Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall) (11 page)

Seriously, it’s amazing what people find entertaining. I tried to “wing” it, but she caught on immediately, and asked me about what I thought about so and so and this and that. I answered like the scholar I was pretending to be. However, the events and people she mentioned weren’t actually in the book. Kathryn had caught me, and instead of making it a big deal, she was actually flattered by my effort. I do however have to finish it before she’ll see me again. Kathryn drives a hard bargain, which means I’m going to be doing some serious speed-reading when I get home today, because I plan to see her tonight. I’m going to need a good six hours or so of uninterrupted reading time if I plan to get through it.

“Dre baby, you didn’t tell me that she’s as pretty as the sunset over the marina … and oh honey, you’re just a tiny little thing,” Lanette oozes, staring at Kathryn. “Come on over here and give me a big old hug. Any girl that’s got Dre in a trance is number one in my book.” Great. Perfect. At no point did I ever claim to be in a trance.

“Lanette,” I say through gritted teeth. “She’s on a short lunch break,” I warn, eyeing the table out on the patio.

“I know; I know, Sugar. I’ve got ya all set up. I even have your favorites all ready to go,” Lanette says, leading us through the door to the patio. The patio is the best thing about Ariss’ Oyster Oasis. Lanette and her late husband really did turn the place into an oasis, complete with beautiful gardens, ponds, and waterfalls.

Lanette and her husband wanted to buy a little restaurant on the marina or right on the beach, knowing how well waterfront businesses do. However, the real estate for such places was entirely out of their price range. So the two of them created a “waterfront” establishment on their own. The place is gorgeous, putting all those other restaurants to shame.

“Oh Mrs. Ariss, Dre told me about this place on our way over, but nothing in my wildest dreams could prepare me for this,” Kathryn swooned.

“There ain’t no ‘Mrs. Ariss’ here, young lady. You walk in here with Dre, and we’re instant family. I’m ‘Lanette’ to you,” Lanette says, beaming at Kathryn. “And thank you dear, my husband Roland, bless his soul, and I built this from the ground up.”

Lanette steals Kathryn for longer than I’d have liked, showing her the many different flowers, ponds, wishing wells, and waterfalls. Kathryn doesn’t seem like she’s “being polite” for the sake of good manners. Kathryn is clearly impressed and smitten with the beauty and magic of the oasis, just as all customers are. It’s easy to fall in love with the place and with Lanette as well. She’s the mother people wish their mother could’ve been like.

“And this one right here,” Lanette points, “is the waterfall of everlasting love and passion.” What? I’d never heard her say that before. What the Hell? “Legend has it, if you kiss your lover under this waterfall, then you’re guaranteed an eternity of passionate love and happiness.”

“Whose legend? Yours?” I ask embarrassed.

“Of course mine,” she says, matter-of-factly. “The day we finished this patio area, Roland kissed me under that waterfall. We weren’t in the water, but a mist of water sprinkled on us from the side. And I’ll tell you what, I loved that man passionately our entire lives together … still do.” Lanette recalls, getting misty-eyed.

Wrapping her arm around Lanette, Kathryn says, “That’s the kind of magic everyone dreams about.” Lanette beams at Kathryn again, and in that moment, their friendship is sealed.

Kathryn strolls over to the wishing well, retrieving a penny from her purse. Lanette pulls me aside and whispers, “Ya done good, young man.” I smile, knowing full well that Lanette’s seal of approval means everything to me. “I can already tell she has what you need … be honest with her, Dre.”

“What?”

“About your situation,” Lanette states.

“I wish I could, Lanette. I wish I could.”

“Honey, I gots me feelings about things and this one … this one’s a keeper.” Lanette says, nodding toward Kathryn. “She’s got beauty and heart. Hard things to find these days.”

Feeling nervous and like I’m about to suffocate, I walk over to Kathryn, and say, “Pebbles, I’m starving. Are ya done ogling everything, so we can eat?”

Kathryn and I had an incredible lunch, too quick, but wonderful. She was reluctant to try the oysters, claiming that I was just trying to get her turned on and ready for anything. I’m not going to lie; I know that oysters are an aphrodisiac, but they’re also delicious and light, exactly what you should want for lunch. The aphrodisiac part is just an added bonus.

Throughout lunch, Kathryn relayed stories to me about her middle school and high school antics with her friend, Sydney. For the first time in my life, I was interested in the storytelling of a woman without feigning intrigue just to get her in bed. Albeit, I definitely still want to get her into bed—the plan has not changed. Christ, do I.

As we walk out of the restaurant, I stop at the waterfall. I grab Kathryn’s hand and urging her back to me, feeling my body heat up as hers presses against mine.

“So Pebbles, whattya think about this legend?” I ask, staring at her lips.

“I think it’s a ploy to get people in the mood and feeling romantic,” Kathryn admits. “I also think it’s a great way get people wet.” Kathryn slowly licks the corner of her upper lip.

“Get people … w-w-w—” My voice betrays me. Son-of-a-bitch, I’m stammering. The girl’s got me stammering.

Before I can collect myself and say “wet,” Kathryn beats me to it and says, “Yeah wet.” Then, she splashes the water from the waterfall all over me, giggling and running away as she does so. It’s on.

Not caring about the spectacle, we’re making of ourselves, I grab her around the waist and take her back to the waterfall. I stand her up, turn her toward me, and say, “Since you have to go back to work, I’m gonna go easy on you.”

“Why? I’m not going easy on you, Dre,” she admits, and splashes me again.

Then, taking me by surprise, Kathryn kisses me in front of the entire restaurant, wrapping both her arms around me as mist from the waterfall sprinkles us lightly. Getting lost in the moment, I deepen the kiss, tangling my hands in her hair. I could’ve stayed there all day, all week, forever. I would’ve too if the erupted applause from the patio patrons didn’t break us from our trance. Damn, I am in a trance.

Panting and reluctantly breaking away from her lips, I put my forehead against hers and stare into her eyes. “So much for your aversion to public displays of affection.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘affection,’ per se,” she smiles, grabbing my hand and turning toward the door. “I’d say it was more an aversion to public submersion,” she laughs, pointing to the waterfall.

At that moment her face gets contemplative, entirely full of thought. Her eyes light up as a genuine smile splays across her face. Nodding, Kathryn looks at me, and says, “Nah, I think I’m submerged, completely submerged, almost drowning if I’m gonna be honest.”

“Can I see you tonight?” I ask, standing on the sidewalk outside Seaside.

“I’m counting on it,” she admits, “as long as you’re finished with
Cider House Rules
.”

“Oh my God, Pebbles, it’s so long. Can’t you give me a week … or two?” I beg.

“Nope. If you wanna see me tonight, then you’ll have the book done,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s just a matter of how much you want it, Dre.”

“Woman, you’re killing me,” I groan. “You’re really gonna make me read it … before … before I take you out tonight?”

“Nobody said anything about going out tonight,” Kathryn states. “I thought we’d stay in … maybe I could cook for you at my place.” I can see the uncertainty on her face, but can also make out the hope in her eyes. She’s gorgeous, the sexiest amount of confidence coupled with insecurity that I’ve ever seen.

“I gotta go,” I say, turning abruptly from her. “I’ve got over 500 pages or some shit like that left. I’ve got to go read.”

“It’s black, mom! You said it would be fine,” I yell into the phone, before hanging up on her.

Granted, it wasn’t her fault. I’ll call her tomorrow and send her a cookie-gram to make up for how volatilely I just treated her. How in the world did I get myself into this? I can’t cook. I’ve never even attempted to cook anything in my life. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking—that’s what. I was still reeling with weak knees from having the most sensual tongue in the world exploring my mouth.

I got home from work and decided to make lasagna, since I knew I wouldn’t see Dre until later tonight.
Cider House Rules
is a pretty tough book to get through. Anyway, I figured that I could put some noodles in a pan, throw on some cheese, and drown the thing in marinara sauce and call it a day. Wrong. It’s hard. Really freaking hard. I also thought it’d be easy to whip up a fancy salad and put some garlic bread in the oven. My lettuce was brown, and the tomatoes turned to mush when I tried to slice them. Who knew lettuce could go bad within in a month? That’s just stupid. People can’t possibly eat a whole bag of lettuce in a month. I really should eat at home and cook more often, if this wasn’t proof of that, then I didn’t know what was.

The garlic bread turned out wonderfully. It was delicious. Was. After seeing my black, crunchy, lasagna, I buried my sorrows in the cheesy, buttery, deliciousness of that perfectly warm and soft garlic bread (exceeding my points value for the day). I’m now scouring my apartment for menus of delivery places that can deliver something more than just pizza and fried chicken. I’m so screwed. I don’t even think I have time to run somewhere and get a fancy takeaway meal.

Of course, there’s knock at my door. Of course. As I open the door, I realize that I’m still in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. I threw them on quickly when I got home, as not to spill sauce all over my work clothes. My plan was to change and freshen up before Dre got here. I’m beginning to learn the hard way that planning doesn’t necessarily guarantee how everything is going to turn out. I planned to look sexy. I planned to cook an incredible meal. I planned to knock Dre’s socks off. None of that planning was panning out. Looking down, I giggle. He’s in flip-flops. No socks. Finally, something that went my way.

As I start to apologize and explain, Dre says, “I’m not done with the book. I had to put it down for a bit.” Dre hands me a bottle of wine and brushes past me and slumps down on my couch. He hasn’t even really noticed me yet. Truly, he hasn’t even glanced my way or greeted me.

Continuing he says, “I thought I knew exactly how I felt about abortion and everything. This book is totally fucking with me.” He props his feet up on my coffee table and leans his head against the couch. “I mean, I keep questioning everything. And Homer … my God … what more does he have to endure?”

I sit down on the coffee table and take his legs into my lap. “Dre, when was the last time you read a book?”

Finally noticing me, he says, “Well … ummm … I’m not sure. High school?” Dre’s eyeing me carefully now, taking in my spaghetti sauce-stained shirt and Spongebob pajama pants. “Uhhh … Kathryn? I’m supposed to be here, right?”

I launch into my disastrous attempt at culinary cuisine and multiple failures, apologizing profusely at my ineptness. Laughing, he takes my face in his hands, pulls me toward him, and kisses the tip of my nose. “You are irrefutably the most adorable woman in the world.” He stands up and pulls me up with him.