Chapter 2
Khenji
Sitting in this diner with her feels surreal. We’re sitting in booth-style chairs, sitting opposite each other.
She’s looking at me.
I’m looking at her.
We have coffee, but no conversation just yet. That’s fine with me. I’m content just being here with her. I don’t think she is content with the silence, though. She likes to communicate. That much I knew before I got in her car.
She takes a sip of coffee.
I take a sip.
She smiles skeptically, like she’s wondering why she invited me here. I imagine she’s having second thoughts. I don’t blame her. I would have second thoughts about being with someone like me, too.
“Khenji.”
“Yes?” I answer, feeling like I can’t breathe deep enough to remain in her presence.
“Tell me something about yourself.”
“No.”
She looks surprised by my answer, but again, not offended. I’ve said several things to offend her since laying eyes on her, but she doesn’t take things to the chest, I see. It must be her profession that keeps her from taking offense so easily. Or maybe it’s just who she is as a person. Whatever it is, I’m grateful because I’ll probably offend her again. I guess all those women were right – I am a jerk.
“You said no?” she asks, then flashes a lopsided grin.
“Yes. I said no. What I meant to say is, there’s really nothing to tell.”
“Of course there is.”
“There isn’t. You know all you need to know about me.”
She laughs.
I don’t see what’s funny.
She says, “I literally just met you tonight.”
“And? What makes you think I’m going to sit here and tell you my entire life story?”
Her gaze lowers. “That’s not what I’m asking you to do, but you do have to talk.”
“No, I don’t. I told you I didn’t like talking.”
“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?” She taps her opaque white nails on the tabletop and asks, “How old are you?”
“How old are you?” I toss back.
She smiles again. After a long sigh, she says, “You have to stop doing that? When I ask a question, you answer it and then you ask me a question. That’s how this works. Now, let’s try this again. How old are you?”
I look down at my cup and then look back up at her, feeling blood rush to my brain as her beauty slaps me in the face.
I answer, “Three, seven.”
She frowns. “You’re thirty-seven?”
“That’s what I said. Yes.”
“No, that’s not what you said. You said three, seven—” She shakes her head and chuckles. “I understand you’re a numbers guy and all, but the proper way to say it is thirty-seven.”
“I know that.”
“O-kay…” she says with raised brows.
She changes the subject and says, “You have to be the only person I know who uses a pocket watch. What’s up with that?”
I don’t answer her. I don’t want to answer her. My connection to this pocket watch is too personal to talk about. I take a sip of coffee instead – a sip I don’t want.
She drums her nails on the table again, out of boredom, I suppose. I just sit here and look at her still, in amazement. I still can’t believe the sensations I’m feeling. Something is wrong with me. Seriously wrong. This woman is revealing an inner being with true emotions, and I don’t have anything to say to her. I have to come up with something to say, even if it does sound stupid.
She beats me to the punch, asking, “Why are you here with me?”
“I feel like this is where I need to be right now.”
“With me?”
“Yes. With you. And your red dress. And your infectious smile.”
Her eyes light up. Her cheeks turn a shade. “You like my dress?”
“Yes, and your lips. And your eyes. I like everything about you, and I don’t know why.”
“What does that mean?”
“I told you before, I don’t do this.”
“I know, and I’m trying to understand that. Do I—um, maybe remind you of someone from your past?”
I release a loud, exaggerated sigh.
No. You don’t remind me of anyone. You’re you – an amazing woman who’s woken up something inside of me that I didn’t know existed. That’s what you are. An anomaly. A drug. A force. A light. You’re the only woman who’s been able to shake life into me. You’ve awakened me. Given me desires. You’ve stirred coals and I’m fighting hard to put them out. You’ve—
“Khenji?”
I blink back to reality and answer, “No, you don’t remind me of anyone from my past. You—”
“I’m what?”
“I don’t know what you are, Livia.”
“I know what—or shall I say who—I am. Would you like for me to tell you?”
I’m surveying her lips when she asks the question. I imagine how soft they are. How they would feel against mine. I know this isn’t normal, but nothing about me is so I just have to fan through these emotions until something makes sense. Until I’m back to being me. Khenji Halifax – the man who has the same routine every day. The man who doesn’t need anyone or anything.
“Yes. Tell me.”
She wraps her fingers around the coffee mug as if it gives her comfort and says, “I’m a woman who knows what she wants. I’m in love with life. I love my family. I love to learn and experience new things. I like meeting new people, hence my reason for being at the mixer, and I’m glad I was there because I met you. Now, if only I can get you to talk to me.”
She smiles.
The innocence of it reminds me that I’m no good for her. I’m my father’s child. A monster. I shouldn’t have come here. There’s no way I will destroy this woman. And there it is – the push I need to separate myself from her magnetism. She deserves more and I’ll just leave it at that.
“I probably shouldn’t have come here with you,” I blurt out. “No, I shouldn’t have come here with you.”
I was supposed to be talking about my daily routine, but after hearing her talk about herself and seeing the light in her eyes, there’s no way she should be sitting here with darkness. With me. What communion hath light with darkness? Is that not what the scripture says?
I stand up, pull out my wallet and place a hundred-dollar bill on the table. I say, “That should cover the coffee or anything else you want.”
She frowns. “Wait—where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Khenji?”
I don’t turn around to the sound of her calling me, though I want to. I just can’t do this to her. Her light shines too bright for a man like me.
I stroll down the dark streets while waiting for my driver to pull up. During my walk, I think about how blessed I am to have had a taste of what it would be like to talk with a woman. To have an attraction. To feel things. Desires. Needs. At least now I know I’m not dead inside.
Amos pulls up and I pull the back door handle and get inside.
He asks, “This is probably the first time I’ve seen you out like this, Khenji. How was it?”
“It was horrible. Every minute of it.”
“That bad, eh?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Take me back to Brentwood. I need to get my car.”
“Yes, sir.”
On the drive, I stare out the window into the darkness. Being out wasn’t all that bad, but only because I met Livia. And she showed me something. She’s the representation of what I can’t have. Of what I don’t deserve. And now, I must live in misery knowing she exists and can never be mine. I’m forced to recognize the profound loneliness that is my life.
I should’ve stayed home.