28. Everly
( Eight months ago )
I dragged myself across my threshold, ready to soak in my tub, then curl into a ball in my bed. Today had been horrible, one of the days that I hated my job, hated being a nurse in general. I made sure my door was secure behind me before heading for the stairs. Fifteen minutes later, I had washed my face and brushed my teeth. I stood naked, waiting for the bath to fill as the scents of lemon and orange sweetened by honey rose around me.
I sank into the granite tub and went boneless for a minute, just letting the water swallow me. I was hoping it would soothe away my mental and physical aches, the overwhelming pain of the day. But that wasn't my luck. Slowly, I pulled my knees toward me, my head dropping as my tears disappeared into the water. I bit my lip as the anguish of the day's events settled over me. Looping my arms around my legs, I rested my head on my knees and just cried for a minute. I didn't give in to the urge to flat out sob. If I did, I might never get out and Real was coming over. Usually, a day like today left me wanting to be alone, but I was looking forward to seeing Real. It almost felt like I needed to see him. I liked talking to him. More than that, I liked just being with him. I didn't want to think too much about what that meant for our arrangement.
After bathing and thoroughly moisturizing my body, I slipped into a snug, lavender, cotton-knit tee and matching little skirt. I did a quick beat, needing the mask between Real and me because I felt so vulnerable. I needed something to do until he got here, something that would distract me and require my concentration without being too difficult. I reached for my phone. He answered after the second ring.
"You can't wait to see Daddy?" he teased.
I couldn't help the smile that crept across my face.
"Have you eaten, Mr. Conceited?" I asked.
"I was gon' pick up something, but shiii, if you cooking..."
"I'm cooking."
The phone went silent for a minute. I looked down at my screen, waiting. Finally, I called his name, wondering if he was in a bad spot.
"I'm here. Why you sound like that?" he asked.
It was my turn to be quiet as the question caught me off-guard. I cleared my throat and tried to inject some happiness into my voice.
"Like what?"
"Like something's wrong. Ev--"
I laughed softly, hoping he didn't realize how fake it was.
"Nothing's wrong. I'll see you soon, okay?"
Quiet again, then, "Yeah, see you soon."
I disconnected the call right before the tears started again. Something about the fact that he could read my voice and cared enough to comment on it had me sobbing, delaying my start on the fajitas, rice, and beans for half an hour. I had just gotten everything started when I got the notification that he was here. I buzzed him in and sipped from the glass of wine I had poured. I heard the front door open and close as he entered the house. His footsteps neared, and I turned toward the stove, blindly stirring my peppers and onions. I didn't say anything, even when he was finally close enough for me to inhale his delicious cologne.
"I asked you what was wrong," he said, voice low.
I shrugged, tempted to ignore his question.
"And I told you, nothing."
"A'ight, shorty," he said.
I felt a strange mix of relief that he wouldn't be quizzing me and disappointment that he gave up so easily. I wasn't prepared for the strong hand that reached around me and turned my vegetables and beans off. Thank God my rice was in its own cooker.
"Montréal, what are you doing? I'm trying ? —"
He spun me around and pinned me against the counter fast as hell before leaning down until our lips almost touched. His eyes were narrowed on my face.
"Don't lie to me, Ev. I can't stand that shit. And especially don't lie to me when something is going on with you," he cut through my protests. "Tell me."
I shook my head. "Real, it's--"
"You really feel like a nigga thinks that little of you? I'm supposed to come over here, let you cook for me, and spread you out like I don't notice you hurting? Kind of weak ass men you used to?" he asked. "Tell me."
I pressed my wrists against my eyes, trying to stop their leaking, even as my breath hitched. I didn't even fight as he pulled me into his arms and against his solid chest.
"Come on, love," he whispered, "tell me."
The combination of his touch and his words broke my resolve.
"I lost one of my babies today."
My voice cracked on the last word, and I leaned into him, crying. The story fell from me in jagged bits and pieces. I'd been there for stillbirths before and lost little ones hours or days after birth. Each time was sad, but I'd learned to hold it together. But this one was different, made even more tragic by how unexpected it was and the parents' circumstances. They'd tried so hard to conceive, had finally done so and made it to their sixth month of pregnancy. Then a teenager on his way to school and trying to impress his friends with the speed of his new car lost control and hit them. Mommy had minor injuries but the shock sent her into a labor we couldn't stop. Baby girl didn't survive. My whole team was devastated, despite all the training we had in dissociation. I had never heard anything like that mother's cries. That would stay with me forever.
Real didn't try to shush me or tell me it was okay. He just held me as I stammered out the words, rubbing my back and pressing angel kisses against my face. At some point, he got me up the stairs and into bed where I fell asleep, sniffing and hiccuping but warm and recovering, in his arms.
He used the time to finish dinner, waking me to sit up and eat. As I finished, he cupped my cheek and tilted my face up.
"Still no sleepovers?" he asked softly.
I was so tempted. Real chased away the despair, filled me with something so warm and comforting... something that felt scarily necessary to me. That fear had me shaking my head, contradicting my heart.
He grabbed the tray covering my lap. After brushing my teeth, I followed him downstairs where he ignored my protests and cleaned my kitchen. He left after giving me a kiss that stole my breath. "Tomorrow will be better, love," he whispered.
Relief pulsed through me. I believed it just because he said it. Real had proved himself to be just what his name implied, and I had come to count on that. For the first time in forever, I trusted a man outside my family.
I knew I was in trouble.