Chapter 6 Monique #3
“What is he talking about?” Monique mumbled under her breath. She rested her elbows on the table and cradled her chin on top of her hands.
Maurice shook his head. “Chill with the dramatics, man. Who’s with me? Auntie Don, Mrs. Turner—”
Tommie cut him off. “Papa Turner, Moms, with Mo-Mo Monie in the Middle,” he said, pantomiming scratching on a turntable.
“So stupid,” Monique whispered through a tight laugh.
“Boy, sit down,” Aunt Don said, while Lanie tugged him back down to his seat. “Monie, baby, I need you close by this weekend.” The look her aunt shot across the table left no room for debate.
Aldonia Lane-Fairbanks was not one to be trifled with. Diminutive with a perpetually cherubic face, she could freeze boiling water with a flinch of an eye muscle. If her razor-sharp tongue got involved… fatality.
But damn. Why’d she have to be under supervision?
Monique knew why. It didn’t need to be said, much less thought.
She nodded and offered an audible, “Yes, ma’am.” This trip was supposed to be about relaxing and maybe taking a few calculated risks. Tommie and Aunt Don would probably lock her in her room if she told them she wanted to go explore the nearby hills.
She didn’t need to be babysat. Auntie Deb would let her go.
“I’m a grown fucking woman,” she said under her breath. “This is some bullshit. Forcing me into the Polydent Parade. Nah.”
A persistent throat clearing annoyed Monique enough to bring her attention back to the table. She looked to her right and saw the source of the disturbance—Maurice—bringing his glass to his mouth.
“Chill…” he mumbled, his lips close to the rim of the glass.
Chill? Like he could even spell the word. Who was he to tell her to chill? Dude was so wound up he’d snap and fall apart any second now. Why did he get to tell her to chill? That’s exactly what this whole doggone trip was supposed to be: her chilling.
“Your internal thoughts are getting kinda… loud,” he covertly continued.
Awareness dawned. Shit. With her face scrunched in only slight embarrassment, Monique replied, “My board meetings tend to get heated and run long. Job hazard?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Am I in trouble?”
Chancing a glance around the table, no reprimands, verbal or otherwise, had been lobbed her way. Everyone was engrossed in planning the rest of the day. A task that she, apparently, wasn’t a part of.
Maurice shook his head, putting his glass down. “You’re fine. I think I was the only one who heard you.”
That was trouble, in Monique’s opinion. He’d heard her tantrum. Sheesh. Could she be more of a weirdo?
“You okay?” Maurice asked. “You go into another board meeting just now?” He chuckled with a deep vibrato that seemed attuned to some unknown enzyme in Monique’s cells. It wasn’t unpleasant.
She smiled at him. “We have a very involved board.”
“Really? Yet you’re productive.”
Okay, so he wasn’t freaking out. He might even have a sense of humor. “There have been periods of inefficiencies, but mostly, yes. The board is extremely productive and effective.”
Maurice nodded as if he understood and accepted what she was implying. “What industry? You said these meetings were a job hazard.”
Her mail route had been her world for fifteen years, walking the same block in all weather with the same elders on their stoops, the same shops and supply catalogues, the same cats perched in windows and dogs hopping at fence lines.
She knew her route by every crack in the pavement and mural on the walls—because she’d walked it.
Lately, as the neighborhood changed, audiobooks and podcasts became the only voices in her head.
Monique couldn’t remember when she’d started talking back.
He didn’t need to know all that, though.
She shifted and rested her cheek on her fist, turning toward Maurice. Something was different about him, now that they both were rested, fed, and refreshed. He didn’t exactly look how she remembered him.
How had a few hours changed him? She wasn’t joking about Maurice being at home here.
Sure, he was Tommie’s homeboy, but it was like he’d donned a cloak of confidence in the last few minutes.
Eyes that looked light in the candle glow early that morning now showed flecks of blue and gold and green dancing in the brown of his irises.
His well-moisturized chestnut brown skin held a smattering of moles and freckles and glistened in the afternoon sun.
Although his beard was black, it didn’t look artificially so.
The closer Monique inspected, the more she spotted shimmering strands of silver among the perfectly sculpted hairs, shaped to somehow sharpen his jaw yet make him look more youthful.
He was a truly beautiful man.
Attraction hadn’t been in her vocabulary for years, especially not with what she’d been dealing with recently.
Her greatest concern, aside from her kids, was avoiding developing witchy hands and track lines from all the needles and medicine.
She’d mostly been successful, but it seemed like age and trauma always showed up on her hands.
Scars and discolorations from injuries she’d long forgotten about were now broadcast in 4K.
There were few times when Monique had regrets.
Sitting beside Maurice and appreciating how he’d activated his confidence made her wish she’d taken better care of herself.
Could he help her—and not just in the physical sense?
She pulled in a deep breath and pressed her eyes shut. Ask for what you need, she heard Dr. Tedrow direct in her mind. I need…
The words wouldn’t come to her. Not right now. Not even in her head.
Returning to their conversation, she gave a gesture cutting off his line of questioning.
“Top secret?” he asked with a smile.
“Something like that.”
I need… to be wanted.