Lovin' Blue

by Zuri Day

  “Hey, baby . . . I got the job!”

  “That’s great, little garden.” Jansen’s answer was quiet, his mood subdued.

  “Jansen, what’s wrong?”

  Silence and then, “Got some bad news today.”

  “Want to share?”

  “Not really.” One second passed, and another, then several more. “Friend of mine died today.”

  Eden closed her eyes, once again trying to block out bad stuff. An ironic reminder that closing one’s eyes to evil didn’t make it go away. “I’m so sorry, Jansen.”

  Jansen snorted.

  Eden fought not to take his reaction personally. “Someone you worked with?” Her voice was soft, nurturing.

  “Used to. Back in Chicago.”

  Eden searched for words to say. Couldn’t find any. “I’m sorry,” she repeated finally.

  “It’s life, Eden. Shit happens. People die. It’s fucked up.”

  Eden dared not comment on that one. What could she say? Instead she asked, “Do you want me to come over?”

  “Not sure that’s a good idea. I know you don’t like to deal with the negative, and I’m not feeling too positive right now.”

  “Okay.”

  Jansen tsked again. “Later.”

  Eden sat for several moments, staring at the phone and into a situation that was impossible. Jansen McKnight was the man she loved, and this was his life—crime, death, navigating the bowels of hell every single day. The illusion, as Ariel would call it. The part of human existence with which Eden would prefer as little interaction as possible.

  Eden started her car, headed toward Lincoln Boulevard and into the Whole Foods parking lot. She purchased beer, brown rice, and, for the first time in four years, a piece of farm-raised salmon. Then she got back in her car and headed toward Gardena.

  When she reached her destination, she got out of the car quickly before she could change her mind. Part of her had wanted to go home and bask in the peace of her feng-shui environment. But Jansen wasn’t just her lover, he was her friend. Eden wasn’t the kind of woman who’d leave a friend hanging. She didn’t know what kind of reception she’d get: anger, passiveness, rejection? At the very least, she’d prepare dinner and then leave. Jansen loved to eat, and she doubted he’d done so since hearing the news. That’s it. I’ll just cook the food and leave.

  She rang the doorbell and then waited for what felt like an eternity. She rang again, and after another couple minutes, turned to leave.

  The door opened. “Eden.”

  She turned around, looked deeply into Jansen’s eyes. He looked into hers. She took a tentative step toward him, and then another, until she stood before him. He took a deep breath and wrapped her in his arms, squeezing her tightly. She dropped the bag and hugged him back, rubbing her hands across his taut back and stiff shoulders. Jansen took another deep breath and stepped aside so she could enter. Eden didn’t leave until morning.

  32

  Eden looked down at her white shorts with resignation. They were ruined. Why had she thought it would be okay to wear such a color to an event with kids? Clearly, inexperience was written all over her choice, and now so was barbecue sauce, grass stains, and mud from Alberto Jr.’s midthigh hug. Eden guessed there had been twenty adults and double that number of children in and out of Alberto and Delphia Gonzalez’s home in the two hours she and Jansen had been there. The backyard was crowded with plastic pools, card tables, and a bounce house. She hadn’t known family life could be this much fun.

  “Are you sure you have to leave?” Delphia asked, walking like a pregnant woman even though, at three months, she was barely showing. “We’re doing old-school later on, complete with a Soul Train line!”

  “Sounds wonderful, Delphia, but I promised my brother we’d come over. If not for that, you’d probably have to kick me out. I’ve had a great time.”

  “Well, don’t be a stranger. And you don’t have to wait for knucklehead”—she cocked her head toward Jansen—“to issue the invitation. We girls have to stick together, and I’ll give up the goods on that homey.”

  Eden eased closer. “Do tell.”

  Delphia leaned in. “You’ve got yourself a good one,” she whispered. “In all the time he and my husband have been friends and he’s come over, you’re the first woman he’s brought along.”

  “She’s a hot tamale,” Alberto was saying to Jansen on the other side of the yard. “No wonder you’ve been skipping to my loo, looking all goo-goo-eyed and shit.”

  “Man, why are you lying on a brother?” Jansen asked, laughing, looking over at the person who’d put the smile back on his face following the tragic loss of his former comrade. Later in the week he’d fly to Chicago and pay his condolences. But today he smiled.

  “If I’m lying, I’m dying,” Alberto replied. “You better keep an eye on that, dog, ’cause if you mess up . . .” Alberto raised his brow and then his beer bottle.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Jansen replied, clinking glass. “You handle your business, partner, and I’ll handle mine.”

  After what seemed like a zillion hugs and hasta luegos, Jansen and Eden left Hawthorne and headed for Baldwin Hills.

  “That was fun!” Eden exclaimed.

  “That was crazy. That’s my boy though. They’re good peeps.”

  “I really like Delphia.”

  “Yeah, she’s special.”

  “And so are you. Her using vegetarian instead of traditional refried beans in the burritos, and no meat, was I’m sure your idea.”

  “Couldn’t have you going into seizures on me, girl. You get nauseous smelling meat—no telling how you’d react to lard hitting your system.”

  “Ha! Thanks, baby. That could get ugly.”

  “If you say so. Me, I’ve never met a pig I didn’t like.”

  Jansen pushed the volume button on his stereo and turned up Stevie Wonder’s radio station, 102.3 KJLH. The deejays had been killing it all weekend, mixing today’s hits with yesterday’s favorites. TLC had gone creepin’, and now Montell Jordan was explaining how we do it. Jansen and Eden bobbed and weaved in their seats—music blasting, sun shining, love everywhere.

  When the song ended, Jansen turned down the radio. “Little garden . . . do you want to have kids?”

  Eden stopped in the middle of her cabbage patch. “What?”

  “Babies, children, niños—do you want them?”

  Eden overlooked the abrupt change of subject and answered. “I always thought I’d have kids, but now . . .” She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Now what?”

  “I’m thirty-four, Jansen. If I had a kid today, I’d be fifty-two when the child turned eighteen.”

  “And?”

  “And? When I turned eighteen, Mama was in her forties.”

  “You really think you’re too old to have kids? Age is just a number, Eden.”

  “Easy for you to say. Men can be seventy and still shoot a tadpole into an egg, no worries. You don’t have to carry it nine months and deliver it through your vagina.”

  “True, you’re probably closer to the grave than you are the cradle.” Eden scowled, Jansen smirked. “But I don’t think you’re too old to be a mother.”

  “Who asked you?” Eden huffed, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms for good measure.

  Jansen simply smiled. He couldn’t let too many days go by without getting under Eden’s skin. As much as he cared for her, it just wouldn’t be natural.

  They arrived at Michael’s to a nice but totally different atmosphere. Bypassing the front door for the back gate, Jansen and Eden walked in to see Michael and a few others in the pool, two couples playing Spades, and a tall, lean woman hovering over the grill. Jansen began peeling off clothes and within minutes was alongside Michael in the kidney-shaped pool. Eden walked up to the woman wearing a big smile, a short dress, apron, and heels.

  “You must be Bridgett.”

  “And you must be Eden.”

  Eden stuck out her hand. Bridge
tt swatted it away and enveloped her in a hug. “Girl, we hug where I come from. My parents are Southern.”

  Eden liked her already. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too. You seem down-to-earth, and I like that. When it comes to men and their families, you never know what to expect. Michael thinks the world of you, sistah, so if we didn’t like each other . . . there would be problems. ’Cause I love me some him, know what I’m sayin’? I’m not trying to go nowhere.”

  “As long as you keep doing what you’re doing, looks like you won’t have to. I’m going to go change, get out of these dirty shorts. Then you can tell me what you need me to do.”

  “All you need to do is enjoy yourself. Food’s almost ready.”

  Eden entered the house from the back door and walked through the kitchen. She passed bowls of green salad, spinach salad, green-bean salad, potato salad, macaroni salad, carrot salad, and yet another salad filled with avocado and corn. No wonder she doesn’t need my help. She has enough food here to feed . . . the Gonzalez family! Eden climbed the stairs, changed into her swimsuit and cover-up, and joined the party heating up outside.

  33

  “Eden Anderson, so nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise, Eden. Welcome aboard.”

  Day one at the Zen Den had arrived. Ariel, over the moon that her friend had been hired, had volunteered to take Eden around and introduce her to the staff, referred to as “the community.” Many of the part-timers worked in the afternoon. Still, in addition to Om and Alex, Eden had met the nutritionist, an herbalist, a couple exercise instructors, an acupuncturist, several energy healers, and two masseuses. By the time she and Ariel returned to the airy, modern kitchen/break room, she’d met almost half of the community’s twenty-eight members.

  Eden carried a steaming mug of green tea into her small yet adequate office located on the building’s back side. Her favorite office feature was the large window that looked out upon the meticulously landscaped garden that was the two-story office’s backyard. She gazed out upon the picture-perfect September morning and then turned and surveyed her new domain. The furniture was minimal, the walls not adorned. Dr. K had explained that this was so she could personalize the office to her liking. With that in mind, Eden sat behind the desk and began compiling a shopping list.

  Her stomach growled, signaling lunchtime. Eden checked her watch and was surprised to see how quickly four hours had passed. In addition to completing the shopping list, she’d further familiarized herself with the community members by reviewing their résumés and Web sites and studied the various healing modalities offered at the center. Eden had discovered a lot about the holistic lifestyle and alternative methods of healing in the four years she’d ventured down this path. After three hours on her new job, however, she knew there was still much to learn.

  A light tap on her open office door signaled company. “There are no brownie points for not taking a lunch break,” Alex said as he entered her office. “In fact, while eating is not mandatory, it is highly recommended.”

  Eden sat back, smiling. “I totally agree with you, doctor, and so does my growling stomach.”

  “I thought perhaps we could grab a bite together, have a casual strategy session regarding the center’s direction in these first six months. You’ve seen the mission statement and basic-goals outline, but I’m interested in having your input, given what you’ve learned so far.”

  “Sounds great.” Eden powered down her laptop and retrieved her purse from a side drawer. “Do you have a restaurant in mind?”

  “Seed, over on Pacific Avenue. Have you eaten there?” Alex motioned for Eden to precede him out of the office, placing a light hand at the curve of her back as she did so.

  “No, never heard of it.”

  “You’ll love it.”

  They continued chatting as they walked to Alex’s shiny black Prius. He hit the unlock button, opened Eden’s door, and closed it once she was safely inside. Alex deftly navigated the dense lunch-hour traffic and the ever-present bicyclists, skateboarders, and dog-walking pedestrians. Soon they entered a small and bustling establishment, with a simple decor. They walked up to the counter, reached for menus, and perused the tasty-sounding choices. After a brief conversation with the man behind the counter, they placed their orders.

  “You’re vegetarian?” Eden asked, once they’d sat down.

  “Mostly,” Alex answered. “I still eat seafood and, once a year, on my birthday, I’ll have one of my favorite Greek dishes—a lamb fricassee, for instance, or a pork-filled moussaka.

  Eden looked up in surprise. “How’s that work out for you?”

  Alex shrugged. “Fine.”

  “You don’t get sick from ingesting meat after three hundred and sixty-four days without it?”

  “No, but that’s probably because of the seafood in my system. If Ariel or someone like her ate meat, they’d probably end up in the emergency room.”

  “You’re probably right. I think Ariel has been pretty much vegan for ten years.”

  “What about you?”

  “Four years without meat or fish, but I still eat dairy and soy-based products.”

  Alex paused as the waiter delivered their orders: an Italian “soysage” panini for Eden and a Thai coconut bowl for Alex. After taking a couple bites of his food, he continued, “What started you on this holistic journey?”

  “Finding out that my ex-husband wasn’t the only thing giving me indigestion.”

  “Ha!”

  Eden laughed, too, but was a bit embarrassed. She couldn’t believe that answer had come from her mouth, had wanted to keep her private life just that—private. “I reached a point in my life where I didn’t feel as good as I thought I should. I went to a health fair that just happened to have an entire row dedicated to alternative-health modalities and became intrigued. A counselor at the event told me that while part of my lethargy was due to emotional fatigue, stress, and lack of exercise, she also thought part of it was due to diet. She made some recommendations, I followed them, and here I am.”

  “Looking fit as a fiddle!”

  “I don’t know about all that, but I feel good. What’s your story?”

  “I’ve always been somewhat of a health nut, always exercised and took supplements. But, like you, the more I delved into the world of holistic medicines and alternative healing, and learned the correlation between diet and good health, the more my food choices changed.”

  “Did you always want to be a doctor?”

  “From the time I was ten years old. I went in for a tonsillectomy, fell in love with the doctor’s stethoscope, and got spoiled by the pretty nurses.” Alex’s green eyes sparkled as he fixed her with a crooked smile. “And here I am.”

  He’s a very attractive man. I wonder why he’s not married. Eden thought this and then realized she didn’t know his marital status. She wanted to, out of simple curiosity, but felt it an inappropriate question to ask during her first day on the job and first lunch meeting with her boss. Instead she steered the conversation back toward business, asking about Alex’s studies in eastern and Chinese medicine, and how the center’s community would be expanded to allow members well versed in these teachings. Conversation flowed easily, and the food was delicious. Two hours went by in a flash, and by the time the two returned to the office, they were both excited about the future of the Zen Den.

  Eden returned to her office, fired up her laptop, and, based on the conversation she’d just had with Alex, began outlining both her personal goals and goals for the center for the next six months. Her body fairly hummed with satisfaction and joy. She felt alive. This was why she’d switched careers and relocated—to change the dynamics of her life. Eden laughed out loud, thinking about just how quickly those changes had come about. Her dream job landed; a fabulous man in her life. What more could a woman want?

  Alex finished a call with a colleague, discussing the latest trends in his former profession, hematology-oncology. He still saw patients a co
uple times a week, and attended the conferences to stay up to date on the ever-changing technology in traditional western medicine. He wanted to stay current in his chosen field even as he embraced and incorporated his training in eastern healing modalities. He clicked on his computer and saw that Eden had sent him an e-mail. In it was an attachment, a skeletal outline reiterating what they’d discussed at lunch, and a timeline for incorporation of these ideas.

  Alex leaned back, pondering his latest hire. He had no doubt that, by far, she was the best of the applicants interviewed—a perfect fit for the center. Job aside, he deduced, she was a very attractive woman. She intrigued him. Alex had dated only a handful of women since his divorce ten years ago, and only one of them had lasted longer than a year. His current liaison was casual, a mutual agreement for stimulating conversation and physical pleasure, without expectation. Alex led a busy life, traveled often, and hadn’t met anyone who piqued his interest enough to consider a serious relationship. He also had a rule of not dating anyone in the workplace. But Eden Anderson had changed the game. As he clicked on the Internet to once again Google her name, he came to one undeniable conclusion: rules were made to be broken.