Five Years

by Brooklyn Knight

Our forty-eight monthversary arrived, and I'd indulged in every privilege the milestone-date afforded. For our date, I'd rented a sailboat and taken Amaris on the water, where I eagerly availed myself to each of the other privileges at my disposal: the hugging, the kissing, the sexting…

  By now sexting was no less that a torturous tease. Watching her obey my written commands, surrounded by gentle waves lapping against the side of the vessel was enough to rip me over the edge.

  The way her fingers slid against her sopping clit, the way her head fell back when she was on the cusp of a sweet climax, and that mop of black coils spilling over her shoulders; the way her face twisted into erotic contortions had me crashing right alongside her.

  But there was a new privilege to add to the list.

  I was taking her to meet my mother.

  The drive into the country was tranquil. The obnoxious city buildings had been replaced with sprawling, open land. The air even smelled different. It was crisp and clean. My mother lived in the southern part of the city; it was where I grew up, yet I hadn’t been back in three years.

  Every so often, my phone would ring with her on the other end, checking in on me, as she preferred to call it; but to me, it was haggling. There was always something I should have done or needed to be doing. There was always some goal I was supposed to have attained. When she’d called and I told her I’d made partner, she was happy for me, but the next thing out of her mouth had been to query when I’d start my own firm.

  I’d ended the call soon after that.

  But today, I was going to see her, and my Angel was at my side.

  I reached my hand across the gear box and rubbed Amaris’s jean-clad thigh.

  Her hand topped mine and I inhaled.

  “Are you good?” she asked.

  I nodded. My head felt like a bowling ball on the end of a drum stick. “You’re with me, so I’m perfect,” I said, caressing her.

  “You mean like how you were perfect when you met my mother?”

  Silence.

  “How many times have I thanked you for supporting me in that?” she whispered.

  “About a million.”

  She smiled, and then she frowned. “What if I wasn’t here?”

  I inhaled and shifted my gaze to her face. “If you weren't here, this fucking trip wouldn’t be happening,” I filled in.

  Amaris looked out of the window. “Mav, are you sure you want to do this?” she asked softly. “It’s our forty-eight monthversary. We went from a date, to a kiss, to sexting… Honestly, I don't really see how this fits in.”

  “It’s only for a few hours,” I responded.

  “A lot can happen in a few hours,” she pressed me.

  Anxiety rose in my throat and I swallowed. “Don’t worry,” I encouraged her; encouraged myself. “We’ll pop in, say hello, and – ”

  “What if she hates me?” Now her voice was a tense whisper.

  I sighed and my hands fisted. “She won’t, but I wouldn’t give half-a-fuck if she did,” I answered. “I just want you to meet her. We’ve talked about her so much, I guess I want you to see the face behind the name.”

  Her hand flew to my thigh. “If she upsets you, Mav…” her voice trailed and she shook her head, as if trying to clear it. “I don’t know how I’ll feel about it. My mama was… a lot, but you handled it like a rockstar. I don’t want to not like your mother. You know how I am. I don’t do second-hand emotions or information, but if she triggers you – ”

  I pulled up at a stop sign and ended her worry with a kiss. I trailed my fingers along her jaw, and then I said: “I’ll be fine.”

  When we pulled up outside of my mother’s brick stone, I wasn’t surprised to see her sitting in her chair on the porch, staring at us. A menthol was sticking from between her slender fingers, and her eyes narrowed as she took a long draw. She was rocking back and forth, but when the car came to a stop, so did the chair.

  My mother was fifty-seven years old, but she looked like she was forty-seven. Her makeup budget was hefty. I knew, because It was one of the the expenses I sponsored, along with her maid, butler, and personal chef.

  I opened the car door and set my foot on the gravel pavement.

  My mother’s eyes illuminated, and her lips curved into a loose smile.

  I hastened to the other side of the car and opened Amaris’s door. She smoothed the front of her button-up, as if it suddenly had wrinkles in it.

  “You’re good, baby,” I assured her.

  We both turned to look at my mother, and the half-smile that had been on her lips completely vanished.

  Amaris tensed. “She hates me,” she muttered.

  I took her hand. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. Her body language, her posture.”

  My mother was now as stiff as the chair appeared to be, even though it had once rocked.

  I pressed a kiss onto Amaris’s cheek, and we started for the front of the house.

  “Darling!” Suddenly, my mother was over-the-top, or at least she was trying to be. She pulled me into a hug, and Amaris stood back with her hands clasped in front of her body.

  “Mom, hi,” I said against her hair.

  She released me and gave me a once over, never once looking in Amaris’s direction. “You look like you haven’t had a good meal in years,” she picked at me.

  “I’ve been… busy,” I said, “but I eat very well. If my chefs don’t make sure of it, this lady does.” I pulled Amaris into an embrace. “Mom, this is my girlfriend, Amaris Flowers.”

  Amaris took a firm step forward. “Ms. Dangerfield, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Maverick talks about you all the time.”

  My mother lifted her chin and gave Amaris a once over. “Well… I’ll determine whether it’s a pleasure to meet you in due course,” my mother snapped. “My son has never brought a woman to my home before.”

  “And that’s a good thing, right?” Amaris asked with a hopeful smile.

  “Like I said, I’ll determine that,” my mother snapped.

  I bit back a groan and couldn't help but think that my mother and Amaris’s were secret BFFs. At the very least, they'd collaborated about these meet-and-greets.

  Amaris didn’t flinch, but she said, “That’s totally understandable, Ms. Dangerfield. Your son bringing home a strange woman would certainly be a surprise. And of course, you’d want to make sure it’s the right woman.”

  “Precisely.” She lifted her chin higher. By now, it was positioned at an angle that I was sure had her neck throbbing. “Any woman who thinks she is eligible to stand at his side must meet my standards. My Maverick is an amazing and accomplished man, but he has a long way to go before he can consider himself truly successful. I'm sure he’ll get there someday; make both me and his father proud, God rest his soul.”

  Amaris’s brows drew in.

  “Mom,” I interjected quickly, “we’re only here for a little while, so how about you actually invite us inside?”

  The fake smile returned. “Of course, come on in,” she offered, heading through the door. “Maverick, are you hungry? It’s late, but there are leftovers in the refrigerator. Last night, the chef made spoon bread and meatloaf. Of course, he's capable of making all of the exotic cuisines I love so much, but I knew you were coming. You used to love that when you were a boy.”

  I hated it.

  “Actually, Mary and I grabbed something on the way up,” I denied her offer, guiding Amaris through the door by the small of her back. “We’re good. We only dropped in to say hi and so you could meet Amaris.”

  My mother’s lips pressed tight, but then she forced a smile onto her face. “Right well…” She straightened her shoulders. “Perhaps some tea and cake.” She looked at Amaris. “You wouldn’t believe this, but when Maverick was a boy, he used to love chocolate cake. In fact, he liked desserts so much, by the time he was fourteen years old, he was tipping the scale at two hundred and thirty pounds.”

  The muscles in my face were stiff,
but I could still blink. “I was tall,” I reminded my mother and informed Amaris. “And I was a sportsman, so I slimmed out, just like the doctor said I would.”

  Amaris touched my arm. “Maverick is as strong and as healthy as a horse,” she said. “Either way, I'm sure he didn't have a problem with the ladies back then.”

  “And he still doesn’t.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  My mother’s eyes glinted. “You may be the first woman he’s brought here, but don’t get excited, honey. Maverick is always shacking up with women. The most it’s ever lasted is a couple of weeks.”

  Amaris stiffened, but I drew small circles on her skin.

  “But like you said, this is a good thing,” my mother retracted. “Maybe you are the one, right?”

  Amaris opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  My mother advanced deeper into the house, as if she hadn’t noticed either of our reactions to the things she was saying, but I knew my mother. Had known her all my life.

  “Cake?” she chirped. “We need to catch up. Amaris, there are albums and scrapbooks I’m sure you’re dying to see.”

  “I think I'll pass,” Amaris muttered, but my mother’s iron-fist of aggression clamped down.

  “You’re a guest in my home, honey,” my mother said. Substitute sugar dripped from her lips. “You’ve already declined my offer for food. I’m a southern belle. Do you know what that means?”

  “Mom – ”

  “It means that I get mighty offended when people turn down my attempt at hospitality.”

  “I apologize,” my Angel replied. “I’d love to learn more about you and Maverick.”

  My throat tightened as we followed her inside.

  The table was already set. My mother’s butler was standing to attention, ready to do her bidding, and a young woman took our coats.

  I helped Amaris into hers, and Mom glared at me. Quickly, I rushed to her side of the table and did the same for her.

  “Maverick, how are things at work?”

  “Good,” was my one-word response.

  “And your next endeavor? You’ve been partner for about four years now. Have you considered the next move I instructed you to pursue?”

  A hefty slice of chocolate cake was set in front of us.

  “What’s the next endeavor?” Amaris asked.

  My mother leaned forward. “Maverick is going to branch out on his own and start his own firm,” she answered, beaming, like it was an item she was about to knock off her personal bucket list.

  I drew in a sharp breath. The weight I’d been fighting was starting to descend. I felt it landing heavily on my shoulders.

  “Wow, Mav. You didn’t tell me about that,” Amaris said, but concern was plastered onto her face.

  “Of course, he didn’t,” my mother inserted. “I suggested that he should tell no one. It’s difficult for my son to trust. He’s been through so much.” A somber look passed over my mother’s face, but it was as imitation as everything else was.

  Amaris blinked and I cut into the conversation. “No, I haven’t looked into that prospect,” I snapped. “Not yet. I’m busy and there’s already a ton of stress.”

  My mother scoffed. “Relationships tend to bring stress, Maverick,” she said. “That’s why you don’t need to be in one right now, especially one that’s apparently so serious,” she paused, “unless Amaris here believes in you and supports your professional development the way I do.”

  “Amaris is my greatest supporter,” I said through my teeth.

  My mother jolted and her eyes thinned as she turned them onto Amaris. “What do you do, Amaris?”

  Amaris cleared her throat. “I’m a therapist.”

  “What kind of therapist?”

  “A clinical mental health therapist, ma’am.”

  “Oh, like a shrink?” She leaned forward, as if she were genuinely interested in what Amaris did. “Is that how the two of you met? Did you psychoanalyze my son?”

  My jaw clenched. “Mother, you can stop now,” I advised.

  She looked at me and smiled. “Of course.”

  My mother dragged the albums over, and the teacups shifted on the table, hot water dipping over the sides.

  I hadn’t looked at these albums in decades, and there was a reason for it. Photo albums were designed to evoke memories, but that was the problem. I didn’t need an archive of portraits to remind me of what my childhood was like. The reel played over and over in my mind, and when it did, it was followed by a turbulence I could barely control.

  But that wasn’t the main issue. The real problem was that I hadn’t revealed half of this shit to my Angel.

  My mother flipped open the first album to reveal six meticulously positioned photographs on a page.

  Instantly, Amaris’s eyes lit up like she had stars in them. “Oh my god, is that Maverick?” She dragged the album closer and pointed to a photograph of me in a diaper and onesie. She threw her hands over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  I chuckled and leaned over to get a good look. “Didn’t I tell you? I was a heartthrob even then.”

  “He certainly was my handsome boy,” my mother added. I looked up at her, shocked to see a hint of adoration on her face.

  Amaris pointed to another picture and I looked back at the page. “And this one is adorable,” she cooed. In it, I had on a pair of shades that almost covered my entire face, and I was holding a red plastic guitar.

  My mother smiled and flipped several pages to the end of the album.

  Immediately Amaris’s face dropped.

  My soul followed.

  Pictures of me laid on a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes was spread across the page.

  “Now these pictures are of when Mavvy was sixteen,” she informed Amaris, as if she were a tour guide leading her through the Orient.

  Amaris choked. “Wh-what happened to him?”

  “Oh, this was after his father died,” my mother answered. Her eyes glossed over the pictures, even though each of them was almost identical.

  Amaris looked at me, the very thing I was hoping to avoid. “Your father died, Mav?” her eyes glistened, and she blinked. “You’ve told me stories about your father, but you never told me…”

  “He would never do that,” my mother chimed in, “because his father was depressed, and Maverick was ashamed of him, has been for years.” She scoffed, like the word made no sense. “That’s what that shrink called it, but in my experience, my husband was just plain old crazy.”

  I wanted to do something, like jump up and clamp my hands around my mother’s throat to make her stop talking, but I couldn’t move. Every muscle and joint grew stiff with tension, useless.

  My vision started to blur.

  “That picture is of Maverick two months after his father’s funeral. I always thought he had a streak of crazy in him,” she continued. “You’re a shrink, so you would know, but I’ve been made to understand that shit is genetic.”

  Amaris set her utensil down and pushed the cake away. “Ms. Dangerfield, I’m not a shrink, and secondly – ”

  My mother cut her off. “When Maverick was a teenager, his school guidance counselor called me into her office to say she thought my Maverick might have been depressed, like his father was.” She jerked her neck back, incredulous. “The boy was bringing home straight -As! You tell me how the hell she came up with that arm-chair diagnosis, especially with a mere degree in - what is it? – school counseling?”

  Amaris’s mouth quivered.

  “I waved her off,” my mother scoffed. “But like I said, his daddy was depressed, so I should have been prepared for what happened.” She paused. “Maverick told you how he died, didn’t he?”

  Amaris rested her shaking hand on top of mine.

  “That selfish bastard killed himself,” my mother spat out. Her eyes narrowed into slits. “I come home from shopping in town and that man… was dangling from a goddamn rope, had been there for hours. His skin was as blue as a god
damn Smurf’s.”

  “Ms. Dangerfield… I’m… so sorry,” Amaris choked, looking at me. “Maybe we should leave and – ”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she waved away Amaris’s concern. “If he didn’t want to be here, I certainly wasn’t in a position to convince him otherwise.” She turned her stare to me, and in that moment, I knew what was coming.

  “And then this one here decides to pull a similar stunt and – ”

  My muscles released and adrenaline charged through my body. Uncharted amounts of anger filtered through my veins, and there was no way I could stop what happened next.

  I flipped the dining table over, sending food and china flying.

  My mother and Amaris screamed, and I charged at the older woman, breathing in her face like an enraged bull.

  I gripped her by her scrawny neck.

  She sputtered and choked, and my fingers tightened.

  “Do you think this is a fucking joke?” I shouted at her. Spit flew in her face. A curtain of red rage blinded me until I was disoriented to person, time, and place. I squeezed tighter. “Do you actually think it’s okay to disrespect my father’s memory and make fun of the way his life ended? To make fun of me?”

  Amaris jumped up and rushed next to me. She hung onto my stiff arm. “Mav, calm down,” she begged. “We don’t have to be here. We can leave.”

  I jerked away from her, dropping my mother in the process. I took a shaky step back and shouted down at where she lay, wrinkled on the ground. “All you care about, all you’ve ever cared about was keeping up fucking appearances,” I accused her, “no matter the expense! Dad knew exactly what he was doing when he offed himself, and I should have done the same fucking thing when I had the chance!”

  Amaris threw her mouth over her hands and my mother stared at me from her spot on the ground, gaze flickering.

  I pinned my eyes onto Amaris. “You wanna know what those pictures represent?” I seethed at her. “That was me in the ICU, two months after my father died. I wanted to be like him, only I couldn’t find the rope he used.” I inched closer to her and she choked out a cry.

  “You wanna know what I did, Amaris?”

  “Maverick…”

  “You’re always asking if I’m okay. Now I’m not.” I glared at her. “Do you want to know what I did?”