Chapter 5 #4
He stood up and grabbed this plate as he answered me.
I guess we were wrapping up the evening.
“I’ll be back Saturday night.” He extended the hand with which he held the plate.
“This was great. Thanks for the food and the wine. I would’ve probably just caved in and had a burrito for dinner.
” He made a face and winked at me, and my dumb heart wanted to burst just from that.
I stood with my plate and walked with him to the kitchen. “It was nothing. I was glad to have someone to eat with. Most nights I just eat standing up in the kitchen. It was nice to set the table.”
He leaned against the kitchen counter, once we’d cleaned up and I sat down on the island right across from him. I was intensely aware of his body. Then again, I was always hyperaware of Patrice whenever he was in the room.
We were so close, but I could not touch.
I was practically vibrating with the need to run my hands over his chest. To kiss and nip at his skin like I’d done before.
I had to close my hands into fists, because the temptation was almost overwhelming.
After a moment, I cleared my throat to say something, anything, to break this tension.
“So will you stay with your parents when you go to the city?”
He gave me a look like he wasn’t sure if I was being serious or not in my sudden interest of his family.
“It’s just my mom. Well, she’s married now, but that happened only a few years ago, so it’s not like I call him dad or anything.
They got together after I started college.
He’s a nice guy and he treats her well.” He did that shrug thing I’d noticed he did when he was trying to convey indifference.
“My dad was never really in the picture.”
Now I felt like an asshole, because from what Priscilla told me, I should’ve assumed that his family history would be complicated, and probably not in my WASPy everyone-hates-each-other-but-pretends everything-is-fine kind of way.
I was about to try to pivot away from a topic that clearly was going to be problematic, when Patrice moved to pour some more champagne in my glass and topped himself off.
“My mother was my father’s mistress in Haiti.” He looked right at me, head back and shoulders straight. Like he wanted to make it very clear that he was not ashamed.
“He came by every day for a few hours, but he was never a parent. He said hello and asked me how I was doing or whatever, but he wasn’t my dad.”
He chuckled, but again there was no humor in it. “I didn’t realize not everyone’s dad came over from six to eight at night Monday to Friday, until I was like eight.”
I tried to say something because I felt like him sharing this was some kind of self-punishment. “Patrice you don’t—”
He shook his head and kept talking. “My dad had money and he wanted to take his family to France when things got bad after the coup. He told my mom he couldn’t take us with him.
His wife wouldn’t tolerate that, but he did help her get visas for us to come here.
” There was an edge to his voice. Whatever else happened between Patrice and his father, none of it seemed like it had been good.
“He gave her money, too. We left Haiti by car and drove to the DR, then flew out of Santo Domingo to come here.” I noticed he was no longer glaring, just talking. Telling me his story. Opening up to me.
“That must’ve been so hard, Patrice.”
He lifted both shoulders and shook his head, clearly not as unaffected as he wanted to appear.
“I was six, so I don’t remember a lot. I do remember feeling afraid.
I’ll never forget my mom’s face when we left our little house and got in the car to leave.
She looked so scared. We only had two suitcases and left everything else to my mom’s family.
When we got on the plane to Miami, my mom doubled over.
” The edges of his mouth were tight, his handsome face pinched with the images from those times.
“I remember she shoved a handkerchief she always carried around into her mouth and sobbed so hard her shoulders shook.”
A breath shuddered out of me picturing him as a little boy, his entire life changing.
“I’d never seen her like that. I remember I needed to go to the bathroom, but I didn’t tell her.
I was so worried about making her more upset.
She’d always been steady, you know? Calm,” he said, holding out a steady hand.
“If I fell and showed up at the house with the bone sticking out of my leg, she just turned around to get her purse, and said, ‘You’ll be fine. We can take care of that in the ER.’ But that day, she was inconsolable.
I didn’t know how to handle her looking so terrified.
Looking back, she was only twenty-seven. ”
I shook my head as he talked. I could not imagine what it was like to leave everything behind like that. Not knowing when or if you’d come back, if your family would be okay.
I couldn’t not touch him.
I got closer and ran my hand over his face. “Patrice.”
He shook his head then looked at me like he forgot I’d been there the whole time and then laughed. “I don’t know what it is about being around you, but I just want to spill my guts.” He sounded embarrassed and a little bewildered.
I was going to make a joke or say something to make things less serious, like I usually did, but I stopped myself. Patrice didn’t need me to make this funny or light. He had opened up to me for a reason. Even if neither of us could admit what that reason was yet.
“I’m always in awe of people that do what you and your mom did. Pick up and start over in a new place, with a new language, and which honestly, isn’t always very welcoming. And to achieve everything you have. It’s amazing.” The awe in my voice was one hundred percent sincere.
That was the last straw apparently, because he stood up from the counter so he was facing me, our bodies only inches apart. “Why can’t I stay away?”
He didn’t need to say from what or who.
“I’m right here.” I was going to say something else about how I was happy to be his friend, but I left it at that. Because I was here. I could rein it in, I could be respectful, but if he wanted more...
I was here.
He moved his body closer, his feet planted on the floor, but his torso swaying in my direction and I didn’t move, too turned-on and overwhelmed by the feel of him.
I stood there, barely breathing and hoping he lost it first, my heard pounding in my ears.
I could almost taste him again, but when I tipped my head up, hoping for a kiss, he closed his eyes and stepped back instead.
“I’m going to head out.” He smiled, friendly, but the flirting was over. “Thanks again for dinner.”
Point taken.
I walked him out of my apartment and watched as he took the stairs.
I weakly reminded myself that friendship was better than nothing.
I could at least build something with him, but I was not going to lie to myself.
What I wanted was Patrice Denis in my bed, and I was certain that’s what he wanted, too.