29. Awa
Chapter twenty-nine
Awa
On the wall by the kitchen sits a five by eight picture of Noah with what must be his family.
A severe-looking Asian man built like ex-military.
An auburn-haired woman with a sweet smile clings to his broad shoulders while five handsome men surround them.
I spot Noah right away, standing next to a young man who bears a striking resemblance to him, except he wears glasses and looks like he'd get along well with the stuffed shirts at my firm.
"Identical?" I whisper, then quickly cover my mouth when Noah's sleepy protest rumbles through me.
I knew he had a twin. He told me once that he had a lot of brothers, and that his twin stayed at Yale when he transferred to USC. But I had no idea Noah was part of a matching set.
That's just more proof that, although he's currently wrapped around me like some sort of sexy boa constrictor, nudging my nipple with his nose as he snuggles to get more comfortable, I don't know him.
Not really. When he broke things off so abruptly back in college, our friendship was just beginning.
I meant nothing to him, and he should've meant nothing to me.
The plan last night was simple. Release the pressure valve on all this sexual tension between us and then go back to business as usual.
It's a tall order, especially for me. I already know I get attached easily, especially where sex is involved, so I should've known better than to fall asleep instead of grabbing my clothes and letting the doorman call me a car.
"As if you had a choice," I grumble quietly to myself. I turn away from the family picture and stare at the stark white ceiling instead.
Noah did exactly what he promised; he left me in a puddle of pleasure on his couch. I couldn't have walked out right after cumming even if I'd wanted to. My brain and my legs were mush.
I bite my lip and allow myself a moment to savor the memory.
How the hell is he so good at all of that?
I mean, I know he gets around and that's bound to teach you a few things, but he's like some kind of sex sensei.
He really gave me the VIP treatment when all I needed was a little something to take the edge off.
If not for his personality transplant yesterday, I would've gone home and used my rose and the thought of him like I have every other day.
How the hell is that going to be enough now?
"Please don't tell me you're awake already," he mumbles against my breast. "The sun's not even out."
"Sounds like the perfect time to head back to my place then," I answer, trying to extricate myself from Noah's grasp. He unwraps himself immediately, struggling to pull up his pants.
"Oh, right," he says, sounding more flustered than I'd expect for someone with his track record. "Let me call you a Lyft."
It's silent except for the rustling of our clothes as we both hastily get dressed.
I palm my ripped panties and stuff them into my purse.
He closes his pants with a sharp zip. I tug my dress closed and double-knot the belt.
He puts his suit back on over his bare chest—I guess his shirt was a lost cause.
"The Lyft will be here in five minutes," he murmurs, standing awkwardly behind the couch while I step back into my shoes. My feet are no longer crying out in pain…thanks to his skillful hands.
"Thanks," I reply. Then it's back to silence and nervous eye contact.
Merde! Set is going to be a nightmare if we can't even make small talk the morning after without sounding like robots. Maybe it's time to stop hiding out and go tend to some of my other clients. Tabitha said herself that she's fine.
"Well…" I trail off. I never know what to say after a night of no-strings sex. I guess that's the problem. One of many. Noah doesn't even try to fill the uncomfortable pause.
"Last night was fun," I offer feebly, floundering without the professional composure that usually serves me so well. I'm out of my element, and I need to get back to what I do best. "I'll see you around set," I say, walking towards the door.
"Absolutely," he responds. He's wearing one of his signature smiles, but it's not as bright as it was yesterday. It's probably too early to turn on all the charm.
After an awkward hug and a surprisingly sweet kiss on the cheek, Noah closes the door behind me. Only when I hear the deadbolt slide into place do my shoulders relax.
I've got to figure out my next move.
Buzz. Buzz.
My meeting schedule for the next few days is light. Perfect for an impromptu trip to California.
Buzz. Buzz.
I'll let Tabitha and Rory know that I won't be around for the next few days. Maybe I'm done dropping by altogether, since things are going so well now…
Buzz. Buzz.
And I'll have to email Conrad and Emmitt. They've been on me about working off-site—out from under their watchful eyes—but they won't be able to argue the merits of a visit to the West Coast, especially if I manage to snag a new client.
When the insistent buzz of my phone continues even after I've gotten out of the elevator and into the back of the car, I yank it out of my purse only to groan.
Maman
My phone buzzes yet again, like it can see me roll my eyes, and I reluctantly answer. I've been screening her calls for weeks now, or rushing her off whenever she's managed to catch me before I check the ID. She's my mom and I love her, but…
I sigh.
There is no "but" with my mom. There can't be.
She and Dad gave so much to send me abroad for school, then graduate school.
Every immigrant whose parents are a continent away knows that the price you pay to come to America is settling for video calls when you can't fly home, living up to or surpassing the success of your parents' friend's children, and unwavering obedience and impeccable manners, even if you know your parents are only calling to voice their disappointment.
"Hi Maman," I answer, doing my best to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.
"Oh, it's Maman? So you know who I am? I thought you might have forgotten since you're too good to call anymore."
"Maman," I start, but she cuts me off.
"No, ma cherie. You listen to me now."
I swallow down another sigh.
"You are over there working hard," she continues, her tone more resigned. "You visit when you can, send money home even though your father asks you not to." She hesitates. "You are making us proud, ma cherie. I don't think I always remember to tell you that."
I'm speechless. So shocked by her words that I simply stare out the window and watch the city pass by. She's proud of me?
"Awa? Are you there?"
"Yes, yes," I answer, clearing the lump from my throat. "I'm sorry, Maman. I'm here."
"Yes, well." I can't hear it, but I know she's pursing her lips.
"Your father noticed the distance between us.
He said I'm too hard on you." She pauses again.
"Awa, you're a grown woman who has already excelled beyond our wildest dreams. And if I get too caught up in what this or that friend says about their son, or push you too hard, I'm…
I'm sorry. I love you, I want what's best for you, and I want to be in your life. "
I'm stunned. My mother has never said that.
She loves me, she supports me, but she's never been proud of me.
It's why I could never stop working. Her approval—the ultimate prize for the grueling hours and endless sacrifices—was always just out of reach.
Thank goodness it's not a video call, because the tears streaming down my face are making a mess of last night's already smudged makeup.
"Thank you," I push out, hoping to hide my emotional state. "All I want is to make you and Papa proud."
"Well," she answers, her voice thick, "you've succeeded. Now, can we please stop this fighting? I can't bear it any longer. I love you."
"I love you too, Maman," I sob. There's no point in pretending I can withstand this much parental pride without losing it.
We talk all the way back to my place, catching up on her friends from church, Dad's job, and even some of my former classmates she ran into at the market last week.
It's not without a few snide remarks on how often I come home, or a generous gift another friend's daughter sent her parents, but it's better.
For the first time in a long time, I feel respect between us.
I am accomplished. I am a good lawyer. I am a good daughter. And nothing—not comments from my mom, not an insane workload at Gehrig & Associates, not even whatever is happening between Noah and I—is going to make me lose sight of that again.
I hang up the phone with a promise to call later this week, then immediately dial Rory. It's time to get back to work.