by Nia Arthurs
“So, you’re going on a date tonight?” I asked my friend. She sat quietly beside me on the bench, munching on her fried jack. Ashanti and a young man from the call center had been exchanging text messages lately. I knew that she liked him and was glad that he had summoned enough courage to ask her on a date.
“Yeah.”
“Do you know where he’s taking you?” I asked her. Ashanti shook her head. We got distracted by the wailing of a baby and a frazzled young mother who was trying to calm him down. It was an unusually hot day, even for Belize and I could understand why the baby was fussy. This kind of a heat wave could make anyone weepy.
“Well, I hope you enjoy yourself.” I encouraged her as the bus rounded the corner and pulled up to the curve. Juney opened the automatic doors. This morning I didn’t feel like pushing my way through so I allowed the line to flow freely without me. I ended up with my face pressed against the glass of the bus doors but at least I hadn’t elbowed anyone in the eye this time. I waved at Juney from my cramped position and he nodded at me. After fifteen minutes of becoming intimately acquainted with several of my fellow Belizean passengers, I got off at my stop and made my way to the Roskowski building.
Persia, the young lady that had micro-bullied me (or not, I still was not sure what that was) plopped in the seat next to me.
“Can I help you?” I asked. As far as I knew, the kids in this course kept to themselves and to their cliques.
Persia folded her hands over her chest and the ever present bracelets that she wore clanked together noisily, “I remember where I know you from.”
“Oh,” I said, waiting for her to go on. Maybe we’d met when she’d visited L.A. or something.
“You’re the girl from Youtube,” I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach at her words.
“I’m-I’m sure you’re mistaken,” I rushed to say, wishing that Brian hadn’t stupidly and so publicly tried to re-propose to me.
“No,” She shook her head indignantly, “it was you. I downloaded the video.”
Indeed, she took out her phone and played a piece of the most humiliating three minutes of my life.
I narrowed my eyes at her, “Okay, you found me online. What do you want?”
She pocketed her phone and faced me, “I want your help.”
My eyebrows arched in confusion, “Help with what.”
“With Peters’ class. Everyone knows that out of all of us, she hates you the least.”
My, what lovely feelings that instilled in me.
“Why should I even help you?” I asked, digging my heels in. So what if my class saw the video? Most of the world had seen it already.
“There’s a moral clause in the rule book that the school has the authority to kick out any student that could damage the reputation and face of the university.”
“What are you saying?”
“I can get you kicked out if I show this to the right people.”
I glared at her. Could this video mess up my education? I didn’t want to believe it, but I also didn’t want to take the chance.
“Fine,” I agreed grudgingly, “But I’m not doing any of your work for you.”
“I don’t need you to,” She said haughtily, “I only need a couple of hours a week to study with you, observe your approach to her assignments.”
I nodded, frowning at her, “Okay. We start next week. Library for one hour before my eleven o’clock class.”
She shrugged, “Nice doing business with you.”
I made a face at her back when she walked away. That stupid video! If I had known Brian would have given me so much stress I should have turned him down the first time he asked me out. Too bad I couldn’t rent a time machine and slap some sense into the old me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Later that night after work, I was chilling at home in my tank top and cotton shorts, sweating in the heat of my apartment, when I heard a knock at the door. Wondering who it could be, I opened the door to find, Archie at my threshold.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, looking up at him. He was dressed in a long button-down white shirt and fancy black pants. I called it his ‘lawyer-suit’. Even though Belize’s temperatures slow-roasted anyone in a long sleeved shirt, Archie had to wear them in any formal setting because of his tattoos. He turned to show me the guitar case strapped to his back.
“I made you a promise. Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” I said, and stepped aside so he could fit.
Archie set the guitar down on the sofa and turned to face me, “I love what you’ve done with the place.” He said, looking around.
“Actually, I left things exactly how Mia and Melody fixed it up. You should be complimenting them.”
“Right,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other.
If things got any more awkward, we’d get our own show on MTV.
“Archie, what are we doing?” I stepped forward.
He shrugged, “We’re being friends.” His silver eyes shone with sincerity, “I like hanging out with you, Susan. I hope that’s okay. But if it’s too awkward…”
I looked away, “I can deal with the awkward if you can.”
He grinned, “Great.”
I unzipped the guitar from the case, “So, you’re serious about teaching me?”
“I am,” he nodded from the kitchen where he was rustling through my fridge for something to drink. “I said I would.”
Grasping the guitar’s neck, I ran my hands down the strings and an awful sound erupted. I laughed. I was not good at this. While Archie was occupied in the next room, I bent over and sniffed the guitar’s surface. It smelt like him, woodsy and clean.
“Um, sniffing the guitar won’t make you better at playing it.”Archie commented, before sipping his soda. I jumped back and the guitar landed soundly in the couch.
“I’m sorry,” I said, thoroughly embarrassed, “It smells nice.”
“Uh, okay,” he accepted my explanation, “are you ready to learn something?”
“I guess,” I said.
“Wow, that was enthusiastic,” Archie teased.
“I am reeeaaadddy!” I said like a boxing sports announcer.
“That’s better,” he grinned and then handed me the guitar, “Okay, first lesson, we’ll learn how to hold it.”
I grabbed the guitar from him, “I know how to hold a guitar.”
He chuckled at my attitude, “Okay, missy. Go ahead,”
I gripped the neck and settled the body of the guitar on my lap.
“That’s about right,” Archie positioned the instrument better. He was so close; his soft breath hit my ear. I felt myself recalling his touch yesterday and my heart thudded with wanting.
“I think I got it!” I said abruptly to cover how deeply he was affecting me.
He drew back slowly, as though he knew anyway and he was taunting me with the touch.
“Okay.” I said shakily, “what now?”
“Now, we learn the names of the strings.” Archie taught me the basics of music and showed me each string’s particular letter. I soaked in his instruction and as the night wound on, I even forgot that we were supposed to be feeling uncomfortable around each other.
“I did it!” I cried an hour later, when I’d successfully strummed the ‘G’ chord.
“Perfect,” Archie high-fived me, “I’m proud of you.”
I held my fingers in the correct position and continued to strum the chord.
“Alright,” Archie covered my hand for a brief moment so that I stopped, “next time, we’ll learn another chord. You could be playing a bunch of songs soon.”
“Sweet, thanks Archie,” I grinned. “Are you hungry?” I offered, “I have left over spaghetti in the fridge that I made yesterday.”
“Sounds good!” Archie called. I went to the kitchen to retrieve the pasta and meat and filled a pot with water to make fresh noodles.
Archie followed me into the kitchen holding up the book that Pastor Stanley had leant
me two weeks ago. “Have you read much more of it?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I leave it on the table to read whenever I have a free moment but with work and school and everything that’s been going on, I haven’t gotten around to it.”
He nodded in understanding. “Need some help?”
“Not really. Unless you want to grater the cheese.” Archie rummaged the drawer for the grater and shredded the cheese like a pro. I grinned, “Some Belizeans things are harder to get used to than others.”
“Like what?” Archie asked.
I pointed to the grater before returning to stir the pot, “Like the fact that you actually have to shred your cheese manually. Back home, you can go to the store for shredded cheese. And you can buy chicken that’s already cut and seasoned and even onions that are already diced.”
“You have to cook on your own over here,” Archie agreed. “When I used to visit my mom, I missed doing all this stuff. There’s nothing like accomplishing a small task like dicing onions. Makes you feel connected somehow, like you’re doing something bigger.”
“That’s a very philosophical way to look at it.” I turned off the stove and drained the pasta into the plastic sieve.
“Contrary to my outward appearance, I like to cook.”
I slanted him a ‘you-can’t-be-serious’ look.
“I do,” Archie insisted. “Come over sometime and I’ll show you.”
“Yeah right. You’ll probably ask Mrs. Reyes to cook for you and pass it off as your own.”
He laughed, “That’s a good idea, but I wouldn’t do that. Tomorrow night, my place. I’ll cook for you from start to finish.”
“You’re on, Hamilton,” I agreed, pouring the noodles into a glass dish. “Okay, it’s ready. Bon appétit.”
We feasted on spaghetti leftovers and watched Bones until Archie begged off and claimed he had to go home.
“Tonight was nice.”
“It was good.” I agreed as we stood at the door. “Oh, you forgot your guitar,” I turned to get it.
“Keep it.” Archie offered.
“What? I’m not taking your guitar, Archie.”
“You need something to practice with.”
“I’ll buy my own.”
“Susan,” he held my hands, effectively robbing me of speech, “keep it. It’s yours.”
He left before I had any more time to argue.
The next day, I vented to Mia in between the Saturday customer rush.
“He gave me a guitar!” I raged as Mia and I took our first break of the day.
“So let me get this straight,” she swept her long ebony hair to her back, “Archie kissed you at the dinner thing on Thursday and you kissed him back.”
“Right.” I nodded firmly.
“Then you decided that you’d just be friends.”
“Mm-hm,” That sounded about right.
“He came over last night, just as a friend, taught you how to play guitar, invited you to his house so that he could cook you dinner, and then gave you his guitar. And now you’re mad. Did I get it right?”
“Yes,” I threw my hands up for emphasis, “He’s totally more than ‘just friends’ right?”
“Well…”
I interrupted, “Friends don’t give friends guitars.” I paced.
“Actually…”
“And they definitely don’t invite other friends over to cook for them.”
“Susan!” Mia yelled to get my attention, “Not that there is anything wrong with giving gifts or cooking dinner for your friends, but if you really feel like uncomfortable, maybe you should ask him for some space.”
“Space?” I repeated, “Why would I ask him for space. I love being with Archie,”
“Then embrace it. And stop worrying so much. If you two ever evolve into something more, it will be when you’re ready. Trust me, marriage has its perks, but simply being friends with a guy is fun too, so enjoy it.”
Mia went off to take care of a customer and I absorbed her advice.
Enjoy it, enjoy it, enjoy it, I chanted to myself that night when Archie picked me up to take me to his house. I wore a fitted off the shoulder white flare blouse, black skinny jeans with a zipper at the hem, and white striped heels. I gave my short, curly hair permission to do its own thing. It was not a date, but I wanted to look nice… for my friend.
When I opened the door, Archie stared at me.
“Wow,” he shook his head, “I mean, hi.”
“Hi,” I grinned and did a little twirl. “What do you think?”
“I don’t think sharing my thoughts about how you look tonight is the right move for us right now.” He admitted.
“Um, okay.” I accepted his answer and locked my apartment door. “I’m ready.”
He guided me to his car. Dang, this totally felt like a date.
“Did you get through with the Trademarks?” I asked him to distract myself.
“Yeah, I did. My dad gave me an actual case.”
“Archie, that’s great!” I encouraged him.
“I think it’s a test. We’re representing the mother of child. She’s in a really controversial custody battle. I can’t share details but I can tell you that it’s complicated.”
“Hey, I know you can handle this. You’re a great lawyer.”
He glanced at me for a second and then returned his attention to the road, “Yeah, but what if I’m representing the wrong side? What if I do win and I mess up some kid’s life forever.”
I clasped my hands together and answered carefully, “It’s not our job to judge people. It’s our job to gather the facts and present them in a way that will help our client.” I paused, “But no job is worth losing your soul. If you’re conscience is really uncomfortable representing this person then it might be best to pass the case.”
He groaned, “That’s what I thought. But if I pass on this, I will never gain my father’s respect.”
“It’s a tough call,” I agreed. “But I believe in you, Archie. You’re a good man.” I reached for his hand and squeezed it, “You’ll make the right choice.”
He turned his hand over so our fingers meshed, “This is going to be so hard,” he muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” I asked, not sure that I heard him correctly.
“Nothing,” he replied and we continued our ride in silence.
Five minutes later, Archie pulled into the driveway of a gorgeous bungalow house painted a stormy blue with white trimmings surrounded by a cement fence.
“Nice,” I indicated the dwelling.
“Thanks. I like it and the neighborhood’s quiet.”
He unlocked his front door and I stepped in. The house had an open floor plan where the living room flowed into the kitchen and dining room freely. It made the inside seem so much bigger than it appeared from outside. I was pleasantly surprised to see how well-decorated the place was. I’d expected to find only the bare minimum in decorations and furniture, but the house was well stocked with lamps, pillows in the sofa, artwork on the walls, and personal photos on the entertainment center.
I looked at Archie, “Let me guess, you had some help decorating this place?”
He appeared sheepish, “Melody, Mia, and Mrs. Reyes did most of it. I just gave them my card. Thank God I had a limit too because they were having a little too much fun with it.”
I smiled, “They really did a great job. Now,” I hiked up the sleeve of my blouse, “let’s get cooking.”
“You want to help?” He asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I wondered, bewildered.
“You’re dressed so nicely, I thought you’d sit this one out.”
“No way. Don’t you have an apron around here?”
He arched an eyebrow, “I’m a man. I don’t wear aprons.”
“Men wear aprons all the time, Archie.”
“Not this one.” He smirked.
“Okay, well, lend me an old shirt or something you don’t mind getting dirty.”
So much for looking nice tonight.
I knew I was short and Archie was at least six feet, but dang, this thing was its own little dress. Feeling a bit scandalous, I slipped out of my pants as well as my blouse and undid the straps on my feet. I looked like the little Orphan Annie now, but I didn’t particularly care. I was ready for a pajama party.
When I emerged from the bathroom with my folded clothes and my shoes in hand, Archie grinned at me.
“Am I allowed to say that you look absolutely adorable right now?”
“No, the terms ‘adorable, cute, or cuddly’ do not apply to me. I am well aware of my height, but I am a woman. I am ‘beautiful, or hot or sexy’.” I informed him.
“Oh, I know.” Archie said seriously. I gave him a weird look and then stepped over to the table, placing my clothes on the surface.
“So, what are we making?”
“I was thinking we could make pizza.”
“Pizza,” I laughed, “pizza is supposed to convince me of your mad cooking skills?”
“Make fun all you want but you’ve never tasted my pizza.”
“Okay, whatever you say,” I conceded and then followed him to the sink to wash my hands. Archie flicked me in the face with a sprinkle of water. I bumped him with my shoulder and we shared a smiled. Before the moment could get too intense, he turned toward the cupboard and spread out the ingredients.
“You want to help me make the dough?”
“Okay,” I agreed and Archie tutored me in the art of kneading and forming pizza dough. At the end of the lesson, his was smooth and well spread as though he’d worked in a pizza parlor. He even knew how to throw the pizza dough into the air while spinning it. I, on the other hand, struggled to get mine in any kind of shape.
“You just need to knead it a little more,” Archie directed when he noticed my struggle.
“I kneaded the thing,” I pounded the dough in frustration, “I’m just not good at it.”
He chuckled, “Come on.” Rounding the island counter, he stood behind me and put his arms around mine, directing my hands into the dough.
