Chapter Twelve
Nazir
“We Can’t Be Friends” by Deborah Cox and R.L.
There was something about the way God forced you to see the error of your ways. It was one thing to know it, and another to be reminded of it. He wanted to bring me to my knees so I could see just how royally I had fucked up with Tatiana. Not much could knock me off my square––except her.
After parking in front of the building, I sat there for a second with my hands on the steering wheel and my heart pounding.
This building represented a person I hadn’t encountered in years––someone I had lost contact with.
This building had my heart smeared on its walls, all the way up to the twenty-first floor.
It held things that neither Tatiana nor I ever spoke out loud.
The memories were woven among the silk sheets and restless nights.
It was our personal sanctuary, where we kept secrets we were too afraid to share with the outside world.
The valet attendant stood at the entrance, unsure whether he should come to get my keys or remain there, waiting for me to emerge from behind the wheel. He chose the latter.
As I sat there, taking in the pristine glass that protected the inside from the raw and gritty streets that New York City housed, I knew I had to get out from behind this wheel, hand my keys to the valet, and walk into the building that housed a broken heart––a heart that was once whole.
The healed heart that I had the pleasure of holding, assuring, and protecting behind these walls.
This building was more than just a building to me.
The more I stared at the entrance, the more memories came flooding back to me.
Memories of us arguing, making up, and then laughing at the foolish shit we argued about.
This building had witnessed us both fall apart and then build each other back up.
It held things neither of us dared to utter outside the walls of this building.
As I sat in the car, I watched an older white man come up the block and dap the young valet attendant.
He was the doorman. I remember when he used to open the door for me late at night when I came in with my eyes so low because I would rather sleep when I was dead than let my woman take care of me.
Every time I walked down that long block, his pale face greeted me as he held the door open, never making any awkward conversation.
He was there to do his job, and his smile let me know he saw me, and there was a mutual respect.
An unspoken alliance.
I wondered if he remembered me. If he would remember the broke man who also happened to be broken.
The man who didn’t belong on this side of the city, on that block with a building that housed people who made someone’s salary in a day.
The same broke man who was with that rich woman, who never made him feel less than and allowed him to pay for every meal, even if it was his last. He knew I never belonged; however, he never made me feel like I didn’t.
Back then, he saw the woman in love with the boy who was trying to find his footing. A boy trying to find his way as a man so he could provide––as he had always been told to do. I was trying…dying to become everything I knew I could be.
Everything I had been raised to be.
Honestly, that was the reason I decided to leave her.
It wasn’t an impulsive decision; it was something I had thought about for a while and knew had to be done.
As much as I loved Tatiana, it also haunted me.
Being in her world, knowing I didn’t belong there.
That I would always be hidden. Her secret.
Whenever I would become lost in the view from her balcony, I would sit and wonder what it must have felt like to have something like this…
as a man. Not just a visitor passing through overnight, but someone who walked in the front door and made it mine.
Holding the keys, being acknowledged by my last name by the staff.
Never having to check in with the front desk before being allowed up to the floor where I lived.
It was funny because the longer I sat out here, the more I felt like that lost man from back then––the man, cosplaying as a boy, who had no idea what he wanted or the means to provide for the woman he loved.
I had to remind myself that the man who sat behind the wheel of this Rolls-Royce wasn’t the same man who used to walk three blocks from the subway.
I had everything I used to think was out of my reach.
Well, almost everything.
I had the money, control, and power. Still, when it came to Tatiana, I felt like that boy, praying she still had space in her heart for me.
I shifted in my seat, then flashed my headlights to signal the valet that I was ready. The doorman had gone inside, probably to put his stuff up and start his shift.
“You ready, boss?” he asked, looking at me as I got out of the car.
His hand was already reaching for the keys, eager to take my car and whip it around the block. It was likely the only time his ass would get to sit on the soft leather and handle a car of that caliber.
Without saying a word, I reached into my pocket, peeled off a couple of hundreds, and stuffed the bills into his hand along with the key fob.
“A…are you sure?” the valet stammered from behind me, his reaction letting me know he had never received such a large tip before.
The doorman standing there, waiting for his shift replacement, held the door open for me––already aware of my reason for being there.
It was a little after two in the morning, and his eyes looked tired. I’m sure all he wanted was to clock out and dive into bed before having to wake up and return to work again the next day.
“Welcome back, Mr. Kane.”
Walking through the door, I made my way past the front desk and to the gold-rimmed elevator.
I caught my reflection before the doors opened.
Dressed down in a pair of sweats, a T-shirt, and the latest designer sneakers, I was still the same Nazir, only now with extra commas in my bank account, investments under my belt, and my family never wanting for anything.
The elevator took me up to her floor––the same floor she used to share with one other condo. Now, she owned the entire floor, and the elevator opened into the foyer. As it passed each floor, my heart thumped harder and faster.
Despite the changes to her condo, the elevator remained the same.
In the corner to the left, I remember pinning her there while sucking on her neck.
I could still smell that cherry lip gloss and her cool minty breath.
Her soft moans while I attacked her neck with kisses and flicks of my tongue.
The feeling of her arms wrapped around my neck while I held her close.
Lost in my thoughts, the elevator chimed to let me know I had arrived.
I stood in the middle of the elevator, taking up space while waiting for it to open. As soon as the door opened, I saw a security team member standing in the foyer. He was eating a beef jerky stick and nodded when he saw me.
“Heard somebody coming up. Nigga at the front desk don’t ever call and let us know somebody’s coming up,” Kilo, one of my top guards, rambled.
The night shift that worked the front desk slacked when it came to announcing visitors. Even knowing who I was, he should have called to give a heads-up, but he never did.
“Nigga probably on his phone or some shit,” I said as I passed him and entered the rest of the home.
Home.
Even though I always turned down her attempts to get me to move in with her, this place always felt like home.
Not because of the expensive bamboo floors or the million-dollar view, but because she had always been here––either sitting on the couch with her textbooks or standing in the kitchen trying to figure out how to work the state-of-the-art stove.
As soon as I stepped over the threshold, broken from the cold world, her warmth was right there waiting for me.
The air always smelled like her––santal and vanilla.
The scent clung to her body like a six-month-old clings to its mother.
Her smell always lingered in the air or on my clothes, even after she was no longer in the same room.
My body always reacted to her. My heart steadied, and I could finally breathe easily.
The noise in my head quieted enough for me to hear her.
I didn’t need to be Naz when I was in the confines of these walls.
To her, I was Nazir, and that was who I could be.
As I walked further into the condo, my guard gradually lowered, and I found myself looking at pictures of Tatiana, my daughter, and a man.
The wedding and beach ceremony photos made it clear that the man was her husband.
Nazira was smiling brightly while standing in the middle of them.
Tatiana matched her smile as she looked down at our creation.
In the second picture, she was looking off into the distance while holding her husband’s hand.
But there was something I noticed. In the midst of happiness, she had a lost look in her eyes, as if she was desperately trying to find what she needed to keep the smile on her face.
Stepping into the living room, which had been transformed from the small space with the brown suede couch, I recalled how we used to sit there for hours, taking in the view her condo offered.
Her head on my shoulder, her legs thrown across me––peace filled my entire being whenever we shared those moments.
Even after all the years that had passed, that same feeling was still there.
It was different, even heavier. But it felt real, like the place remembered me, too.
It had gone through a transition, too––becoming larger than it used to be, breaking down walls, and adding more elements of luxury to it.
Like me.