Family Ties (6 page)

Crossing the Line, Pt. 2

Chloe

“Got enough for two?” I asked.  My eyes followed Patrick’s gesture towards the half empty bottle of white wine on the coffee table. “I’ll need more than that.”

“There’s a bottle chilling in the freezer. Now you want to tell me what happened?”

Damning etiquette, I plopped into the easy chair and drank from the wine bottle all in one movement.  If Patrick thought me tacky or crazy, his face didn’t show it. As a matter of fact, he looked quite concerned. It was perhaps that look of someone wanting to know and wanting to help that had me recounting my whole weekend, ending with my blow-out with Crystal. Patrick only interrupted once and that was to run into the kitchen and retrieve the second bottle of wine and a glass for me. When I finished my story, I was in tears. I was either too hurt or too tipsy to be embarrassed. I poured another glass of wine. 

“I’m just so angry, you know?  I could always call Crystal when I was fighting with something or someone, and she would know exactly what to say. When I faltered, it was Crystal who would remind me that I always had the right decisions in my heart; I just had to find the courage to make them.  She’s my rock, or at least she was. I know she’s not thinking straight, and it’s like because I’m not a single mother she’s telling me that I can’t understand what she’s doing and why she’s doing it, but correct me if I’m wrong: what does being a single mother have to do with knowing that you don’t just trust someone who left you pregnant eight years ago?  You sure as hell don’t start sleeping with him.”

“Well, to be fair, you don’t know that she’s sleeping with him.”

“Patrick, she was playing Luther.”

Patrick’s face went blank.

“Luther Vandross.”

Patrick just blinked.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Luther.”

“Of course I’ve heard of him. I just don’t get your point.”

I sighed. “Patrick, if two people are alone in an apartment, drinking wine and listening to Luther, somebody expects to get laid.”

We both cast glances at the wine glasses. The sounds of a country song streaming from the radio filled the silence. I looked at Patrick, our eyes met and, realizing that we were both thinking the same thing, we dissolved in laughter.

“So, not only do you object to her considering letting Jermaine in Brianna’s life, you don’t like the idea of the two of them getting back together?  Why?”

“Because.”  Realizing what a third grade answer that was, I elaborated.  “She’s too smart for this. I mean, I can kind of see her point in wanting Brianna to have a father, but just because he donated the sperm doesn’t mean he can be her father. Where was he when she had the chicken pox at the age of five and cried so much, not because of the bumps but because she was missing a week and a half of kindergarten?  Where was he when my mother, Uncle Troy, Crystal and myself had to pitch in to make sure Brianna had the tuition needed to attend that gifted school?  Why would she just let him pop up and try to be her father now, and why in the world would she want to be with him?  You say
getting back together
like they had some great romance. They were two kids who got caught up and made a baby. Crystal stepped up, took responsibility, did what she had to and became a woman very quickly.  Jermaine quickly stepped out—or should I say ducked out—and forever proved himself to be a little boy.”

“Whoa, that’s kind of harsh.  What makes you so sure that he hasn’t changed?”

“Is it?” I asked, referring to Patrick’s statement before answering his question.  “Maybe it is, but I just have no tolerance for deadbeats. Men who don’t take care of their kids are right up there with rapists, murderers, and molesters. They should all be in prison. Maybe he has changed. I just don’t think she should be giving him the benefit of the doubt so quickly just because it’s hard raising Brianna on her own or she feels guilty that she doesn’t have a father around. She seems to think I’m downplaying how hard her job is, and I’m not. I know it’s hard, I saw that in my mother’s face my whole life. I just don’t see why Crystal doesn’t see that, despite how difficult it was, she’s been doing it and doing it well without him for eight years. I damn sure don’t think she should be giving it up to him so quickly. What has he done? What has he proved?”  I paused to sip my wine. “The worst part is that I didn’t even recognize her. That woman standing in front of me wasn’t my cousin.  Do you know what it feels like to be looking at someone you once knew so well only to see a complete stranger?”

Patrick looked down into his glass. “Yes, I do.”

Then it all made sense; the half empty bottle of wine, Patrick looking like I felt when I walked in, the country music: that was the original homemade recipe for misery.  Only one thing could have had Patrick so down.

“I take it your meeting with Charlotte and her boyfriend didn’t go well.”

Patrick placed his wine glass on the table.  “Not even a little bit. With Crystal, you don’t agree with some decisions she’s making and I’m sure with time the two of you will be able to talk about this and come to some understanding.”

“I hope so.” I said.

Patrick sighed. “With Charlotte... I don’t know. I didn’t recognize the person she’s become, not just because of her attitude, but even her appearance. She’s taken on this whole new lifestyle that’s so unlike her.  She doesn’t seem to care whether or not she’s driving our parents crazy.  I’m so worried about her, and the hard part is not showing my parents just how worried I am because I don’t think they could take it.”

“What do you think is going on?”

“Well for one, that damn boyfriend of hers. You have to see this guy.  He’s a joke and he’s got my sister so snowed. I hate to use a word as strong as brainwash, but I don’t know how else to explain it unless…”

“Unless what?” 

“I couldn’t say this to my family. I could barely stand thinking it much less voicing it, but something about Charlotte’s behavior on Friday gave me the impression that she may have been on something.” 

“You mean drugs?”

“Yeah.”

Patrick looked so defeated, so hurt, my heart immediately went out to him.  My troubles seemed juvenile in comparison. “If you think your sister may be on drugs you have to tell your family because she’s going to need all of you to get through it.”

“I know, but I don’t want to drop that kind of bombshell on my parents without proof.  What if I’m wrong?”

“Um, better safe than sorry. I guess I’m a little sensitive right now when it comes to family secrets. So, what are you going to do?”

“Not sure yet. I was going to call Charlotte before you came in and set up a little one-on-one intervention. I’ll try her tomorrow.”

“Don’t let me stop you if—”

“No, the way I feel right now it’s probably best to call her tomorrow.”

I was glad he decided not to end our conversation.  I hadn’t felt this comfortable in the presence of a man in a long time. It’s funny how I had all these reservations about living with a man, white or otherwise, but now I couldn’t imagine being in the apartment without him. Not just because of the sense of security he brought with him, but also because he was so easy to talk to and sexy as all hell. 

Whoa, where did that come from?

“Did you hear me?”

I was so caught up in my lustful thoughts that I didn’t hear a word Patrick had said.

“I asked if you were hungry. My mother insisted I bring home enough Sunday dinner for the two of us.”

Realizing that I had skipped dinner, I agreed to join Patrick in a plateful of his mother’s specialty: roast beef and mashed potatoes. We ate in the living room, laying off the wine and switching to water.  When we were done, we carried the dishes into the kitchen and worked together to load the dishwasher.  He rinsed. I loaded.

“Thanks for this.”

“For what?” I asked.

“Talking with me, calming me down.” We loaded the last of the dishes into the machine and Patrick dried his hands on a dishtowel.

“Well, you did the same for me, so I guess we’re even.” 

What happened next was one of those moments where two people share something significant and feel the need to cap off the moment with some sort of touching. Like, a
there, there
shoulder pat or a half hug.  Patrick reached out to touch me in what I think was supposed to be a shoulder pat.  I, in turn, stepped forward to give him a totally platonic, completely friendly hug. 

What resulted was this hug/wrestling-maneuver hybrid which left us both looking—and me feeling—pretty ridiculous. To save us both further embarrassment I mumbled, “Goodnight,” and tried to finish the hug. Our faces were inches apart and the last coherent thought I remember having was,
What the hell?

We kissed, and I stopped breathing. 

Patrick’s hand, which had been resting on my shoulder, moved to the back of my neck, bringing me closer to him and deeper into the kiss. Not to be outdone, my arm misunderstood the brain signal that said “
Hug him around the neck
,” and took it to mean “
Wrap around his waist
.” 

Bad arm. 

The kiss had started off as awkward and chaste, but what with all the neck caressing, pelvic pressing, and tongue, it soon became exploratory and, in a word, hot.  I was very much aware of how good it felt to have my hand pressed against the small of his back.  My legs felt like they were dissolving and, for fear of passing out on the kitchen floor mid lip-lock, I gathered the bottom of his tee shirt in my hand and held on for dear life. 

In doing so I pulled some of his shirt free from the waistband of his jeans.  Patrick held both sides of my face with his hands and started to kiss down my neck.  Things got real hazy after that.  I could faintly make out the hum of the dishwasher, but realized quickly that the noise was actually my moans. The dishwasher kicked into rinse mode just as Patrick’s hands found their way under my shirt. The sudden noise jolted us and we broke apart, both breathing heavily.

“Wow.” That was all he said and, even though there were dozens of thoughts rushing around my brain, “wow” seemed to sum things up quite nicely. 

“I’m sorry.” I was not sure why I apologized and apparently neither was Patrick. He reached out to take my hand.

“Why?”

I pulled my hand away.  “That shouldn’t have happened. I… had a little too much wine and I was upset, and you know, you were upset, and we just… this is the part where you saying something would really mean a lot. Like, save me from myself because I’m embarrassed and when I’m embarrassed I tend to babble—”

In my head I could hear my own voice and I wanted it to stop. I was sober enough to know I was making a fool of myself, yet the words kept flowing. Patrick was looking at me with the oddest look on his face. Afraid that I’d discover the look to be a mixture of disappointment and pity, I tried not to decipher it.

“So yeah, saying something right now would be great.”

“Are you done?”

I was so done he had no idea. I wanted nothing more than to run from the kitchen and pretend that the last few minutes hadn’t happened. Actually, if I could have gotten a do-over on the whole day that would have been perfect. All I managed to say was, “Yes.”

“Good, but I’m not.”

Book three in the
Sharing Space
series will be available for Kindle download by November 8
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