Finding Yvonne

by Brandy Colbert

  21.

  Warren barely looks at me when I get in his car before brunch the next morning.

  “Hi.” I wave a hand in front of his face when he doesn’t say anything.

  He finally glances over. “Hey. Hi. Sorry. I’m a little…”

  “I know. Do you want me to drive?”

  “No, I’ll be all right.” He offers a small smile. “You look great.”

  “Oh, thanks.” I look down at my bright red tunic dress. I have a denim jacket with me, but it’s still too hot to actually wear it here, even though it’s late September. “The color isn’t blinding you?”

  “No more blinding than your beauty,” he says with a straight face.

  “Ew, shut up.”

  He ducks away from my good-natured swat, then quickly kisses under my ear. “Seriously, thanks for coming with me. I don’t know if I’d be able to go through this alone.”

  Warren chose a new-ish restaurant downtown, a bright and airy spot with a long bar counter and modern decor. Outside the front door, he stops and turns to me.

  “Do I look all right?” He’s wearing dark jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and his hair looks freshly cut.

  “You look like a son anyone would be happy to have. Ready?”

  “Not really,” he says. But he pushes through the front door and stands tall while he gives his name to the hostess, even as his fingers tremble by his side.

  “The first guest has already arrived,” she says with a sunny smile. “I’ll show you to the table.”

  Warren inhales and looks at me before he follows the hostess. My eyes dart about, wondering if I’ll be able to spot him before he sees us, but then we all stop and Warren is staring straight at his father.

  “Your server will be right over,” the hostess says, not at all registering the importance of what’s happening here.

  I get a good look at Warren’s father when he stands. He’s about Warren’s height, just under six feet, and their skin tones are almost identical. Perhaps the most similar thing about them is their eyes—his father’s are a bright, bright blue, but they’re the same shape with the same sleepy eyelids and long lashes. His hair is thinning but I can still make out some blond mixed in with the silver and white.

  “Well, you certainly look like your picture,” he says with a broad smile.

  “They don’t really bother to photoshop chefs.” Warren’s voice is dry as the desert.

  His father’s smile drops, just a little. “I sure appreciate you meeting me, Warren.”

  He nods.

  “And who’s this?”

  Warren steps aside. “This is Yvonne.”

  “Hi.” I stick out my hand, hoping to ease some of the discomfort. “Nice to meet you.”

  He looks relieved as we shake. “Nice meeting you, too.”

  There’s an awkward moment where I don’t know where I should sit, but Warren quickly takes the seat on the empty side of the table, leaving me to sit directly across from his father. Then there’s an even more awkward moment when it appears that nobody is going to speak first.

  I take one for the team. “Where do you live, Mr….?” I trail off, realizing I don’t even know his name, first or last. Engel is Warren’s mother’s maiden name.

  “Schroeder, but please call me Evan.” His eyes shift to Warren as if to include him, too, as if he knows without a doubt that Warren won’t be calling him dad. “I’m up from Orange County. We have a place down in Newport.”

  We. I don’t have to look at Warren to see that he noticed, too. His shoulders stiffen.

  “Warren, where do you live? Do you have roommates? I want to hear everything about you,” Evan says, his voice warm.

  Warren stares at him. “You first, Evan.”

  Damn.

  We pause to order drinks from the server. Evan looks a little conflicted as he glances over the menu, then finally orders a Bloody Mary. I think everyone at this table knows Warren isn’t going to make this easy for him.

  “I’ve been in Newport for about eighteen years. Had a brief stop in Huntington Beach.” His eyes slide away from Warren when he says that part. He takes a long sip of coffee before he continues. “I’m married… with two kids.”

  I look down at my menu.

  “What are their names?” Warren asks. He doesn’t sound angry; in fact, there’s no emotion at all behind his voice.

  “They’re twins. Oliver and Celeste.” He pauses. “They just turned eleven.”

  Warren is silent.

  “I understand that you’re upset with me.” Evan rests his hands around the base of his coffee cup. “And I’ll understand if you want to leave, now that you’ve seen me. But I promise I don’t have any ill intent by contacting you, Warren. It’s selfish, but I wanted to see the young man you’ve become. That article made me proud.”

  “The only person who gets to be proud of me is my mother,” Warren says evenly. “You lost that right the second you left.”

  I’m starting to feel very much like I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t leave Warren. This is exactly why he needs me.

  “And I was wrong to leave,” Evan says, his eyes meeting Warren’s.

  He does look sincere, though I know Warren probably doesn’t see what I do. I don’t think I’d be at all rational if I were sitting across the table from my mother.

  “I’m sorry, Warren,” his father says. “I’m very, very sorry.”

  Warren’s chair screeches as he pushes it back suddenly and bolts from the table. He goes back the way we came, all the way out the front door.

  I look at Evan, whose lips are parted as he stares after him. “Should I go out there?”

  “I’ll go.”

  When I get outside, Warren is pacing by the side of the building. I say his name. He doesn’t stop. I grip him by the shoulders, forcing him to stand still. When I look up, his eyes are red and his lashes are wet.

  “Oh, Warren.”

  He lets out a shaky breath. “I can’t decide if I hate him more because of what he did or because he seems like a normal dude who just made a mistake.”

  “You can feel however you feel,” I say, lightly rubbing his back. I’ve never seen him cry before.

  “I feel like an asshole for running out of there.”

  “If anyone should understand, it’s the man who ran out on you when you were a baby.” I pause. “He was going to come out here, but I told him I would.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. War, I don’t want to tell you what to think, but maybe you should see if it’s worth giving him a chance. He—”

  “I love you.”

  I stare at him. “Why are you saying this now?”

  “Because I can’t keep it inside anymore. And you’re here with me… and this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to go through. And… I love you.”

  I’m not surprised, but this is the first time he’s actually said it. He’s said that he’s falling for me, that he cares about me, but never love. I like the sound of those words. They feel right, from Warren’s lips to my ears. And I feel warm all over. Until I think of Omar and how it would crush Warren if he knew about him.

  “Warren…”

  “Sorry. I know this isn’t the time or the place, but I do.” His eyes are shining as he looks down at me. I don’t recognize his expression. No one has looked at me like this before, but I know that it makes me happy. I know that what he’s saying is true.

  I hug him, for a long time. I don’t know what to say, and it’s the best way to express how much I appreciate him.

  “Should we go back inside?” I finally ask.

  He doesn’t seem upset that I didn’t verbally return the sentiment. He looks content, like he’s said what he needed to say. Like he’s ready to go back in and face Evan—minus all the fire and brimstone.

  “I guess so. I feel silly for being all dramatic.”

  “Are you kidding? Some actors would kill for a performance like that.”

  He grins an
d then he takes my hand and we walk back inside together.

  After brunch, Warren asks me to come back to his apartment; he doesn’t want to be alone. He’s buzzing with nervous energy. Dad and I aren’t going to Lou’s until dinnertime, so I say yes.

  His place is the messiest I’ve ever seen it, which is to say it still isn’t all that messy. But a bunch of clothes are piled on the bed and the floor around his closet, and it makes me smile, thinking of Warren trying to find the best outfit to meet Evan.

  “Want something to eat?” he asks, wandering idly to the kitchen.

  “We just ate.” Though he barely touched his pancakes and instead chugged coffee the whole time.

  “Right. God!” He shakes his head. “I still can’t believe I met him.”

  “What did you think? I mean, after we went back in.” Warren was pretty silent on the drive back. He looked so dazed that I kept glancing over to make sure he was paying attention to the road.

  “He’s an asshole for what he did to me and my mom. I don’t know if I can forgive him for that, but I don’t think he’s a terrible guy.”

  “Do you think you’ll stay in touch?”

  Warren shrugs. “I don’t know. That might be going a little far.”

  “No one’s going to judge you for wanting to get to know him.”

  He pulls a beer from the fridge, even though it’s barely past noon, and joins me on the futon. “Not even my mom?” He cracks it open, takes a swig, and passes it to me.

  I take a sip. It’s strange to be drinking beer when it’s sunny out—the same way I feel when eating breakfast for dinner. “I think even she would get it. He’s your family.”

  “No, he’s my blood. There’s a difference.”

  I don’t disagree, but I’ve always thought of my mother as family. Maybe because she was around longer than Warren’s father was. Or maybe because my dad is so removed from my life, I’m desperate to claim what I can.

  “You know what made me feel better, though?” He pauses, like he’s trying to think of the best way to articulate his thoughts. “When he showed me that picture of his family.”

  “I couldn’t believe you asked to see it! I thought you wanted to kill him when he told you he had twins.”

  “Yeah, I kind of did. But I had to know what they looked like… and I was really fucking relieved to see that they’re black. I thought maybe it would piss me off if they were, like maybe he was one of those white dudes with a fetish for black women. And maybe he is—I don’t know him.” Warren sighs. “But I want to believe he’s not a total piece of shit, you know? I want to believe he really loved my mom…. That he didn’t leave her just because he couldn’t handle having a black wife and a black kid.”

  “I get it,” I say. I’ve never thought of whom my mother would have run off with—if she’d run off with anybody at all. I wish I remembered more about the guy in the baseball cap all those years ago.

  We pass the beer back and forth until it’s gone, then Warren says he’s exhausted and wants to take a nap. I join him.

  Omar and I didn’t get much of a chance to laze about after we slept together. He had to catch his train in time to make it back to Venice, and he also had to make sure he was out of there before my dad got home. I wonder, if we’d held each other, if it would have felt like it does with Warren. I fit neatly into the space under his arm, and I love draping my arm over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of it beneath my skin.

  I guess he wasn’t the only one who was exhausted because we wake up two hours later. I stretch long and lean like a cat. Warren groans himself awake, rubbing at his eyes. He turns to face me. I’m still staring up at the ceiling when I feel his palm slide over my stomach.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I look over and he kisses me. There may be a time when I don’t want Warren, but that time is not now.

  Maybe it’s all the emotion from brunch, or perhaps it’s the fact that he told me he loves me, but I am hungry for him. Our kisses are slow and tender; they linger. Warren’s hands are everywhere—slipping down my calves and under my dress, sliding up my thighs and between my legs. I gasp and bite my lip when he touches me.

  He pulls off my dress and underwear and unhooks my bra, and as his hands roam over me, he murmurs about how soft my skin is. Like silk, I think he says, but I’m not really listening because his hands are magic.

  I’ve just slid his shirt over his shoulders and am kissing my way down his chest when he says, “I want you, Yvonne.”

  “I want you, too.” I slide my lips over his ribs.

  “No, I mean, I want you.”

  I look at him. “I know. Me too.”

  His jeans and boxers are off in seconds, and then we’re just sitting there looking at each other, completely nude and finally here.

  “I got tested,” he says. “Just a few weeks ago, before your birthday. I’m clean.”

  “I trust you, but… you have condoms?”

  “Of course. I just wanted you to know.”

  He pulls a condom from his nightstand. When he turns around, I put my hands on either side of his face and kiss him. “We’re really doing this.”

  “Yeah,” he says, not able to hide the big smile that takes over his face. “We’re really doing this.”

  Moments later, Warren is inside me, and it’s our first time but it feels like our bodies were meant for each other. It feels like no one else will ever know how to touch me the way he does. Every part of this feels right.

  “War?”

  He stops moving. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I just—I wanted to say I love you, too.”

  He smiles. Kisses a straight line over the contours of my face: my forehead, my nose, and my lips.

  “I love you so much, Yvonne,” he breathes.

  PART 2.

  22.

  I’m late.

  Fuck.

  PART 3.

  23.

  Sabina and I haven’t been the same since the night she left my house upset.

  We took a couple of days afterward to ourselves, and it was so unsettling not to hear from her for two whole days that I almost caved and texted. So many times. I almost said I was sorry, even though I didn’t think I had anything to be sorry about. She must have felt the same way because we didn’t talk until the following Monday, when we saw each other at school.

  The tension between us has lessened, but we never did discuss that evening. We eat lunch together and text dozens of times a day, but it’s been a little over three weeks and we are still strained.

  She looks surprised when I’m waiting by her locker after school. It pains me, the wedge that’s grown between us. It’s not large, but it’s not like us. I hate it.

  “I need you to go somewhere with me,” I say.

  She opens her locker and transfers some books from her bag to the shelf. “What’s wrong?”

  “We just have to go somewhere. Now. It’s… sort of an emergency.”

  She pauses, looking at me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m late,” I whisper.

  She blinks at me with wide eyes as the meaning sinks in. “Oh my God. Omar?” She whispers his name.

  I swallow. “Or Warren.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t tell you because things get weird with us when we talk about that stuff. I didn’t want to make it any weirder.”

  “Yvonne.” She shakes her head. “Yeah, things have been weird, but this is—have you taken a test?”

  I look around the hall to see if anyone is listening, but no one is paying attention. “Not yet.”

  She zips her bag and closes her locker. “Come on. We’re going to the drugstore.”

  “You don’t have anything to do?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if I did. Like you said, it’s an emergency.”

  Sabina not only drives me to the store, but she goes in and buys the test while I wait in the car.

  “Three different kinds,” she says when I’m staring into
the bag, confused by all the boxes. “That way you won’t have to wonder if it’s a bad test or a bad brand or whatever.”

  “You sound like you’ve done this before.” The joke comes out easily but there’s no humor in my voice.

  She smiles anyway. “I’m channeling my inner Mom. She takes everything seriously. Your house or mine? My parents won’t be home for a while, so it’s safe.”

  “Mine.” My dad won’t be home until late, and I don’t want to take any chances of seeing her moms.

  Sabina has already done a lot for me today, but if she could take the test for me, I’d let her.

  “I’ll be right here,” she says, standing in the hallway as I close the door.

  The first test I choose takes only a minute to give results. I pee on the stick and burst out of the room, leaving it on the counter.

  “You already know?”

  “No, I just can’t be in there with it. Alone. Will you look for me?”

  She goes in. I count to sixty in my head. There’s no sound from the bathroom. Which can’t be good.

  “Sabs?”

  She walks back out, her mouth open. “It’s positive.”

  I feel like someone has knocked the breath out of me, but there’s still a chance it could be wrong. I down two glasses of water before I take the next two, wanting to hold on to that little bit of hope—that just maybe this will go my way in the end. Lots of girls have pregnancy scares. Why should this be any different for me? Tests aren’t 100 percent accurate.

  And condoms aren’t 100 percent safe.

  I set down my glass, go back into the bathroom, and take the next two tests. My hands shake as I try to hold the sticks steady because what if the first one wasn’t wrong?

  It wasn’t. The other two are positive.

  I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the hallway floor, my forehead pressed to my knees. I feel like I’m outside of myself, watching from a distance, but I also feel like I knew the whole time. As soon as I realized I was late, I knew. Is that possible?

  Sabina drops to her knees, rubbing my back. “It’s going to be okay.”