Chapter 20 Hendrix
CHAPTER 20
HENDRIX
N ow this is how you travel.”
Nelly follows the statement with a low whistle to further convey how impressed she is by the private plane Maverick sent for us.
“I’ve never actually been on one of these,” Kashawn says. “Flying first class, of course, but this?”
She does a slow spin, taking in the cabin’s handcrafted leather seats, the gold-trimmed walls, the plush carpet beneath our feet. The lounge is outfitted with a mammoth flat-screen television and a gourmet kitchen any chef would be proud of. I presume the closed door leads to a bedroom, but there’s no way I’m finding out. I flop into one of the rear seats, leaving the front section to my partners.
“This flight is three hours,” I say, pulling out my iPad. “And I need every one of them to prepare for this presentation. I’ve wanted to get a huge cosmetic deal for Chapel, and now that one is potentially on the table, I need to be ready when we get in front of them.”
“Look at you.” Nelly rests her hands on her hips, big sister pride in her eyes. “Bossing up and shit.”
“They saw her at the game,” I say semi-smugly. “Floor seats and face beat. She played the part, blowing kisses and flirting with the camera. Phone started ringing the next day.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Kashawn says, “but isn’t that the night Maverick Bell invited you to his box and offered this trip to us?”
My smile petrifies and I drop my eyes to the iPad in front of me. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Girl, you know so.” Nelly snaps her fingers to get my attention.
“Don’t snap at me.” I look up at her, putting on a stern face, but fighting back a smile.
“Then don’t ignore me,” Nelly parries. “We’re grateful for this trip, but is there something else going on here? Like between you and—”
“Ladies,” Maverick says from the door that I assumed led to the bedroom. “So glad to have you on board. Hope you don’t mind if I bum a ride.”
My mouth drops open for a second, but I snap it closed, hopefully before he notices how thrown I am that he’s on the plane. What did he hear?
“Is it appropriate to say ‘welcome aboard’ when it’s your plane?” Kashawn jokes, bouncing a glance between Maverick and me.
“I was in Miami and hitched a ride.” Maverick walks up the aisle until he comes to my seat. “Hendrix, hi.”
“Hi.” I offer him a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks for this opportunity and for the… um, plane.”
“No problem.” He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially. “It’s not mine. I just use it when I travel.”
“Is that supposed to be your version of frugal?” I laugh. “‘I don’t own the forty-million-dollar plane. I just charter it a few times a month.’”
“We all make sacrifices,” he returns, grinning and apparently unbothered by my jab.
“Speaking of sacrifices,” Kashawn says. “I need to make some right now and work through these briefs before we land in Colorado.”
“Of course.” Maverick gestures expansively around the luxuriously appointed cabin. “Let me or one of the attendants know if you need or want anything.”
“All I want,” Nelly says, pulling out a purple-and-gold sleep mask emblazoned with FUCK OFF , “is a little nap before we land or I won’t be any good. Baby was up all night, and I knew Beth would have her solo today so I held it down.”
“Awww,” I commiserate. “That’s a good mommy. Rest while you can.”
“You be getting that no-kids sleep,” Nelly sighs.
“Honey, I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” I joke.
Rolling her eyes, Nelly slips the sleep mask down and slumps into her buttery soft leather seat. “Wake me when we get to the weed.”
“No kids for you?” Maverick asks, his voice lower, softer, and impossibly sexier with the effort of not disturbing Nelly’s sleep and Kashawn’s concentration.
“Nah.” I rest my hands flat on the table in front of me. “I know most people don’t get it, but I’m just not cut out for motherhood.”
He nods his head toward the empty seat beside me. “May I?”
The quiet enclosing us pulls tight, packed with heat as our eyes lock. I force myself to glance away before I get lost in that searching look. I could tell him that I’m working. I could ask him to sit somewhere else so I can focus.
But I won’t.
“You can sit anywhere you want, right?” I ask, tapping on my iPad. “It’s your plane.”
“Technically, it’s not.” He settles into the seat beside me. “So you don’t ever want kids?”
I roll my eyes and force my shoulders back, relaxing into the soft cushion. “Kids aren’t for everyone.”
“I have one and I agree with you,” he says with a laugh. “I’m in the ‘one is enough’ club.”
He sobers, the smile dying on his lips as he slants a glance at me.
“Zere and I could never see eye to eye on that.”
I turn my head to study him, expecting his expression to be a wall, but it’s more of an open door.
“Do you ever regret it?” I ask. “Like do you think it would have been worth it to compromise?”
“I haven’t regretted it one day. My father tells me he would have done anything to be with my mother, so maybe that’s how I know Zere and I weren’t supposed to be. I wouldn’t have been able to walk away. I didn’t feel that way. I have a beautiful daughter I’m proud of and would die for, and that’s it. I didn’t want any more.”
“I respect that. My two closest friends are the best moms, and I get why that’s right for them.” I let my gaze drift to the tarmac just beyond the window. “I knew pretty early on that I didn’t want that. When I was really young, I used to say I wanted kids because that’s what the world tells you. That’s what everyone expects, and you don’t always know how to be different at that age. You just fall in line. You’re still a child yourself when they shove a baby doll in your hands and say pretend you’re the mommy . Even that young they telegraph that this is what you’re supposed to do.”
I run my finger along the cool edge of my iPad and smile dryly.
“But by the time I got to college, I knew I didn’t want that. People always ask why I don’t want kids, like it’s not enough to just know you don’t. I don’t ask anyone to defend their decision to have children. So why should I have to defend my decision not to?”
“You shouldn’t have to,” he says.
“No, but the world is constantly demanding that why . There are women like me who are mothering in our own ways, but have never carried a child or been a parent. We’re teachers and mentors and social workers and godmothers. We find ways to pour love into the world, to shape the world for good without bearing a child. It’s not about our wombs. It’s about our hearts and how we share them. That is bodily agency—me getting to decide what I do with my body in this life.”
“That’s…” Maverick’s stare doesn’t waver from mine. “Wow, that’s beautiful, Hendrix. I hadn’t thought of it like that, but now I will.”
“Most people don’t think of it that way. Certainly not most men.” I shrug and scoff. “I had a boyfriend once, someone I got pretty serious with in my twenties. He said he understood where I was coming from, that I didn’t want kids, but deep down he thought he could change me. When it came down to it, he thought I would cave and choose being with him over being who I believe I’m supposed to be. That’s not love.”
“Any idea where is he now?”
“He’s a car salesman in New Jersey, last I heard. Beautiful wife and three kids. I hope he’s very happy. I hope she’s very happy, but that would have felt like a prison term for me .”
“Zere felt that way,” he says. “I mean, that she could change my mind. People ask me the secret to my success. I guess I could spout a bunch of bullshit, but I think the thing that stands out to me is that I’ve always been certain. Not about life, but about what I want from it. That has really focused me in a way that a lot of people early in life aren’t. I see that in you, too. I respect it.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, but don’t have to respond right away because the flight attendant walks through to prepare us for takeoff. She offers champagne and food, which we both pass on. Once she returns to the front of the plane, a tight silence gathers between Maverick and me. I try to ignore the heat coming off his body and the clean scent that tortures me if I breathe too deeply. I deliberately keep my eyes trained on the hand-tufted floor covering, ignoring the querying looks he keeps sending my way. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat.
“So how’re your mom and aunt?” he asks. “Things better when you left?”
“Yeah.” Ironically, the most difficult aspect of my life—my mother’s condition—offers a lifeline into safer conversational waters. “After that episode last week, she was better. She’ll go hours, even a few days, where things seem almost normal, and then she’ll just get out of step. Her mind is like this chain on a bike that slips when you least expect it, and you just land in a ditch. Forget riding until that chain is back on.”
“That’s a perfect way to describe it. Pop Pop would be talking over breakfast about seeing Wilt Chamberlain play in Philly, recalling the game in perfect detail, and a minute later didn’t even recognize me. Introduced himself to me at the table and asked if I liked pancakes.”
Sadness tightens the planes of Maverick’s face for a moment before smoothing out.
“By lunch, he was back to talking shit about Bill Russell and the Celtics. That chain you’re talking about popping back on.”
“I guess I’m getting more and more afraid of the time when that chain doesn’t pop back on,” I confess.
“I’m so sorry, Hendrix,” Maverick says, the words rough with emotion. “I hate you’re having to go through this, that your mother is going through this. It’s… it’s hell.”
The gentle rumble of his voice, the empathy in his eyes, make my vision swim with tears. I blink to keep them from falling, but one escapes, slicking my cheek. Before I can wipe it away, Maverick brushes his thumb under my eye. My breath catches and our gazes tangle. No, it’s more than our eyes connecting. It’s something deep inside me recognizing , drawn toward whatever he hides beneath his confident exterior. We’re both bold, presenting a tough exterior to the world, but it’s what’s soft and secret that keeps bringing us together.
His touch lingers and so does his gaze, slowly skimming my features. There’s growing heat in his eyes and an answering warmth in me that starts low in my belly and creeps up to my heart. I cannot do heart shit with him. I shift my chin so his hand falls from my face.
“My concentration’s shot,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m not sure I can get work done.”
“I had some stuff to do, too, but maybe I was being optimistic.” He runs his hands over his face and exhales. “I’ve been working nonstop on a deal, and my brain is more fried than I’d thought. This quick trip is not just for you ladies. I needed a break from all the shit I’ve had to focus on.”
I glance at him, seeing past the confident set of his shoulders and the tight fade of his hair and the perfectly groomed hands, the expensive casual clothing—looking past all of that, I see fatigue dragging at the handsome face.
“Does this giant ecological footprint plane have Wi-Fi?” I ask, gently bumping my shoulder into his.
“Yeah, of course. You want to work after all?”
“Nope.” I set up my iPad so the screen faces us. “Someone told me I should start Top Boy and I still haven’t made time for it. I got three hours to kill, right?”
His smile comes wide and quick, and I love how it lightens the weariness on his face right away.
“I mean,” I say, “I know you’ve seen it before, but—”
“Oh, no.” He taps the screen a few times, navigating to the streaming site for the show, then angles a look at me that has my toes curling in my sandals. “I’ll watch again… with you.”