Fifteen
FIFTEEN
Holland
F or the past two days, I’d desperately tried to survive the sweltering heat in a house that lacked adequate air conditioning. I cranked up the old heap of metal and it buzzed so loudly I flinched and turned it right back off, thinking it would explode. Instead, I turned on every ceiling fan in the house, hoping an occasional breeze would slice through the humid air. They only creaked and wobbled, and I prayed they didn’t fly off their bases.
I pulled my hair up at the top of my head, wrapped a band around it, and then swept the edges sticking to my temples toward the haphazard bun. No matter how vigorously I fanned myself with my hand, there was no relief. Removing my bra and trading my leggings for a pair of shorts didn’t keep me from sweating through my shirt. Sweat rolled from under my boobs like tears. I headed to the basement to clear out all the old stuff stored there, hoping it was cooler. It smelled of neglect and mildew.
Realizing I hadn’t eaten, I headed to the kitchen and popped a piece of leftover pizza in the microwave. It would have tasted better in the oven, but I wasn’t about to make the house any hotter.
I’d been back to the pizza shop twice since Noble took me the other day. Antonio never took my money, and would always let me choose from the endless variety they had so I could try different ones each time. I loved the regular cheese pizza, and the chicken Caesar salad slice—topped with mounds of romaine lettuce, delicious strips of grilled chicken, and a drizzle of creamy dressing—made my tastebuds happy. Pizza like this didn’t exist in South Carolina.
The young family across the street came by to introduce themselves and offer their condolences. Jackson and Niquel were their names—the quintessential doctor-lawyer couple that gentrified neighborhoods were made for. Their rambunctious pre-K twins, Remy and Aiden, chased their cute little dog around their parents’ legs while they expressed how much they loved and missed Aunt Goldie. Now the boys yelled “Hi, Ms. Holly-and” every time they saw me outside. This neighborhood, which had seemed so crowded and cold, started to feel cozy and friendly.
Seeing Jackson and Niquel with their adorable kids reminded me yet again that I was approaching thirty and nowhere near having a family of my own. I wanted that for myself so badly, but not yet. Once I finished figuring out who I was, then I could think about marrying and having children—in that order. My children would grow up knowing and living with both their mother and father.
Speaking of family, Ma and I typically never went more than a day or two without speaking. But after our last conversation, neither of us called. She was upset with me for asking questions she didn’t want to answer. And I was upset with her for evading my questions. I refused to wait any longer. I deserved the truth.
So I called.
“Ma.”
“Holland.” She sounded so formal. “How are you?” Her voice was void of its usually nurturing tone.
“Fine,” I said, matching her energy. I rolled my eyes, grateful that she couldn’t see me.
“How’s the house going?”
“Fine. Can you stop being so cold?”
At first, she said nothing. “You know I love you, right?”
“Of course. I just want you to answer my questions without getting upset. Learning about my r—” I paused, not wanting to say real , because Ma was my real mother even though we didn’t share the same blood. She made the same sacrifices to raise me as any mother would. “—biological family doesn’t take away from the love I have for you. It’s important for me to know about them.”
“Holly!” she snapped.
I groaned and waited for her to protest. Why was this so hard for her? I closed my eyes and counted, but it did nothing to stop my head from throbbing. “I deserve to know.”
“It’s not that simple,” she said. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”
“That’s the problem. I haven’t heard anything from anyone .” I flopped onto the couch. Ma and I didn’t have many disagreements. Even as a teen, I’d been pretty mellow, but her behavior grew more bizarre every time I asked her about my aunt. For years, I didn’t push when it came to getting information about my family. Now I wanted answers. “No” or “Not yet” was no longer acceptable. I wanted to scream in frustration.
“Just answer me.”
“Why now? Huh, Holly? Where are all these crazy questions coming from?” Now Ma raised her voice. “Just…come home. Please? We’ll talk in person.”
The throbbing in my head intensified. Palming my forehead, I willed the ache to stop. “I’m meeting with the agent this weekend. The earliest I can come home is next week.”
“I can’t do this.” I heard her sniffle before she hung up the phone.
I stared at my cell in disbelief. Most times, she’d call right back and ask “Are you done?” Either this was harder than I thought for her, or there was something she didn’t want me to know. I hoped she hadn’t intentionally done anything bad. The things I’d read in my aunt’s journal raised more questions than I already had. I needed to hear what Ma had to say about everything. Maybe a trip home would get things settled.
“Ugh!” I pushed myself up from the couch, feeling the soreness that had crept into my muscles from dragging and carrying bags and boxes full of stuff. Thinking I had lots of time to get ready, I looked at the time on my phone and realized I only had an hour to prepare for the gala with Noble.
Getting my emotions together was first. I paced, taking deep breaths and willing my heart to stop thumping in my ears. Then I popped two painkillers to arrest the dull throbbing in my temples and the aches in my arms and shoulders. Lifting my arms, I sniffed my pits, took in a strong whiff of onions, and reared my head back so hard I almost gave myself whiplash. Hopefully the shower would wash away more than sweat and stink.
Upstairs, I tossed the phone onto the bed, traipsed to the bathroom, and stood under the old showerhead, letting the hot, pulsing water chop into my shoulders to pound away the stress. Time was slipping away so quickly.
Moments later, I stepped into my dress and folded my hair into a semi-elegant bun. With my fingers, I curled tendrils on either side of my face and let them hang. My simple version of a made-up face was mascara, liner, and gloss—a far stretch from @BeatFaceHoney and their Instagram tutorials.
Despite my lack of beauty skills, I was satisfied with my finished look. Alyssa was a genius, or maybe it was all in the dress and earrings. Never before had I looked into a mirror and considered my reflection stunning, but that was exactly what I saw. Me. Stunning, sexy, elegant.
I’d never been to a gala before. The fanciest events I’d attended were our annual church anniversary dinners. Even though I hardly posted, I snapped a mirror pic and posted it to my Instagram and Facebook stories and wrote #firstgalaever.
Seconds later, the doorbell rang. I hurried downstairs to greet Noble.
“Just give me one more moment,” I said. I pushed the screen door open and turned right back around. “I left my evening bag ups—”
“Wow.” The word slid out of Noble’s mouth on a whisper.
When I looked back, Noble stared, mouth agape, and head tilted.
In that moment, I felt beautiful.
“You,” he sighed. “Look. Incredible .”
That was a first. I’d been told I was pretty—beautiful, even—but words like stunning and incredible were new to a chill Southern girl like me who rarely made a fuss of things. “Thank you. Now let me get my bag so we can go.”
“Um, sure,” Noble stammered. I giggled at the effect I had on him. Noble shook his head like he was trying to shake off the awe.
Rest assured, I hadn’t missed how incredibly handsome Noble looked in his black tux with the wine-colored bow tie that matched my dress exactly. He’d cleaned up extremely well, looking freshly shaven. His dark eyes sparkled. On a regular day, Noble’s touch sent electrifying currents crawling across my skin, and that was in basketball shorts and jerseys. I wasn’t sure if I could survive the wattage of his touch on a night like this.
Noble helped me into the car he’d ordered for the evening. We waded through thick traffic all the way to the Plaza Hotel, until finally our driver rounded the car and opened the door for us. We exited to pops and flashes of multiple cameras as we walked the red carpet to the entrance. Noble paused several times, gently placing his arm across my lower back for pictures. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, so I just smiled.
Inside, I’d never seen a venue so opulent. At the check-in table, a hostess pinned Noble with a badge displaying his name and company with a banner underneath that read Honoree. Then, we were escorted to a private cocktail reception with the other honorees, and someone Noble said was the publisher of the business magazine hosting the awards.
I couldn’t keep myself from gawking at the domed ceilings and grand chandeliers. When I wasn’t looking up, I stared in wonder at the scores of people milling about. Women seemed to float by in elegant perfection, dressed in dazzling gowns. Their perfect posture made me straighten my back. The men looked sophisticated and polished in their tuxedos. If rich had a look, these people had it down.
Throughout the event, dozens of people offered Noble congratulations and took selfies. Many suggested they “do lunch” and promised to have their assistants set it up. Noble introduced me to a dapper, white-haired gentleman named Tim, who had an infectious personality and looked like he could have been a mature model. I met Ty, his close friend and the one who had helped him get Push off the ground. Everyone at Noble’s table was super nice. When Noble went onto the stage to receive his award, we all cheered obnoxiously loud.
“Yeah, boy!” Ty yelled, pumping his fist in the air. “That’s my dude!”
I cracked up laughing, not realizing that kind of behavior was suitable in this environment. The cheering squads for many of the nominees were as boisterous as we were.
Once the last honoree was announced, the emcee declared that it was time to party. The DJ put on line dancing music, and throngs of people rushed to the floor.
“You know this one?” I asked Noble.
“I know it. The question is, can I do it?”
“Come on!” I kicked off my shoes and dragged Noble to the dance floor.
He struggled through the Wobble, Cupid Shuffle, and the Electric Slide before giving up.
I bent forward, holding my stomach, laughing. Noble couldn’t catch the steps. His jerky, uncoordinated movements tickled me to my core.
“All right, already,” Noble scolded, laughing just as hard. “I’ve got rhythm. I just don’t have that much coordination.”
The DJ switched the music to old-school pop and R & B. Noble and I returned to the dance floor. His moves were way smoother—downright sexy. Dormant parts of my body awakened and tingled as we swayed together. Our bodies molded together—moved like they were already familiar with each other. Like we’d danced a thousand times before. I felt more alive than I had ever remembered feeling.
Noble’s arm fit around my lower back like it belonged there. Our torsos were drawn together like magnets. The temperature rose, and I knew the heat didn’t come from the thermostat.
Lazily, I wrapped my arms around Noble’s shoulders and rocked to the DJ’s rhythm. Noble led with his hips. I followed every sway. We seemed to be the only ones in the room. Drunk on Noble’s presence, I closed my eyes and felt like I was in a trance. His body against mine felt so good. So right. I was floating high above the dance floor.
Noble’s lips pressed against my neck, setting my skin on fire. My eyes popped open. I found myself pinned under his penetrating gaze, and I liked it. A lot. Desire crackled between us like lightning. I lifted my chin. Noble descended, covering my lips with his. When he kissed me, fireworks went off in my head. Pulling me into him, Noble kissed me deeper. My knees threatened to give out and send me crashing to the floor, but Noble held me tight.
Being in his arms was like releasing a pressure valve. Pressure from moving, Ma, belonging—all of it melted away. I could stay in his arms forever.
The song ended. Reluctantly, we finally released each other. Gasping for air, Noble rested his forehead against mine. Around us, people were oblivious to us, laughing and dancing while my whole world spun deliciously. Cameras flashed, but it all seemed miles away.
“Ready to go home?” Noble’s voice was a breathy whisper.
“Yes.” My response was more air than words.
minutes later, we were kissing, tugging, and touching our way across the Brooklyn Bridge. We exited the car, righting our wrinkled clothes. Again, Noble pulled me to him. His breath delicately feathered my face. We stayed like that for a long, sweet moment.
“Invite me in,” I said what we both wanted. Desire made my voice husky.
“You sure?” Noble brushed the palm of my hand across his lips and then kissed it.
“Yes.” I was breathless.
“Say less.” Noble whisked me off my feet and carried me up his front steps.
He put me down long enough to fumble for his keys. Then he kicked the door open and carried me to his master suite.