15. Amara #2
"There's no rush. Just let's enjoy the wonderful meal you've cooked," he suggested. "And maybe Basil will add to the entertainment by beating the shit out of me."
I choked out a watery laugh.
"You can stay for dinner." My voice was barely above a whisper. "But don't think for a second that this is more than that. We're not friends. We're not lovers. We're nothing."
He gave me one of his genuine smiles. "I'm a guest at your dinner table. For now, that's enough."
We worked together in harmony, as we used to when we dated and lived together. I did the duck and the vegetables. He added the salad and topped it with pine nuts for some crunch.
To my surprise, dinner was fun, easy, and relaxed despite the initial drama. We had good food, great wine, and some very eclectic and interesting people coming together.
I loved the diversity in my friend circle.
Gemma was African American. Basil was half Latino and half white.
Ace and Emily were both mixed race, though I wasn't sure of the specifics.
As for me, with my half-Italian father, quarter-Native American maternal grandmother, and quarter-British maternal grandfather, I was also far from typical Anglo-Saxon, though I often passed for it.
We also had various professions at the table.
Ace and Jax were professional golfers, though I learned that Ace also worked at a veteran's rehab center as he was a trained physical therapist. Emily had her own event planning business and had been working as a planner for many years.
Lucas had his own company. Gemma, Basil, and I were academics, though different disciplines.
Eventually, Basil didn't beat the shit out of Lucas, but he also told him to buzz off when he offered to clean up after dinner.
"I haven't seen my girl in months, and she still likes me," he told Lucas.
Thankfully, Lucas left with a polite thank you and didn't respond to my "don't send me anymore flowers" demand.
Once we finished cleaning up, Basil and I sat on my back porch with glasses of vintage port that he'd brought.
"You letting him back in." Basil swirled the port in his glass.
"Is that a statement or question?" I put my feet up on Basil's lap.
I was sitting sideways on the outdoor couch I'd recently bought, which was quickly becoming my favorite place to work and relax, especially with the weather being so perfect this time of year.
It wasn't too hot or too cold—just right.
Soon, it would get colder, and by Thanksgiving, I would need to find an outdoor heater if I wanted to sit here.
Basil set his glass aside and automatically began to rub my aching feet. I'd been on them all day cooking and cleaning.
"A statement."
"You think I'm that weak?"
Basil pushed into my right arch, and I moaned. "There is no weak or strong here. That man made a mistake. He knows it now."
"What if he makes a mistake again?"
"He won't. Well, not the same mistake, at least."
"How do you know?" I leaned back and looked intently at Basil.
Big swings of emotion did not drive my friend. He was level-headed and analytical.
"Lucas comes from a world that is stifling. They may have money, but they have more rules and regulations than the FDA. Dating you was already creating waves. When you moved in together, I'm sure his mother and sister started to push his buttons every which way they could."
"It sounds like what you're saying is that Lucas is weak."
Basil twisted one of my toes.
"Ouch."
"Shut up and listen to your Yoda."
"Great one, you are; speak, if you must," I said facetiously, giving my best Yoda impression.
He chuckled. "You have a supportive father and friends who encourage you to live your life on your terms. Lucas has people who tell him not to dishonor the family name."
I considered what he said. "Jax told me that when he told his family he wanted to play golf, they all but disowned him."
"See."
"But he did it."
"From what he's told me, he has two older brothers who could take care of the family business.
Lucas is the only son. Also, compared to the Caldwells, the Covingtons are an older, wealthier, and more prominent family.
The pressure on Lucas must've been and probably still is immense.
" Basil picked up his port and drank a little.
"He never told me."
"He probably didn't want to hurt your feelings 'cause you can be sensitive about this shit." I gently kicked Basil, and he held my offending foot down. "I think not standing up against his mother was how he kept the peace because if he let her do that, he could have you."
I'd never considered that, and it made me wonder what it said about Lucas and me that our communication was so poor. Maybe it was fitting that we weren't together. I hadn't told him how much his mother hurt me, and he hadn't shared what he was dealing with on the family front.
"When you said you wanted to leave him because of what you heard, which you were right to do, he caved."
I let out a deep breath. "He hurt me."
"And himself."
"He said he loves Kath and not me."
"Easier to let you go if he believes that."
"I hate this psychology shit."
Basil laughed. "Don't hate me because I'm smart."
"What do you think he wants now?"
"He wants you back."
"There were too many things against us and that has not changed. We apparently sucked at communicating what we were going through. His family hates my guts."
"Except Rena," Basil pointed out. "She hooked you up with Jax."
"Right. But that woman scares the bejesus out of me."
"She's intimidating," Basil agreed. He'd encountered Rena Covington at university fundraisers.
"What do you think I should do?"
Basil shook his head. "I can't tell you, Sunshine. I am just telling you what I think is going on. You have to figure out what you want."
I pulled my legs up and leaned my chin on my knees. "I don't know what I want."
"Yes, you do. You're afraid to want it, but what you want is to go back in time and be with Lucas like none of this happened."
I sighed. My friend knew me very well.
"But wanting what was in the past is not going to take me into the future," I remarked. "I'm going to think about it."
"Yeah, and while you're at it, you shouldn't eye fuck Lucas quite so blatantly when you do."
"I did not eye fuck him." I picked up a cushion and threw it at Basil.
He laughed as he caught it and threw it back at me. "All through dinner. I thought you were going to drag him into your bedroom."
I hugged the cushion. "He looked delicious. And he smelled so good. I miss sex."
"Just sex?"
"I miss sex with him," I admitted wanly.
"The first step to recognizing a problem is admitting it," he stated condescendingly.
"I don't have a problem."
"Do, too."
We talked into the early morning, and it felt like no time had passed since I last saw him. That was the true test of a good friendship—after months apart, we were still perfectly in sync.