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aleapoffaithfiction · 6 years ago

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XVI.

"You will manage to keep a woman in love with you, only for as long as you can keep her in love with the person she becomes when she is with you." C. JoyBell

Rockin' around the Christmas tree, let the Christmas spirit ring. Later we'll have some pumpkin pie, and we'll do some caroling…

Naturally, my own vocals lightly meshed in with those of Brenda Lee while my head bopped back and forth to the infectious Christmas tune as it blared from the Beats Pill, I gifted to my mother a couple of months ago. To take advantage of the majority of my weight being pressed against the kitchen island, I slowly flexed my toes and extended my aches in an effort to minimize the throbbing in my feet. Short hisses turned into a deep sigh of bliss but unfortunately it was short lived once I grasped a knife in my hand again.

“Pass me two stalks of celery out of that bag, please.” My precise instructions were pointless. With her eyes intently focused on the phone in front of her, Celeste aloofly tossed the plastic bag in my direction as if I were a nuisance interrupting the ridiculous number of hours she spends interacting on Facebook. If anything, I avoid it, because once you reach a certain age, Facebook is nothing more than a scroll fest filled with engagement and pregnancy announcements, weddings and post-birth pictures, garbage hot takes from people about the most trivial of topics, and finally older relatives who have nothing better to do other than to be in everyone’s business, including yours.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” If she’s not going to be in the kitchen either helping me or doing something of her own, then the better choice would be for her to exit. She hasn’t been much company because we’re barely spoken since she arrived and I’d rather not be distracted by her sitting there in a trance with a phone in her hand like a mindless teen.

“Not really. You always do Christmas Eve, I do Christmas breakfast, and mommy does Christmas dinner. Don’t act brand new now.”

“I’m not acting brand new. I just see no point in you being in here.” Celeste does Christmas breakfast because it’s the easiest task to handle and I don’t have much of a problem pushing her dry ass pancakes around on a plate in anticipation for dinner later on the evening.

“For someone who claims to be so demure in the manner that you carry yourself, I’m super confused about why you have streams of diamonds glistening and circling around your neck.”

“What?” Thoughtlessly, I stretched my unoccupied hand up to the exposed skin and lightly brushed my fingers over nearly sixty carats of brilliant round cut diamonds that do not belong to me.

The manner in which O layers his many necklaces always grabs my attention and it’s something about the showiness in the midst of the simplicity of them that I continue to compliment whenever I see him donning them. This morning, for whatever reason, he randomly placed two of them around my neck as I stood in the mirror attempting to figure out just how festive my attire would be for today. Once I’d gotten past three unwarranted outfit changes, I found myself admiring the jewelry as it glimmered in the natural lighting cascading into his master bedroom beyond the curtains. I’d forgotten to remove them.

“They’re not real. It’s just costume jewelry.”

“They look pretty damn real to me.”

“Well, they’re not. There’s this new spot that opened up over on West 47th Street. I grabbed them in there. I just thought they looked cute and they reminded me of something Lil’ Kim wore one time. You know Kimberly Denise Jones is one of my spirit animals. They’re not something you wear everyday but it’s the holidays and I’m on vacation until after the New Year, so why not? I’m glad they look real though. That just means they were well made.”

“You seem to have a million alter egos. One minute you’re Florence Joyner, the next minute you’re Lil’ Kim, on another day you’re Angela Bassett, and then you’re Michelle Obama. We can’t forget you being the Oprah of sports journalism, oh and there’s Rihanna and Beyonce, who else?”

“Phylicia Rashard, Eartha Kitt, Regina King, Janet Jackson, Cari Champion, Lisa Salters, Pam Oliver, Jemele Hill. And I’ve never considered any of those women to be my alter egos. They’re women that I admire due to their drive, success, and character. I’ve taken bits and pieces from all of their careers and used them as lessons for my own. What you’ve mistaken is me saying that Lil Kim, Rihanna, and Tracee Ellis Ross are my style icons. Oh, and Mary J. Blige is my boot icon.” I think all women have a mood board of aspirations and inspirations. It doesn’t always have to be specific people. A portion of mine just so happens to contains who I believe are some of the greatest black women of the past and current generation. They’re not alter egos who I attempt to mimic but rather stories of triumph that keep me driven.

“What’s up with you and Kyle? Why are you interested?” I nearly cut into the flesh of my finger while dicing the stalks of celery. Briefly, I paused to gather myself, and immediately moved on to the three cloves of garlic.

“Nothing at all. I’m not interested so please stop pressing me about that. I’m not going to date your husband’s brother. I don’t do that all in the family stuff.”

“He’s really into you.”

“Or maybe you’re just exaggerating things. We’re just cool. We always have great conversations whenever we’re around one another and that’s good enough for me. I’ve already spoken to you multiple times about my disdain for your matchmaking bullshit. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a fan of it?”

“You continue to hold Shamel against me. Things didn’t work out. Okay. Shit happens. That doesn’t mean that every guy that I attempt to introduce you to won’t be compatible with you.”

“Compatibility? It’s deeper than that.” Parsley and cilantro were next for the wrath of the knife in my hand. I’m going to have to med onions next. I should have just bought all of this stuff chopped already.

“What’s deeper?”

“Celeste, you don’t know shit about what I went through with Shamel. You know the shortened version of years’ worth of bullshit. You think we just had a couple of typical couple disagreements to the point of us coming to terms with the reality that we could no longer be together? I wish it were that fucking simple, so don’t sit in here on your high horse with that matchmaker shit. Focus on your man and your marriage. I’m fine.”

I internalized so much of what I went through with the man. I was never the one to take my household troubles and spread all of it in places that it didn’t need to be. Anyone with the vision could see the tension between the two of us whenever we were out and about together and if you couldn’t see it, then it was thick enough to be felt. As my career began to take off, I chose to move as a single woman, often leaving him behind whenever I was out and about at industry events whether they were sports related or not. Shamel had a tendency to spend way too much time at the open bar, tossing back shots of tequila while slyly entertaining any woman that fawned over his deep mocha presence. He’d then cause a scene if he caught any men paying even the slightest attention to mine.

Beyond the decision to mask our toxicity as best as I could, I yearned to make my mother proud by being the quintessential woman; brains, beauty, a reputable career, and a good man standing alongside me. The pride she wore on her face at Celeste’s wedding stood out beyond any and everything that went on that summer night in Brooklyn. Since my father’s death, that wedding and all of the events leading up to it sparked a liveliness in her that I hadn’t experienced in quite some time although it had absolutely nothing to do with me. I’m not sure if she was vicariously living through my sister or she was simply just thrilled to see her began her own family, but in observing her response to it all, I wanted to give that to her.

After a short lived around of sex that left tears of mental exhaustion pouring down the sides of my face as I lie under him, he whispered in my ear that he intended to make me his wife. I’ll never forget the wave of nausea that rushed over my body and sent me dashing into the bathroom to empty out of the contents within my stomach. I thought of marriage as something beautiful until then. Just the thought of spending the rest of my life in misery with him left my mind in an emotional frenzy as I attempt to figure out when and how I’d end our relationship. Less than three weeks later, I finally mustered up the courage to get it done.

“You want to be alone forever?”

“Whether I do or I don’t, it’s my decision. You may be older, but we’re not kids anymore. We’re no longer in Brooklyn, under mommy’s roof, trying to figure out what we’re going to do with ourselves. You have your life and I have mine. I have time to figure that relationship shit out. I’m not stressed about it. Being single doesn’t bother me at all. For whatever reason, it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me that you’re single. I just think you deserve happiness.”

“And you think that I don’t have it without a man? You give them way too much credit.”

And she always has. Celeste has been a serial monogamist for as long as I can remember her dating history. As soon as one relationship of hers would end, she’d be in another one within a week or two. I can recall a couple of overlaps, but that’s none of my business.

“Don’t put the whole bonnet pepper in there.”

“I know that. I’m only doing half.” The last thing I want is to give our mother heartburn on Christmas Eve.

In the midst of me pouring olive oil into the deep red pot I already had on the stove, I reached into my back pocket for my vibrating phone.

Mrs. Claus, I’m missing you. When are you coming home?

Home? To mask my budding smile, I slowly pulled my lip in-between my teeth.

Home?

This man knows how to put a smile on my face by saying the simplest things.

Anywhere I lay my head is just as much yours as it is mine.

I should have known that when he gave me keys and the security codes last night. I’m still in disbelief about that.

I should be finished here really soon and I’ll be right back at the North Pole to keep your lap warm, Santa.

It’ll be the first time I’m spending Christmas Eve anywhere other than here and to say I’m nervous would be an understatement. Usually around this time of the year, O would be in the midst of the season so his family would make the effort to come to New Jersey to be with him. Even though he’s currently not playing, they still decided to come up and enjoy the chilled weather. For the past couple of days, he’s convinced me to rid myself of my reluctance and to be with him and a few people I’ve yet to meet like his grandmother Mille, his uncle Mike, his aunt Pat, and his step-father Derek.

Naked right?

And don’t even get me started on the lie that I had to tell everyone in this house so that I’d be able to get out of our Christmas Eve tradition of my cooking and us sitting around watching our favorite Christmas classics while bundled up under quilts that we’ve had since Celeste and I were toddlers. That lie involved Taylor, who’s actually in Atlanta right now, and Scott who actually did invite me to his Christmas Eve game night over at his place.

I can make that happen. Not while the elves are awake though. That’s a bit inappropriate, Santa.

My snicker wasn’t soundless. It was loud enough to alert Celeste and her eyes slowly panned in my direction and raised in curiosity at what tickled me.

“It’s Taylor.” I said it before she could ask.

Baby, don’t be mad at me but I already cut the red velvet cake. It was just sitting there and I couldn’t help myself.

I knew he’d do it. The fume enticed him by itself, so his response to the finished product was of no surprise. I didn’t even make him promise me that he wouldn’t touch it because I knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself just as he said. It’s why I made two of them.

I knew you would. Enjoy it. That’s why I made it.

I spent the morning baking as a part of his Christmas request. Renee’s handling everything else, but all of the sweets are my task. When I return, I’m going to make my mini eggnog cheesecakes and cookies.

Try and make it back before the snow starts. I don’t want you driving in that.

It’s not supposed to be enough snow to keep the east coast hiding inside of their homes, but it will be enough to leave traffic dragging and the roads hazardous. I’ve never been much of a fan of driving in the snow, so I do want to be out of here before those flurries began to fall.

Will do. I’ll see you in a bit love.

“I can’t believe you’re about to go and spend Christmas Eve hanging out with your co-workers. Don’t you get enough of seeing them at work?” This is her second time making commentary about this since I’ve been here and I’m not even sure why. Celeste and I barely say much of anything to one another whenever I’m around, unless she’s scolding me about some area of my life that she assumes that I need to improve. It’ll be no different tonight as they’re all curled up in the living room watching classic holiday films while enjoying the dinner that I’m preparing and a shit ton of junk food we bought at Walmart the other day. Besides, her husband is here and when he’s with her, nearly all of her attention is on him.

“What’s the big deal? We’re not kids waiting around on Santa anymore. There are no babies here in the house that we need to be extra festive for. I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast and then we’ll all open up the presents together like we usually do. You won’t even notice that I’m gone.” Maybe my mother will, but she certainly won’t. Whenever her husband’s around, her attention remains solely focused on him. She parades herself on being a so-called traditionalist as a wife; whatever that means. Either way, her head is up his ass and luckily for her, his is just as far up hers.

“What time are you getting here in the morning? I figure I’ll at least be considerate enough to start making breakfast around them so by the time you’re here, you won’t have to eat cold food.”

“Most likely around nine or a half hour after it. It won’t be much later than that.”

“That’s if you’re not hungover, huh?”

“I won’t be. I have no plans to drink, unless it’s like a half glass of some spiked egg nog. Can’t go to a Christmas function and not have some egg nog. I’m driving, so it won’t be much.” I’m not irresponsible with my life and in addition to that, if O smells the alcohol on my breath, he’ll be scolding me all night long for having the audacity to drink and drive.

“Okay.” I never thought she’d leave the kitchen. She’s been in here since my arrival and comfortably settled at a spot in front of the island, while watching my every move. Initially, I thought she was doing it simply to be a critic of whatever I intended to prepare in the kitchen, but now I know she sat there as a mean to try and find her way into my business as she always seems to do. I’ve never been interested in what she has going on with Preston since she met the man. Even when we all went out to dinner a few years back and she first introduced him to both my mother and I, I didn’t have much of anything to say. All I could make of their connection was that she was obsessed with everything about him and luckily for her, he was smitten enough to feel the same way about her. She needed a man who could and world be a bit of a pushover for her and he is exactly that.

My father’s beloved stewed chicken or as he called it, poulet creole, was a breeze to prepare because I’m the only one in our home who learned every single aspect of that recipe directly from him. On a random summer day, while my mom and Celeste were out at the hair salon getting curls put into their hair for Sunday service, he interrupted me from watching ESPN, and called me into the kitchen for yet another one of his many lessons. The manner in which he taught me wasn’t by me looking on at his every task but instead me doing all of the work while he closely directed so I’d my hands would familiarize themselves with the process as he claimed. It was the same method that his grandmother taught him to cook with.

I preferred learning to cook under his guidance far more than my mother’s because she’s like a drill sergeant in the kitchen; barking down on her subject for any mistake or mishap with her directions. He and I laughed, danced to whatever he chose to play in the radio, and compared and contrasted our opinions on any topic we could think of. I will always hold him in the highest regard for allowing my self-expression to flourish. As a West Indian father of two girls, he could have easily chosen the overprotective and absurdly sexist route in raising us, but he didn’t. Rather than doing his best attempt to blind me from life beyond the doors of our home, he chose to listen to my perspective and then teach me about what life has to offer whether good or bad; easy, moderate, or difficult.

I miss him. Actually, that’s an understatement. During the holiday season, that pain that lies dormant within my soul flares up into an intensity that I have to stoically mask for the sake of getting through. As much as he emphasized the need to prepare both Celeste and I for the day that he was no longer with us, none of us ever expected it to be as soon as it was. I want to be the strong and independent woman that he raised me to be, but in some ways, I still need him. My mother needs him because she hasn’t been quite right ever since. Celeste needs him just as much, because there’s a part of her that has always sought him out in the men that she chose to allow into her life since his death.

“Celeste, I’m heading out.”

“Nice coat and hat.”

The caramel wool cashmere single-breasted silhouette was an unexpected gift from Kobe before we went on break for the holiday. Everything about the hand-embroidered embellishments and the manner in which it loosely accentuated my frame instantly made me fall in love with it with the Burberry piece. He encouraged me to open it up while we were standing there in my dressing room so I’d be able to see if I liked it, but I voiced that it wouldn’t be right to open it before Christmas. My curiosity nipped at me all morning long until I fed into its urge by opening it up and like a kid whenever they’re given anything new, I had to wear it immediately. The matching beanie hat is the cherry on top. Before I’m off to bed tonight, I intend to thank him again.

“Thanks. It’s my Christmas gift from Bean.”

“Who?”

“Kobe.”

“So, you’re going to be here around nine, right? You better not be late because I’m not defending you when mommy snaps.”

“Yes. I’ll be here. When she gets in from church, tell her to call me if she needs me.” I still can’t believe she went to Christmas Eve service. Actually, I’m quite surprised that she didn’t pressure Celeste and I into attending.

“Will do. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas Eve.” Unexpectedly for her, I leaned in and planted a soft peck on her cheek. We’ve never been the type of sisters who shower one another with a lot of love whether it be physical or verbal, but on there are those random occasions when I do show or tell her how much I love her. I’d like to think in all the ways I help her or come running when she needs me, it’s a reflection of what I feel just as much.

“Merry Christmas Eve. Have fun.”

“Will do. You too. Since mom isn’t here, maybe you and Preston can get a little practice in on that baby that you want.” With a slight scoff, her eyebrows raised.

“Since when are you on the wild side?”

“I’m reserved, not virginal. See you in the morning.”

A gust a wind slithered through the open space as soon as I opened the door to step outside and very faint sprinkles of snow filled the air as they lightly cascaded down to meet my frame. I thought I would have been out of here before it all started but the beauty of it ceased any complaints that I usually would have if it weren’t Christmas Eve. If anything, the snow makes the spirit of tonight even more fulfilling. I don’t have to dream of a white Christmas because it seems like the city is being gifted with one this year. “Happy Holidays stranger.” I didn’t see his car parked across the street nor had I noticed him jogging across the street after locking the doors behind himself and yet here he is, stepping up onto the sidewalk and inching closer to the steps of my mother’s porch to trigger a slight downward spiral of my mood with his presence alone. I don’t know what it is with Quinton and his purposeful choice to remain all in the family despite my resistance towards whatever he and my mother thought they had planned for my love life. Initially, I believed he genuinely viewed us as an extension of his own family and supporters in the neighborhood who he knew he could count on, but now, I’m not sure what the fuck this is or where he’s going with it. “Happy Holidays.” “How have you been?” “Well. You?” I was better just a minute ago. “I’m well enough.” “What brings you around? The holiday? You seem to always show up around here whenever there’s one.” In his hand, he held a gift bag that I’m going to assume is for my mother. It’s not that I mind that he buys her gifts, because deep down, I don’t. I’m mostly concerned with what they mean. “I don’t just show up here on holidays. I come over and check on your mom from time to time. You know I love Mrs. Nazaire.” My scoff was loud and clear. Any time we speak now, he sounds like nothing more than a fame hungry politician, who uses manipulation tactics to garner allies and supporters. I’m sure his antics are no different with my mother. It’s why she holds him in such high regard no matter how much I don’t give a fuck. “Yeah? It’s starting to feel like you’re screwing my mother. I’m not looking for any step-dads within our age range. Sniff around women your own age Quinton.” The sarcasm flowed from my mouth and into his ears; leaving a flustered expression on his face that quickly transitioned into one of annoyance. “I’m not. I’ve only been to bed with one Nazaire woman.” “I’m glad you used the past tense. I barely remember that one and done situation; but I’m glad that you do. She’s not here, but Celeste and her husband are. You’re more than welcome to wait for her and I’m sure that you will.” “I don’t know what it is that Shamel did to you, but you’re so bitter now. Not all men are hood gym owners who fucked you over repeatedly while dipping into women who bought memberships to be trained in doggystyle position rather than on treadmills. All I wanted to do was be a good man to you, but you’re coming at my head as if I’m your enemy.” He said all of that and yet I’m the bitter one? If anyone asked me anything about this man’s personal life, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything aside from what I know from the days when we’d actually hangout with one another. I haven’t kept up with much about his life story since then and I’d prefer not to know now. That’s the difference between he and I; he remains invested in what doesn’t concern him while I can’t seem to find a reason or the time to concern myself with what he wishes I would concern myself with. “I’m growing a bit confused about who has the pussy between the two of us. Only bored and lonely women concern themselves with what was or wasn’t going on in another woman’s relationship. Damn, you were more invested in what Shamel was doing with his time than I was. I’m bitter because I don’t want to play your political trophy wife or are you bitter because despite my firm no, you’re still sniffing around here and chasing me? Find your dignity Quinton. Don’t go out like a wack bitch, aight?” “I hope you don’t go out like one either. Make sure you keep it classy by not fucking with all of those athletes that you’re constantly around. How many have you been with thus far?” “All of them.” I’m usually not the type to laugh at my own jokes but I couldn’t help but to chuckle at his facial expression. I’ve been slut shammed more times than I can count. It happens every day when random people hiding behind social media accounts on apps decide to accuse me of using my body in order to keep my job, so Quinton doing it isn’t offending me any more than it does when strangers are doing it. Initially, I used to be extremely irritated by it but I’ve come to terms with the reality that people are going to say and assume whatever they want no matter what I do or feel about it. No matter who I do or don’t have in my bed, my bills are paid. “Excuse me. I have some place to be.”

Stepping around him wasn’t the problem; it was the oddness of him standing there and watching me slip into my car. Like a lost puppy, he trudged up the stairs to the house door and continued to burn a hole into my foggy windows with a scowl on his face that I couldn’t see but I’m sure is there. Maybe one day he’ll get it or maybe he won’t, either way, I’m not responsible for what he feels. I’ve been clear with all intentions and lack their off.

No matter how much snowfall happens in the northeast year after year, as soon as flakes of any size begins to fall out of the sky, the snail-paced traffic is an immediate effect and it drives me insane. It’s one of the primary reasons why I was in no rush to get a new car and am currently wishing I had a driver taking me to my destination. Not even the holiday tunes that I love so much are distracting me from wanting to roll my window down and shout at the drivers in front of me who are missing green lights and evoking slight amounts of fear within me with their skidding. What would usually be a forty-five-minute commute turned into nearly an hour and a half.

The relief that washed over me at the sight of the double entry driveway was well received as I slowly inched my way in and focused in on the three bodies standing in the driveway. I reached out to him just a few minutes ago to notify him that I’d need help getting bags out of the backseat of the car, so we wouldn’t have to make multiple trips in the brisk weather. Unlike the other males standing alongside him, the handsome one who belongs to me was hilariously covered in an oversized Santa coat with a black hood covering his blonde mane.

“The traffic was so stupid as I was on my way to the Lincoln Tunnel. I will never understand how people who have been living on the East Coast since forever still fear the damn snow. It’s not even snowing that hard.” My right hand latched onto his and he carefully pulled me out of the driver’s seat and into his awaiting arms. My complaint went into one ear and right out of the other as he endearingly snuggled my frame as close to his as possible while nuzzling his chilled face into the nape of my neck. Admittedly, I needed to feel him in this exact manner for the restoration of the joy that this night is supposed to be and bring.

“And don’t even get me started on this ass wipe in this big ass Navigator who kept slightly skidding. I was caught in between being worried for my damn life and wanting to kick his ass for driving so stupidly. Oh and…” His peck was sweet; subtle and yet enough to leave me yearning for so much more.

“Give me your keys.” To oblige his request, I dropped them into his hand and turned to both Kordell and Derek who were looking on and most likely extremely bored with my rant.

“Hi guys.”

“You finally made it. This guy was about five minutes away from hopping into his Rolls Royce and driving all the way to Brooklyn for you.” I’ve only met his step-father Derek once and in my quick assessment of him I understood that he was more of a reserve man who somehow had a humorous side to him that couldn’t be ignored. He can crack a joke and it usually comes at the right time.

“I told him I was coming. I would have been here if it weren’t for the traffic.”

“And he wanted me to get in the car and go with his lame ass.” After a shared hug with Derek, I threw my arms around Kordell and pecked his forehead despite his maneuvers to avoid it. He’s not exactly the most physically affectionate person so I purposefully shower him with some of my own to worsen whatever annoyance his oldest brother sent his way.

“You weren’t going to come looking for me with your brother? I thought you and I are good friends now?”

“We’re family or whatever, but you and bro are old. I have a lot more life to live. I wasn’t about to catch hypothermia messing with the two of you.”

“It’s not even that bad out here. You haven’t seen a real blizzard yet Louisiana boy.” His dramatics earned a light mush to his head. I’d love to see how he reacts to a couple of feet of snow covering the ground and maybe even a power outage to go with it. Now that’s hell.

“Sarai, what is all of this?” The bewildered expression on his face and him using my first name evoked me to widen my eyes in a confusion about what I could possibly be in trouble about. I don’t believe there’s anything incriminating in my trunk and if there is, I didn’t place it there.

“Gifts.”

“All of this?” Like a nagging elderly man who borders between obnoxiously cheap and being frugal with his money, he extended his arm towards the overflowing trunk and placed his idly hand on his hip to await an explanation that he’s not going to receive.

“What? I told you that I was coming with gifts. Don’t be ridiculous. Just grab them. Oh, and don’t forget the ones in the backseat. I’m going inside. It’s cold.”

“This is crazy. You went overboard.”

“I know you’re not talking about overboard. There’s a Rolls Royce parked right over there. I can start there and keep on going for hours. You really want to do this right now?” If there’s anything I’m ever ready for; it’s to prove somebody wrong. Debating is an essential part of my profession as an analyst and I haven’t lost a debate yet if you let me tell it, so I can and will give him an extensive five minutes of dialog about his spending habits and how he is by far one of the biggest spenders that I know. This man doesn’t even use his washer and dryer. He dry cleans every damn thing and never wears the same underwear, socks, or t-shirts twice.

“Nah, baby, you got it.” Without any further questions or concerns, he extended his arms into the trunk and began to retrieve a few of the many bags that they all needed to bring inside.

“Wow. You know how things go in arguments. Good job, man.”

While on my way to the warmth, my laughter at Derek’s commentary was loud enough for me to hear it but low enough so that the man of my affection couldn’t make it out. Sometimes it’s just best to keep quiet about the reality that your man is willing to put himself aside to please you and, in this case, it was his mouth.

“Sarai!”

Sometimes I’m stunned by my sincere acceptance into his family dynamic. We’re anything but traditional and we’re navigating in a manner that I’m sure they don’t understand because we certainly don’t. Aside from my overwhelming emotional affection towards the man who belongs to them more than he does to me, they’ve been unknowingly responsible for making me feel like I deserve the joy that I feel when I’m with him and around them. In my transition from hugs with Heather, Jazzy, and those who I’ve been led around the first level of the house to meet, I haven’t been able to ease away the smile gracing my face.

“Your outfit and pajamas are upstairs in the room.” I know pasta when I smell it. The fumes coming from the kitchen appealed to my senses quickly and left my stomach turning in knots for nourishment.

“Outfit?”

“Wait until you see what your guy bought for you.” Her amusement was my fear. I tend to like to make him the butt of a couple of my jokes, but I don’t want to be the one on the other end of his tonight.

“Is it a onesie?”

“No.” Suddenly I wish this glass of egg nog were spiked.

“I’m going to head up and see it. If it’s a disaster I’m pulling the feminist card and blaming the both of you because we’re supposed to be united against these men.” I waggled my finger back and forth to point out the mother and daughter duo who found my apprehension to be amusing and began slowly inch my way up the spiraling staircase that leads to the upper level of the house. Though I could hear his voice loud and clear from the foyer, O hadn’t brought my personal belongings upstairs and I’m already up here so that’s out. With that in mind, it seems even more logical to take him up on his offer of my own closet space so that I no longer need to keep trekking overnight backs to and from here.

A blend of the Italian bergamot and clay sage from his beloved cologne meshed in blissfully with the gingerbread scent that I know he purposefully misted into the room just for me. Since December came in, he frequently made note of how my home smelled like cookies whenever he came over and accused me of trying to toy with his already slightly ridiculous appetite for junk food, especially candy. Despite my love for Bath and Body Works and Yankee Candle’s holiday scents, he deemed them to be exceedingly sweet and overdone. Now look at him.

Flutters filled my core at the sight of his master suite’s fireplace being utilized for the first time ever. Unlike my obsession with them, it’s a feature within the house that he hasn’t concerned himself with since moving in. There’s something about the way the flames are curling and oscillating, flickering like gleaming lights, and cascading hues of scarlet onto the wall that naturally warms the space.

“Your stuff is on the bed.” I knew he was in the doorway. The chills trickling onto the back of my neck spoke before he did.

“You put the fireplace on.”

“I figured you’d like it. Thank God it’s electric. I’m no fireplace expert.” As his feet trudged against the wooden flooring, he dropped my monogram Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandoulière duffle bag near the entry way of his closet.

“It’s beautiful.” If it were just us, I’d curl up on the floor in front of it with a good playlist going.

As soon as my Ugg boots were kicked aside, I inched closer to the bed and alongside three bags, was a Snoopy and Woodstock perfectly wrapped present that I certainly wasn’t expecting to see. My curiously instantly peaked but in a swift second, I checked myself for discarding the waiting rule I’ve grown up with. Celeste and I weren’t even able to open one gift at midnight on Christmas Eve.

“You forgot to put that under the tree?” Instead, I reached for the crimson red gift bag and snickered as soon as my hand silky velvet material that is identical to the kind covering his frame. My Mrs. Claus coat was that of something I’d be waiting for Santa in the bedroom in rather than keeping an eye on the elves. It’s lace-up front called for a good cleavage while the pure white faux fur trimming and flared skirted bottom were more along the lines of tradition until anyone notices the split open front. What exactly is supposed to go under this?

“No, that’s for you to open now. You probably thought I was playing when I mentioned it before but I really am impatient on Christmas Eve. I like to open presents the night before and just sleep on Christmas morning. Since it’s our first one together, I figured I’d be fair to your traditions and my own. So, we can open some tonight and then open the first in the morning. Fair?” Like an eager child hoping to get his way, his narrowed eyes slightly widened with hopes that I’d agree to what he calls fair. I don’t see what the big deal is. It all has to be opened either way.

“Fair.”

“So open that.”

Lazily, my body flopped down onto the plushness of the bed and I grabbed the box with a bit of shaking to increase his growing anticipation. The contents inside only slighting moved, throwing off just about all of my potential guesses for what it may be. My first donned a smirk as I commenced with tearing through the wrapping paper to uncover the infamous Christian Louboutin box under it. Shoes? Infinite brownie points already. Much like himself, I adore footwear. I stand by the law that a shoe can make or break a look more than any other article of clothing.

“You didn’t.” Instantaneously, thoughts of a random conversation I was having with Taylor came to mind. Christian Louboutin collaborated with Indian Couture Designer Sabyasachi Mukherjee on an extremely limited-edition collection featuring hand-embroidered sari fabrics and jaw dropping embellishments that left me in awe upon the sight of it online. Every piece of material used to craft the shoes were taken from Sabyasachi’s private archive, leaving only a few pairs of each design to be created.

“Didn’t what?” His confusion was intentional. The grin called his bluff. The lid to the box went flying behind me in an instant and in dramatic fashion, I dropped back onto the bed in astonishment and bliss at the sight of the exquisite thigh high boots that I fell in love with. Their golden delicate leather straps were specially designed harness and highlight the leg. On top of it, they’re made to measure.

“Is this real life?”

“I feel pretty alive, what about you?”

“How the hell did you get these? I called everywhere. No, literally. I e-mailed fucking Hong Kong for them. Supposedly only like six pairs were made.” “Those have been in my closet since October.” The nonchalance in his tone evoked a moisture lightly seep into the seat of the lace under my jeans. I don’t know whether to jump on the bed in joy or discard everything covering my frame allow him to twist and flip me into any position of his liking. Maybe both? Both can certainly be done.

“Come and give me a hug please.” With the box now resting alongside me, I opened my arms and awaited his presence. Like a weighted blanket, a wave of tranquility washed over me at the mass of his body now being closely hard-pressed against mine. My fingers found their way into the platinum blonde curls and few loose dreads dangling from his scalp and our lips met for a kiss that I’d been yearning for since I opened my eyes this morning. The sweetness of his supple lips intoxicated me far more than anything alcoholic ever could and the way his length fingers dug into the skin of my hips nearly blurred the actuality that we’re not home alone.

“I love them so much. Thank you, handsome.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Get up so that I can get one of yours from downstairs.”

“I can wait until after you’re dressed.”

“No, I insist. Let me get it.”

“Another kiss first?”

Without hesitation, I once again pressed my lips into his own for a deep peck and moved in a fluidity with his body as we eased off of the bed. I made it downstairs and back up, with a promise that I’d hurry up and change so the festivities could really begin. I need a quick shower first before I do anything else.

“I hope that you like it. I saw it and you instantly came to mind.”

“Can I just warn you that I didn’t wrap all of your gifts. The only reason why your boots were wrapped is because the boutique did it for me.”

“It’s fine. I don’t care about all of that.” The last thing I expected him to do is be frustrating himself with wrapping paper. His patience would never be able to handle it. For some odd reason, I enjoy doing it. I’ve been the designated gift wrapper in my family for years.

Though it may seem childish to some, I wrapped everything I bought him in Dr. Seuss’ “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” wrapping paper that I randomly spotted and happily picked up from a Hallmark store in Rutherford, New Jersey. Since he deemed it to be his favorite holiday classic, I imagined it would be festive to bring an element of it into the fun.

With my phone in hand, I snapped a photo of him as he tore through it to reveal the Louis Vuitton box, I knew it to be. Within seconds, its lid was on the floor and he drew away the protective paper to reveal the tan cowhide and calf leather “Christopher Backpack” backpack I bought for him. Unlike his ridiculously vibrant Supreme bags, I fell in love with the timeless style of the backpack and the classic solidness of its color. It’s a perfect choice for those game days when he’s more dressed up than down and needs something that’s subtle while still somehow being a statement piece.

“Damn, this is clean. This is perfect for when we’re traveling because they usually want us a little more dressed up.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, I love this baby. I don’t know about waiting until next season to wear it though. I’ll have this on within a couple of days. Watch.”

Knowing him, he will. If it’s new, he’s in it shortly after receiving it. I don’t know him to be that person who saves things for later. Why should he when he’s constantly either buying or receiving things?

“I’m going to take a short shower. It’ll be quick.”

“You already smell good. What you need a shower for?”

“I was cooking. I can smell it on me. It’ll be quick. Ten minutes.”

“Your showers are never ten minutes.”

“This one will be. I assure you.”

The fib didn’t go without being grumbled about when that ten-minute duration I assured him up turned into an additional ten simply because of the feel of the warm water cascading over my skin left me in damn near a state of slumber as I stood there. My lotion lathering came with assistance and so did pulling up the opaque plaid patterned tights over my thighs. By the way of their fit, they were clearly sewn together to cater to an extremely slender woman’s shape but by the grace of God and my man’s hands they were up and over my ass without a snag or hole in sight.

“I really can’t believe you bought all of this.” We look like we work in the middle of a mall. Instead of having crying babies sitting up on his lap for photographs, he’d have lusty women beating one another to a bloody pulp for daring to cut the line to ruin their chances of sitting upon his lap and asking for his genitalia while I’d be called Santa’s Slore.

“Let’s go outside.”

Intricate patterns of the weightless ice floated downward from the darkened sky. Each flake whirled and twirled as a faint wind blustered them in our direction. Much like the silly man alongside myself randomly dancing for his personal media guy’s camera, I joyfully tracked footsteps into the barely there bed of snow covering the grounds of his driveway and took satisfaction in the sound of it squishing under my boots. I’m no longer camera shy, but being on one with him has awoken what used to be a part of me. I already knew that George would be documenting all of this just as he does for a lot of milestones and random moments of his life, but what happens if I’m no longer what he wants and he randomly comes across this Christmas video and the pictures to go with it one day? How awkward would that be?

“Hey, look.”

“Huh?” Though he only spoke two words, the thick cloud of breath still lingered as I faced him. In following his eyes as they slowly panned up, mine met the mistletoe idly hanging on the door with the red bows that were already there.

“That was not there when I got here.” I saw the bows, but the mistletoe? No. Laughter spilled from our lips at what I knew to be true. I’m slightly fatigued, but I can remember what I did and did not see.

“It was.”

“It was not.”

“Come and kiss me so that we can go inside, open up more stuff, and play cards with grandma.”

“That tone. I like it.” I’m alright with a man taking charge every now and then.

“Come here.”

The frost of the winter air was of no match to the warmth radiating from our bodies and serving as a shield around our affection. I’d often fantasize about moments like this; having a companion to comfortably, and most of all safely, bare my all to without any guards or painful baggage weighing me down. I believed the advice of allowing it to come to me was standard and cliché, but I undoubtedly understand it now. It’s when you least expect it that the unexpected happens in the best way possible. I ruled him out of my life as soon as we had that initial conversation and yet the universe continued to cross our paths, naturally coercing me to allow him in. In the midst of all of my fears from the past and present, I want only him.

“Okay, let’s go. I want to see everything that you got me.”

“You can’t open everything tonight. That’s breaking our deal.”

“Huh?” I trailed behind him as he dashed back into the house and towards the living room.

“You heard me!”

I chose the kitchen counter top as my designated seat for what turned into the most chaotic gift giving presentation. Like a hood Santa Claus, all I could pay attention to was my man and his slightly sagging plaid pants zipping through his home pulling out gifts from seemingly everywhere. They jokingly talked about how much of a grinch he was last Christmas but he’s certainly redeeming himself this year.

I can’t remember the last time I thoughtlessly splurged on luxury designer goods but I don’t need to do so any time soon because he covered that and then some. Being overwhelmed was an understatement. Chanel, Versace, Bottega Veneta, Balenciaga, Saint Laurent, Fendi. I lost track of the rest and the process of just how I’m going to be able to organize all of it in my closet.

In watching him, it’s so easy to understand human purpose. In the midst of being here to seek fulfillment within our own purpose, we’re just as much here to look after our loved ones and even those who aren’t. Fortunately, he’s been blessed to have more and because of it, he spreads not only his love but also the benefits of his wealth among them. There’s a pride within it that has been radiating from him for over an hour now. I too, can relate. I’ve been given just as many hugs and kisses of thanks that he’s been given and I expect that it’ll continue when I am with my own family in the morning.

“Draw 4, blondie.” What he thought was going to be a swift Uno out moment turned into him having fifteen cards in his hand and a scowl on his face that is hysterical. He’d beaten me to the point of embarrassment at Spades because I’ve never been that great at it despite the many times my dad taught me how to play, so I had to somehow coerce him into playing something that I could play by pretending that I didn’t know how to.

“You know what, I’m going downstairs to whoop Kordell in some hoops because you’re cheating.” A snicker slipped past my lips at the playfully aggravated scowl on his face as he used his body’s strength to push his chair away from the round table. In a manner to taunt him, I held out my hands before me and wiggled my fingers to signify my lack of cards and the reality that I’d just won yet another game of UNO. My man being a sore loser isn’t something that he’s modest about. I and many others have known that about him for quite some time.

“Don’t be mad.”

“You’re cheating. You keep making up imaginary rules that don’t exist.”

“Seriously? The directions are in the box. Look at them or look them up on Google. It’s not my fault that you don’t know them all. You just suck.”

“I suck?” The amused expression on Mille’s face tickled all of us as she glanced back and forth, to take in every shit talking word as they left the both of our mouths. She’d been quietly observing the two of us since we joined both she and Jasmyne at the table for a round of card games.

Initially, I thought I’d been intruding on her time with her grandchildren, but the sly smirks and eventual huge smiles gracing her angelic face swarmed me with a warmness that I needed to further soothe me into a comfort zone around those who I do not know well just yet. Every couple of minutes or so, she’d give me either a gracious caress to the hand as a sign of her welcoming or a pat of encouragement to continue beating her oldest grandchild at Uno. I’m going to accredit that to the feminism within her.

“If the shoe fits, babe.”

“I’m going to remember that baby. The mental note is made.” He used his index finger to tap his forehead as I wordlessly ogled over his exterior.

If anyone looked at his attire, it wouldn’t be deemed as anything impressive; a black Supreme sweatshirt and a pair of black loose shorts to keep him much cooler than all of that velvet he had on. Simple. Why my eyes are continuing to embarrassingly bulge out of their sockets every time they land on him is beyond my comprehension. I’ve never seen anyone’s facial structure be as chiseled to perfection as his is. The silhouette of his jawbone is completely shielded by the blackness of his thick beard and yet just the hint of it sends unwavering shivers down my spine.

The glimmer in his faintly slanted and ever so narrowed eyes illuminates any room when that priceless smile arises on his face and every aspect of myself begins to figuratively melt into liquid form; between my thighs is the worst of it. In the midst of his sleep, I love to plant soft pecks down the finely lined bridge of his nose until my lips are gently pressed into the suppleness of his own. I’m addicted. I lose all sense of who I am whenever his warm tongue meets mine.

Handsome is an understatement; it isn’t enough to compare. He is beauty personified. I don’t believe there is another man in sports entertainment who has left me gasping for just a slight breath of air upon my every sight of him. It never gets old. I don’t believe it ever will.

Sometimes I have to wonder if he’s truly mine or if the universe is playing some type of sick joke on me.

“I don’t mind you remembering that.” Whatever payback he has for that may come with pleasure that I am more than willing to accept.

“Alright.” The sly smirk tugging on his lips was enough to leave me on the borderline of tickled and embarrassed as soon as he leaned over to plant a knowing and warning kiss on my lips. Despite the presence of his younger siblings and the elders within his family, he didn’t harbor not even an ounce of regard or bashfulness when it came to his need to have his hands touching some part of my body or any other display of affection, he bestowed upon me at random moments. His actions remained consistent with all that he does when we’re alone; barely any discretion involved.

“I’m not sure if my stomach is churning because of you two or because I want some cake, but I’m going to get some cake anyway. Y’all want anything?”

“You just mad.” And just like that, her brother’s large palms were lightly meshing into the side of her head for a playful mush and she instantly pushed him out of her way.

“I’m just fine with my egg nog.” Mille opted to keep hers virgin along with the other underage beings around. The rest of us had just a teaser of rum to give it a subtle kick.

“Me too. I’m fine.” I stepped on the scale a couple of days ago and I’ve gained five pounds. Between the man in my life constantly feeding me and the holidays, I’ve been overindulging on just about everything that’s offered to me. I need to get my life together.

With yet another shove to her brother’s side, Jasmyne darted away from the table with him hot on her trail with jokes about the size of her head which is no different from his own, but I’ll leave him be. They left the matriarch of their family and I at the table with decks of cards and a “Snow Place Like Home” five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle that she’s beginning to open so that we can attempt to put it all together before we’re off to bed. The peacefulness on her face evoked a solace within me that I’ve been seeking since this day began. My internal mourning subsided for the meantime as I observed her joy in being surrounded by family and most of all, because they’re all doing quite well in all aspects.

“My daughter went from telling me that you have my grandson’s nose wide open to telling me that he’s completely lost into your world and I couldn’t believe it. Odell would always laugh me off when I asked him about girls or women and he’d tell me that myself, Heather, and Jasmyne are the only ladies of value and importance in his life. From the way he’s been floating around here since your arrival and the way he looks at you, there’s officially a fourth.” My mouth moved to speak but the words remained stuck in the pit of my throat as her ash white eyebrows arose in a satisfaction at the believed accuracy of her all too knowing spirit.

“You don’t have to be modest. He’s not sitting next to you anymore.” Immediately, giggles spilled from her rosy lips prompting my shoulders to sink in a relief that I’m not sure why I needed.

“I’m not being modest. I just don’t know what to say. It feels like a lot of this is unfamiliar territory for me but at the same time, it evokes the shy and bashful side of me.” She’s been making little comments since we were introduced. I guess they were all leading up to this moment.

“That’s a good thing dear; a great thing. I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since his momma showed me a video of him working out with his physical therapists and trainers. You’ve built him back up. She gives you most of the credit for that.”

“I wouldn’t give myself any credit. His determination did it. You can’t keep someone with his determination down and he certainly wasn’t going to do it to himself.”

“Determination goes a long way, but often time, there has to be something or someone to ignite the fire behind that determination and that has been you. You cared for him, physically and most of all mentally, during what he calls one of the most disappointing and darkest times of his life thus far. So, don’t sell yourself cheaply because he talks about you like you’re priceless.”

“I believe in everyone having a person; that person that they can go to for laughter and good times or to lean on for a cry session. Whether it’s a close relative or a friend, you just need that person. I wanted to be that person for him because I know what it’s like to not have that person. He didn’t need pity. He needed encouragement that the injury is just a small part of his journey and most of all, he just needed someone to simply be there. That’s what you do for someone you lo-“

My tongue pressed against the backs of my top front teeth as I halted an admission that I’ve been withholding for a short while and coming to grips with on my own. I’ve been overly analyzing what that means for myself and how to navigate it going forward because it’s never felt quite like this before. As with all that I’ve been sharing with him, it’s new and I’ve jumped off of a cliff and into a pit of fear that I’m doing my best not to drown in.

Acceptance needed to come first and now that it has, I’ve been in a wonderment of whether or not those feelings are reciprocated on his end and how I’m going to handle my ever-going emotions if they are not. I cannot berate him for what he may not feel nor can I resent him for not sparing my feelings with lies if he does admit that I am in this alone.

I want to do nothing more than protect him. It’s almost odd because I’ve felt compelled to do that prior to even knowing him. Every attack and biased commentary that came his way felt like a personal attack on the character of a man who the world refused to understand. Now that I’ve experienced him in ways that are far beyond what were in my imagination at that time, I stand firm in what I knew all along. He’s not perfect and yet his imperfections are too what I love about him. He’s the embodiment of a security in his personhood and masculinity that I am irrevocably attached to.

“You could have finished that. Words are powerful but so are body language and actions. Yours have said it all. You know, I used to call you the young lady on TV that he likes so much, but now I call you the young lady on TV that he loves so much.”

Faint tingling nipped at the nape of my neck and the lined crevice of my back as certain aspects of her statement entered my ear like a vibrating echo; hypothetically repeating themselves for an emphasis to my thoughts. The last man I remember genuinely loving me laid down with my mom to create me. Shamel did not love me; I was something to do.

He rarely ever used the word and when he did, it was to emphasize something that he loved for me to do for him. In poor judgement and a lack of character, I accepted that because I was too emotionally exhausted to be combative with him or myself about it. Eventually, I didn’t even want him to love me. There didn’t need to be anything that kept us attached beyond an ignorant familiarity that I clung to for far too long.

“You really think so?”

“I know so dear.”

In an effort to help her, I reached my arms out and used my hands to spread out the many pieces all over the table so that we could begin a strategy to get it done. It’s been quite some time since I’ve done one of these and I’m not even sure my tired body can concentrate enough but I’m willing to try.

“Merry Christmas.” Yet again, the scent of his Sean Jean cologne slithered up my nose as the heat radiating from his body left me leaning back against my seat, relishing in it. His long arms extended over and he placed a navy-blue box down on the table directly in front of me. Upon my eyes landing on it, the all too famous Harry Winston initials were engraved in a bold gold on its surface.

“What’s this?” Along with him, Mille, and myself being in the room, there was also George who was continuing to document every aspect of this holiday celebration.

“Just a little something for my Brooklyn girl to rock with her Timbs.”

“Shut up!” Our regional teasing never ends. He tends edge me out with the Brooklyn jokes because I don’t know how many other ways, I can talk about how country he is. Technically speaking, he’s not even as country as some of the other athletes that I’ve spoken with over the last couple of years. Even his accent, that nearly melted me out of my heels the night we first conversed with one another, isn’t heavily ingrained with that Louisiana flare.

“Open it.” Without any bickering or hesitation, I slowly pulled up the lid on the box to reveal a pair of hoop earrings that instantly left me in a state of breathlessness. The emerald and round cut stones circled their platinum setting with a glimmer that one could not ignore. Every aspect of their make oozed a meticulousness to his taste and Mr. Winston’s talent. Any figure of price that came to mind could not match up with what sat before me and I know better than to ask him for specifics. I can admit to being a gold hoop wearing girl while I was back in high school, but I never imagined myself having a pair quite like this.

“Oh my God.” Circling my fingers over their surfaces solidified the reality of them now being within my possession and his supple lips pressing against my forehead widened the smile I was already donning.

“You like them? They seemed like they were very you when I saw them. Hoops for when you rock those buns in your hair.” Whether it’s a well done or sloppy bun, he always compliments how “cute” it is on me and he takes it a step further by enjoying the open access to my neck while my hair is out of the way.

“I love them. Thank you, babe. Thank you so much, they’re beautiful.” Just as I’ve done with every gift he’s given me thus far, I leapt out of the chair and threw my arms around his body in a physical showering of the love that I have for him. It’s beyond the gifts but rather the reality of him thinking of me and being so intuitive with what I desire and need that has taken his endless gift giving over the edge tonight.

“George did you get that? Now that’s a picture-perfect moment.” Mille’s face glowed in pleasure at the sight of us. I wonder if we’re reminiscent of those old black and white films that I secretly love so much. I hope so, but just in color. Everything about us is vibrant.

“I have it all Mama Millz.”

“I’ll be back.” I couldn’t take another moment of being in that unbearably warm coat or the tights.

I did change. The crimson red fair isle long john was a perfect touch for tonight. Much like earlier, the fireplace distracted me and I found myself sliding down onto the floor to marvel in its heat and beauty. If there were a pillow down here with me, I’d be asleep within minutes. Though he moved into this house not that long ago, for some reason it feels more lived in than my own. Maybe it’s because it’s filled with family right now or it may be the dogs, but I enjoy the way I feel here. There’s an eerie loneliness in my home that can be difficult to ignore sometimes.

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the fireplace.”

“Why are you acting like you don’t have one?” Once inside, he closed the door enough just to leave a crack in it.

“I don’t have one in my bedroom.”

“We can fix that.” Yet again, the nonchalance tone and now shrug awoken parts of me that I’ve been mentally taming since my arrival. He talks like he’s more than willing to give me the world in a silver platter if I were to request it.

“I have something for you.”

“I want something for you too.”

“Me first.” Rather than hanging it to him, I nudged the velvet gift bag towards his feet and he flopped down onto the floor to meet it. He dropped his gift for me, Cartier from what I observed, into his lap.

“Patek Philippe? Oh wow.” With no response, I allowed him to have the moment to himself as he pulled the chocolate toned leather box out of the bag. Our eye contact was brief as he pulled open the lid and his silence intrigued me instead of rattling my already racing nerves. Just as I’d done to the hoop earrings, his fingers ran over its surface while his lips parted to leave his mouth agape. It may not be on his arm now, but I’ve envisioned just how incredible it’s going to look on him over and over again.

“The blue isn’t only representative of the team but it also takes me back to the night we both spoke for the first time. You were wearing blue and black. In New Orleans, when we made things official, you were wearing blue. Blue makes me think of you. I know most associate that color with sorrow, but you give it life and joy. You give it character.”

Only the sound of the fire crackling against the wood served as a tune dancing in the air of stillness between the two of us. His reaction to so many of the other things I gifted to him were boisterous and comedic, but this stole his words and left him to wallow in speechlessness.

“Sarai, I love you.”

The wholeness of his words filled voids that I neglected and accepted as everlasting destruction. His patience has sealed my gaping wounds and rid me of the leftover scarring. The acceptor of my deficiencies and the protector of my delicate soul, in his eyes, for the first time in such a long time, I recognize myself. The duality of being able to love myself and him is as synchronized as my breathing.

“I love you too, Odell.”

Undoubtedly. Irrevocably.

#odell beckham jr fanfic #odell beckham fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic

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aleapoffaithfiction · 6 years ago

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XV.

"When love touches us, it dissolves the walls of misunderstanding and builds a bridge that helps us walk towards each other."- Mimi Novic

“We’re doing the whole set today. You’re on a roll my man. Let’s finish up strong.”

Don’t ask me what the hell a gastrocnemius-soleus complex is because I certainly don’t remember it although I majored in Human Movement back at LSU. Supposedly, I should feel it all in my calf but I can’t deny how much I’m feeling the pressure in my ankle too. Rather than using a chair for support, we’re on the stairs with my hand firmly grasping the banister with both of my feet pressed down onto the bottom step.

“Come on. You got this.”

My glare swiftly panned up from the steps and landed on Sarai, who stood at the very top of them with her entire leg purposefully exposed to me. The Nike shorts she snagged out of my closet are so loose on her, that she was able to easily pull up the half leg of material to the very top of her thigh. Like a hitch hiker attempting to quickly garner the attention of a driver, she wiggled her leg and ended her antics with a wink that instantly sent my trainer and finally myself into roaring laughter. As ridiculous as it looked, it was by far, the most hilarious aspect of all of her comical actions put forth all morning long to keep me as motivated as possible during today’s physical therapy process.

As soon as my alarm went off at six, I was up to start the day and so was she. We stood together at the sink, brushing our teeth while unnecessarily splashing one another with water so either she or myself would move out of the way so one of us would be able to rinse first.

I won.

I’ve never utilized the granite bench inside of the shower until she disrobed herself and stepped inside with me. What was supposed to be a quick wash turned into a waiting time that I’m sure my trainers were not pleased with, though they patiently waited downstairs with Ben. Just the sight of her impeccable body was more than enough to further ignite my need for her. She’s a goddess in her bare state. The seamlessness in her milk chocolate skin radiates in a manner that triggers me to gawk at her and completely lose awareness of both my surroundings and daily purpose beyond our moment. It’s like waving a steak in front of a hungered wild jungle lion. I will never not pounce at the opportunity to be with her; inside her.

I left her in the room after scolding her back into the bed because she’s certainly not over the flu. The silence from the second floor influenced me to believe that she’d gone back to sleep, but when she thought I wasn’t paying attention, she crept downstairs has and been observing our current rehabilitation process ever since. I would be lying if I didn’t admit to working two or three times harder than my usual under her gaze. Her presence alone served as a motivating factor to cease the sometimes-negative state of mind I tend to fall into when I reflect on all that needs to be done to get me back out on the field. I never look forward to hearing what the media has to say about me, whether bad or good, but like anyone else within my field, I cannot help but to pay attention to it because it’s there and unless you completely shut yourself off from the world, it’s inescapable. In looking at my lady this morning, I’m looking forward to hearing what she has to say when she’s reporting about my explosiveness at training camp and the redemptive comeback season that I’m going to make sure that I have. I have to win it all. I’ve sat far too long for me to not come back and get it done.

“Good job champ. You want to take a break?”

“Nah. Let’s keep going.”

Another two and half hours went by; sending us well off into the early afternoon. Not even the smell of lunch and Sarai and Ben’s loud banter from the kitchen served as a distraction. Perspiration covered nearly every part of me as I trekked up the stairs to the bathroom for a shower and though I took one, it was pointless due to my desire to sit inside of the steam room.

When I first took a walk through of the house with the realtor, I snickered at the idea of a steam room being in the house, let alone me sitting inside of it. I’ve always looked at that as a spa type of a situation that mostly women enjoy. I’m not even into the cold or hot tub rehabilitation practices after extensive workouts at our training facility because my patience tends to wear thin after standing or even sitting there for over ten to fifteen minutes. After moving in, I would walk past it for a while without even considering giving it a try no matter how many times my momma raved about it, but after one mentally draining day earlier this year I needed some time to myself and I chose to sit in there to be away from any outside distractions in the house and most of all, from my phone.

The more technology advances, the more we’re unable to set our phones aside from an extended period of time. They’ve become our source for everything; communication, entertainment, keeping track of health, research, and just about anything else that the internet is able to aid us with. We’ve reached a point of not being able to help ourselves with the manner in which we crave to have them in our hands. We panic when the battery hits below seventy percent, we’re buying portable chargers or begging people to use theirs whenever we’re out of the house or car, and a lot of the time we’re timing just how long we’ll be somewhere based upon how much charge is left. I’m guilty of it, so I have no room to pass judgement on anyone for it. I’m trying to get better at it stepping away from it though and the steam room has been one of my forms of discipline.

With my phone sitting in some other room, I’m able to be one with my thoughts. It’s my time to sort through the clutter in my head to figure out where I’ve gone right, where I’ve gone wrong, and what needs to improve for the betterment of my mental space and what’s happening around me. There are times when I’m sitting there without much of anything to concern myself with and I’m just trying to find a place of relaxation. Today might be that. In the midst of the workout, I was able to management my thoughts. Now, I’m just trying to get these aching muscles together.

“May I join you? Maybe I can sweat the rest of this flu out.” My eyes instantly opened to stare at the beauty of Sarai’s face and I used my hand to gesture her inside. Like myself, her smooth skin was covered with a pure white towel while her braids were pulled up into a sloppy bun with a few strands of them falling all over the place.

“The little green light outside gave away your hiding place.” Her presence sitting alongside me only intensified the warmth swarming my frame. Like a magnet, my eyes glanced over at her illuminating legs as they stretched out in front of her and she blissfully sighed at the feeling of peace.

“It’s okay. I’m willing to share it with you.”

What I thought was solace prior to her presence didn’t feel quite like it does with her here now. Every exhale soothed the tension from the hours of training as the drawn-out inhales of her intoxicating scent drowned me into a drunken elation. The dampened skin of her arm brushed against mine with her slight movements, leaving trails of chills trickling onto various areas of my awakening frame. My every sense instantly became hers to control; hers to summon for anything she desires. She is my peace and yet she is a flammable fluid to the flames; igniting me for what is sure to be severe and fiery. My once tightly closed eyes, ripped open and glinted over at the calmness radiating from her and I wordlessly scolded myself for having every intention to interrupt that. My teeth wrenched my bottom lip when the tips of my fingers met the very top of the delicate towel and our glares instantly met as I unraveled it to reveal everything that I wanted.

“Come here.”

Without hesitation, Sarai stood to her feet leaving the towel idly lying on the bench and gradually straddled my lap in the exact manner that I yearned for her too upon the sight of her. Inexorably, her supple lips meshed into mine, sending a bliss spiraling through every aspect of me. My eyes closed yet again, but it wasn’t darkness I saw. Bursts of colors flashed before me, alleviating any remaining tension I may have had while melting away my awareness of anything beyond the two of us.

As soon as my lips peeled away from hers, I trailed them over any area of her moist skin that was within reach. Her hips bucked, beginning a purposeful tormenting as she grinded into my lap. Foreplay or anything of its sort were the last thing on her mind, prompting me to battle with my lead and her own.

“Don’t make me wait.” And just like that the stiffening worsened along with the tight grip I had on her hips. Just as I had reached for her towel and successfully removed it minutes ago, she was now reaching down between us for mine.

“I never do.” My tongue laved over her nipple causing a sharp hiss to spill from her lips.

With one arm lifting her up to give me just enough space, I was able to discard of my own towel. To feed my ever-going curiosity, my fingers slicked along the wetness oozing from her while unified grunts filled the steamy space around us. As my thumb strummed over her most sensitive point, the impatience worsened. Her fingers raveled into my hair, lightly tugging at it to draw me in for yet another kiss.

“You gon’ ride it?”

“Please.”

I didn’t need to hear anything else.

Within seconds, she was lowering herself onto me; sending a rush of uncontainable chills nipping at every nerve ending I have. The profanity that left me was instant. The warmth from the steam was no longer relevant because it was of no match to the heat of her throbbing flesh snugly wrapped around me. My arm locked around her waist for some form of self-composure, but I failed in what I sought out as she unhurriedly rocked to and from me. Any form of control I thought I have ceased as soon as my head met the wooden wall behind me while my eyes watched her perform.

“Damn, Sarai…” The unparalleled sensation was one thing but her damn near mythical like aura in the midst of it was sending me into a wild delirium. Her skin gleamed, under the dim lighting. The sheen of perspiration covering it only enticed me to lick at her; satisfying any thirst that I have. The perkiness lightly bouncing on her chest sent my attention span into a frenzy as I constantly panned my eyes between her face and them. I’d sound like a dickhead if I thanked God for her getting sick, which then granted me all of the time I’ve had with her this week, so I won’t. I’ll just be thankful for the time and how much we’ve been doing this since she starting feeling better.

A piercing yelp filled my ears as I pulled her down, further deepening myself into her. Shudders washed over me, leaving my mouth agape in a disbelief. I could hear Ben calling my name in a distance from the door, which prompted me to cover her mouth with my own, in a hushing kiss. While it lowered the timbre, if he stepped to and stopped in front of the door, we’d be guilty as charged. The reality of that was of no interruption to our moment or Sarai’s hips.

“Shhh…” My warning against her lips evoked a grimace to form on her gorgeous face as she pulled the bottom one in-between her teeth. With every touch of her finger tips to my scalp, an electricity nipped at my skin, shutting down any aspect of composure I was trying to keep and evoking the animalistic aspect of myself that I only know to show itself on the field. The only healthy drug that exists; she is that. My escape; she’s become that. I don’t know or realize any sense of time when she and I are together; I’ve surrendered myself completely to her without fear of any outcome that our future fate may be.

And in my addiction to every aspect of her, I am secured in knowing that I am not alone in what I feel. I know it to be true in the way that she steals glances of me when she thinks I’m not paying attention. I can hear it in her tone when she’s encouraging me and recognizing the greatness that she takes pride in me having. I recognize it in the way that she looks after me while also holding me accountable to properly look after myself. I can feel it in everything; her kisses, hugs, caresses, shit right now. Right fucking now.

“Fuck!”

My throat tightened while my grip on her hips tightened even worse than they already were. It was her turn to kiss me into a muffled silence. My heart’s writhing against my chest quickened. Our hazy eyes remained locked on one another while a mutual ecstasy arose. Any self-awareness I had left relinquished itself to her world; allowing me to bask in what is unlike any other that was before her and anymore never to come. Our cries voiced out against our lips, hers before mine as I wanted it to be and yet mine soon after.

Breathlessly, I continued to kiss her as our frames shuttered, relishing in the elation.

“You think he heard us?”

“I don’t care.”

And I don’t.

Despite the sweat suit and North Face coat serving as a protective barrier over my body, the brisk whirling air swarmed and numbed me to a standstill as while I watched the doors run around the backyard area to stretch themselves out. Though it hasn’t started yet, the cloudy sky gave warning for the pending snow that should be making its presence known by sometime tomorrow morning. The weather reports are inflicting fear within the tri-state area with their eight to twelve inches predictions but I’m assured in all of it being an over exaggeration.

For the most part, since I’ve been living in New Jersey, we usually never get as much as they say we are. Sometimes, I anticipate one of those historic blizzards and the concept of being snowed in the house but the reality of the headache that is the clean-up process settles in and my mind swiftly changes. Also, being snowed in the house is only a cool situation depending upon who you’re snowed in with.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too cold out here for them?” I glanced back to find Sarai halfway outside of the sliding glass door fully dressed, but without the barrier of a coat or shoes. Just as I’d been doing, she quietly glanced up at the sky to assess the shift in the weather.

“It’s not too cold for them. It’s too cold for you. Get back in the house.”

“Did you forget that I was born and raised in Brooklyn, Nola man? I’m not fazed by the cold.”

“Yeah, but you’re not completely better yet. Don’t mess up your progress. What’s with the clothes? I thought you were just going to throw on something from my closet to longue around in.”

“I was, until I realized that it’s going to snow tomorrow. I’m going to have to drive to Brooklyn to make sure the ground is salted in front of my mom’s house. Actually, I’m probably going to have to go to the store to buy the salt. She never remembers to get any. Then there’s my house. That’s the part about being a homeowner that sucks. Usually my neighbor is kind enough to help out without me even asking him to, but I don’t want him to feel like I’m depending on him to do it.” To further disregard my request for her to go inside, she stepped out of the door just a bit more and summoned Mowgli to her with two pats to her lap.

“Your neighbor?”

“Yeah, he lives a few houses down from me. He’s damn near sixty-five years old and has a wife, who he’s been married to since he was twenty. It’s admirable.”

“Forty-five years of marriage? Wow.”

“Exactly. They’re still super smitten by one another too. He looks out for me from time to time when it comes to stuff like shoveling snow or putting ice down because he views it as a man’s job. He has that old fashion aspect to him, although I think it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly. It’s proper. I can go to your house and put the salt down. Just give me the keys. You can go to do what you need to do for your mom, so that you can come straight back here.”

“Don’t worry about it. The last thing I need is you getting hurt trying to pour salt everywhere. I have it under control. Besides, you need to spend some time with your friend. I’m sure he’s tired of seeing my face around here. I’m not one hundred percent but I feel a lot better. We can switch back to our normal roles of me as your nurse and you as my defiant patient now.”

“Ben doesn’t pay bills in my house.” My response wasn’t amusing to me, but it certainly was to her. Her laugher was loud enough for both myself and him to hear it, if he’s nearby. Last I remembered, he was sitting in the kitchen, frowning, and complaining about sometime. I wasn’t listening.

“Yeah, but he’s here visiting you. How fair is it that I’m intruding on that?”

“Intruding? I want you here.”

“And you want him here too. Be fair.”

“So, you’re going home?” I knew the answer to that question and yet I still asked though it’s the last thing that I want to hear. I thought she’d be here until she goes back to work. We don’t ever get stretched of time to be around one another in the manner that we’ve had this week and to say I’m spoiled is an understatement.

“I’m like ten minutes away. If the snow isn’t too bad tomorrow, come and see me. If not, I’ll come to see you.”

“Or you can just stay.”

“Don’t be stubborn. You’ve had me for days.”

“Hmm.” Khan darted off to retrieved the nearly deflated football I threw off to the far left. It was in a good condition days ago, before he sunk his teeth into it and put tiny holes around its perimeters.

“Don’t be like that. Come and give me a kiss.”

Rather than walking in her direction, I remained in place to purposefully taunt her with my slight irritation and pigheadedness. She remained just as amused as she’d been when I mentioned who pays my bills. It wasn’t long before I felt her warm body wrapping itself around me. Her giggles were muffled as she pressed her face into the back of my coat while clutching my as tight as she could.

“You are so stubborn. Kiss me.”

“No problem.” I lifted my arm so she’d be able to swing around to be in a closer proximity to my face and I pressed my lips into her forehead.

“Kiss my lips now.”

“Take off your pants.”

“Not those! Come on. I want to get to the store because people are ridiculous when winter storms are coming.”

To oblige her plea, I finally leaned down to give her the “see you later kiss” she needed before parting ways with me for the day. If she just stayed, we could be kissing all day long.

“I’ll call you when I get in the house.”

“Alright. Drive safely.”

“Will do, handsome. Eris, you want to come home with me?”

“No, she does not. Leave my child right where she is.”

“You’re so petty. She loves me. They all do, actually.” Though I waved her off, I know they do. She spoils them whenever she’s around and she’s starting to get them accustomed to jumping up on my furniture. We’re going to have to have a talk about that though, because they know better and they’re going to continue to know better.

“If you’re going to be a momma to my dogs, we’re going to have to split their bills. The vet, grooming, and feeding them isn’t cheap.” We smirked in unison. “I can do that, for as long as daddy is splitting momma’s bills.”

“I can do that for as long as momma is splitting on daddy’s….”

“Okay, okay, shut up! I’ll call you.” Her hands flew up in surrender at the shift in the conversation and she blew me a kiss before stepping back inside.

Aside from rehab, I really haven’t done anything this week other than shack up in the house, as old folks call it. That’s never been me. Since coming into the league, sitting still hasn’t been something I’ve been able to do and I’ve gotten so accustomed to constant movement, that I’m even doing so when I’m on my own personal time.

Whether it’s New York or L.A., there’s always something going on and I somehow find my way being a part of it. Most would attribute it to my age and lack of a personal responsibility aside from myself, but there’s also an aspect of loneliness to this life that you don’t realize until buying anything that comes to mind starts getting old, visits from the family aren’t as frequent because they have their own lives, and having your friends in your face twenty four seven isn’t as entertaining anymore.

My first three years in the league was filled with more partying than I ever experienced. I went from being a young twenty-one-year-old thinking I was coming into this solely to focus on playing football and to provide for those that I love, but that catch exposed me to a totally different aspect of all of this and I definitely got wrapped up in it. A lot of analysts now reference to me as a superstar celebrity who just so happens to be a great professional football as either a deliberate insult or as an unnecessary excuse for the poor attitude, they believe I have. I’ve had fun for sure, but there’s been something about being under the radar while dealing with my injury that has not only humbled me, but also exposed me what I wasn’t seeing in the midst of the partying and drinking.

I don’t miss it at all. It sounds crazy to even say or contemplate, but I don’t. I guess that’s what meeting the right one does to you? It’s a joke that I even laughed at Shep for the way he quickly became head over heels in love and obsessed with everything about Chanel. We used to tease him as a collective whenever he raved about her and humorously dismissed him from our childish Apex Predator’s Club but it’s really starting to feel like I’m dismissing myself too. Am I really clocking the fuck out?

Sheesh.

“Aye. Struggle Face. What the fuck we getting into now that you decided to bring yo ass up for air?”

“I’m about to make some calls for invites. Game night. Order some pizzas and wings.”

“Or we can all just go to Bowlmor Lanes.”

“That’s cool too.”

I guess getting out for some air in Manhattan could be good for me.

I pride myself on my capability to be well rounded in most sports, but bowling is equally a hit or miss. On a good day, I’m embarrassing anybody who steps up to the lanes, but tonight, I’m getting by ass handed to me by both Shep and Ben’s asses. I won the first round and I’ve been in a slump ever since. Maybe it’s because I mentally clocked out an hour ago.

“I’m so mad that we didn’t bet money. I could have been blowing a bag over at the Supreme store right now.” Because I drove, I passed on the alcohol. I’ve been babysitting this glass of strawberry lemonade for a while now. The ice already melted in it.

“I’m letting your ass win.”

“Aye Shep, you hear this sore loser?”

“You know O hates losing. He doesn’t even mind that he’s a sore loser. He’ll tell you that he’s one himself.”

“I will. I don’t mind losing here though, because this shit doesn’t count and I’m not going full out.”

“Now he’s not going full out. Man, whatever. I’m kicking your ass fair and square. You lucky I ain’t put it on the ‘gram and embarrass you even more.” Ben stuffed a handful of fries into his mouth and stuck up his middle finger at me as he chewed them. His lead isn’t even that impressive for him to be talking all of this smack, but I’ll let him have it.

“What’s been up with rehab bro? I know we touched on it before, but how’s it been going since I was last over there?”

“It’s been good. We ramped it up some more and we’re incher closer to working on stamina and agility. I still have those sore days but it’s nothing that I can’t handle. I’m just glad to be back on my feet.”

“Word. We ready for you to bring your ass back. The locker room’s been dulling without you. I been trying to hold it down, but it’s not the same.” It’s always good to hear that. This season has been a tough one to watch from home. The possibility of making it to the playoffs was nowhere near possible. Lost wise, it’s the Giants’ worse season yet. It’s been frustrating to even think about. We were already zero and four going into the game where the injury happened and not much momentum picked up from there.

“I’m working. Can’t wait to be back brother.”

“Yeah, he’s working, playing nurse, and practicing how to make kids all at once. That’s one multitalented mu’fucker.” A bit of Shep’s drink slipped out of the side of his mouth as he snickered at Ben’s slick ass commentary.

“Wait. What you mean?”

“Sarai moved in.” As soon as the lie left Ben’s lips, I sucked my teeth.

“Damn, y’all moving like that already?”

“You really believe this dumbass? She caught the flu and stayed with me until she was feeling better. Since she wasn’t going to work, it just made sense.”

“So, you’ve hung up your cleats to become a nurse now? Okay, house husband. I see you.” Their laughter came with justification. I deserve that. I did it to him for a while, so it’s only right that he does it to me. I can be a sore loser, but in this case fair is fair. The joke’s on me.

“Real funny.”

“You should have seen him. He had Renee in there making all these soups and teas and shit. He was bringing that shit upstairs to her, giving her medicine, and rubbing stink ass Vicks on her.”

“Did you do the choo choo train or the airplane when you were bringing the spoon of medicine towards her mouth?” If Victor was here, he and Shep would have been going back and forth with the jokes endlessly. I definitely miss having his guidance around. He’s still my family nonetheless.

“Ya’ll done?”

“You called me high maintenance for dating a supermodel but you’re with a sports analyst.”

“He’s dating the enemy Shep. I thought you hate the media.”

“I don’t hate the media. I just think the media doesn’t give people the opportunity to grow; well at least some of them don’t. They stick to one narrative about you no matter what you do. Other than that, it’s whatever. I have a lot of respect for plenty of the sports reporters. I love Kim Jones. Kobe and Chad are great additions. Cris Carter is cool. We speak from time to time.”

“But everybody loves Sarai Nazaire though. I’ve never anyone say a bad thing about her. If anything, dudes have been plotting on ways to get at her. You saw Otto at Chanel’s party.” Of course, he’d bring that up. He’s just as entertained by it now as he was that night.

“That’s not important.” I’ve heard more than enough of it. She’s locker room talk no matter where you go. Her name will randomly come out of someone’s mouth at a social gathering and most of all, when I’m surrounded by a bunch of guys who can’t help but to shift the topic of conversation to women they’re trying to turn into another notch on their belts. It’s no lie that she’s a popular name within those conversations, but the part that always remained interesting was her lack of acknowledgement and attentiveness to it. It’s what made them deem her to be intimidating and arose questions of whether she’s a “bitch” in person or not. Of course, she’s never been anything of that sort, which worsened plenty of desires.

I get it. When I was sitting across from her during the interview we did up in Bristol, I could barely focus on what she was saying. My mind was on everything about her other than her words, but by the grace of God I was able to pay attention just enough not to expose myself. Granted, I made the running joke of a video about guys who lust over her, so I wasn’t as composed as I wish I was.

“Does your mom like her?”

“Yeah, she loves her.”

“Yeah, probably because she has a legit job. I can’t say the same thing for all of your past situations.”

“Keep talking shit and you gon’ have frost bite all over yo’ ass from being kicked out in the snow.”

I finally gulped down enough of the watered-down lemonade to leave the glass half filled. My phone vibrating in my pocket captured my attention next.

I miss you.

I wasn’t expecting that. I figured she’d had enough for me for the week, hence why she left but clearly not. I can’t suppress my smile even if I tried to.

I miss you too.

I missed her as soon as she left me standing outside with the dogs.

I grabbed a couple of things from the grocery store and couldn’t help but to grab your favorite snacks. Maybe you can stop by for a little while?

Sarai’s about to have me go out like a sucker in front of my friends. Shit.

I’ll be there in less than an hour.

“I know that look. That boy is out of here. Ben look at him. He’s about to bail out.”

“We’re done playing anyway.”

“We paid for two more games. You really about to leave? If you do, I’m never going to stop making fun of you. Oh, and I’m replacing you with young Shep as a friend. This man is getting married and he’s sitting right here.”

“By the time you get back to the house, I’ll probably already be there. Don’t sweat it. I’ma bust your ass in Call of Duty before the night is over.”

“Nah, we done. I’m never coming back up here again. I’m keeping my ass in Florida.”

“You’ll be back.” I had to laugh. His over exaggeration never ends.

“Yeah, but not to visit yo’ sucker for love ass.”

“Shep, I’m gon’ plan something at the house right before Christmas. Maybe two or three days before. Come through.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You want me to drop you off at the house or yall gon’ stay and play those games?”

“I got him. We’ll play and head back.”

“I’m bringing a gang of bitches back to your crib with me.”

“Whatever.”

As soon as I pulled my hood over my head, I stood up from the table and began to quickly make a dash towards the exit. The pending snow fall left the place without as much of a crowd as they usually have, which allowed me to not be approached by anybody for anything. I usually don’t mind it, but sometimes people don’t understand when you want to have a moment of normalcy without having to stop for pictures. It almost starts to feel like you’re in a fish bowl or like you’re a zoo animal caged in with all of these spectators just looking at you and waiting for you to do something to entertain them. Any moment where I can be out on the scene alone or with people without much hassle is a moment that is appreciated tremendously. I already have slight paranoia of what that type of stuff will be like when I’m a parent and I’m out somewhere with my kid or kids.

Rather than taking the Henry Hudson Parkway straight to Fort Lee, I took New York-495 West into New Jersey 495 West because it was the better route and had no traffic whatsoever. That less than an hour time frame I gave her was a promise kept because I was parked on her street no more than thirty-five minutes after my departure from the city. Yet again, my hood was over my head as I jogged up her steps. Aside from the elevator, another great aspect of Sarai’s house is the view of the river. I always take a glance at it while I’m standing outside. Tonight, it looks even better with all of the holiday lighting covering all of the houses. Her banisters are wrapped with white lights and there’s a wreath perfectly hanging on her door.

“I didn’t think you’re get here this fast.” Our kiss was short and sweet. I could taste whatever chocolate she was enjoying. “And you drove the Rolls Royce. Really?”

“It’s usually the only one I drive.” It’s always funny to see her in Giants gear. It takes me back to when she questioned me about my assumptions of her being a fan or not.

“In front of my door though?”

“Sometimes you’re a bit too humble about who you are. It’s never going to be a surprise that you know people with money. Something smells good. You cooked?”

She stood there and continued to eye my car as I followed the fume of whatever was coming from the kitchen. I had wings while bowling but I have more than enough room for whatever that is.

“Shrimp alfredo. I made a Caesar salad too. Wine is on the counter.”

“I’m on it. Thank you, baby.”

“Uh huh.”

She stood at the door for as long as I was in the kitchen it seems because when I was on my way to the living room with my plate, she was entering with me. The dim lighting set the mood for whatever movie she had on pause.

“What were you watching?”

“The Preacher’s Wife. Whitney is so flawless in this.”

“This is a good one. I’d probably say The Grinch is one of my favorites, but I just enjoy watching A Christmas Story with my step-father Derek because he laughs at it like he’s never seen it before. I mean, he laughs until he has tears in his eyes and it just makes me laugh.”

“I laugh at it too. Ralphie is hilarious. My dad loved that movie.”

In the midst of me stuffing my face with arguably the best alfredo I’ve had aside from my aunt’s; Sarai became one of those people who everyone hates to watch a movie with. If she wasn’t mumbling along to every line that came out of Whitney Houston’s mouth, she was singing along to the songs while bopping that small head of hers. I had to tune her out when she began to rave about how fine Denzel Washington is because I’ve heard enough of that from my momma. He’s absolutely one of the elite actors’ period, I don’t even need to mention his blackness, but there’s a universal attraction to him amongst women of all age groups. He and Idris Elba are always the ones being mentioned.

“Baby.”

“Hm?” I noticed it when I sat down earlier, but it became all I could focus on once I returned from putting my empty plate into the kitchen. While her porch looked as festive as it needs to be, the blandness of the Christmas tree sitting in the corner of the room didn’t make much sense. Around it is boxes of what I’m assuming are the decorations that are supposed to be on it and rather than having the Christmas stockings hanging from her fireplace, they’re randomly piled up together on top of it.

“Why haven’t you decorated the tree? The porch looks great, but what happened in here?”

“I don’t know.” It was mumbled dismissively. She didn’t even bother to look in the direction of the tree.

“You didn’t have time or something?”

“I guess not.”

“Or you didn’t remember to do it?”

“That too.”

“Or you were planning to do it right before Christmas Eve?”

“Exactly.”

“Sarai.” I used the tips of my fingers to turn her head towards me. I kept her jaw lightly in my grasp to stop the frivolous lies in response to my questions. Eye contact became a challenge because she chose to look past me instead of looking directly at me. The once joyous expression on her face as she did her best to match Whitney’s unparalleled tone morphed into an anguished that she did not want me to see or experience. The glossiness in her eyes stifled me.

“It was a tradition between my dad and I. We used to do it together every year. I lost interest in it.” Guilt punched me in the gut at full force.

Her answer was already playing in my mind before she said it. Sorrow only fills her eyes at the subject of him. Typically, she grimaces in frustration when speaking about her mother. The strain between the two of them is a subject she tends to avoid but I’ve picked up on bits and pieces of it. For her sister, she’s usually rolling her eyes and scoffing at the manner in which they’re polar opposites. For her father, his death still torments her as if it happened just a few months ago or less. There’s a void within her life that leaves the pain of his loss weighing on her shoulders and hanging over her like the darkest cloud. The avoidance makes sense.

“What if you and I make decorating the tree our tradition? We’ll continue it together. The memories of you and your dad will always be special. I’d like to honor that with you by breathing life into the tradition again.” The questioning glare she held eased into a quiet contemplation with her own thoughts about my suggestion. If she turns it down, I’m okay with that. I’ll never force it.

“You can say no. I’m okay with that. I won’t push it.”

“There has to be hot chocolate with a lot of marshmallows in it. I’d usually bake cookies. I don’t have any cookie dough in here but I do have those butter cookies that comes in the tin can. You know the ones black moms keep everything but cookies in? Motown Christmas has to be on. My mom isn’t biased and can listen to anyone sing holiday music but for him, it always had to be Motown. Oh, and hats. They’re a must.”

“Okay, I’ll put on the water for the hot chocolate and I know Apple Music has to have the Motown stuff. We can do all of that.” A rush of excitement urged me to leap off of the couch and dash towards the kitchen.

“There’s no need to put water on. I have a Keurig. The box of Swiss Miss k-cups is in the first cabinet. The marshmallows are in there too.” We were a distance away but I heard her loud and clear. While the first cup brewed, I used my phone to look for the music we’d need to really set the mood for what we’re about to do. I don’t know the first thing about decorating a tree because my momma always does it for me, but I’m about to make Sarai’s look like something out of a catalog for the sake of seeing her smile.

“I found a bunch of albums baby. Which one?” “The one with the purple cover. It should have clouds and flowers on it too with something like a picture frame in the middle. I think that’s one of the better albums.”

“The one with The Temptations, Stevie Wonder, Smokey Robinson and The Miracles, and Diana Ross and The Supremes?”

“That’s the one.”

I connected my phone to the Beats Pill she keeps in the kitchen to use while she’s preparing for something and hit play on the album she specifically requested. Michael Jackson’s childhood voice blared into the kitchen’s space immediately. As she dug through the boxes, I left the speaker and my phone in the living room so I’d have free hands for the cups of hot chocolate. Within minutes, I returned with those, with marshmallows spilling over just how she requested it.

“So how do we start this?”

“Well, we don’t have to worry about lights because it’s already pre-lighted with color and clear LED lighting, so I guess we just have to put the other stuff on.”

“Why do you have an artificial tree instead of a real one?”

“Because they shed and I’m not a fan of the smell.”

“Not a nature kind of a girl huh? Noted.”

“No, so don’t ever think you’re taking me camping.” Aloofly, her fingers scratched at her braids while we stood in place attempting to visualize exactly how this tree is supposed to look. I guess you just throw garland on it or something, right?

“Well, maybe we should figure out the color scheme first?”

“I have red and white ornaments, red and gold ones, or red and green. They’re sets and they’re all separated. Which set?” Is this supposed to be so complicated?

“All of them?” Our eyes met while I shrugged. It makes sense. They’re all Christmas colors.

“Okay. I guess it could work.”

Her once tidy living room began to look like a holiday catalog vomited in it as we dumped boxes of decorations everywhere in an attempt to figure out what we were going to do. Once those hats were secured on our heads, we frolicked in silver and gold garland while vocally butchering one song right after another. I didn’t realize I knew so many holiday classics until now.

“Alright, so these are tree picks. You just randomly place them anywhere. Just make it look good, I guess.”

“So, in here?” I stuck one in the velvety red petals into the tree and slapped my hands together to rid them of the gold glitter that donned the edges of the petals.

“Yeah. Like that.”

“Baby, what’s that Run DMC Christmas song?”

“Christmas in Hollis.”

“That’s the one.”

I grabbed my phone to make the switch and just as she knew I would, I start dancing around the living room. I hit any old school dance that came to mind with my camera on to capture it as I did so. She didn’t leave me out to dry. Once all of her laughing was over with, I had a dancing partner yet again. She one upped me by knowing the lyrics, so I had no choice but to go harder in the dancing area.

“Mariah! We have to hear Mariah next.”

“You have to perform it though. Lip sync battle.” “Put it on.”

She may not be able to sing like Mariah. That New York Giants may not be what anyone would consider holiday comfort wear. The sloppy bun she pulled her braids up into may not be what most would consider an ideal hairstyle. They can all go to hell too. All five foot five inches of her danced around the living room in what is by far the most flawless performance of the infectious song. An empty tube that once held golden ball ornaments was her microphone and I was the affection of her eye. I drowned into her essence so much that every lyric suddenly felt like they were written for and about me. The gleam in her eyes illuminated the living room far more than the lights beaming from the tree and the heated glare of the fireplace. Her smile? Infectious. My cheeks were beginning to ache because of my own. I’m never doing karaoke with her.

“Your turn!”

“Nah, you got it.”

“Oh, come on. Pick a song.”

“I’d fall flat after that”

“You better not show anyone that video either. I know I look dumb as hell.”

“You look adorable.” A light mush to my head came instantly.

With an arm hanging over her shoulder, we stood together and observed the work we’d done on the tree. I’m not sure what else we could add. We’ve been at it for hours, putting stuff on, taking some off, and replacing it with what we thought would look better. A little bit of this, a little bit of that, and whatever else.

“Wow.”

“Right.”

“That looks…”

“Like shit.”

“Right.”

We cackled knowingly. It looked like crap all along and yet we continued with carelessly placing all that she had anywhere we saw fit to place it. We had no real strategy or methodology. We sought out fun and that’s what won in the end.

“It’s our shit though.” That prompted me to kiss her forehead. “I needed this. Thank you.”

“I don’t need a thank you. I’m just glad we did it. We can fix it in the morning.”

“No, it’s staying just like that. It’s so funny.” I think Charlie Brown’s struggle tree might look better than the clutter we have sitting in the corner of the room.

“What would happen after you finished decorating the tree?”

The curtains were drawn back just enough to display the falling snow outside. The flakes were thick and beautifully cascading to the thin sheet covering ground.

“A movie; usually my pick.”

“Well, what’s your pick.”

“A Miracle On 34th Street, with ice cream.”

“We’re going from hot chocolate to ice cream?”

“Yes. I’ll fix it. You put the movie on. It’s already in my purchases on the Apple TV.”

Under a red and black flannel throw, we closely curled up on her plush couch with chocolate fudge sundaes. Mine was practically melting as the bowl rested on the coffee table near the sectional. Our legs intertwined at random points while she laid back against my chest savoring every remaining bit in her own bowl. As if she’d never seen it before, her concentration on the film never faltered but I was only able to massage her scalp through her braids while mentally reliving this entire week, including tonight’s festivities.

Shep’s question at Chanel’s birthday party came to mind. I couldn’t and didn’t answer it then.

New York has never felt like home until now. Everything I feel is so peculiar and yet so addicting. It’s absolute, with indescribable and infinite measures. In the midst of a time that I thought would be traumatic and chaotic, I’ve found an unimaginable peace that I have innately gravitated towards and come to cherish more than just about anything else going on in my life. What felt like a bleak future beyond my professional life has now opened up sharp visions of a path to take that will ultimately lead me to a fulfillment. I’ve gone from dreaming about what life would be life with the woman I came to admire on my television screen to now never wanting to envision life without her.

I’ve always heard to love is to genuinely want more for someone than you could ever want for yourself and there’s nothing more that I want than for her to have all of the goodness this shallow world has to offer.

Without being hesitant or unnerved I can confirm his question. It’s without a doubt.

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