Chapter 28 Maurice
He held her hand from the elevator to his rental that he’d parked in the building’s underground garage.
Unsure of what was more uncomfortable, their silence or small talk, he gave small talk a try.
“This building is dope,” he said as they passed a limestone pillar before going through a set of doors. “The details are spectacular.”
Monique hummed an affirmative. “We’ve come here a few times to hang.
Chickie could never really live on her own, but her folks are cool.
It’s crazy. I see how their faith helps them make sense of everything, but it doesn’t make losing someone to this disease any easier.
I mean, we all have our losses. Death is still inevitable, but…
” She sucked in a long, stuttering breath and let it out.
“You were talking about the architecture.” She glanced behind them toward the elevators.
“Honestly, I’ve never paid much attention. ”
“That’s okay,” he said, opening the car door and settling her into the passenger seat. “You were focused on what was important at the time.”
He crossed in front of the car and felt her eyes on him, like she was trying to figure something out. When he slid behind the wheel, he asked, “What is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re looking at me like you wanna say something, so say it. You don’t ever have to hold back with me, Monique. I’ma always let you have your say.”
The Aunties’ story was a textbook example of clear communication delivering its promise. And although he had never had any conscious aspirations of a romantic partner, he desired to be understood and understanding in every relationship. He needed Monique to believe that about him.
“So, tell me what’s on your mind? Where you wanna go? What you wanna do? Lady’s choice.” He gave her a closed-mouth smile. “First, let’s get warmed up. Nobody told me it would be so cold!” He turned over the engine.
Monique chuckled. “It doesn’t take much to get used to it, though. All you need is the right gear.”
“Says the person whose job requires them to be in it—what’s the saying? Through rain or sleet—”
“Nah, man. Don’t butcher our creed.” She turned toward him and raised her right hand, holding three fingers up. “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”
Maurice huffed a laugh. “I didn’t know the Boy Scouts was a direct line to postal work,” he said, maneuvering the car onto the street.
“I take my work seriously,” she said, dropping her hand. “I’m looking forward to getting back out there.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What’s there to tell? I drive a truck, walk, and deliver the mail.”
“Beloved…” He took her hand and held it. “Don’t minimize your work and the impact it has.”
She pulled in a deep breath. “I’m trying to decide if I like or dislike how you always seem to know what to say.”
Her tone held humor, sort of. They were on unsteady ground and probably would always be with their pockmarked pasts.
But with each beat of his heart, Monique helped smooth those divots, little by little.
He hoped he did the same for her. It seemed like it, but until she told him directly, he’d never rest. And even then, he’d work to smooth out all the rough places within her heart and mind that he could.
Breaking into his thoughts, Monique tightened her grip on his hand. “Speaking of knowing what to say… the wedding. Your sermon was so goddamned beautiful that it scared the shit out of me.”
“You think so?”
She nodded.
“When I didn’t see you at the top of the ceremony, I don’t know. I felt lost for a minute. Then I saw you back there in that dress, like a single, bright flower against all that darkness, and I could breathe again.” It all sounded crazy to his ears, but it was the truth.
“I’m so fucking sorry for behaving like that. I should have answered when you called,” she said.
He shook his head and managed to pull over. He couldn’t let her speak her truths to the side of his face. He needed to give her his full attention. “I don’t need an apology.”
“But I hurt you.”
“You were doing what you needed to do.”
“I was hiding.”
“And that’s okay too.” Traffic passed, ignorant of the largeness of what was happening in his rental sedan. “I’m here now—I found you.” He unbuckled his seat belt and placed a hand on her sodden cheek. “Shhh, don’t cry or you’ll make me cry.”
She looked up at him with those dark eyes that were as big and bright as a new moon night. “Kiss me, Mo, please.”
The first brush of their lips was as soft as a whisper yet inspired a fresh wave of tears. Monique threw her arms around him. “I know you said to stop apologizing, but I don’t deserve this. All this kindness. All this love that you keep giving. I’m such a mess.”
He peeled her off him and wiped her tears, kissing her with more confidence this time. Maybe she would believe. “I don’t see you that way.”
“You haven’t known me long enough. Just wait.” Monique wiped at her running nose with the heel of her hand, trying to joke. She looked so fragile, but not weak. Never.
She was delicate and wondrous, like something unearthed that had survived neglect and misuse but still held its beauty and power. It was all there in her. He simply wanted to help her shore up her strength.
“So, is that an invitation?” he asked, reaching up to brush another tear from her cheek.
Her eyelids fluttered closed as his calloused thumb passed over her soft skin. She let out a wince of a moan. Instinct told him to pull back, for fear he would mar the perfection there.
“Let’s go to your hotel,” she said, breathless.
He drew his hand back, now unsure of the mood.
Was he being too much? But the way she was looking at him was familiar—that same look they’d shared in those wee hours and intimate moments in the dark and quiet of Puerto Rico.
She had kissed him then, touching and desiring him in ways that he’d never imagined.
And he had touched her then too, bringing her pleasure. It was a task he would probably never get tired of.
Although he was practiced in reading people, Monique was sometimes difficult to read. The playfulness that often colored her words could be a film that made the meaning hard to decipher. And the way that Maurice survived all this time was because of his ability to perceive meaning and intent.
He secured the both of them into their seat belts again, plugged the hotel address into the GPS, and moved back into traffic. He took her hand, and said, “For what it’s worth, I’m so very sorry about your friend.”
Monique nodded and turned her attention out the passenger window. “Yeah. Burying people is not something I ever want to get used to.”
“Hear, hear,” he replied.
The rest of the drive to the hotel was silent except for the GPS and their breathing. Maurice stole glances at Monique, whose attention remained fixed out the window, her hands worrying the hem of his coat she still wore. She eventually fell asleep.
They pulled into the parking lot of the hotel near the door. He didn’t move. He didn’t kill the engine. He just sat there in silence, listening to her breathe.
After a few long minutes, she sucked in a gasp of air as she woke. “Where are we?”
“My hotel.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and moved to open the door. “We going up?”
“Monique… are you sure? I can take you home.”
“Maurice.” She took his face in her hands, incinerating his nerves. “I’m tired—”
“Then let me take you home.”
“Lord have mercy on my soul. I can’t with you.” She didn’t look angry. “Shut up and show me your generic hotel room. Let’s just be together, okay?” She climbed out of the car and headed for the door.
Maurice’s heart kicked against his ribs, and he killed the engine. Tumbling out of the car, he found his feet and caught up with her.
In the room, she kicked off her shoes and handed him his coat back. “I wager I don’t need to reach out to anyone to let them know I’m with you?” Her face was stern, but her posture was relaxed.
Maurice ran a hand over his head and scratched at his beard. “I would presume no?”
“Why are you answering like you’re not sure? Which one of them told you where to find me?”
“Jasmine.”
“I knew it! This morning, they were all, ‘Maurice is a good dude. Ma, give him some play.’ Can you believe that? My kids directing my sex life—”
“Love,” Maurice interrupted.
“What?”
“Your love life. I don’t want to have sex with you, Monique. I want to love you. It would be dope to be loved back, but yeah.” His phone pinged with a text, and he frowned.
TOMMIE
You find her?
MAURICE
I’m with her right now.
TOMMIE
Okay, family. Take care.
Maurice silenced his phone after sending a text to Jasmine and Justin with a location pin and telling them she’d be home when she said she was ready.
“You want something to eat?” he asked, toeing off his shoes and loosening the buttons on his dress shirt, the same shirt he wore yesterday when he stood at the altar and officiated the wedding.
“Thank you.” She leaned her head on his chest. “Bare arms in Chicago in January is crazy work.” She buried her face in his chest.
His laugh was low and real.
Then she leaned back and looked at him. “Everything about you scares me.”
He stiffened and loosened his hold.
“In a good way,” she said quickly. “It’s like a roller coaster. I used to love it. The climb, the drops, the twists, being turned upside down. But life has a way of turning thrill into fear. And I forgot how that feels, how much I could smile. You’re reminding me.” She reached up to kiss him.
In the handful of times he’d been kissed before, none of them were like this. But Monique moved through him like a queen on a chessboard. There was no part of him she couldn’t access. She had full rein. Every direction was available to her, and he’d already decided he wouldn’t block a single move.
He kissed her back like he meant it. Hungry. The day spent without her had been torture, and now he was on the boundary of heaven if she kept kissing and touching him like that.
His erection grew between them, and he wished his lack of experience and control weren’t so evident. Still, he gripped her tighter, palming her backside and pressing her against him.
She let out a long, pained moan. “Oh God, I want you so fucking bad.”
He’d never contemplated if he liked dirty talk, but whatever came out of her mouth, he loved.
“Hold on,” she said, sliding her hands down his body, brushing the bulge in his pants. She pecked him on the lips again. “Order us some food and let me go freshen up.”
He let her go and fell back on the bed, his head spinning and his penis throbbing.
Their room service order was substantial but forgettable and would arrive in forty minutes to an hour. His hands trembled as he set the phone down. The paper-thin walls allowed him to hear Monique moving around in the bathroom, water splashing, fabric rustling, muted cussing.
He was wanted. He paced the short length of the room, peered out the window at the fabulous highway and flight-pattern view, then the peephole, then back to the window. He paused at the foot of the bed and sat down and ran his damp palms over his thighs.