by Nikki Harmon
“Listen,” she says, “I’m a little overwhelmed by seeing you, and I have some stuff I really have to do before I pick up the kids from camp. When are you leaving?” she asks.
“My flight leaves tomorrow morning, 11:05 a.m.,” I reply.
“Oh. Can we meet tonight for a late dinner or drinks or something?”
“Sure, but if you’re busy with family, I understand, it’s OK….” I try to give her an out.
“No, I really want to talk some more and I would love a night out, tonight, OK? What about 8:00 p.m.? I’ll meet you at your hotel, OK?” she says.
“OK, I would love to,” I say truthfully. We get up, exchange cell phone numbers, and hug goodbye. She walks me to the door and I leave reluctantly. She laughs and kisses me on the cheek. I know she watches me while I drive away. I put my sunglasses on and try to look cool.
I decide to spend the afternoon being a tourist. I wander through Old Town, I visit the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center, browse the shops in Nob Hill, and buy a cool birthing painting that would look perfect in my office. I buy a little wooden statuette of Kokopelli for the office too.
I get back to my hotel around 6:00 p.m., take a long shower and try to process the long day. Getting ready, I have to battle myself from falling into date mode. It’s not a date; I do not have to shave my legs (but I do). It’s not a date; I do not have to be fresh and trimmed (but I am). It’s not a date; I do not have to have cleavage (but it’s the only thing left clean!). It’s not a date; forget the musky perfume you love (but I love it, so why not?). It’s not a date, so calm the hell down (but I can’t). At 7:55 p.m., I turn off the TV and take the elevator downstairs. It does nothing for my nerves. I walk into the lobby and I see she’s already there. She’s dressed like she’s going on a date. She looks beautiful in her halter top and wrap skirt. I try not to swoon. We hug hello, she smells divine. I think I see her hands shake a little.
Earlier in the day, the concierge had given me the name of a hip but quiet restaurant nearby, and Candace and I walk there. It’s a cool evening, but it feels good to walk together. We come to the restaurant and go inside, landing a table in the window. We sit and look at each other for a while. I can’t believe that I am here, sitting across the table from Candace.
“Hi,” I say. She laughs.
“Hi,” she replies.
The waitress comes to take our drink order. I contemplate ordering something sophisticated or fancy, but I need something for my nerves, so I order a Jack and Coke. Candace orders a white wine. I realize that I do not know this woman. Candace was once the center of my universe, but we’ve never even had drinks before, never talked as full-grown women.
“Hey,” she says to the waitress. “This is my dear old friend from high school, would you take our picture?”
“Sure!” says the waitress. We pose, arms around shoulders, grinning from ear to ear. She takes a picture with both of our phones. I look at the picture; we look good together. We always did.
“So tell me about your life,” she says and I do. Over grilled salmon and ginger rice, I tell her about college, nursing school, and being a midwife. I tell her about Viv, my sister, my townhouse, and Bernie’s upcoming wedding. I gloss over the many relationships I’ve had and there’ve been a lot, so why get into it? I hit the highlights. Over roasted vegetable ravioli, she tells me about life and teaching in Albuquerque. She tells me about Elena and Marcos; she tells me about her estranged relationship with her mother and sisters. That makes me sad. I had a lot to do with that. I start to apologize, but she waves it away before it can get out of my mouth.
“I don’t want to go back to that, OK? Let’s just be happy to see each other again,” she says.
“Ok,” I say, “Tell me about Ramon then. I want to know about him.”
“Ramon,” she says, “well, how do I begin? Well, he’s very athletic, loves to hike and run and play all kinds of sports. He’s very good with our kids and the kids at school. He has a small family, but they’ve been in Albuquerque for 300 years. He is a genuinely nice guy….”
“Good!” I look at her. She’s biting her lip. “What are you not telling me?”
“Actually, we’re separated.” She looks up at me. My heart skips a beat.
“Oh? Why?” I ask. I hold my breath.
“Wait,” she says. She orders us another round. When her wine comes, she takes a big sip and sighs. “Ahhhhhh!” I look at her waiting, wondering. “OK,” she begins. “This is embarrassing and I’m really very ashamed and I feel terrible.”
I wait for it.
“I cheated on him, just once, just barely and he caught me.” She looked chagrined but like she was suppressing a smile.
“If you feel so bad, why do you look like the cat that got the canary? I can almost see the yellow feathers in your mouth! What is it Candace?”
“I cheated on him with…the librarian,” she says and busts out laughing.
“What!!! The librarian? Female librarian?” I ask. She nods, laughing so hard tears are coming out of her eyes. I laugh too, but I am confused. I had assumed she had not been with any other women.
“Candace! Get yourself together! What do you mean? I thought you were just totally with men now! I don’t get it!” I say, somewhat exasperated. She takes a deep breath and calms herself down.
“Ooh, that was a good laugh. I needed that. It’s been a rough few months. You are the only person who knows that I don’t have anybody here or at home that I could tell that to. I’m so glad you are here.” She reaches out and grabs my hand. “Truly, I have been living with so much guilt. I thought I would just crumble under the burden of it. Ramon is devastated. He also can’t tell anybody what happened or he would be humiliated. Oh, I just messed everything up.” She looks truly troubled now and she slides her hand back to her lap.
“OK, well why don’t you just tell me everything so you can get it off your chest,” I offer.
“Are you sure you want to hear all this? I’m pretty sure this is not what you came here for,” she says.
“I came here for you, Candace. Tell me what happened.” I sip my drink and listen.
“Well, first you should know that I have not been with another woman since you. Honestly, after I left Philly, I just wanted to put all of that behind me. My therapist and I were pretty sure that my relationship with you was a one time thing and that I was, you know, normal. I had a little crush at Spelman, but I never did anything about it, and then I met Kevin. When I first moved here, I had a yoga instructor who I thought was interesting, but again, I never did anything and I met Ramon shortly after that.”
“Therapist? You had a therapist?” I exclaim.
“My mother made me go to a therapist for the rest of senior year and when I came home for visits – ‘a check-up’ she called it,” she smirks. “Anyway, so I fell for Ramon, Elena, and Marcos, and we got married. The kids were all consuming; they were just two and four at the time, and I was still a new teacher. It was very busy those first few years. Anyway, like any married couple, Ramon and I had cooled off a bit, and during baseball season it’s almost impossible to get his attention.
So in February, the school librarian, Lisa, asked me to help with re-organizing the library. We were friendly and I teach English so it was no big deal. Now I knew she was a lesbian, everybody did, and it was a big controversy for a while but then it died down. She’s in her mid-thirties; she’s also an artist and writer, a hippie type. We have lots of them here. She lives in a cool old adobe house not too far from here. Anyway, one day, we were moving books, in the aisles and we were talking about Octavia Butler’s Kindred when I just kissed her.”
“What? You just kissed her out of the blue? She could have smacked you!” I say.
“I know! No one was more stunned than me, except maybe her. I don’t know where it came from, just all of a sudden we were so close together and she was nice and I guess she looked cute in her glasses?” Candace giggles. “It’s not funny really, but it was complet
ely unplanned and totally reckless.”
“So then what happened?” I ask, waving us another round of drinks.
“Well, then she kissed me back and before you know it, we were making out hot and heavy. I was … overcome a bit. Then Ramon walked in. He was coming to get me for lunch. We pulled away as soon as we heard his voice, but he heard and he saw us. I was mortified. I tried to explain that it had never happened before, but he’s convinced that we’ve been having an affair for years under his nose and no amount of me trying to explain has helped.”
“Oh. So what about the librarian?” I wonder aloud.
“Oh, Lisa? We talked and we both regret it and whatever it was is over and done.”
“It’s just Ramon, huh?”
“Yeah, Ramon had just come out of that traumatic relationship with the kids’ mother and now he feels betrayed by me. He moved out when the school year ended. He’s staying with his brother. We’re kind of sharing the kids until we figure it out,” she says.
“Wow, Candace, that’s some serious drama,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says. “I feel bad about Ramon. He’s a good guy. I feel worse about the kids, they deserve better—they deserve a good mom.” She bites her lip then looks at her watch.
“I should go. But it was so good to see you, Dee, really good.” She drinks the rest of her wine and signals for the bill. I try to pay but she insists on paying. After all, I paid for the flight, hotel, and rental car. I didn’t argue but worry when I see her stand up; she looks a little unsteady on her feet.
The night air sobers us up a bit. It’s late and the streets are empty. When we get back to the hotel, she hesitates, and then asks to come up and use the restroom. In the elevator, she doesn’t look at me. I wonder what she is thinking. In my room, we freshen up, then stand at the big picture window and look out at the mountains and the dark sky above. I turn on my little sound system to play Esperanza Spalding and dim the lights so we see less of our reflection and more of the stars. She shivers. I put my arm around her. She asks me to turn out the lights. I do. The stars are amazingly clear and bright; we step closer to the window to get a better look. She turns to me and kisses me. It is a kiss so full of love, of childhood memories, of affection, of regret, of longing and absence. It is our kiss as I remember it, but enriched with experience and knowledge. Wrapped together, we exchange breaths, each one reminding us of who we were together. She feels good, she feels right. I love her, still. And I know, I feel, that she loves me just the same.
Even so, when she pulls gently away and gathers her purse, I am not surprised. I knew she would go. I have my love and desire but she has her family. She was raised to be a good woman, a good wife and mother. I respect that about her. I hate that about her. At the door, she turns to look back at me and I see tears in her eyes but walks out without saying a word. I stand heartbroken looking at the hulking blackness of the mountain.
I leave New Mexico dwarfed by the unending sky, feeling empty, alone, and discontent.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Saturday morning, I wake up in my own bed and go through the motions of showering, dressing, eating, and laundry. I peek through my window—the trees are still green and lush but I feel cramped, like I can’t breathe. The message light on my phone is blinking. I have four messages. First is my mom, who never calls my cell phone because she doesn’t want to ‘bother’ me. Then Viv, who knew better than to call my cell phone while I was out there. Then Tracy Ann from work, leaving a reminder about an early Monday morning meeting – I hope it’s not about me. And there is a message from Noema, checking on me.
I call Viv and tell her the whole story. She listens quietly.
“Viv, when I saw her, it was like I’d never been apart from her. I loved her, I knew her, I felt for her just the same as I did 15 years ago. I swear I could have swooped her up and married her right then,” I say emphatically, only a little more dramatic for my second glass of red wine.
“Dee, you’re crazy! What about that break-up? Did she forgive you for that?” exclaims Viv.
“I don’t know, but it didn’t matter. It’s like I still knew her and she still knew me. I can’t explain it. But she chose her family and I guess I can’t be mad at her for that. I just wish I could have another chance with her….”
Viv sighs sympathetically. “Sorry it didn’t work out, Dee. At least you know the truth now though, right?” I think she was almost as disappointed as I was. She too, was hoping for a little bit of ‘love conquering all’ business.
I decide to try and forget about Candace and just concentrate on Noema. She’s beautiful, smart, and talented. I’d be a fool if I didn’t give her my full attention. I spend Saturday cleaning and listening to reggae music. Scenes from my visit with Candace keep intruding – her laugh, her smell, her eyes when she smiled. But I am determined. I just keep pushing the thoughts out of my mind, shaking them off like a bad dream. I chant to myself, “I’m moving on. I’m moving on.” I clean my entire house, I do all the laundry, I clear out all the old food and even some clothes. I recycle old junk mail, magazines, catalogues. I reorganize my books and my closet. I pull out some Iyanla Vanzant books and O magazines. By 5:00 p.m., I’m good and tired, and I actually take a nap. I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken a nap. But when I wake up at 6:30 p.m., I feel great.
I call Noema and push back our dinner to 8:00 p.m. I need to get ready. I groom myself. New nail polish, freshly washed and coiled hair, new underwear. I decide to wear something slightly butch. I want to feel powerful and in charge. I put on my summer white cargo pants, a tissue-thin cotton brown button-down with a cowrie shell choker and matching drop cowrie shell earrings. I look at myself and wonder if Candace would have changed her mind if I had been dressed up and sexy. Quickly, I shake that thought off and restart my chant, “I’m moving on. I’m moving on.” I add a big funky cowrie shell ring and wrist cuff and top it off with sandalwood oil and lip-gloss. I’m ready.
I pick Noema up and we head out to Café Curry, an Indian restaurant downtown. It’s casual but clean and efficient, and the food is good. I have a Dark and Stormy to go with my curry chicken and cashews. She has a chardonnay to go with her Tandoori vegetables. I can’t stop thinking about how good she looks in her white tank and leather vest with a mini skirt and thigh-high boots. We are usually easy with each other but tonight the conversation is a little stiff. She tells me a little about her new art projects for an opening she’s having in December. I tell her about my day of cleansing.
“I feel like I’m ready to start a new chapter in my life. I’m ready to let go of some stuff I’d been holding on to and making room for new people, and maybe a new attitude,” I say honestly. She holds her glass out to me and I tap it with mine.
“Here’s to new people and new experiences!” she says.
“New journeys and new adventures,” I add. We clink again and sip our drinks. When I close my eyes to savor my drink, Candace is there. I shake it off, open my eyes and look at Noema. By the time we get to dessert, I’m worried about this evening. It feels too soon, too planned and I know too well how too much expectation can ruin sex. I don’t want to rush what should be a good thing. Instead of going home, I suggest we go to the Twelfth Street Bar. It’s a risk, but I think we need to loosen up with some loud music and a gay crowd. We walk over there. It’s a humid night in Philly, but that just means that the streets are jam-packed and we laugh all the way to the bar. We turn the corner to go into the alley and I stop her.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” I say. I hold her hands and kiss her. We are gentle at first but soon we heat up. Several people walk by and stare. I don’t care, but she stops.
“Do you still want to go in?’ I ask.
“Sure, we’re already here but just one drink, then I want you to take me home.” She gives me a look full of desire. I’m not sure I want to waste my time at this bar but she’s pulling me along.
The music hits us full blast when we open the d
oor, and we step inside and let our eyes and ears adjust. We pony up to the bar and she grabs the one free stool. I step in between her legs and kiss her neck. She orders our drinks.
“So,” I ask. “I’m dying to know what your tattoo is.”
“Oh, this old thing,” she touches the back of her neck, “you’ll find out in about an hour.” She grabs my pants by the belt loops and pulls me closer.
“You smell awfully damn good tonight. I think I can just eat you up,” she growls in my ear.
“Oh, you’ll have your chance in about an hour,” I say, laughing. Our drinks come and we scoop them up.
“Let’s have at least one dance since we’re here.” I say.
“OK,” she agrees.
We head upstairs and are in luck. They are playing classic house on the third floor. I whisper to the DJ, an old friend of mine, she nods and starts digging in her crates. A minute later Lil Louis’ “French Kiss” starts to play; I blow a kiss to the DJ and turn to Noema. We dance and kiss and grind and kiss and finish our drinks, and by the time that 10-minute extended version is over, I’m ready to take her home. We dash out the bar, into my car, drive back to my house and barely get in my front door when I’m all over her. I thought I would be a little cooler, but she’s looking so sexy. I drop to my knees and slide off her boots, kissing her up and down her legs. I kiss up her thighs until I reach her skirt then back down again and up the other leg. She finally grabs my head and pulls me up, I French kiss her long and hard while I slide my hand over her tank. I can feel a thin bra and her nipples harden under my touch. I squeeze them through her tank. She’s pulling my shirt up out of my pants and unbuttoning the buttons. I slide my hand up under her skirt and in between her thighs. I can feel her wetness and I slide one finger under the side of her panties. We groan at the same time.
I murmur, “Welcome to my home. This is my living room….”
“Shut up,” she says, “and fuck me please.” I do as I’m told. We make our way into my bedroom, I quickly light a candle, turn on some music, and take off her clothes. She’s beautiful, but I don’t waste a lot of time looking, I dive right in and don’t look back.
