À la Carte

by Nia Forrester

  “Okay,” I nod. “You might be right. Anyway, it’s late. Let’s just get some sleep.”

  Rather than answer me, Rand shoves himself up from the bed and heads into the bathroom. I listen as he runs the shower and doze off sometime after I hear him open the door and get inside.

  I awaken when I feel his weight return to the bed. I open my eyes, but the lights are off and I can barely make him out. His hand crawls around my middle and holds me at the lowest, firmest part of my belly. He fits his body along the contours of mine. He is warm from the shower, but not relaxed.

  Rand carries his stress in his muscles, and his worries follow him into sleep. Lately, as many as four nights a week, he wakes up with a sudden, audible gasp, and sits up in bed. I sense it every time it happens, even when I don’t wake up with him. And when he wakes, he does the same things—he reaches for me, he lies back and sighs, then he gets up and goes to check on Rocket. He comes back. He embraces me and falls asleep.

  Without knowing how I know, I feel certain that he will have a night-terror kind of night. It’s already past midnight, but he will be up within an hour or two, unless he goes to sleep in a state of perfect ease. I know only one way to do that.

  “Hey,” I say. “C’mere.”

  “You awake still?” he asks. “Thought you were knocked out.”

  “I was. But I was waiting for you.”

  I put my hand over his and guide it lower, getting him to help me remove the only garment I have on, my underwear. He does so, and then touches me, my hand still over his, still guiding him.

  The love we make now is slower, softer, smoother.

  Rand is careful with me, as though I might shatter into a million tiny pieces, and then disperse to nothingness with the slightest of breezes. Even his breaths are gentle, like the wisp of feathers across the shell of my ear. I move one of his hands up to my breast and squeeze, the way I want him to squeeze. He does, but tentatively, still cautious, still not wanting to hurt me.

  From behind, it is difficult for him to penetrate me completely, but I know he wouldn’t want to, anyway, frightened of causing any discomfort to me, or damage to the baby.

  Pregnancy isn’t all beautiful and romantic. Sex can be either pleasurable or excruciating, and sometimes both at the same time. Sometimes, I can’t tell which it will be until we get started. If I make the wrong kind of noise, Rand is spooked and will stop, eyes wide, asking over and over again if I’m okay.

  Tonight, there is only pleasure, and I think I can feel every ridge of him as he strokes deep inside me. The only sounds I make are quiet gasps of satisfaction and wonder. Every part of me feels so hypersensitive, that even my skin against the sheets seems to buzz. Soon, Rand is moving with more stiff control, signaling that he wants to move harder and faster but is holding himself back. I feel it when he comes.

  I come too, but quietly, softly. Inside me, a monumental shift happens, like the rearranging of organs. Rand puts a hand over my abdomen and chuckles.

  “Look who’s awake,” he whispers.

  And moments later, all I hear are his even breaths, telling me that just as the baby has awakened, Rand has fallen asleep.

  When I get to the hospital, Eva is dressed and being helped into a wheelchair. Her friend Josette stands at the ready, prepared to wheel her out. They, and the nurse who is attending to Eva, look up as I enter. Her right leg is in a wrap that is much larger than I expected and extends halfway up her shin. Eva looks surprised to see me.

  “Oh!” I say. “You’re being discharged already?”

  “Danielle,” she says. “I didn’t expect …”

  “Thank god she didn’t break her neck,” Josette says. She looks at me accusingly, as though I personally shoved Eva down the stairs.

  “Yes, thank god,” I agree. “We’re so happy it wasn’t worse. Rand was here until you fell asleep last night, so I thought I’d come and check to see if you need anything.”

  “I should be fine,” Eva says. “But thank you for coming. I spoke to my husband last night, and told him I’ll be home as scheduled, and not to worry about coming up here.”

  Eva’s English is melodious, and slightly accented, betraying her Latina heritage, and she has a Zen-like demeanor that leaves me guessing about what she might really be thinking or feeling. It makes her a little intimidating, that Mona Lisa expression she has. But I force myself to look her in the eye.

  “Whatever you need, it won’t be a bother,” I tell her. “Anything at all.”

  Before Eva can open her mouth, Josette has an answer at the ready.

  “I had to take off work this morning to come get her discharged,” she says. “And I didn’t have time to get anything at the grocery. Easy things, so Eva doesn’t have to stand too much and make herself lunch. So …”

  “Of course,” I say before she can ask. “I could run to the store and bring it back to your place if you just give me the address.”

  “Maybe some of the leftovers from yesterday will do,” Josette says, her lips tight. “Some of that prime rib maybe. The other meats. Whatever you can spare. And sides …”

  I struggle to keep my expression neutral.

  Clearly Josette is trying to remedy the fact that last night’s mishap prevented her from going home with a plate or several, loaded with all the delicious catered food. It’s fine, though, because Rocket never eats leftovers anyway, and I don’t eat much these days, lacking any extra room for large meals. And even with his huge appetite, Rand won’t be able to eat most of what remained even after Freya took some home with her.

  “I’ll go home and put some things together,” I say. “And then meet you at your place?” I look at Josette for confirmation.

  “Let me give you the address,” she says nodding.

  “And I’ll show you how to use these crutches.” The nurse who has been patiently waiting through our exchange wheels Eva out into the hallway, I assume for her tutorial.

  When we are alone, Josette looks around, and then finally asks if I have a pen so she can write down her address.

  “Here,” I say, pulling out my phone. “I’ll just plug it into the GPS app, so I can go straight there after I get the food from home.”

  Josette recites her address and I look down at it.

  “You’re in an apartment?” I ask.

  “Yes. Third floor. But there’s a reliable elevator. You won’t have to walk up or anything.” She eyes my belly.

  “No, I wasn’t thinking about me. I meant …”

  “Eva will be just fine. My place is small, but there aren’t any hazards that she needs to worry about.”

  Again, with the accusatory tone. Like the size of Rand’s house is to blame for the accident. But in fairness, once I saw how dim the lights were in the basement, part of me did wonder what the heck Rand had been thinking. But Eva as well. She shouldn’t have tried to navigate her way down to the basement in semi-darkness to begin with.

  But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that Rand and I needed to make her as comfortable as possible while she was still in the area.

  “So, I’ll just go tell Eva I’m leaving and meet you both over there,” I say almost chirpily, not wanting to allow Josette to bait me into getting defensive.

  “If you could come right over,” she says as I leave. “Because I have to go back to work.”

  “You’re sleeping on the couch?”

  Josette has gone back into the kitchen to put away all the food I brought over, and I am standing in her living room, surveying Eva’s temporary living situation. Her suitcase is stashed in one corner beneath a standing lamp and wedged against a side table. A change of shoes sits under an armchair, and a pile of towels sits on the seat.

  The way Josette surveyed the house yesterday when she entered the great room with Eva makes all the more sense now. This apartment, in its entirety, probably amounts to one quarter of the square-footage of the ground floor of the Rand’s, Rocket’s and my home.

  “It’s a pul
l-out,” Eva says nodding. “Perfectly comfortable.”

  For a woman visiting a friend for a brief stay, I guess it would be adequate. But only if that woman were able-bodied. Once the sofa-bed is pulled out, it will occupy most of the room, and Eva will be forced to skirt between it and a large coffee table. And she won’t be able to pull it out at all without help.

  The hallway that I glimpse off to the left is narrow. I’m guessing it leads to the bathroom and the sole bedroom in the apartment.

  Josette emerges once again. She looks pleased, as I knew she might once I’d surveyed the three large aluminum containers of food that I stacked into the backseat of the SUV before leaving to come over here. She smiles as she grabs her car keys from her foyer table.

  “I really need to get to work,” she says, speaking to me. “You stay as long as you like. And Eva, you know the door doesn’t lock automatically, so you have to make sure you do that once she’s left.”

  “I will. Thank you, Josette,” Eva says.

  Her leg is elevated and resting on the coffee table, but she tries to stand as her friend leaves. I place a hand on her shoulder to discourage her from doing so, and we both watch as Josette exits.

  Once she is gone, and the door clicks behind her, Eva heaves a large, unexpected sigh that is unmistakably one of relief.

  I laugh, surprised.

  “She is one of my oldest and dearest friends,” Eva explains. “But I can’t pretend she’s not a challenging person sometimes. I’m sorry if she was unkind.”

  Unkind? No. More like bitchy.

  “That’s okay,” I say. “We all should have at least one friend who is prepared to be ‘unkind’ on our behalf.”

  At this, it is Eva’s turn to laugh. “Oh no,” she says. “Josette is just unkind in general.”

  Then we are both laughing, together. It is the first time I’ve felt at ease in her company. I notice, for the first time, the humor in Eva’s warm brown eyes, and how they crinkle pleasantly at the corners. She is a beautiful woman. One of those whose beauty will not dim much as she ages further. I catch myself just before my gaze lingers long enough to become a stare. I am thinking about her daughter, trying to recall from the pictures I’ve seen how much of her there was in Faith’s features.

  Then I decide that I’m being morbid, and look away, pretending to take in the lay of the land in the apartment.

  “Can I get you anything before I go?” I ask.

  I’m already feeling strange about leaving her here alone even though I know she would have been alone, and Josette would have been at work even if Eva hadn’t broken her ankle. But if she hadn’t broken her ankle, she would have been more mobile, maybe gone to lunch with other friends, or shopping, or … I don’t know.

  But now, her only recourse is to wait for Josette to return from work, watch television and slowly make her way back and forth, to and from the kitchen and bathroom. And talk on the phone? I find myself wondering whether she has people to call. Surely, friends in Florida, with whom she will want to share the news of her ill-fated dinner at the home of her former son-in-law and his pregnant fiancée.

  “No. Thank you though. I’ll have to learn how to use these sooner or later,” she tells me. “Especially if I want to be able to get on that plane with them on Tuesday.”

  “About that,” I say. “It’s still very swollen, isn’t it? Did the doctor …?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Eva says. She smiles but her tone of voice is firm, warning me nicely not to fuss or pry. “Once the swelling goes down a little I have to go back so they can set it. In a cast.”

  On a whim, and because my feet are beginning to ache a little, I sit on the arm of the sofa, about a foot from her.

  “Did you know I’m a life coach?” I say.

  Eva looks bemused by the sudden change in topic. She shakes her head.

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, I am. I coach athletes mostly, these days. At least …” I pause and recalibrate. “I did. Before I took leave because of …” I indicate my belly. “So, I tell you that just so you know I’m not normally so … nosy and … presumptuous. Okay, so maybe that’s not right. I mean, I am normally nosy and presumptuous, but only because it’s like an occupational hazard.”

  I know I’m babbling.

  This time Eva gives a genuine smile. “I appreciate the concern,” she says.

  We both fall silent again, and I take a breath.

  Rand isn’t going to like this. He’s not only not going to like it. He may hate it.You know,” I say, swallowing. “Our place is much bigger. I mean, it’s obviously much bigger and we have a suite on the ground floor that would give you much more room to maneuver with the crutches and all. And privacy. And Rocket would love to have more time with you, so … I wondered if … maybe you’d like to come home with me? To stay with us, I mean.”

  ~4~

  I ran into SJ in New York today at the ESPN Midtown offices. Brotherman looked rough as hell and turns out it wasn’t because the season just started, and he’s been taking some hard hits. Jennifer finally left him. He said it happened just this weekend. The way she was at the house makes more sense now—the drinking, the slightly off-kilter way she was acting all afternoon.

  She did one of those stealth numbers that women do when they are good and done. Cleaned out all her stuff from their shared apartment and house, didn’t even leave behind a hairbrush. And to add insult to injury, lined up in a row on the dresser in the master bedroom were all the credit cards he’d opened in her name.

  Jennifer basically did what all men claim to want when a relationship ends—she surrendered all the assets that he’d made available to her while they were together without so much as a whimper. But SJ wasn’t interested in the assets. He wanted his woman back. Homeboy figured there was one more tie that bound them, something that he could use to wheedle his way back into her life—his charitable foundation. So, he said he didn’t completely panic when he saw what she’d done.

  ‘I thought that shit was just some female theatrics,’ he told me. ‘I mean, Jen don’ play. I figured she heard about some old shit with some chick back in the day and flipped for a minute, but she been my girl since day one, so I figured ...’

  I didn’t even listen to what he figured. I was too busy thanking God I wasn’t him. The credit cards on the dresser should have told him it was a wrap. Anyway, he said he thought his ace card was that she manages his foundation. Or rather, she managed it.

  Turns out when he checked to see if she’d gone in to work, a receptionist told him Jen left instructions for him to check his email, something she knew he rarely did. When he did, he saw that she had emailed him a formal letter of resignation. And that was when SJ finally realized she was serious, and he had lost the woman he had been with since he was eighteen years old.

  Long relationships like theirs have deep roots though. He knew where to find her momma, her sister, and even her hairdresser. But Jen had covered all her bases and told everyone she knew that her long engagement to Stephen Jordan was done, and that under no circumstances were they to accept or relay any messages from him.

  It was after hearing that news that I ran into him, and he looked like a man whose world had been rocked, crushed and then trampled on. I wish I could say I felt sorry for him, but real talk? All I felt was lucky that that wasn’t me. All I felt was grateful I was no longer the kind of dude who needed to live with the fear of discovery.

  So, I’m thinking about SJ as I open the front door to my house, and still basking in how lucky I am. I’m thinking about how tense I was coming from the hospital the night before, and how Dani just neutralized all that. Then I hear laughter coming from the kitchen and go in to see Eva sitting with Rocket, eating dinner, and Dani standing at the stove.

  For a few moments, before they see me, it’s surreal, like tuning in to a familiar sitcom except that, without explanation, one of the leads has been replaced. That’s how it feels seeing Eva there with Rocket, and
Dani at the stove; because for the picture to make sense, either Eva should not be there at all, or the woman at the stove should be Faith.

  That last thought startles me so much that I stand there, still as a statue until Rocket catches sight of me and comes running over.

  “Daddy, look!” he says, “Nana’s staying! She’s staying here with us!”

  Nana is what Eva told him to call her, and it’s cute I guess, but it’s a little jarring too because it’s such a recent introduction into his vocabulary, that it sometimes sounds contrived. Nana is something you start calling your grandmother from the time you can talk, not something you call her as a command performance.

  “Oh yeah?” I run my hand over my son’s head and look over at Eva, giving her a smile. “How’re you feeling?” I ask.

  “Good, considering. A few bumps and bruises, and of course, this.” She indicates the wrap on her right foot. “Danielle invited me to come stay here since Josette’s place is so small. Difficult to move around. I hope that’s …”

  “Yeah, of course,” I say.

  By now Dani’s turned away from the stove and is looking at me, her eyes searching mine for my unspoken, genuine reaction to this new development.

  “Hey,” I say to her. Then, because that is what I normally do, I go over and kiss her on the lips. This time, though, I am painfully aware of Eva watching us.

  “You hear from SJ today?” I ask her.

  Dani wrinkles her brow. “No. Why would I …? Is he okay?”

  “Yeah. I mean, no, probably not.”

  “Why? What ha …?” Dani’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, she did it, didn’t she?”

  “You knew?” I ask.

  Over at the kitchen table, Eva and Rocket have resumed eating. I lower my voice and move even closer to Dani.

  “You knew what she was going to do?” I ask.

  Dani shrugs. “She’s been talking about it for a while. I never thought she would go through with it.”

  “Well she did. And it was gangsta.”

  Dani giggles. “Left the credit cards? Sent in a resignation letter?”