It’s not a cold night, so I’ve turned up the air conditioner in the house and lit the fire in the living room. There are candles in strategic places; long, thin tapers that I’ve stuck into bowls and anchored with sea stones and sand, fat candles on wrought iron and silver holders, tea lights nestled in globes and squat, antique lanterns that glow orange, red and green.
I’ve closed up the cabinets in the den, hiding the TV and stereo and the rest of the equipment in there, but there’s music playing, and the lights are low.
I think the place looks lovely.
I think he’s going to hate it.
Supper’s cooking in the oven. It’s the chicken he likes, stuffed with rice. The smell is everywhere, the scent of the chicken and it’s orange marinade mingling with the subtler scent of lavender incense.
It’s going to come off as too ‘girly’ in here, I know it. Or too old. Too ‘something he doesn’t want to see’.
Oh, so what. I take a deep breath and let it out. I did my best in a short amount of time. There are still things I’d like to do, but I’m satisfied for the moment. The shutters have even been hung, and I have them placed just so, the slats opened a bit to let the last of the light in, but the shutters closed to keep out the view from the street.
I want him to at least be surprised.
I fuss. I go through the rooms tweaking things. I bought some blankets yesterday, one of which is hanging on a wall in the den, another that’s over the leather sofa in the living room. They’re old. I’m not so sure it will be a good idea to leave the one on the sofa because it almost seems fragile, but it looks good and compliments the dark brown leather cushions.
I’m still tweaking when I hear a car pull up, and from the slamming of doors I know that Alex is back. I scoot for the kitchen. As much as I want to see his first reaction, I don’t want to be all over the man the minute he steps in the door. Particularly if the first reaction isn’t positive.
I want a cigarette.
I hear him open the door.
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I don’t think this is my house.
I’m too startled to say anything, to make a sound. I just drop my bags, lean my clubs up against the wall, and stare.
This is not what I had in mind. Not at all. And I love it. I love it. I gotta frickin’ orange wall. Orange. I love orange. I gotta frickin’ leather sofa. I love leather. I got Indian blankets and all kindsa shit and stuff and candles, fuck me, I love candles. And the place smells so good, like perfume and chicken, she made me chicken, that chicken, and I can SMELL orange, and see orange.
There’s a fire in the living room. I make myself move into that room and see that I have TWO orange walls. And shutters; the curtains are gone. The clutter and shit is gone. Everything looks so spare and, and it feels warm to me, warm by the fire. Warm from the candles.
I go back into the entrance hall, makin’ for the den and there’s Shi.
God, she looks different, too. She’s changed something. Hell, she’s dressed. Not that she’s ever not dressed, but she’s wearin’ this pretty white dress with a GREAT looking belt on her hips; looks like silver and turquoise. I know it isn’t, but it looks like it, and she’s got on these sandals, these strappy things, instead of sneakers, and she’s done somethin’ with her hair, too, shit, I can’t take it all in.
“Is it okay?” she asks me.
And everything inside of me wells up. I’m standin’ in my own house and I’m struggling not to explode into a million pieces all over the place. I can feel myself shaking, and I don’t know what I look like, but it can’t be good because Shi’s face is falling, just falling. Her smile is wavering and it wasn’t real big to begin with. Her eyes are gettin’ HUGE and I see that she’s struggling, too.
“It’s great,” I manage to say.
“Are you sure?” she asks, real quick.
“I can’t talk,” I tell her. I can’t. I’m gonna to cry. I’ve been spendin’ the better part of the time away wishin’ I was back here, and now I’m back here and the place, she made it stunning. Fucking stunning. This was nothing like I had in mind, and seeing it, it’s as if she plucked somethin’ outta my head I didn’t even know was there. There are so many details I can’t see them all, I just know that they’re there. And then there’s dinner, too. She was waitin’ on me for dinner and everything.
And then there’s just her. Someone who doesn’t know every shitty thing about me. She treats me decent. She treats this house like she cares.
She treats me like she cares.
“I wasn’t sure, Alex, I just went with an idea,” she says to me.
I have to sit down. I sit on the arm of the sofa, pick up a pillow that’s on it, and hug it. This room looks nothing like it did a week ago. All the remnants of my life with Sarah here have been removed. The conscious thought that I was seriously considering moving outta this house rises to the top of my head before it disappears. I’m not goin’ anywhere. This place is my own now. Mine. I’ve never had a place that was only mine. I’ve always lived with someone and let them make the place theirs; outta love, outta fear, who knows why, but that’s the way I did things.
Things are different now.
“This was a good idea,” I tell her, and my voice is thick, but I can talk.
“Are you sure?” she asks me again.
I nod. I’m sure.
“Is something else wrong?”
“No, nothing. I’m just glad to be back,” I tell her, and I can say that, too, ‘cause it’s the truth.
“Tired?”
“Yeah, some.” More truth. I didn’t sleep good last night, I was hyped after I found that necklace. Then I remember it. It’s in my bag. I want to give it to her. Now. But that means unpacking. And I don’t want to move. I don’t want her to just ‘find’ it either.
“Why don’t you just have a seat and relax, then, and I’ll unpack for you and...”
“I’ll do it, don’t bother. The bags are really heavy and...”
“It’s all laundry, isn’t it?” she asks with a smile, as if to say what a bad boy I am for not having things cleaned at the hotel. Which I was.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll just take the bags to the laundry room then.”
“Leave the clubs,” I tell her.
“I was planning to,” she says, and she crinkles her nose at me as she hefts my two bags and takes them to the back of the house. I peek around the doorway and watch the sway of her hips under her skirt, then stop myself.
Insane.
This would be the perfect time to fuck things up in just the wrong way. JUST the wrong way. And if I did, I wouldn’t blame anyone for givin’ up on me. I don’t know how I do it, but I stop my thoughts in their tracks. I know I’ll look back on this moment and wonder how the hell I’ve done this, but I have. ‘Cause this is important. Damn important. And I’m NOT gonna fuck this up for, for, for what? A whim? A twinge? A feeling that I’m not even sure is a feeling?
A.J. Mclean, high maintenance pain in the ass, has left the building. And he for damn sure ain’t comin’ back. At least not any time soon.
“Would you like something to drink?”
I look up from where I’m staring into the fireplace. I wonder if Shi knows that she glows. For real.
“Yeah, I would.”
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Something’s not right with Alex. I can’t tell if it’s just because he didn’t have the time of his life this past week, or if I’ve gone too far in the changes I’ve made in the house and he just doesn’t want to say, or what. I don’t know and no amount of coaxing or cajoling is going to get it out of him.
He’s not quiet, just the opposite. He’s chatty through supper, asking about Tish, asking about my week and what I did, who I did it with. He’s happy to know that Mickie and Dwayne are coming for supper tomorrow.
I feel like I need to have them over often to reciprocate for all the time that Tish spends there. Dwayne is clueless about it, but Mick understands and she thinks I’m ridiculous. Either way, Alex doesn’t seem to mind them coming over, in fact, he seems to welcome it. In the back of my mind I suppose that I anticipated that he’d want me to be on call this weekend, after having all that time off. I think I anticipated well.
“So you don’t mind? Really?” I ask for the umpteenth time.
“Nah, it’s cool,” he says. He takes a last bite of the fruit tart I bought at the bakery this morning, following his swallow with a little groan I don’t think he knows I hear.
“More coffee?”
“Please.”
“Are you sure? You won’t sleep,” I tease.
“I’ll sleep,” he assures me. Then he grins.
I top off his cup and finish clearing away the dishes, rinsing and putting them into the dishwasher. I don’t pay all that much attention to Alex, just listen to him doing the usual things he does: lighting a cigarette, burning the tip of his tongue on the hot coffee, tapping his fingers and moving in his chair. I don’t even look up from what I’m doing until I’m done, and there he is, sitting at the table with an enormous stuffed lion.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Somethin’ for Tish. You think she’ll like it?”
“She’ll love it, thank you so much. Of course, it’s going to need its own zip code.” I pick it up and give it a hug. It’s squashy and folds up easily. He must have had it stuffed in one of his bags. I haven’t unpacked them yet, just left them in the laundry room. I thought I’d take care of it in the morning, unless there was something that he needed.
“Cool,” he says, and then he edges a package towards me. “This is for you. For everything you’ve done around here. Shit. For just puttin’ up with me.”
“I don’t need anything for...”
“Just take it. Take it or I’ll be insulted,” he says, and he picks it up and puts it into my hands.
I put the lion down and open the wrapping. It’s a piece of jewelry, I can tell from the box, although I’m hoping, hard, that it’s just a pen and pencil set.
It’s not.
I can’t keep this.
“I can’t keep this,” I say, too afraid to touch the exquisite pendent nestled in the box.
“You have to,” he insists. He takes the box back and removes the necklace, opening the chain and wrapping it around my neck before I can protest again. “You have to,” he repeats, “it would look terrible on ME.”
The pendent rests just below the base of my throat. It’s cold on my skin. Alex picks it up, holds it to the light, and then places it back again.
“The stone changes color in the light. It’s cool. Looks good,” he says.
“I...”
He reaches up and puts a finger in front of his mouth to silence me.
“It’s yours. I’ll just throw it out if you don’t take it. It’s too nice to throw out.”
“I...”
“Thank you, Alex,” he instructs me.
There’s no arguing this point. I see it on his face. I see it in his eyes. This is the place in time where I’m supposed to be gracious under pressure, where I’m supposed to have grace and understanding.
“Thank you, Alex.”
“And, like, don’t just hide it in some drawer or anything. Wear the damn thing,” he says. His lips are twisted into a funny grin. “Do you like it?”
“I like it,” I admit. I do. It’s something that I’d pick for myself if I was ever going to pick out a piece of jewelry for myself. Not too big, not too delicate; something odd and one-of-a-kind.
“Good. Yeah, me too, I liked it a lot. Saw it and thought you’d like it.” He yawns, covering it with the back of his hand. “Damn. Sorry.”
“It’s late,” I say. It’s not, but I say it anyway. Now is a good time to leave. “Do you need anything else?” I ask. He hesitates. I see the pause, the flicker of his eyes, and I’m expecting him to say ‘yes’.
“No,” he says. He hands me the lion.
“Good night, then.”
“Good night, Shi.” And I feel him watching me as I go out the door.
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
