Chapter 18 Maurice
At nine o’clock on a Sunday morning—New Year’s Eve—Maurice stood on the dock surrounded by fishing gear that he had no idea how to use while he waited for the other men to join him.
He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be back in Monique’s room, having breakfast with her. But he’d blown that. Gotten scared and bounced like a coward while she slept. He had lied to her.
“No girls allowed,” Tommie said, coming toward him. “Staring at her balcony won’t make her come out.”
“Romeo, o Romeo, wherefore art thou,” Mr. Turner added in a falsetto that made Tommie and Richard laugh.
Ouch. Was he that obvious?
Taurion passed him carrying a crate. “Don’t let it discourage you, my man. Keep showing up.”
Their captain, Carlos, navigated them out to deep, open water where he said fish lived and men told the truth.
The boat rocked gently. Richard scrolled through his phone.
Taurion claimed a seat at the bow, feet up, smoking a cigar, and sipping something dark.
Mr. Turner and Tommie were actually fishing.
Maurice sat at the stern, as he’d learned it was called, and tried to follow the instructions Tommie gave him.
His phone was heavy in his pocket with the picture he’d taken of Monique last night, where moonbeams had kissed her cheeks and played in her hair, and her eyes were as big and bright as the universe.
He’d peeked at that picture maybe a hundred times already today.
Her smile was playful, unguarded. Inviting. Her lips…
He pulled his phone out and looked again.
“You hear me, B?” Tommie asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“What I say then?”
“Umm…”
Tommie gave him a look that was short on patience. “Are you gonna be this articulate tonight?”
“Get the cotton out your mouth, son,” Mr. Turner added, “and tell us what’s got you all in your head.”
“I know the answer,” Tommie said, teasing, casting his own line. “Starts with an M and ends with an E.”
“So does his name, genius,” Richard muttered.
All the men, even Carlos, laughed. Maurice didn’t.
Tommie threw an arm over Maurice’s shoulder. “Come on, man, we’re supposed to be having fun. It’s my bachelor party!”
Maurice shoved him off and moved away. “I’m partied out.”
“I bet you are.” Tommie made kissing noises, and Maurice wanted to throw him over the side of the boat.
“Leave him alone,” Mr. Turner said.
“What’s with you today?” Tommie nudged him, smiling like the fool that he was. “Missing your lady?”
“I don’t have a lady…”
“Shall we ask Monie?”
“Leave Monique out of this.” The teasing was hitting a little differently today, making his chest constrict.
“Leave Monique out of this,” Tommie imitated, sounding nasally and childish.
“Man, forget you.” He wanted to swim back to shore and find her. Maybe she’d let him tag along with whatever adventure she was having today. He’d be content to stand in her shadow if that was all she’d allow. “You’re lame.”
“Oh, you can’t handle it, huh? When I told you about Lanie, sure, you were supportive, but you also talked mad noise. It’s called reciprocity.”
Tommie was right. He felt silly, like a teenager, for being so swept up so fast. But he also wanted this shift in his life more and more with each beat of his heart.
But he was scared shitless.
They floated in the ocean, exposed to the sun and trying to catch fish that they had no use for. Maurice didn’t understand the concept of sport fishing. Who had idle time like that?
After a while, Tommie got their attention. “Let’s play a game! Every man tells his love story. How you met. How you knew.”
“Oh, hell no,” Taurion said, still smoking and sipping at the bow.
“Hell yes. My wedding. My boat. My rules.”
Maurice looked at his phone again, at Monique’s face bathed in amber and silver light.
Mr. Turner chuckled. “I’ll go first.” He reeled in his line. “Met my Seraphina in 1964 at a diner. It was my first week. I was barely nineteen and had just moved to Baltimore. Went from my daddy’s fields in South Carolina to the big city for school.”
He cast his line. “Sera had been there for hours, reading, writing. The prettiest thing I’d ever seen. I was so curious about what she was working on but too tongue-tied to go over there and ask. MayRose put a broom in my hand and pointed me toward the dining room.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Richard rolled his eyes. “He spilled coffee all over her work.”
“Yessir. And she looked at me like I’d committed murder. And I looked at her like she’d hung the moon.”
Richard rolled his eyes and huffed. “Come on, Pops, you always tell this story.”
“If it wasn’t for this story, boy, you wouldn’t be here.”
Maurice hadn’t thought about a love story for his parents—not when he knew next to nothing about his father. He wondered whether Monique’s parents had a story of instant connection.
Romantic love wasn’t viable where he’d grown up. Or maybe he couldn’t recognize it.
“I cleaned up and rewrote the whole thing by hand,” Mr. Turner continued. “Took me three hours. She married me anyway.”
“That’s it?” Maurice asked.
“Love is simple, son. You make a mistake. You fix it. But not in that way that men tend to handle things. There’s a difference between repair and correct. Somewhere in our sixty years, there was less to fix.”
Repair. Maurice used that language with his crew. He thought he had a handle on it. Thought he’d been applying those principles.
“I love my wife, but above all, I like her. I want the best for her. Every day, I work to earn the faith and trust she’s placed in me.”
“Okay, Pops.” Richard nudged Taurion’s seat. “I had to see this every day. Them kissing and groping each other. And they still do it! You see how old they are.”
Taurion turned in his chair and gave a soft smile. “Makes me miss my dad. Him and Moms were like that. Messed up my expectations completely.”
Richard threw up his hands. “That’s what I’m saying. That kind of stuff doesn’t happen anymore.”
Taurion shook his head. “I disagree. All I wanted was a love like my folks had. When my dad passed, my mom—I thought she wasn’t too far behind for a minute.”
“When Sera goes, I’m going,” Mr. Turner barked.
“Statistically, men die first, Pops, so what’s Mommy expected to do?”
“Your mother will live on, maybe love again. That’s what I want for her. She’s got you and your sister. Grandkids. Her friends. I’m thankful she’s let me tag along all this time.”
Tag along… That’s how Maurice felt about Monique. He just wanted to watch her, to make things better for her. But he messed it up. She probably hated him now.
“What about you, young blood? How did you meet Cassandra?” Mr. Turner asked Taurion.
Taurion sat up and cleared his throat. “You all probably heard Cass’s side of things.” His cheeks grew red, and he rubbed the back of his neck as the other men chuckled.
“We heard some things,” Tommie said. “But we never heard your version.”
Taurion took a long drag from his cigar. “Abbreviated version: I met Cass at a conference. Chatted her up at a hotel bar. One thing led to another, and she got pregnant. Said she didn’t need me, that I was too young. That she could handle it herself.”
“But you’re so happy now,” Maurice said, confusion coloring his words.
“Because I chose to be. She wasn’t ever a one-night thing for me. I was a punk who was willing to take what I could get. But she’s always been it for me, so I showed up. Every day. Whether she wanted me to or not.”
Tommie clapped Taurion on the back. “Why you skipping over the part where you were already in love with her when you met?”
His cheeks grew redder. “I was a fan of her work. The woman is fine and brilliant. Who wouldn’t be?”
Mr. Turner dapped Taurion up. “You got that eye, son.”
Maurice didn’t know much about Dr. Cassandra Wood except that she was Lanie’s sorority sister. A thirty-year friendship. And she had a toddler with Taurion.
“You two are some stalkers,” Richard muttered.
“No,” Taurion said. “Stalking is ignoring her no. What I do is prove that my yes has meaning.”
Maurice thought about this morning and that raggedy-ass note. He hung his head.
“What about you, Mo?” Tommie asked. “You got a story?”
Maurice looked at his phone again, at that photo.
“I met her a couple of days ago,” he said. “She was alone and sipping coffee.”
Tommie huffed a laugh. “Damn, that’s it?”
Maurice shrugged. “That’s all I got.”
“Come on, B. We see how you watch her. Give us something.”
He opened the pictures he’d taken of her and showed them. Monique in front of the ocean and the sky, her white skirt like a cloud, and her skin sparkling in that way that he’d come to love.
The boat went silent.
“Damn,” Taurion whispered, falling back in his seat.
“Yep.” Maurice put his phone away.
“You got it bad, son,” Mr. Turner said.
Maurice couldn’t answer.
“What are you doing on this boat with us, then? Why aren’t you with her?” Richard asked, saying more words to Maurice on this boat than he’d said in the four years they’d known each other.
“Because I messed up.”
Tommie’s posture became tense. “What did you do?” Mr. Turner’s hand went to Tommie’s shoulder.
“We were…” Maurice covered his face. “I can’t say these things out loud.”
“And we don’t wanna hear them,” Tommie said, voice tight. “CliffsNotes.”
Maurice took a deep breath. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do—how to do this, to be with someone—how to want her and be good and safe for her.”
“I know we haven’t known each other long,” Mr. Turner said, reeling in his line. “But if my Elaine loves this knucklehead, and he trusts you with his life, then you’re all right with me, Maurice.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Turner, but I’m just so bad at this. I want it—want her—so much that it hurts.” Maurice turned and looked off toward the island as if he could spot Monique from such a distance. He shook his head. “I keep screwing up.”
“I’ve known you for forty years, B. You’re a steady dude. And the work you do with Moms and Returning Home, that’s not without risk. Why don’t you believe you deserve some of what you preach?”