by Xavier Neal
The noose of discomfort continues to tighten around my throat.
“What about you?” Helen shifts the question with a smack of her lips. “What is it you do for a living, Dustin?”
I reluctantly reply, “I’m an elevator mechanic, ma’am.”
Matching looks of horror appear on Carly’s parents’ faces.
God, I wish I could jus’ steal a glass of wine. Wash away a little of the distress.
“Oh, it’s a joke!” Helen insists loudly, beginning to snicker. “It’s a joke, Elijah!” Her husband turns his face towards her. “It must be! They’ve probably developed their own little quips we don’t understand.” She snaps her attention back to me. “That’s clearly a joke, but could you explain to us why it’s humorous.”
“It’s not a joke, mother,” Carly quietly states. “It’s his profession.”
“That’s not a profession!” Elijah’s voice booms. “That’s what you do when you can’t be bothered to invest yourself into an actual career! That’s what you do when your education levels are so disgustingly low people won’t even accept your resume.” His pause is too brief for me to get a word in. “Your mother has a profession. She’s an art broker! I have a profession. I’m an attorney. You, Carly, have a profession. You facilitate relationships.”
Fancy words for matchmaker.
“He merely uses the skills he probably learned when he was still helping ‘pa get the ol’ pickup truck goin’ again’.”
His double-sided attack is my girlfriend’s breaking point. “I’m done.”
“Excuse me?” Her mother squeaks.
The ire radiating off of Carly is startling. “I’m fucking done.”
“Language,” Helen scolds.
“Be respectful,” Elijah commands.
“Oh no.” Their daughter shakes her head in an annoyed nature. “You both gave up the right to be treated with respect the minute you decided you didn’t need to treat my boyfriend with some.” She stands to her feet. “Come on, Dusty. We’re leaving.”
My mouth moves to object, to insist we continue this crucifixion, not because I want anything to do with these heartless humans, but because I want her to know I will be by her side and continue to stand by her side through anything. I also don’t want their loss of connection to another child to be on my conscience.
“You walk out that door with that hillbilly, Carly Claudette Chambers, and you will never step foot inside this house again,” her father coldly threatens.
Quietly, I plead, “Carly-”
“Then enjoy life without either of your children in it,” she retorts in the same tone. Her gaze drops down to me and she snaps, “Let’s. Go.”
Uncertain there’s anything I can do that would make this situation better not worse, I simply stand, reach for my Stetson hat, and offer my forced thanks to her family. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Chambers.”
“Get. Out,” Elijah growls fiercely.
The two of us begin our exit in excruciating silence.
We’re both startled by the sounds of footsteps racing across the floor behind us.
“Wait!” Helen cries out. “Carly wait!”
My girlfriend’s hand reaches for the handle, yet I place my open palm firmly on the door to prevent it from moving. She glares but the expression on my face remains unmoving.
Carly huffs, turns to face her mother, and snips, “What?”
The hurt in Helen’s eyes deepens. “Carly, we don’t want to lose both of you. Not having Art is hard enough-”
“You two threw him out on Christmas! Don’t act like that’s his fault.”
“It is his fault because he chooses to be gay,” Helen huffs. “But that’s neither here nor there.”
“It’s not a choice, mother!”
“Look,” she pushes on, “your father and I can…learn to make our peace with…,” her eyes give me another disgusted glare, “that. We just need a bit of time.”
Carly shakes her head slowly. “The fact you just called Dusty that tells me exactly how you really feel. You think this is some sort of phase-”
“Because it clearly is. Just like the ridiculous jewelry on your face and your overly processed hair. You weren’t raised to modify yourself to society’s racially stifling standards. You also weren’t raised to…be with people like him.”
“People like him?” Her voice trembles. “People like him!? I wasn’t raised to date men with huge hearts? Men who would rather work themselves to the bone than ever ask for a handout? Men who would sit in a room as people callously judge him for being white, something he, for the record, had no choice about? Men who would endure hatred simply for the sake of the woman they wanna spend the rest of their life with?”
“And I am,” my voice quietly adds. “I am going to spend the rest of my life with your daughter, Helen. Whether that’s here or Texas or some island in the middle of the Caribbean, we will be together.”
She narrows her eyes at me once more. “You say that now, but wait. Just wait until something richer or skinnier or blonder comes along. You’ll realize soon enough you want something easier to deal with than that of dating a black woman.”
My head lifts a little higher at the same time I state, “Not a chance in hell, ma’am.”
I remove my hand and allow us to return to our determined departure.
Once we’re in Carly’s car, I catch sight of the tears lingering in the corners of her eyes.
An immediate tightness expands in my chest as I toss my hat in the back and reach across to wipe them away. “Baby, I don’t wanna divide your family. We can go back in there together and try again. Or I can go back to your apartment and-”
“No.” She sniffles, defiance swirling in her tone. “They made this choice. You didn’t do anything wrong other than make the mistake of falling in love with me.”
“That’s no mistake, baby.” I give her chin a gentle push so our eyes can meet. “I will never apologize to anyone for lovin’ you. I jus’ don’t want you to regret walkin’ out on them. They’re your parents, Carly. It’s not an easy decision.”
“What is easy is not always right and what is right is rarely easy,” she sweetly explains. “Remember that.”
The words are spoken like an eerie warning, like she knows when the time comes to do this in reverse, we may be up against a bigger battle. I jus’ hope she remembers, I stood in face of adversity with her once. There’s nothin’ that can stop me from doin’ it again.
Chapter Nine
Carly
“We have a match!” Harlow announces as she enters my office. “A solid one! Hilary closed her account with us today! The pictures of her and Hank are so adorable.”
I minimize the window I had open and give my colleague my complete attention. “Why do you know about that before I do?”
Her eyebrows furrow. “I’m guessing you haven’t checked your email recently.”
Nope. Been too busy house hunting….I actually understand the point of that stupid show now. A show that infuriates Dusty to comedic proportions. His tantrums are the most comical while we watch people on DIY programs. In the beginning his hilarious claims about efficiency and their improper knowledge leading to their home’s ultimate destruction made me snicker, but his tirades make me grateful that at least one of us knows something about remodeling. It’ll save us money when the time comes and contractors get greedy. I can spot their bad intentions through their body languages, let Dusty know, and he can correct them until they offer us a better price. Assuming Dusty actually lets another man touch a piece of his property in that avenue. He’s very possessive over who lays a finger on his home.
Instead of spilling to Harlow what is still basically a secret, I shake my head. “Been a bit preoccupied.”
She offers me a sympathetic look. “That means you probably aren’t aware of the Augustine problem either, huh?”
The billionaire’s name causes me to shift in my chair. “There’s a problem with my client a
nd I’m unaware?”
Have I really been that distracted lately? Sure, the situation with my parents from a couple weeks ago is still somewhat fresh, but I didn’t realize it was attempting to destroy my focus. Ugh. It’s not enough they want me to get rid of the love of my life; they want me to fail in my career too? They deserve an award for shittiest parents ever.
“Again, email,” Harlow emphasizes in what feels like an attempt to cushion my hurt ego. “Apparently, they’re requesting additional evaluations of him both on paper and in person. They want you to conduct a settings interview.”
The idea of returning to Texas and seeing Dusty sooner than expected spreads a smile on my face.
“Here in Highland,” she finishes with a grim expression. “They feel perhaps you were distracted while you were in Texas and failed to conduct a thorough analysis. What I gathered from the scathing email is they’re only making me give him a second evaluation on paper to prove your original assessment was incorrect. That your own personal feelings got in the way and skewed your report, which is why we have been so unsuccessful in finding him any viable matches.”
Consternation curls around my vocal chords. “Are you fucking kidding me? His disgust for every match we offer is my fault? His refusal to even meet with these women is somehow my mistake?”
Harlow nibbles on her bottom lip.
This is insane! I was completely focused when I met him. In fact, I was probably the most focused I had been since I came back from vacation. I was freshly fucked, very happy, and very much in love. My head wasn’t in the clouds just because my feet were a little off the ground. The difficulty of this client isn’t my fault. Sometimes we come across those a bit more stubborn, those determined to dig their heels in until “perfection” crosses their path. Those that refuse to accept they will have to compromise in certain areas because we are a matchmaking company, not a scientific lab contracted to create their flawless partner.
“Do you think I fucked up, Harlow?” The question is quieter than anticipated.
There isn’t the slightest hesitation in the shaking of her head. “Absolutely not.” The unyielding stance her body is taking confirms her verbal response. “I don’t think I fucked up either. I think they have a pissed off client and are looking for somewhere to lay the blame.”
My shoulders plummet.
“Just part of the job, Carly.” She hugs her tablet closer to her chest, shrinking back into her shell. “Check out the email. Draw your own conclusions…but definitely open the attachments and see how cute Hilary and Hank are. Remember that was a match you made. A match you insisted on showing her despite their lower compatibly rate.” Harlow slowly backs out of my office. “You know love, Carly. Don’t let one ill-tempered client make you doubt that.”
She shuts my office door behind her, and I slump in my chair.
Do I? Do I know love or have I just mastered the art of comparing and contrasting? Isn’t love more than a likeliness two people will get along? Isn’t it about the warm fuzzies they get or the way they make each other’s toes curl? Has being in love opened my eyes or skewed my vision? Before Dusty, I doubt I would’ve ever matched Hilary and Hank. But intuition, something I made a habit of ignoring, pushed me to pair them. Something inside said to disregard the obvious differences and let them bond over their mutual love of maple syrup. It was one of the biggest, most bizarre risks I’ve taken, yet it worked. Perhaps I should dedicate a little more time to matching minor similarities as opposed to just the major ones. Maybe that’s what August needs.
My attention is abruptly redirected to my vibrating cell phone.
I smile sweetly at the picture we took together on my birthday.
Dusty is proof love can succeed in even the most unlikely circumstances.
“Dusty,” I coo into the phone.
“Damn, I love the way you say my name, baby.”
He does. He really does. He’s always demanding I do it louder during sex. Having him needy, yet controlling, in the bedroom never fails to get me wet. Or get me off.
My thighs migrate in an active effort together to prevent the former. “You on your lunch break?”
“I am,” he answers warmly. “You got time for me or do you need to jus’ call me tonight?”
Deciding the email in which I get my ass handed to me can wait, I reply, “We can talk for a bit. There’s actually something I want to discuss with you.”
An unhappy grumble glides through the phone. “Baby, when you use that phrase it means I’m mos’ likely in trouble or you’re gonna say something that leads to us arguin’ and me gettin’ in trouble.”
“No faith?”
He meets my snickering with a small chuckle. “I may be a man of hope, but I’m not an idiot.”
“You’re being very dramatic.”
“Uh-huh,” he brushes off my comment. “What’s on your mind?”
“About a week ago, I had Antonio, one of Art’s friends who is a realtor, start looking at some properties outside the city.” His lack of response prompts me to continue. “See, what happened was, Oliver and I were talking on the elevator one day after work. He was curious where you were from because of your accent. The conversation continued and he told me about the area where he was raised. It sounded like somewhere you would love, so I kept asking questions. According to Oliver, per his brother, the drive from Middlebrook to downtown isn’t too terrible.” Dustin’s commitment to remaining quiet sparks discomfort. “I was thinking….You hate the city, but essentially we both have to work in it, so why not compromise by buying a place close enough for us to commute, yet far enough away to enjoy your favorite things like fishing and drinking coffee on the front porch while watching the sun rise.” More silence slides between us and I shut my eyes. “Say something, Dusty.”
“Why me?” The words are almost a whispered.
“What?”
“Why me, Carly? Why do I gotta be the one to move?”
I brace myself for an argument I knew would eventually knock on our doorstep. “Because you can get a job doing what you do here. I can’t relocate and continue to do what it is I do.”
“How do you know that? Have you bothered lookin’?”
“Yes.”
His surprise to my answer causes me to smirk. “You serious? You’ve looked?”
“Yes, Dustin. The day you left, I started looking into companies in Texas I felt would be acceptable transitions for me. It’s not like I have a normal job. The two that even closely resembled what it is I do required a significant pay cut-”
“Then this is about me not makin’ enough money?”
“Actually, I would’ve been willing to take either one except they weren’t anywhere near you. The point of moving isn’t to just be closer together, it’s to actually be together, Dustin.”
He falls quiet once more.
“I also inquired about the possibility of working remotely and simply traveling back here only when absolutely required. The conversation did not go well.”
Which makes me wonder if that’s really why they’re breathing down the back of my neck.
After another long lull, he asks, “What did Antonio find?”
My eyes dart open in shock, the argument is taking an unexpected turn. “Um…three homes for sale. Two are decently priced. One is insanely low because it needs a lot of work, which I know you can handle and enjoy handling. Those facts are the only reason I bothered even checking it out.”
“I do enjoy fixin’ stuff up….Speakin’ of, did you ever get that chair leg fixed?”
The painful memory comes pounding back into my mind. “No. I just got rid of it.”
“Baby.”
“What?! I’m not Mrs. Fix It. I didn’t even own a screwdriver prior to that terrible lesson you tried to teach me.”
He lightly laughs. “Guess it’s a good thing you’ve got me.”
“That’s a great thing.” A short pause passes before I return to the original topic. “If you decide the hous
es aren’t up to your standards and too much work to make them that way, we can build something instead. That’s definitely an option as well. There’s a decent sized lot that backs up to a creek.”
His voice struggles to find the missing joy. “Oh….You know how much I love creeks.”
“And ponds.”
“Lakes and rivers, too.”
“Exactly. That’s why I only looked at lots that contained at least one of those little details. If you want, we can look over the details together tonight.”
“We can….”
Hearing his voice so solemn has me softly swearing, “This won’t be a me or you decision, Dusty. Whatever we decide to do, however we decide to live together, will be something we both agree on. It doesn’t have to be this. I just….” My fingers fly to my scalp to give it a soothing rub. “I don’t wanna love you from a distance when I know how good it feels to love you up close.”
“Me either, baby,” he sighs heavily. “Me either.”
The corner of my lip starts to lift.
“Can you just swear to me that before we decide on one place or another that you’ll come out here? See why I love it so much? See what I’d be givin’ up or what you’d be joinin’?”
His request is more than reasonable. “Of course, Dusty. You came to me….I am definitely going to come to you.”
“Come to me or for me,” he teases on a devious chuckle.
I welcome this change in conversation. “Guess the latter depends on how long you’ve got left on your lunch break….”
Dusty releases a heated growl into the phone that dampens my underwear.
We don’t have to have all the answers right now. And, as much as I would rather have them sooner than later, I can settle for the dialog of our future merely being open. I may candidly hate the idea of leaving my city, my friends, my job…the job I’ve given so much of my life to, but I hate the idea of living without Dusty more. Sometimes love means unexpected sacrifice, and when it comes my Romeo, I don’t think there’s one too big for me to make.
