Dangerous Bonds

by Shani Greene-Dowdell

  “I’ve told you a thousand times that I would if you weren’t my boss, too.”

  “Yeah, well, you deserve the most respect, so you’re stuck with Miss Millie.”

  This is a vicious circle we travel in every time we talk. Yet, we both end up laughing at the other in the end. I’m still always Miss Johnson the next time I call.

  “You deserve just as much respect when you’re supplementing my granddaughter, Nevaeh’s college education and spoiling her, so you’re stuck with Miss Johnson.”

  Thank God, I got something right.

  “You know what, Miss Millie? I’m just going to give up on this battle.”

  “That’s right, child. You can’t win. I’m the elder here with more weapons and ways to get around you.” She cackles like little old ladies with too much, but well-earned, knowledge are inclined to do.

  I can’t help giggling, conceding defeat. After letting her know my guesstimated arrival time tomorrow, I ask would she kindly upset her regular routine to dust and uncover the furniture, then I siphon directions to Tommy’s restaurant from her. That’s when I learn that her granddaughter works there as well. I have to talk her out of buying groceries for the house. They’ll go to waste since I’m not going to be there that long.

  She ends the call to start the emergency cleaning. I change my skirt and matching jacket, replaced on the hangers emptied of fitted, stonewashed jeans with designer holes and a sleeveless, high-neck shirt cropped to above my navel. While tying up my sneakers, I deliberate on how stupid could I be to let Orion goad me into turning back the hands of time.

  I backtrack out of the house, into my car, before I grow weak under the pressure I’m exerting on myself with worrying about the outcome of this trip. I cover the distance between my flat and the airport in thirty minutes instead of the legal fifty. Long-term parking is usually a bitch to find a vacant space in. Oddly, I find one as soon as the cashier gives me a parking ticket. After an impromptu jog across the pickup and drop off lanes, I breeze through security check with minimal fuss over my two bags.

  The check-in line is bizarrely short. It’s almost like something or someone is paving the way for me to get to Arrow sooner than I want to. I still need time to steel myself for seeing Tommy again, even as I walk through the terminal to board the plane.

  You can do this, Kat. Even if you can’t right now, you got ten hours of flight-time to figure it out. Besides, Tommy sucks balls. He hasn’t earned your emotions… and he doesn’t own you or Arrow. You have every right to go back there.

  But something in me is convinced that he does own me and Arrow lock, stock, and barrel, or I wouldn’t be damn near petrified to go home. It’s his territory now. I’ve tried to make London that for me. Mostly cold, rainy, and gray London. There are no snow-capped Sangre de Cristo Mountains as backdrop anywhere in England. No family or friends here, aside from Orion, to visit on the days that are dreary, which is every minute I’m not working my ass off.

  Even when it’s sunny out, warm, the perfect time to be on a date, I rather watch television, sleep in, spring clean in the winter. Anything but date. I wasn’t like that in Arrow where I was constantly looking for any reason to be outside with Tommy, whether the snow had blanketed the ground or the sun was parading in the sky and donating its heat and radiance to everything outdoors.

  My existence here is wash, rinse, repeat. No way to live and be happy, clearly. I suspect I’m never going to be that here, too.

  Well damn. I miss home. A shit-tastic time to recognize that, Kat, after you left it behind with Tommy. And now, you’re going to look him up? What has the world come to?

  And then, I exhale. “I’m going home.”

  Something in the pit of my stomach unfurls, then stretches out. For the first time since I left Arrow, I want to go home.

  *********

  Ten hours later

  The plane does unnecessary acrobats while landing. Whatever had unraveled inside me before takeoff in London balls right back up in Colorado. I’m worse off than I was before I left: anxious as hell, hands slightly trembling, a light sheen of sweat on my forehead. I’d think I was in withdrawals, if I had been on some kind of dope recently. Yeah, well, it might not have been recently, but an addict is always an addict, and Tommy was as addicting as heroin. Being forty miles away from him, I’m so close to my next hit, and I’m damn sure that I’m already feening for him.

  He’s just a man, Kat. Calm the hell down already. It’s not like you can shoot him up your vein.

  I probably would if I could, and that’s just sad. You’d think I’d have jumped on board of Orion’s runaway train to brag and lie to Tommy about how good life has turned out for me. Make him feel bad for cheating on me. Well, I don’t want to, and life isn’t all that gravy.

  On the way out of the airport, I find myself smiling while getting into a waiting cab. I can’t recall the last time I felt like doing that without another human being triggering it. Evidently, all I need is the blazing Arrow sun on my face, fresh air rushing down from the mountains, and to be home. Even the much more expensive than it should be cab ride to my childhood home can’t stop me from cheesing like a Cheshire cat that wants to find Tommy right away.

  I force myself to go to my house, instead, to drop off my bag. Nothing’s different. The suburbs are still the suburbs with manicured lawns, and it’s ultra-quiet this early in the afternoon. The house is still an imposing two-level, red brick with a long, paved walk from the curb to the front black door, and not where I want to be.

  We park on the driveway in front of the side garage. Inside, Millie has uncovered the furniture. I pawn my carry-all off on the brown leather arm chair with gold nail heads, then breathe in the serenity and good memories here. The ones of Tommy visiting daily mess with my head the most—he was welcomed here and as loved by my parents as I am.

  To this day, they’re disappointed that Tommy and I didn’t work out. The first time they said that to my face turned me into a raving lunatic for the second time in my life, and that time, I was shrieking about they loved him more than me if they thought I should forgive him. It seems only my loved ones can pull me completely out of character, and I have never regretted more than right now not forgiving Tommy after his only mistake in our relationship.

  We’re all entitled to one, right? Just not ninety-nine relapses of the same error.

  He was only twenty-nine, still finding himself. Old enough to learn to not to do something again. Was I too harsh on him in the past? Am I making excuses for him now just to justify my wanting him no matter what? Well, I did try to beat him between the eyes with a plant.

  I would have, if he hadn’t raised his arm at the last second, which had to have left a bruise on him. With that, I think I got unplanned payback in the end, and it’s sort of hilarious now. It wasn’t even remotely funny back then, but it’s been ten years. How much longer should I let the wound on my heart fester before letting it heal, acquitting him of the damage done?

  The half a minute it takes you to get back in the cab to resolve your issues with him, Kat, that’s how long, my heart answers, ready to restore the brokenness in me. Me too, so I dash toward the front door like there’s fire at my heels, stopping at the gold scroll-framed mirror hanging beside the doorway under a straight-back chair.

  Checking my hair, a little fluffing of the wavy tresses curtaining my shoulders is the best I can do. I’ve never been one for the makeup, but a little lip gloss has never killed anybody… I don’t think. After putting some on, I lock the house, approach the cab, and scare the bejesus out of the Nigerian driver sitting patiently, reading the newspaper.

  He follows the memorized directions that I give him to Tommy’s place a few miles from downtown Arrow, braking before a black canopy mounted to the first floor of the building with a glass-front that sits far apart from other commercial buildings on each side. A ledge over the canopy sports Tommy’s Cuisine in huge, white italic letters. Off to one side of is an alfresco-dining are
a with its own black, tin overhang surrounding a cordoned off shrubbery in a nook of the building. A classy place to eat, and I’m in jeans and casual top. It sinks in where I’m actually at, and how out of place I am. My eagerness to get here gets up and leaves.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Showing up unannounced for one. Well, I’m here now. Might as well go in and see which way the tide flows. He could hate the very sight of me. I pray he isn’t married. Would settle for his wife not being here at the moment. She won’t appreciate an old friend dropping in out of the blue skies. I don’t need the drama or want to cause any, but I could definitely eat. It’s been eleven hours since the bottom of my stomach was occupied.

  I dangle three twenty-dollar bills over the front seat, along with a generous tip for the cabbie’s trouble. He takes the money, nods his gratitude, then wishes me a good day in a thick accent as I climb out. Advancing on the double-glass door entrance, I scan the interior of the place through the windows. Miniature chandeliers with fluted arms attached to acorn-shaped crystal globes are suspended over various-sized tables spaced spaciously apart. The smaller ones and black, velvet booths meant for creating intimacy are on the outskirts of the dining room.

  Stepping past a sign that says Seat Yourself Tuesday onto the shiny black-tiled floor, shit gets real for me, and I almost back out of going any further. Something pushes me forward, propelling me around the servers walking to and fro, balancing trays on their palms. Chatter from the customers filling half of the tables on a Tuesday attests to the restaurant’s success. I scan for the cashier’s stand, locating it in the far-left corner behind a V-shaped, black marble countertop. Tommy’s behind it, speaking low to a couple of women, with a child-size thigh pressed against his backside. The child in his arm doesn’t register with me right then. I have eyes only for him.

  Even with his back to me, I know that profile anywhere. A chef coat graces his shoulders that are not too big, too small, or too wide—he was never heavily-muscled, just cut. Oh, but trust me when I say he has enough strength on his trim frame to get any job done. Even now, after so many years, his presence sucks up the air in the room or suctions it from my lungs. I never could figure out which.

  Now, that I’ve seen him, I can’t find anything in me that wants to be angry at Tommy any longer. Can’t go back the way I came either, literally or figuratively, not before letting him know I’m in the area. Catching up for old times’ sake doesn’t seem so bad at the moment.

  I cross the floor to stand behind him. “You know, Tommy, it’s not fair that you’re still an extra medium and I’ve gained twenty pounds from sitting behind a desk all day.”

  It’s almost hysterical how the women in front of him lean to opposite sides in sync, peering around him, checking me out with twin frowns. He swivels around, slowly, as if he wants to savor the moment. The second his midnight gaze lands on me, his eyes begin to slowly bulge out of his head.

  “Kat,” he whispers.

  The child is in full view now, her existence undeniable.

  God, he really does have a child… and she’s sick.

  The tube running from her nose to inside her shirt is heartbreaking. If his child is ill, he’s suffering, too. So am I simply because they are.

  Nervous as hell, I wave. “Hey, Tommy.”

  This is the man I’d given everything I am to and he deceived me, so why the hell am I nervous? I should be grateful he’s not my kid’s father. So why am I not? Because I don’t want him procreating with anybody else. Although I knew it was a possibility before I got here, almost a certainty really. Tommy’s too damn gorgeous to be single. Black, inky jealousy begins to eat at me from inside out. It takes the same amount of strength to move heaven and earth just to preserve eye contact with him and the fake ass smile on my lips.

  “Long time, no see,” I say casually.

  “You can say that shit again, but don’t. I heard you the first time. Where are you coming from?”

  “From my flat.”

  “What’s flat? Your tire?” His eyebrows do their best to form a unibrow, clearly baffled.

  I giggle, and it almost feels like yesterday when it was he and I as one, and we could talk easily. Right now, I’m finding it extremely hard to chat with his baby girl staring at me. She’s doing what I am, wondering about the girl in front of her.

  “No, I wouldn’t start a massacre in Arrow by driving here right now. My flat is my apartment, and who is this beautiful girl?”

  “Why is your apartment flat, Kat? How the hell do you get in the damn thing?” He glances down at the child who’s gumming a chew toy for teething, then kisses her on the forehead. “And this is Majestic. Say hello, baby girl.”

  It flat out kills me to see him be affectionate with Majestic—she was supposed to be ours. It’s difficult to keep the smile on my face, but I will, even if that kills me, too.

  I wiggle my fingers at her, making her grin. Could fall in love with this little girl just because she’s Tommy’s, but I don’t think her mother would care for that.

  “Hello, Majestic. I’m Kat. And, my apartment’s not flat, Tommy. It’s a regular apartment. They just call them flats in London.”

  One of the women reaches around Tommy for the toddler, most likely the mother, Tommy’s woman or ex. “I’ll take her so you two can talk.”

  Both of the women shove off, all three girls glimpsing back periodically as they exit the flap at the end of the countertop together, disappearing into a swinging door that probably opens to the kitchen on their immediate right.

  I can see what Tommy sees in the one squirreling away Majestic. She’s beautiful, slim, a little world-weary if her eyes are any indication to go by, but she’s got a coke-bottle frame to die for, mocha-tinted skin, and a pleasant air about her, along with long tendrils of hair slipping from the hair net on her head. I can see what Tommy sees in her but not why he didn’t introduce us or why she wasn’t more curious about me and stuck around to find out my motives for being here. I would have.

  Maybe she completely trusts Tommy like I didn’t.

  He steps closer to the edge of the counter dividing us, along with a few other hurdles. I center on him again, his forehead wrinkled, one side of his mouth tilted up. His ever-present humor sparking in his eyes next to the long nose that fits his oblong-shaped face to perfection. Every part of him is physically perfect. Still.

  Ain’t that a bitch! He’s supposed to be fat, bald, and ugly dammit!

  “London, Kat? That’s where you been?” He cocks a thick eyebrow. “And why don’t you just say it’s your apartment? I don’t speak London.”

  Here we go with the jokes.

  “You speak English, don’t you, Tommy?”

  “Not proper English, no. We don’t say apartment here either. We say ‘partment. Damn… you’re bougie, Kat.”

  I grin stupidly at him. “I am not bougie, not even a little bit in jeans and sneakers. You are though, with your fancy restaurant and clothes. I can see the bottom of a suit under your chef’s coat, too. Just admit it, you’re the one bougie. It hurts more to deny it.”

  He shakes his head. “I feel no pain, woman.”

  I do. Just looking at his beautiful ass cocoa complexion under his low haircut with waves that causes seasickness if you stare too long at them makes me ache in certain places that are rude to mention in company. Well, I am staring, and my damn knees are starting to knock.

  Shit! He’s still too good looking!

  Then he grins. That smile is almost my undoing, except it’s not ladylike to jump taken men or damn near strangers in public, so I restrain myself, barely, and commit to small talk. Until I can prove otherwise, I’m going with he isn’t single.

  “So how is everything?”

  His smile slips away. “Good as can be… I think. How about you?”

  Why is it he doesn’t know? It would be too forward of me to ask though—I’ve only been here for a hot second, too soon to dive into his affairs.

  “
Things are as good as can be for me, too.” And that’s not an endorsement for how I live, but he doesn’t know that. Suddenly, I wish I’d taken Orion up on his offer. Yeah, well, I didn’t, so I just have to suck it up that Tommy is doing great, and I’m not. “I see Tommy’s is booming like you always wanted it to. Congrats on that.”

  He beams a grin so bright at me I almost reach for my Versace shades in my purse, but then I’ll look crazy wearing them in the low lighting. This is a proud, happy man before me. Well, kudos for him. At least one of us has a life worth living outside of work.

  I tap my fingertips on the countertop, hoping to drum up another subject. One comes easily to mind. “What’s good here?”

  Tommy gives me an ‘are you serious’ glower, eyes threatening to jump out of his head again. “Everything is good here. I’m fucking offended and should tell you to leave for asking that, Kat,” he jests.

  Maybe he isn’t joking. Tommy takes his cooking seriously, if nothing else, and even then, he’s the best company to be in. When he isn’t cheating.

  Right about now, I wouldn’t mind being the other woman, but I won’t be. Not many people merit the pain that comes with finding out a significant other is giving their goodies away. The most important reason for my visit arises in my mind: I want to know why he wrecked us for Benita, of all people. Wasn’t I good enough for him? What did he need that I wasn’t giving him?

  It’s too soon for such an in-depth discussion though, so I ogle his mouth rudely. “I’m not leaving before I’ve eaten, reserve the right to sit in your shit, demand service, and deny you the privilege of kicking me out until I’m full.”

  He leans over his hands braced on the countertop. “Lady, I will call the cops on you. You don’t scare them.”

  But I scare him, huh?

  I erupt with laughter. Respect for the relationship he may have is the only thing keeping me from leaning towards him. He’s sucking me in, as usual. Not good, and I know he doesn’t need the cops to evict anyone from his business. Tommy may be silly, but he taught his sisters and me to kick ass if we need to. I don’t think anyone knows that but me and a few members of his family. He’s not one to gloat about anything but his cooking, more lover and provider than fighter who’ve I’ve missed bantering back and forth with.