remained silent, his blue eyes becoming glaciers.
“If it’s not too late, I’ll call you tonight.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his lips. But he offered no kiss back. I lowered myself down and took a step back.
This was why I avoided talking about Keith. I feared this would be his reaction, a mixed message predicated on feelings that we have both closed off from each other. I left the penthouse suite, holding back tears. But when I got in my car and entered the city traffic, I couldn’t hold them back any longer.
“Are you okay?” Keith asked, concern laced in his words. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
“I’m okay,” I said as I inserted my key into the slot. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you.”
“After four months?” I asked as we entered my apartment.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to come up here.” Keith took off his shoes and left them by the door before heading to my L-shaped navy-blue suede sectional. “I know I fucked everything up with the counselor and you were right to suspend all of our sessions.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because you were the only person that I wanted to see.”
I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to pick and choose when to be a husband.”
“I know that now.”
“So, you can understand why you gotta leave.”
“I have stage four bladder cancer.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“My results came back today. After leaving the doctor’s office, I got in the car and just drove. I kept driving. Before I knew it, I was no longer in D.C. You’re the only family I have.”
I sat next to him. Tears had resurfaced as I grabbed his hand and pulled him into a hug. He wailed and squeezed me while silent tears escaped my eyes. All the anger that I felt toward him had dissolved as we held each other.
“I don’t want to die,” he cried into my chest. “I don’t want to die.”
“And I don’t want you to die either.”
He was too young and had so much more to look forward to whether I was in the picture or not. Every memory, good and bad, came flashing into my thoughts. Life was too short to remain angry, bitter, and resentful. In that moment, I had forgiven Keith and had forgiven myself. We fell asleep on the couch wrapped up in each other’s arms like it was our last time.
Reign
“Where’s your attorney?”
“I fired him.” Tommy Neglia shrugged nonchalantly. “We weren’t on the same page. I wanted to explore my options.”
“So, he has retained me.” The older white man stretched his hand out to me. “My name is Michael Springsteen.”
“We’ve met before,” I said, shaking his hand with a firm grip.
Though he wasn’t a hot-shot-skip-trial attorney like Andrew DeSilva, his retainment fees were along the same line.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”
How could I not? After one too many drinks, he’d pinched a few asses that night—mine included. But unlike all the other women who’d swatted his hand away at the annual New York Law conference, I grabbed his dick and squeezed it so tight, I thought I had gotten a new pair of balls to add to my collection. It was little over five years ago. Last I heard, he’d checked into a treatment program shortly after and hadn’t touched liquor since.
“What can I do for you today?” I asked as I pulled my hand out of his sweaty grip.
“My client is willing to give you information about an enterprise that has ties to major industries. We’re talking RICO.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and directed my rhetorical question to Tommy Neglia. “I’m assuming you want a reduced sentence.”
“Drop it down to seven years,” Michael Springsteen responded.
I shifted my attention back to the slithering attorney. “You figure
with good behavior he’ll be out in two.”
“Just a modest reward for good behavior.”
I returned my attention to Tommy. “Why would I allow you, a drug dealer who poisoned disenfranchised communities, get a sweet deal like that? Would you have sold the drugs in the neighborhood you grew up in?” Before he could respond, I continued. “Of course not. You’d rather sell drugs in black and brown neighborhoods—profit off their addiction.”
I turned to his attorney. “No deal. If there’s an illegal enterprise operating in this city, we will find them, and we will prosecute them.”
I pushed my chair back and got up.
“Can she do that?” I heard Tommy ask his attorney as I headed toward the door. “Hey, don’t leave! Can she really fucking do that?”
“She can do whatever she wants. It’s not against the law.”
“She said this would work,” Tommy panicked. “She said my time would be reduced, that all I had to do was tell her about the families and she’d handle the rest.”
I stopped at the door and cut my head over my shoulder. “Like I said, if there’s an illegal enterprise operating in this city, my office will prosecute them.”
I left the Brooklyn House of Detention and returned to my office thirty minutes later. I needed to wrap up a few cases before I left on my three-month Family Medical Leave. It had been a week since learning of Keith’s diagnosis. Although he’d been prepared for the worst, Keith opted for treatment. He wanted to fight to live. I vowed to be by his side the entire time, fighting for him to live. Thankfully, I worked with amazing attorneys who were more than capable of running the office in my absence. I agreed to work remotely one day a week should anything come up.
I spent the rest of the day working on a few more cases and organized my notes in chronological order for my executive team of attorneys to follow.
