Chapter 20 Niyi #2
I gave up everything. I am giving up something I genuinely want because there’s no way to be just Niyi, not Saturn. Like an anointed priest, I am chained to my vows. But unlike the clergy, I didn’t choose this life. I don’t want this life. I don’t like this life.
There must be a way. It’s too late for a chance with Moyo, since her next date will likely be her soulmate. But there must be a way for myself.
Gods can live indefinitely as long as the commitment to serve is renewed. But I don’t need eternity to know I am not committed to this role.
I want one life. My life.
And once I say goodbye to Moyo and get the algorithm in place, I’ll figure out a way. Like Moyo reminded me, I am Saturn and of the New Moon—if change is possible, it’s my job to find it.
Date #2
I STEP INTO THE QUAINT, RETRO DINER WITH CHECKERED linoleum floors and red booths and am transported to the ’50s. In the corner sits a jukebox that ties the aesthetic together, but music plays from the overhead speakers.
A doorbell chime announces my presence, and a tall, handsome figure turns to the sound.
“Moyo, right?”
“Maxwell?” I confirm.
“In the flesh.” He beams, and I linger on his features.
Just like at the Cupid’s Bow mixer, his chiseled jaw, light brown skin, perfect teeth, and inviting warm, brown eyes draw out my smile.
The monochromatic black pants and turtleneck he’s wearing make his skin pop. He’s as handsome as I remember.
Guess that listening to Niyi and my girls worked, ’cause this pairing might be it.
I remember Niyi standing in my driveway as he waited for me to open the door. The contentment on his face as he savored the silence with eyes fixed on me. Like he had nothing better to do with his time. My smile threatens to widen, but I temper it, deciding to focus more on the present.
My date. Someone who fits into the plan.
“Shall we?” Maxwell extends a hand.
I take it, pleased by his gentlemanly manners.
Unlike my abysmal first date, Maxwell planned the entire night. Dinner and an old movie—perfection.
He gestures for me to enter the booth ahead of him, and a sharp whiff of cedar hits me. He not only looks good, but he smells great.
An older, white lady in blue wearing a white apron approaches our booth.
“Evenin’. I’m Jan, and I’ll be taking care of y’all today,” she says with a prominent Texan drawl. She provides a run-through of the complicated menu, outlining tonight’s specials before giving us a few minutes to think.
The name Chelle’s Shakes n Sides is written in the same ’50s script font as the brightly colored sign on the door. The laminated mini booklet features an extensive list of alcoholic and alcohol-free milkshakes, burgers, fries, sandwiches, steaks, all quintessentially American.
“Ever been here before?” I ask, hoping to find a topic to settle my uneasy stomach.
Maxwell lowers the menu to give me his full attention. Another Brownie point.
“Never. Been planning to for a while but with this being out of the city and the theater only playing once a month, my schedule hasn’t made it easy.”
“And things aligned this weekend?”
“When you’re involved, the stars make a way,” he says, flirting unabashedly.
“As a faithful Saturnian, I’d hope so.”
“The stars would be foolish not to help me out.”
My heart flutters, only slightly, but I feel the quick movement. To hide my blush, not like my dark skin doesn’t already do so, I bury my face in the menu. Soon after, Jan comes by to take our orders.
For my drink, I choose “The Campfire Killer,” a s’mores milkshake with mezcal and marshmallow vodka. Maxwell chooses “Grown-ups’ Table,” a Baileys-dominant drink with birthday-cake flavored vanilla vodka. We also get a side of crinkle-cut fries to start.
“Sure you don’t want anything else?” Maxwell asks after Jan leaves.
“I ate not too long ago,” I say. Anjie made me taste-test desserts before driving up here. After my first Cupid’s Bow date, I welcomed the pre-dinner dessert. But sitting here with Maxwell makes me regret that decision.
“No worries,” he says, with a calming smile. “So, are you excited for the movie?”
“I’ve never seen it, but I’ve always wanted to.”
“Neither have I, but it’s a pioneer in the genre—” he begins, but he’s cut off by the arrival of two hefty milkshakes and a basket of salty, aromatic fries.
The smoky mezcal of “The Campfire Killer” warms my insides, and I quickly take another sip.
Fuck. This is good.
Maxwell takes a sip of his drink topped with whipped cream. He also goes back for seconds and shakes his head fervently. “This is too good.”
“I know, right?” I say, my lips never leaving the straw.
He slides his drink towards me. “Want a taste?”
“Oh, no,” I protest. “Please enjoy your drink. I’m happy with mine.”
Maxwell raises a brow, and the change in his body language brings Niyi to mind.
“You sure?” he asks, his hand already poised to take the drink back.
I promptly take Niyi out of my mind. Not the time or place. “I’m sure.”
We spend the next couple of minutes conversing about the slasher subgenre of horror, which tonight’s movie birthed.
As my spirit-forward milkshake glass reaches empty, my uncontrollable chatterbox—or as it’s commonly known, my mouth—comes to life to discuss one of my favorite topics—Scream.
“What’s your favorite one?” I ask.
Maxwell leans back into the scarlet booth and throws his napkin onto the table.
He folds his arms, flexing his biceps. My eyes are drawn to the movement.
I know it’s cold, and that’s why he has on long sleeves, but I wish I could see his arms. He and Niyi have roughly the same build.
Do they have similar musculature? I wonder what Niyi would look like in a turtl—
“Moyo.” Maxwell’s husky tone snaps me out of it.
“Sorry, spaced out. What were you saying?” I’m slightly annoyed with myself. I can handle my liquor. There’s no reason for me to be disassociating like this.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s cool. I said Scream 2 is my favorite.”
“And here I thought things were going well.”
Maxwell laughs, and it’s a hearty sound.
“What is your favorite, then?” He leans in.
I do the same. “It’s the original Scream, and let me tell you why…”
I go on, mentioning the major talking points I’ve shared with the girls, and anyone who’d listen.
I touch on the brilliance of the opening scene, the homoeroticism of our dual killers, having the killer be someone we meet before the final reveal, the humor, the party scene! The party scene!! And so much more.
“…and that’s why the original is superior.” I conclude my passionate monologue, heart racing as the movie plays in my head—lines of dialogue and line delivery, especially anything Stu Macher said.
I await Maxwell’s opinion with bated breath. I feel a little vulnerable after sharing my interests so openly like that.
He takes a final sip of his drink. I watch his throat bob and his tongue swipe his lip.
Down girl.
“You know what?” he begins, and I sit up, hoping for a contrary perspective so I can delve deeper into my points or hear him out on his opinion. I doubt I’d change my mind, but it’s still worth hearing something new.
“I agree,” Maxwell says instead. “I’ll have to rewatch it when I get home, or we could watch it together sometime,” he adds, leaning in.
As soon as the words leave his lips, I deflate. Luckily, the light on his phone flashes, allowing me to not respond.
“Shit,” he mutters, “we gotta get walking. The drive-in is about ten minutes away.” He reaches into his pockets and brings out a leather wallet.
“Walking? We’re leaving our cars here?”
“Oh, yeah. I called earlier, and whoever was on the phone, now I’m guessing Jan, mentioned that some moviegoers park here and then walk to the screening.”
“That doesn’t answer how we’re gonna hear the sound of the movie,” I point out, confused.
Maxwell sits back down. “Sorry, I didn’t explain that well enough.
My car is already parked there, the entry fee and everything settled.
I also have blankets and pillows for maximum comfort,” he says with a wide grin.
“You can leave your car here and pick it up after the movie. Does that make sense?”
I bite my inner lip a little. “Yeah, that’s okay,” I say quietly. He runs to the counter to pay for our dinner.
I spend most of the walk to the drive-in parking lot staring at my white sneakers, wishing I had chosen either a longer coat or longer pants as the wind nips at my ankles, while Maxwell admires the starry night.
“Do you do any stargazing?” he asks, stopping to admire a planet in the clear sky.
“Umm…honestly? Not really. Occasionally I look at the moon, but nothing deep.”
“You’re a Cancer rising, right?” he asks, and I nod. He remembers that? “Seeing the moon makes sense, but you can see something else right now.” The marvel in his voice forces me to look up. The navy-blue sky is populated with bright dots I can barely make out.
“If you look over there…” He points to the left. I try to follow his lead, but I’m met with only a dark, starless sky. Maxwell places a cool hand on my shoulder, inching me slightly to the right. His other hand rests on my waist, the contact sending a thrum of energy through me.
Moving his hand from my shoulder, Maxwell points toward a bright dot larger than the rest. His breath lingers by my ear as he whispers, “You can see Saturn.”
I’m so distracted by the goosebumps and Maxwell’s deep voice that it takes me a moment to realize he mentioned Saturn—the planet that kick-started this entire journey with Cupid’s Bow…and Niyi.
I need to stop thinking about him.
“How did you get into stargazing?” I turn and focus on my date.
“It started before the astrology bit,” Maxwell says, brushing the side of his thick coils with his palm. “Astronomy has always been an interest, hence the aerospace engineer day job.” My mouth falls open. I can’t believe I forgot that. Shit.
Maxwell, the gentleman, laughs it off and continues. “Yeah, I decided to look more into the planets and found it quite interesting, which was surprising.”
“Why was it surprising?”
“I didn’t expect it to make sense, but it somehow does. And I think it’s a fun little thing you can share at parties or when you meet new people.” He nudges my shoulder gently. “So when I found this dating app, I wanted to try it out.”
“How’s it going?”
Before he can answer, an attendant’s voice rings out, informing the large crowd of the movie’s imminent start.
I follow Maxwell into the field of cars, towards his Volkswagen Atlas.
As mentioned, the car is filled with blankets and various pillows, ranging from down to memory foam to throw pillows.
There are also different candy brands in the glove compartment.
I grab one of the mini fruit snacks once I’m in the passenger seat.
“Comfy enough?” Maxwell asks.
“Oh, of course. This is all fantastic, and beautifully decorated, I might add.”
“Thank you! Wasn’t sure, couldn’t read your face.” He rubs the back of his neck.
Like Niyi, my mind supplies. No matter how hard I’ve tried to shake away the thoughts, they keep coming back, like a hydra.
“Sorry. I’ve been told I have a very unreadable resting face. It’s not you,” I say.
“Hopefully, with time, I’ll get to read you better.”
I pretend not to hear him as he dials the radio to the movie’s frequency, and the countdown begins.
“Wait, before I forget, how’s your Cupid’s Bow experience been?” I ask, wanting to end our pre-movie conversation with the present, not talking about future dates.
Maxwell’s gone all out but I’m not in love with it. At the start, I thought this—he—might be it, but now I’m not sure. The worst part is I can’t pinpoint why.
“After the mixer, it took a while to match me, so you’re my first date,” he says with an infectious, megawatt smile. I know I’m meant to smile, but it gives me pause.
His first? Oh.
He places his hand close to mine, near the gearshift. Not open to hand-holding and not wanting to be suspicious, I reach for a pack of sour gummies, taking my hand away from his.
He begins to say something else, but the countdown ends, and the title card introduces Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho.
Saved by the slasher.