12. Xavier
12
XAVIER
F or as long as I can remember, I’ve always thought of my mom as some superhuman entity. I guess it came from years of watching her survive, watching her endure, watching her constantly pick herself up and find the strength to be a good, loving mother to us. Even when we were no longer in her care, and she couldn’t sort the truth of her dedication to us from the lies and poison my father had filled her with, she was still all of those things to me.
In my close to forty-years of living, I’ve never seen her bested by anything, but the flu she’s fighting right now is damn sure coming close. She called me a yesterday, already horribly congested and running a fever that had her bordering on delirium, asking me to bring her some medicine and the grocery items she needed to make her famous chicken noodle soup. Being the obedient son that I am, I promised to bring her everything she asked for if she agreed to let Lou, my stepfather and her husband of fourteen years, make the soup. She agreed, but once I got over here with all the necessities in hand, she let it slip that Lou was traveling for work and wouldn’t be back until next week.
Which is how I wound up spending my Thursday night in her kitchen, stirring chicken noodle soup with one hand and checking my phone for a response to a text I sent hours ago with the other.
“It’s a lot easier to cook when you use both hands,” Ma muses from her perch in the living room. She’s nestled in one of the recliners Lou loves, a blanket wrapped around her and a face mask covering her mouth to protect me from her germs. Typically, she likes to curl up on the chaise attached to the large sectional. If I had to guess, I’d say today’s change in seating preferences is because of the way the recliners line up perfectly with the opening between the living room and the kitchen, allowing her to watch my every movement without having to stand.
Laughing, I turn the temperature on the eye down and place a lid on the pot. “All the cooking is done. Now, we just have to let it simmer so the flavors can marry.”
She pulls a face. “What you know about flavors marrying?”
My phone vibrates, and I look down quickly, my heart sinking when I see Orion’s name on the screen instead of Grayson’s. I haven’t heard from her since last night when we spent the night on FaceTime, me, redlining briefs and returning client emails, her, sketching pieces for her next collection and listening to music. She’d hung up after about an hour or so, claiming to be run down from too many busy nights after the successful launch of Elysian weeks ago. I encouraged her to get some rest, telling her to sleep in for once in her life, which means I wasn’t expecting to speak to her in the morning before work like usual, but now it’s the early evening and I still haven’t heard from her. I’m getting worried.
I pocket my phone and cross over into the living room, leaning over the back of the sectional. “Just something I heard on Food Network,” I admit, making her bark out a laugh that quickly turns into a cough. I start to move towards her, but she holds out a hand to stop me.
“I’m fine, baby. I can’t have you getting sick.”
“Ma, I’ll be fine. I came over here to take care of you, so let me do that, please.”
Her frown is clear to me even through the mask covering her mouth, and I can’t help but laugh. She’s so damn stubborn. Always convinced she’s a burden, even when we all tell her we don’t mind taking care of her.
“All I need is the flavors of your soup to finish their wedding, so you can fix me a bowl and get out of my hair.”
“Damn, woman, it’s like that?”
“Yes, it’s like that. You got better things to do than sit around babysitting your mama.”
“Not tonight, I don’t.”
She pushes up to her feet, shuffling over to the kitchen with the oversized knit blanket dragging on the floor behind her. “Yes, you do. You’re just waiting for Grayson to let you know what that something better is.”
“No, I’m not. Grayson is busy tonight, and I’ve already told her I’ve got my hands full with you.”
I follow her into the kitchen, putting my hands on her shoulders to guide her to a seat at the island and away from the stove. She lands on the barstool with a huff but no argument and watches me round the counter to find a bowl for her soup. It’s been on the stove for a while now, so it should be good to serve, but I still do another test taste before I fix her helping.
“When did you start getting bold enough to lie to your mama?” she asks, taking the bowl from my hands as soon as I bring it to her.
Instead of answering her question, I watch her take her first bite. “Is it good?”
“Doesn’t taste like mine, but it’ll do.”
My amusement leaves me in a sharp huff as I move over to another cabinet and find a storage bowl large enough to hold the rest of the soup. Ma eats quietly as I put the leftovers away and go about washing up the last of the dishes and wiping down her counters. She’s always been a stickler for cleaning, especially in the kitchen, so I take my time and disinfect every surface before moving on to sweeping the floor.
The tedium of cleaning is a nice distraction from Grayson’s silence, but it only lasts for so long. As soon as I’m done washing Ma’s bowl and spoon, I’m right back on my phone, checking to see if she’s texted.
She hasn’t.
“Just call the girl, Xavier,” Ma says, on her feet again, but this time heading toward her bedroom. She doesn’t even wait for me to respond, leaving me alone in the kitchen with only her suggestion and my phone for company. With a sigh, I unlock the screen and scroll until I find Grayson’s name on my contact list. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve initiated a call between us, but somehow, in the face of her silence, it feels like it matters that I’m the one reaching out again.
I don’t let myself think about it too much, don’t listen to the voice in my head that tells me I’ll look desperate if I call because I am a lot things for Grayson Hart, and desperate is definitely one of them.
The phone rings twice before she answers.
“Hel—” Her voice cracks around the end of the word. She sniffles and clears her throat, trying again. “Xavier, hey.”
“What’s the matter, baby?” I ask, bypassing all greetings and formalities.
Grayson sighs before responding, swallowing like it hurts to speak. “Flu.”
I’m on my feet in an instant, the phone cradled between my shoulder and ear as I make my way to the fridge to pull out the soup I just put up. “You went to the doctor?”
“Mhm hmm,” she hums. “They said it’s going around.”
“Yeah.” I rush over to the cabinet where Ma keeps her Tupperware and take out a bowl big enough to hold a generous serving. “Ma has it too.”
“Oh, no.” I can hear the pout in her voice, and it makes me want to kiss her forehead. “Tell her I hope she feels better soon.”
“Maybe you should worry about getting yourself better instead of sending someone else well wishes, Hart.” The broth is still warm, and it splashes onto my skin as I scoop large spoonfuls of it into the bowl I’ve already made up in my mind is going to Grayson.
“I can do both, Allen. Is anyone with her? Somebody should be taking care of her.”
The care and concern she has for my mother does something primal to me, and I wonder, not for the first time, how someone could be in possession of something as precious as her heart and abuse it so thoroughly.
“I came over and made her soup. She’s resting now, but I’m going to get Chase or Lincoln to come and sit with her for the rest of the night.”
“Why? Where are you going?”
It’s such an innocent question, speaking so clearly of her unawareness of how deeply I care for her, and it gives me pause, forcing me to remember our agreement about taking things slow, keeping things “un-serious” as Grayson would say. It’s such a frustrating thing. To want so much with someone so afraid to let themselves have it, have you. But I’m committed to the cause, to taking my time with Grayson, to asking for permission to do things that my feelings for her spark a natural desire in me to perform.
“Well, I was hoping you’d let me come over and take care of you.”
“Xavier, you don’t have to?—”
“But I want to, Hart. I want to. ”
The line goes quiet. For a moment, I think she’s going to refuse me, and I curse myself for coming on too strong, for being too upfront about my desire to take care of her when I know that she still has trouble accepting that kind of thing from a romantic partner. But then something miraculous happens. She pushes out a slow breath, considering the ramifications of accepting my offer. We would be in unfamiliar territory. She’d be welcoming me into her home without the pretense of sex to protect us from everything else we think of and feel for each other. I’d be dangerously close to showing the cards I’ve tried to play close to the vest.
We’d be making a mockery of every thing that has ever claimed to be un-serious.
“Okay,” she says carefully. “Kendra and Chantel are here now, but they’ll leave the door open for you.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” With my keys in one hand and the bowl of soup in the other, I make my way down the hall towards Ma’s room. “Do you need anything else? Meds, tissues, Gatorade?”
“No.” Her voice is soft with drowsiness, and I can tell she’s fading, giving in to whatever medicine I’m sure her cousins plied her with. “Just you.”
Although I’m certain an un-medicated Grayson would have never let those words slip past her lips, I can’t help but smile when I hear them, a part of me comforted by the proof that she’s as helpless as I am when it comes to this connection we have. When her soft snores fill the line, I end the call and knock on my mother’s door, waiting for her permission before pushing it open to find her snuggled deep under the covers.
She takes one look at the smile on my face and laughs. “Let me guess, you took my advice and called Grayson and now you’ve got plans?”
“Not quite. She’s sick, and I talked her into letting me come over to take care of her.”
“Poor thing. She’s been working too hard. Tell her she needs to make sure she’s resting in between all those fancy fashion shows.”
“I’ll let her know, Ma.”
“Alright. Well, I’ll see you later, baby. Love you.”
“Love you too.” I blow her a kiss from the doorway, knowing she won’t want me to come any closer now that she’s taken her mask off. “I’ll call to check on you in the morning, okay? Linc, Chase or O will be by later on tonight to see if you need anything.”
I make the promise even though I haven’t asked either of them if they’re available to fulfill it because I know they will. After the years we spent without her, none of us take our mother’s health, mental or physical, for granted. When she needs us, we always make a point to be there, even when she complains.
“Sounds good.” She turns her back to me, closing her eyes. “Tell Grayson I said hello.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As soon as I’m done locking up Ma’s house, I send a text to the group chat to make sure someone will stop by and check in on her. Everyone replies at once, relaying their availability and by the time I get to Grayson’s place, we have a care schedule lined up that will ensure Ma isn’t alone for the next few days. I even manage to squeeze in a quick call to Lou, letting him know what’s going on because I’m sure my stubborn mother didn’t even bother to read her husband in.
My suspicions are confirmed when, as I’m walking up to Grayson’s front door, I get a text from him thanking me for letting him know and promising to get an earlier flight back home. With all of my son duties done, I slide my phone into my back pocket and test the knob on Grayson’s front door, finding it unlocked just like she promised it would be. The house is quiet when I step inside, and it smells like her. There are shoes under the bench by the front door, so I toe mine off and leave them with the others, padding over to the kitchen to reheat the soup and grab a spoon before heading up the stairs.
This is only my second time here, but the layout is simple, and it doesn’t take me long to make my way to Grayson’s bedroom. The door is cracked, and I can hear the TV playing in the background. I push the door open, expecting to find her sleeping, but instead, she’s sitting up. Her back is against the headboard, and her arms are up while she tries to fix the messy bun on top of her head.
“You’re supposed to be laying down,” I say, moving over to her side of the bed. I place the bowl and spoon on her nightstand before planting a soft kiss on her overly warm forehead.
She swats me away. “Don’t. You’ll get sick.”
I lean back in, brushing my lips over her temple. “Don’t care.”
“You should care. This flu is awful.” Her hands are back in her hair the moment I pull back and take a seat on the edge of the bed. “I feel awful, and I’m sure I look even worse.”
I’m certain there’s no scenario in which she would look anything other than beautiful, but my eyes still sweep over her features to look for evidence to uphold her statement. Her hair is wild and frizzy, most of the perimeter refusing to be held by the satin hair tie she’s used to make the bun. There’s a bit of drool on the corner of her mouth and crusts of sleep in her left eye. Her skin isn’t as vibrant as it usually is, and there’s a glassiness to her eyes that always happens when someone is running a fever.
But even with all of that, she’s still beautiful.
She’s always beautiful.
“You’re perfect.”
Her arms drop to her sides, her hair forgotten. “You always say that.”
“And I always mean it too.” We’re both quiet for a moment, staring at each other, contemplating what we are and what we’ll be when this is all said and done. I know what I want, and I think, based on the way she’s looking at me, Grayson knows, too. I also think she wants the same things, but now isn’t the time for me to push her on that.
“When’s the last time you ate?”
She bites her lips, casting her eyes up to the ceiling as she tries to recall. “Chantel force fed me a banana before she drove me to the doctor this morning.”
I balk, reaching over to grab the bowl and spoon from her nightstand. “This morning?! It’s almost seven, Hart.”
“I know. I’ve been asleep for most of the day. That’s why I missed all of your texts.”
“I don’t care about the texts, Grayson,” I mutter, popping the top off the bowl and scooping up a spoonful of broth. “I care that you’ve been taking medicine on an empty stomach.”
Her eyes narrow, telling me how much she resents being scolded, but she still opens up when I carefully bring the bite to her mouth. Her lips wrap around the spoon, and she moans with relief when she swallows, holding a hand to her throat.
“That feels nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Do you want more?” She nods, and I prepare another bite, spoon feeding her until her eyes are low with a renewed need for sleep. I rise to my feet, grabbing the lid for the bowl and reattaching it while Grayson watches me through rapidly fluttering lids. “Lay back down, baby.”
She complies, sliding under the covers. “Will you hold me?”
God, my fucking heart can’t take her like this. All soft and needy for me. It makes me want to say things I know I shouldn’t say. I bite the inside of my cheek and hold up the bowl. “Of course, I will. Let me put this soup up first, okay?”
“Okay.”
I take the stairs two at a time on the way down, making sure the house is secure before returning to Grayson’s room to find her fighting sleep.
“Why are you still up, Hart?” I’m undoing my pants, refusing to get in her bed in my work clothes, and she smiles, hazy eyes following my every move as I strip down to nothing but a pair of briefs.
“I wanted to see the show.”
“Pervert.”
Grayson giggles as I slip between sheets that smell like her, wrapping one arm around her waist to pull her closer. We both let out a soft sigh when her head comes to rest on my chest. Sleep finds her almost instantly, but I lie awake for hours just to listen to her breathe, just to soak in the reality of being needed by a woman who’s determined to never need a man again, trusted by a woman who’s had her faith in another weaponized, and wanted by a woman I’ve craved since the day we met.