Chapter 22 Hendrix
CHAPTER 22
HENDRIX
B ecause I want to was not a good enough reason to call.
But did I answer the first time Maverick rang? And the second and the third?
Why, yes, I fucking did.
I’m not proud of it. On the first call, he asked about my mother and the support group. I told him I’d joined one online and it was really helping me process how the changes Mama is experiencing impact not just her, but our whole family. Our whole lives.
Innocent enough.
The second time he asked me a few questions about Hue and to see if we had talked to the cannabis founder. He made sure we had everything we needed to move forward with her should we decide to.
Still feeling pretty guilt-free.
That third time, though, he asked if I’d been watching Top Boy .
Of course I had. It’s freaking fantastic. It satisfies The Wire itch I didn’t even know I needed scratched. And everyone knows the Brits make everything amazing. This conversation devolved into us watching season two together. What are you watching may as well have been what are you wearing . Simul-watching Netflix is like phone sex, like masturbatory streaming.
I can’t keep doing this.
And yet, when the text message comes through and I see it’s him, that traitorous heart of mine starts batting its wings like a hummingbird on steroids.
Maverick: You down to watch an episode tonight?
“Who got you smiling like that?” Soledad asks, jerking me back to game night at her house.
She splits her attention between the phone in my hand and the kitchen counter, which holds a platter decorated with a variety of cheeses, brightly colored fruit, and sticky dollops of jams and sauces.
“Who smiling?” I play dumb. I’ve never seen my own face when Maverick texted or called, but it can’t be good.
“You been holding out on us?” Soledad skewers a grape tomato, salami, green olives, and a mozzarella ball, adding it to the growing stack of food on her platter. “Some man finally got your attention?”
“Or some woman?” Yasmen asks, entering from the living room and carrying a bottle of wine. “Don’t forget that bi-awakening she had a few months ago.”
“It was one night.” I roll my eyes. “A very pleasant night actually, where she sucked my soul from between my legs and snatched my edges, but that doesn’t constitute a bi-awakening. I was never asleep. I honestly think most people are gender fluid. Society just locks us into these heteronormative roles before we have a chance to consider everything on the menu.”
“Well, I’m Judah-sexual,” Soledad preens. “I wouldn’t care what package he came in. I’d want him no matter what.”
“Easy to say when he’s pounding you through the mattress every night,” I cackle. “With that big dick.”
“Oh, my gosh. It’s not every night. We don’t live together yet.” Soledad sends a scandalized glance toward the door that leads from the kitchen into the next room. “And keep your voice down. He’ll hear you.”
“I think he knows he fucks you good,” Yasmen joins in.
“ Et tu , Yas?” Soledad tries to look outraged and prissy, but the lusty twitch to her lips spoils the effect.
“Has he ever let you put your finger up his ass?” I ask, recalling what Imani said about prostate orgasms.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Josiah says, turning on his heel to leave as soon as he enters the kitchen. “I want no part of this conversation.”
“Boy, get in here.” Yasmen walks over and drags her husband back. “Ain’t nobody coming near your butt. Men. Always scared somebody want to get in that ass.”
“I bet Judah would be open to it,” Soledad chirps.
“Really, Sol?” Judah asks from the door, true exasperation all over his face.
Judah is actually reserved—not like the rest of us who just fake it sometimes. He doesn’t want his business all in the streets. He’s not naturally the most social guy, and it’s taken him some time to get used to how freely my friends and I discuss every single thing that passes through our brains. Filter-free.
“Sorry, honey.” Soledad abandons her tray of hors d’oeuvres to throw her arms around her boyfriend’s neck. “You know how we get.”
He kisses her. It’s just a quick peck, but the look that lingers between them is hot and affectionate. Yasmen still has her arms around Josiah’s waist. The clack of dominoes from the living room reaches us in the kitchen. All their children are here for game night. Yasmen’s kids, Deja and Kassim. Soledad’s daughters, Lupe, Inez, and Lottie. Judah’s twin boys are usually with their mother on the weekends, but she and her husband are out of town, so he has Aaron and Adam tonight. It’s a houseful, and everyone belongs to someone else.
Except me.
“Don’t think I forgot the original question, Hen,” Soledad says, turning and leaning her back against Judah’s chest with his arms crossed over her waist. “I’ve caught you like three times grinning down at that phone. Is there someone we should know about?”
Soledad is a pit bull under her pastels and recipes.
“It’s just a friend,” I evade, slipping the phone into the side pocket of my sundress.
“A he friend?” Yasmen walks over to the counter and hovers a hand over a small jar.
“Yas, touch my fig jam and you drawing back a nub,” Soledad warns, not missing a beat. “Just tell us who, Hen. I mean, I shared with you about Judah’s—”
“Speculation,” Judah cuts in, smiling in spite of the gravity he clearly tries to lend his tone. “That was purely speculation, and I’d prefer you keep it to yourself.”
“It’s Maverick Bell,” I blurt. After keeping our text messages and calls and nightly simul-watches of Top Boy a secret, I’m almost relieved to tell my friends. I need them to tell me it’s okay. That I haven’t crossed any lines. That I’m not in the wrong.
“Oh.” Soledad steps from Judah’s arms and walks back to the counter. She starts straightening things on trays and moving cheese around unnecessarily.
“Spit it out, Sol.” I roll my eyes. “You obviously have something to say based on how suddenly busy you are with your charcuterie.”
“It’s just…” She falters and looks at Yasmen, silently recruiting her help. “Ya know.”
“No, I don’t.” I squirm on my stool at the counter. “Tell me.”
“Well, didn’t he date your friend?” she asks. “Is that breaking some kind of girl code?”
“She and Zere are business associates,” Yasmen pipes up, reaching for the jam and drawing back when Soledad lightly pops her hand. “Not like besties. And Zere and Maverick have been apart for what? For how long?”
“About two months,” I reply weakly.
When I say it out loud, it seems like no time. And yet, I feel so close to Maverick; have felt connected almost from the beginning. The regularity of our communication has only heightened the sense of friendship. Hell, if I’m being honest, of intimacy. Not like fucking or phone sex or anything like that, but the way someone truly gets to know you, begins to anticipate your responses and untangles knots in you it usually takes others years to loosen.
“We’re just friends,” I say, and even I hear the defensive note in my voice. “Really we are.”
Damn. It’s getting worse.
“Babe, could you carry this through to the living room?” Soledad gives the tray to Judah and smiles in that disarming way that makes everyone do her bidding and like it.
“I’ll grab a tray, too,” Josiah says, taking the hint. He slaps Yasmen’s ass when he walks by, and the casual intimacy of it creates a tiny ache in my heart. When was the last time someone slapped my ass like that? Not in a gropey, creepy way like sneaking a feel in a crowded club, but with a possessive familiarity? A sureness that his touch would be welcome because there’s no place on me that doesn’t feel like his and there’s no place on him that doesn’t feel like mine?
Seeing my friends makes me realize that I do want that someday with the right person. Maybe I have wanted it for a while and not acknowledged it because I know I’m not settling for no trash man. And let’s face it, most men are trash. I don’t feel like getting on an app or meeting someone new, or figuring out if I’m being catfished. I’m too old to be bothered with that shit, so maybe I hid from myself that I want someone to touch me, to look at me like that. Someday.
“Okay if you’re just friends, great,” Yasmen says after their guys leave the kitchen. “If you’re more—”
“We’re not,” I cut in to assure them and myself. “We’re just friends.”
“And you don’t want more?” Soledad’s expression softens. “You know we won’t judge you if you want it to be more, Hen.”
I do know that, and as I look at my closest friends, I’m reminded that I’m not actually alone in this world. In addition to Mama and Aunt Geneva, I have Soledad and Yasmen, and by extension, their beautiful families, their amazing children. I have them all and I can be as honest with them as I need to be with myself.
“Am I attracted to him?” I ask. “Hell, yeah, of course I am. You saw the man in a wetsuit.”
Yasmen shivers dramatically. “It was a sight we won’t soon forget.”
“But it’s not just how he looks,” I say, fiddling with one of Soledad’s toothpicks and dropping my eyes to the counter. “He’s generous and thoughtful. When we’re together… when we talk… something sparks. I look forward to our conversations. He makes me think and question and… Well, I like having him in my life.”
I glance up, searching my friends’ faces. “Is that wrong?”
“Nothing wrong with any of that,” Soledad says. “I’m glad you have it. I just want every step you take to be with your eyes wide open. If something more than friendship develops with him, it gets complicated.”
“If there’s one thing you are more than anyone else I’ve ever met,” Yasmen says, dipping a pecan into the fig jam and grinning at Soledad’s indignant face, “it’s honest. You’re always honest with us. Make sure you’re being honest with yourself.”
A laughing roar erupts from the room next door.
“Draw four, Aaron!” screams Lottie, Soledad’s youngest.
No answering response comes from Aaron, who is only partially verbal. I love how, now that he’s comfortable with our group, he’s a little more engaged.
“Jesus,” Yasmen groans. “Uno again? Please make it stop.”
“We also have Taboo,” Soledad says, rubbing her hands together. “And Cards Against Humanity.”
“Josiah does like that one,” Yasmen admits grudgingly. “I guess let the games begin.”
Another text message flashes on my phone.
Maverick: Hey. So we starting a new episode or what?
The scene of domesticity suddenly feels a little tight around my collar. Everyone paired off. All the kids having blended family fun. I’m usually fine being the glamorous third wheel who needs nothing and nobody beyond my girls. But tonight that ache spreads over the surface of my heart like an ink stain, and I want… more. Something else. The world isn’t designed for women like me. Women who’d rather be single literally for years than settle for a partner not worthy of her. A woman who doesn’t want to be a mother, and assumes the rich auntie role with panache, but occasionally feels left out on game night.
“Can I get a rain check?” I ask, grabbing a paper plate and loading it with several hors d’oeuvres and some of Soledad’s brownie batter dip. I love that shit. “I think I’m gonna head out.”
“And miss game night?” Soledad’s consternation is clear.
Yasmen’s eyes drift from my face to the phone still clutched in my hand. “Let’s give her a pass, Sol.”
“I promise next time,” I say, heading for the back door and balancing my heavy plate. “I’m in for Taboo and Picklenary—”
“Pictionary,” Soledad corrects me with a smile.
“That too. All of ’em. Next time. Love yous!”
“Love yous,” they both chorus.
As soon as I’m in my car I set the plate on the passenger seat and take my phone back out.
Me: Hey! I’m down. Give me twenty?
Maverick: I’ll wait for you.