Authors: Love Belvin
My eyes flew over to Zoey, who smiled at him in response while chewing her food, but not with her eyes. Her body language revealed she wasn’t as enthralled with him as he was fixated on her. What the fuck was her angle? My next question was did Bernard have the finesse to change her mind.
Was she available?
“Don’t nobody wanna go to that concert with a whole bunch of fronting queens. Like eighty-five percent of all men at those things play for the other team. Ain’t no straight woman beat for that
sh
—” Ruth caught herself. “I mean, show.” But her mother caught her near slip anyway and rolled her eyes.
Damn… And I thought Zo was a firecracker.
“Wow! I do smell you now, lil’ man,” corny ass Bernard squealed with his crooked ass mouth. That shit made my skin crawl. “You should be done with that odor. I don’t think I’ve ever changed a diaper before. I’d be willing. Hey, Jordan, you wanna give me a try?”
The clanging from my fork being dropped into my plate and the screeching from my chair being pushed from the table was glaring. I stood, detached the tray from the high chair and gently pulled my son out and carried him out of the dining room to change and bathe him. If Bernard ever laid a hand on Jordan in my presence I think I’d fucking snap.
After Jordan’s bath, Sarah came to my room, asking for him. She asked if I minded her putting him to sleep with his bottle. I guessed they decided Bernard would crash on a stowaway in the room designated for Jordan. She’d had his rolling crib with her at the door and offered for me to come and get him whenever I wanted. There was no way I could say no to Sarah. She was like damn kryptonite. I hugged my little man and handed him off to his grandmother. Thanks to Eligia, Jordan was sleeping through the night, so I knew when she put him down he’d likely sleep in there.
After that, I needed something to do to occupy my mind. I’d shut my phone off as soon as Zoey arrived, not wanting to be bothered with anyone that wasn’t in this house—with the exception of Bernard. I damn sure needed the distance from Erika, who I knew would be blowing my phone up, offering to change her plans and spend Christmas with me. She knew I’d be with my son, but hadn’t enough of a moral compass to understand how inappropriate that would have been to Zoey. She didn’t consider Jordan’s mother would be spending Christmas with him, too.
I decided to have a nightcap before turning in. I would have loved to kick it with Zo, but she was on some other shit, bringing whack ass Bernard up here. She did that shit to spite me. She knew I’d be here. On my way to the kitchen, I passed the den where I heard voices pouring from the room. When I approached the door, I saw Bernard engaging Michael in a conversation. That fucked with me, too. Michael still hadn’t warmed to me. He didn’t step on my toes or disrespect me, but you certainly wouldn’t have found us chopping it up as casually as he was now with that soft fucker. I shook it off, knowing I deserved it for what I’d done to his family. To his daughter. I didn’t deserve his hospitality.
I didn’t expect to find Zoey in the kitchen alone, busting suds. I strolled up to the cabinet to the left of her to retrieve my bottle of
Maracame Gran Platino
I made sure to have stocked here along with the list of grocery items Sarah sent to Paul.
“Doing dishes allows you to ruminate?”
Zoey’s head popped up and her eyes were stretched, deceptively startled by the sound of my voice. I purposely diverted my eyes to the bottle and grabbed it.
“Huhn?”
“You’re making that sound with the back of your throat.”
“Oh! No. At least I don’t think so. Maybe because I’m trying to get through this mountain of dishes.”
“So, you got stuck with dish duty?”
“I guess. It was really no question, considering Mommy and Ruth cooked, and you gave Jordan his nighttime bath. I had to play some part in the holiday teamwork. I guess I can take his monitor tonight so that you can get some rest.”
Is that what this was? Was I a part of that?
I grabbed a tumbler and poured my drink.
“Well, your mom has him in her room. She didn’t say it, but I know she was giving me the night off.”
Zoey giggled a tune that made my stomach flutter. “Yeah, she was being slick. She got over on you. She made you her sucker tonight,” she jeered as she scrubbed a pot.
I couldn’t help the grin cresting my face as I walked off. “Yeah, I guess she did.”
I went into the great room, recalling the view. Paul did his thing selecting this cabin. It had a mountain view, handcrafted woodwork in the A-frame ceiling and exposed rafters. The lighting in the sizeable room radiated a warm glow, conducive to the decompression I needed.
What a fucking day.
Enjoying the ambiance, I clicked on the mounted plasma, trying to unwind. I turned to MSNBC to revel in Barak Obama’s recent win. I’d contributed to his election and campaign, even met him on several occasions during and after his win. Not much could compare to the feeling of having your first child—a male, no less—be born the same year the United States of America elected its first African American president. I could tell my seed with more proof that the sky was the damn limit for him. That his greatness couldn’t be stifled or be forced into parameters by anyone but himself.
I don’t know how long I’d been there, watching the coverage of his celebrations, life, and even conspiracies as to how he gained office, before I saw an image nearing in my peripheral. I turned to catch Zoey dumping herself on the sofa with the bottle of
Maracame Gran Platino
in her hand. I detected her vanilla scent first, then noticed her hair was damp, alerting me of her having recently showered. Zoey immediately leaned over to pour more into my glass, which was empty. She didn’t wait for me to react. She picked up the glass and took a gulp from it, barely grimacing at its potency. I didn’t know what to make of her not acknowledging me right away, but instead, keeping her attention on the television.
Moments later, after placing the glass back on the long wooden center table, she muttered, “Just think, my son was born the same year we elected our first African American president. He has no excuse but to succeed as a man of color, born in the 21st century.”
I was amazed at our parallel thinking. On second thought, I shouldn’t have been. Zoey’s mind was brilliant. Our upbringings may have had stark contrasts, but our spirits…our souls had always been on par.
This fucking woman drives me insane!
I nodded. When there was coverage of the possible rigging of ballots, Zoey hissed her displeasure and frustration with inequality while taking sips of my drink in between, all to my entertainment and delight, though I didn’t show it. I kept cool, still sour as hell about her earlier antics.
“Sarah Barrett thinks she’s slick. She had JR all day, drove him up here, and now she wants to “put him down,” too?” she used air quotation marks. “She played us. I guess it’s all good that everybody wants that little boy.”
Without looking at her, I murmured, “I brought him up here.”
From the corners of my eyes, I could see her neck snap in my direction. Zoey held her gaze there before going for the glass and taking another nip.
“I didn’t know that,” she muttered.
I nodded. “I called Eligia, who told me the plan was for Sarah to pick him up.” I shrugged. “I called Sarah and asked if she minded if I brought him. I wanted to spend some alone time with him.” Then my eyes slowly rolled over to a processing Zoey.
“Oh. I didn’t know,” was all she uttered.
There was silence for a while. I didn’t know what that meant, so I went back to the television.
“So, how are you?”
What?
I hadn’t heard that from her in months. I turned to observe Zoey and found her body facing me, expressing openness and reception. This was the woman I knew. The young girl that I grew obsessed with in no time. My Niña.
In spite of myself, I found my poise shifting towards her.
“I’ve been better. Just glad to be with good people for Christmas.”
“How’s your uncle? My mom said she tried to reach out to him.” Zoey’s face wrinkled and I caught the first slight slant in her eyes. “He said he already had plans with family friends.”
The Barretts embraced my uncle, Stan, the day they met him at JR’s Christening. I was happy that Zoey took to him, too. He was the only stable family I’d had over the years. I hadn’t realized Sarah attempted to make this an all-inclusive family affair. It doubled my affection for her in an instant.
“He has what I suspect is a girlfriend. He’ll never admit it, but I doubt if I’m wrong.”
She snickered. “Can you blame him? We all need love, no matter the age.”
“This is true. How’s school?”
“It’s going well, I guess. I submitted my application for grad school.”
“Finally.” I shifted in my upper body, equally intrigued and excited about the news. Zoey had charted her path. “I’m happy. How are you feeling about it?”
She shrugged, twisting her lips. “Wharton is different from Princeton. The culture is more extravagant. I’d be in class with so many descendants of established enterprises rather than first generation college graduates like myself. It could be intimidating.” Zoey’s eyes flipped as though a thought occurred. “But don’t worry. If I get in, I’ll be making good on your endowment. I’ll work hard.”
“Though I wouldn’t exactly term it that way, I have no doubt about that, Elizabeth,” I released easily and confidently. “In fact, I’m sure none of your contemporaries have a clue of your insecurities. You never let ‘em see you sweat.”
Not even me.
Zoey’s chest rose. “Really?” Her mask slipped.
“Of course.” I wrinkled my brows with emphasis. “I invest wisely.”
I damn sure do.
“Well, you don’t in your off season training. Your jump shot sucks, dude.”
I couldn’t fight my erupting laughter. Zoey was a fucking riot.
“I guess you can’t have it all.” I tossed my hands and shrugged.
Just then, Michael entered the room with Bernard right behind him.
“Zoey, did your mom say where Bernard will be sleeping?”
I watched as Bernard assessed Zoey’s proximity to me, then the room. His hands were tucked into his khaki pants. He wore a short ass sweater jacket and loafers.
“Ummmm…” Zoey pondered out loud.
“Right next door to me where Jordan was supposed to stay.” I interrupted, happy as hell that my room was between Zoey’s and where Bernard’s lame ass would be sleeping.
“Oh, okay.” Michael addressed Bernard. “There you are. I’m going to be getting to bed. I’m sure Sister Barrett has loads for me to do in honor of our grandbaby’s first Christmas. I’m already dreading assembling at least five different toys that I may toss to his dad there.” He patted Bernard’s shoulder and paid Zoey and me one last parting glance and neck bow before leaving the room.
“Bernard, the room is the last one to the right of that hall right there,” Zoey instructed, seeming to know the grounds.
“Zoey, you mind if I speak to you before turning in?”
She pouted before answering, “Sure.”
I waited for them to leave the room to surreptitiously lower the volume of the television.
Their voices were just over a muffle.
“You gonna be okay? It’s pretty late.” Bernard’s voice was well made out.
“You do know that’s Jordan’s father in there, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but— Wait, Zo. Have you been drinking?” Bernard sounded alarmed. My fists clenched.
“I’ve had a drink. What is it to you, Bernard?” Zoey’s tone was callous.
“I don’t mean any harm.
I
-I just know you two aren’t together and that’s probably because he did something stupid to not deserve you.”
“You have no idea or business to know anything about me and my son’s father. I appreciate your concern, but it is wholly unwarranted here.”
There was a pause. My body tensed. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to stay in my seat and not on Bernard’s ass. Was he really trying to make me out to be a predator to Zoey of all people?
“Down the hall, to the right.” That was Zoey.
Seconds later, I sensed her entering the room.
“Bodyguard?” I asked with my eyes plastered to the screen ahead.
She waited a few seconds. “He means no harm. He’s just confused by our relationship.”
“I imagine many are.”
“Yup,” she sighed. “The masses.” Zoey reached down and poured another glass. She took a sip before asking, “So, outside of work, how’s things going?”
Internally, I sulked. I knew she was referring to my dalliance with Erika. That’s something I wouldn’t discuss with her. My situation with Zoey was too gray, too damn complicated.
“Nothing to write home about.”
I waited with bated breath for the topic to transition. No luck.
“I’m sure Erika is missing you for the holiday.” Her voice grew as she attempted to amend, “I mean, she did have you for the last.”
Damn it!
“Zoey, I didn’t plan to spend Thanksgiving with the Ercegs. Unbeknownst to me, they planned to fly into San Antonio and hired a chef to cook a spread. It was somewhat futile, in my opinion, seeing that I spent a considerable amount of time, locked in the bedroom of my suite, FaceTiming an infant.” My eyes finally trolled over to her.