My Daughter's Boyfriend (16 page)

We returned to our room and I threw myself on the chair. I kicked off my shoes and kneaded the corners of my head as if that alone would make sense of what just happened.

“Uggghhhh, stupid, stupid, stupid. Dumb, dumb, dumb,” I said, and slapped both sides of my face in rapid succession.

“Hey, whoa, Tracey,” Aaron said, and knelt next to me. He grabbed both of my hands and placed them in my lap, holding them in place until I relented. “Please, don’t start tripping. Everything was cool.”

“That’s what you say, but what if Derrick opens his mouth to Lauren before you get a chance to tell her anything?”

“He wouldn’t do that,” he said, and poked my leg with one strong fingertip.

“You don’t know him. He’ll do anything to make me look bad.” My mind was going, going, and spinning a web of the worst images possible.

“Hey, you guys haven’t been together in how many years?”

“Seventeen.”

“Ain’t no way somebody would hold a grudge that long.”

“Like I said, you don’t know Derrick. Damn, I hate that we saw him.”

“You’re really scared he’s going to say something to Lauren?”

“It’s just that it’s none of his business. He doesn’t have the right—”

“Tracey, Tracey, don’t worry about something that you have no control over. So what if he tells? Let me do the talking. I don’t want you to have to say anything to Lauren.”

“Aaron, that’s going to be pretty hard to manage, don’t you think, being that we do live in the same apartment.”

I slapped my legs together.“Aw, shoot, this is impossible. We can’t do this,” I said, and leaped from the couch, nearly twisting my ankle in the process.

“Yes, we can, Tracey. You’re just upset over Derrick, but nothing is going to change. We can still get together. It’s all up to you, because my plans haven’t changed,” he said, following behind me.

“Hmmm!” I was hearing him, yet I wasn’t.

“Tracey, talk to me.”

I thought a minute before I gave Aaron my answer.

“Well, to me this kind of messes everything up, because you hadn’t planned on saying anything for another two weeks or so.” I glanced at Aaron. “You still going to wait?”

“That I don’t know. I know you’re worried, but I don’t think he’s going to say anything. What can he say? That he saw us at a gift shop? It’s not like we were making love in the middle of the floor.”

“Doesn’t matter. Anybody’s mind would go there if they saw two people together at a hotel. Shoot, even if I was seen with a woman, someone would think something trashy.”

“Well, we can’t worry about what other people think. If you want us to be together, not worrying about other people will be one of the first things you’re going to have to get over. That includes your daughter, your friends, your mother, whoever. Once you start making what they think a priority, our relationship will be on a countdown to nothing. If anything happens to make us not be together, I want it to come from us alone, not from any outside sources.”

Aaron, twenty-one? I couldn’t see it.

AN HOUR LATER I TAPPED AARON
on his shoulder. He was sitting on the edge of the bed watching network news, and looked up.

“Let’s go,” I told him.

He didn’t ask a single question, just immediately turned off the television and followed me. Just like that.

I almost did a cartwheel.

For the first time since we’d been hanging out, we drove in the same vehicle. He sat next to me in the Malibu, both cell phones turned off, and we stole away to a bustling and noisy Red Lobster on Highway 6 near Westheimer Road.

I ordered snow crabs; he ordered steak and lobster.

Both of us had virgin daiquiris. Two apiece.

“Hey, a long time ago, I know the name ‘Tracey’ was the bomb. If you were a girl and that was your name, you were automatically popular,” he said looking intently at me.

“Tell me about it. Even when I was coming up, the girls in my class couldn’t stand my guts. Just because my name was Tracey, like that alone guaranteed me a great life or something,” I said perplexed.

“I’ll bet you looked like a Tracey. A cutie pie with nice clothes and hair.”

“Yep, and I acted like one, too.”

“What would you do?” he grinned and sat up in his seat.

“Shoot, I really wouldn’t do anything, but the boys would still be all over me. Following me. Begging for my number. Wanting to buy me stuff. I ate it up, too. Loved that attention.”

“And what would the girls do?”

“Talk about me like a dog, or refuse to talk to me at all. Then they’d set me up. Do rude things to me just to try and start a fight. And I never went out of my way to bother them. I wasn’t thinking about them,” I told him, and sipped on my daiquiri.

“But they were thinking about you, huh?” he asked.

“I guess so,” I told him.

“It’s like that when you’re young.” He shrugged.

“Aaron, that sounds funny coming from you.”

“You’re not so old, though,” he said.

I cracked the legs of one of my snow crabs. Snow crabs taste great but the looks of them always remind me of the monster in the
Aliens
movie.

“Hey, I’ll be thirty-five in August. My body’s ever changing and I hate that. I’m sure you’ve noticed all the c-lite and birthmarks on my legs.”

“Not really, Tracey. You look better than you think. Besides, no one has a perfect body.”

“How would you know that?”

“Well, I’ve been around plenty of so-called tens. And I don’t care how long their hair was, how great a complexion they had, or how small their waist, every single one of them still had physical flaws. And these women would be fine as hell, but they’d feel so unattractive because of one zit or the fact that one breast was bigger than the other. Or they’d be depressed because of skin discolorations on their hands. I didn’t understand that.”

“Aaron . . .” I lowered my head and gave him an intense stare. “Do you think you look good? Be honest.”

“I’m
all right.
” He blushed. “I think I’m healthy, got great skin, nice hair.”

“How much do you weigh?”

“Uh, around one-ninety,” he told me, and dipped a piece of lobster in the butter sauce.

“Are you into fitness?”

“Yep. I try to run three or four days a week, treadmill, and aerobics sometimes. I was trying to get Lauren to—”

I ducked my head and began toying with my baked potato.

“How about you? You work out?” He stared while I sprinkled salt and pepper on my food.

“Does Jennifer Lopez need a booty inflator?”

“I see. So what’s the problem?” he asked with sternness.

“Working out is
sooo
boring.”

“And being fat is exciting? Not that you’re fat, but if you don’t watch out, you could be.”

I raised an eyebrow, but he was too busy trying to scrape out a piece of lobster to notice me.

“Say, Tracey, what size do you wear?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oops, sorry.” He meditated for a moment. “Okay, if you wanted to buy yourself a new dress, what store would you go to?”

I set down my fork and stared at him. He snapped his neck and gave me a ‘what’s up with that?’ kind of look. I gave him a ‘no, you did not go there’ glance. He shuddered and rolled his eyes.

“Rrrrrr, okay, let’s change the subject. What are your plans during Christmas? Traveling anywhere?”

I shoved my carb-filled baked potato to the edge of the table.

“Nah, I’ll be home. You know that Lauren is going to Georgia. I think she leaves the day before Christmas Eve.”

“So you’ll be alone on New Year’s Eve?”

“Indira will probably bring in the new year at Solomon’s Temple. I know I’m not going, so I guess I’ll be home alone. Why?”

“I could come be with you if you want some company.”

“You’re making me blush, Aaron. You know, I really enjoy being with you. And see, all this talking isn’t so bad, is it?”

“It sucks. I hate it,” he said, and wrinkled his nose.

“Liar,” I laughed. “You are a real trip.”

We clicked glasses.

“Here’s to a happy future together. Are you in agreement with me, Tracey?”

I paused. Tried to mentally fast-forward to even happier days.

“Put it this way, Aaron. If you believe we can have a happy future together, I’m in agreement with you.”

We clicked glasses again.

LATER THAT NIGHT WE WERE IN
bed, wearing our pajamas. The TV was turned to The Movie Channel, but we weren’t watching.

“Aaron, tell me something.”

“Shoot,” he said, setting aside a hotel brochure.

“Why didn’t you run from the gift shop when you saw Derrick approach me?”

“Tracey, only punks run from gift shops.”

I giggled. “Again, I ask, why didn’t you—”

He smacked me playfully on the cheek with the back of his hand.

“Seriously, Aaron. I just think it’s possible to be a man and still not want to face what could have been an uncomfortable situation.”

He nodded. “Well, first of all, I knew you were probably tripping. Humiliated. I couldn’t leave you, Tracey. How could I have left you?”

My eyes glistened, and for a moment I meditated on what he just said.

“Thanks, Aaron,” I said in a soft voice. “You’re so good to me.”

“Hey, a true friend will always be a friend.
Always.”

“I’m so glad you said that.”

“Said what?” he asked.

“That you’re my friend. It’s important that we be friends and not just lovers, you know what I mean?” My eyes began tearing again just at the thought; he was saying all the things I wanted to hear, and then some.

“You think that by tagging on ‘friend,’ you’re making what we’ve developed more legitimate, don’t you?” he asked.

Instead of immediately answering, I rubbed my ice-cold toes against his ankle. He didn’t even flinch.

“Well, I guess in a way you’re right, but I just appreciate that you think of me in that way,” I replied.

“Oh, here you go again. Thinking I want you just for your fine-azz body.”

I laughed without opening my mouth; stared at him like he was a treasure of love. He took my hand and raised it to his lips. Kissed my fingers like they belonged to an infant, and kept looking in my eyes while he was doing it.

I snuggled closer to Aaron, licked my lips, and gave him sweet and gentle kisses. He closed his eyes and stuck his tongue inside my starving mouth.

Tongue-Wrestle Mania was on.

And if I had a spare eight hundred bucks, we would’ve been holed up at the Marriott another six nights.

Aaron 17

Monday morning. Different time. Same place.

After making love three times last night, our exhaustion surrendered to much-needed sleep. Usually my body jars me out of my unconscious state right around 6:00 A.M., but this morning I had a little outside assistance. The brilliance of the sun penetrated the curtains and the window, causing me to stretch and yawn.

I looked at the clock. It was seven-thirty.

I glanced over at the shapely, precious lump that was sitting next to me reading a book.

“Tracey, what up with your hair, woman?”

“What do you mean? You don’t like it?” she asked, setting aside a mass-market copy of
Summer Sisters.

“You just woke up and your hair is smashed up and sticking all over your head; you look like
Planet of the Apes Meets the Creature from the
Black Lagoon.

“And so?” she said, lifting the book and reading again.

“Uh, you need to be putting a comb to that. Or find you one of those bad-hair-day hats. Something.”

“Well, I think you shouldn’t be too concerned about how my hair is looking,” she told me, still having the nerve to read. “Think about what we were doing all night. It’s not like I can break out my wig.”

“That’s no excuse, ma’am. You’ve probably been up long enough to get yourself fixed up. That’s what I love about my mom. No matter what’s going on, she never lets Daddy see her looking like Aunt Esther on
Sanford and Son.
”

She dropped the book on the bed without even inserting her bookmark. “I’m glad to see you’re an expert on all your old TV shows, but Aaron, nobody can look like a ‘ten’, three hundred sixty-five days a year.”

“Janet Jackson does.”

“No, she doesn’t. I know someone who saw her at an airport one time, and unless she was purposely trying to disguise herself, Miss Jackson looked like any other broad on the street.”

“Aw, why you hatin’ on Janet?”

“I don’t even know the woman. I’m just saying hey, if you care about me, you’ll like me if my hair is wrapped or not. Plus just last night you told me I look good and that no one has a perfect body.”

“You may not have a perfect body, but you can still do something to that hair,” I told her, and reached out to smooth her flyaway strands.

“Oh, you’re just a chauvinist.”

“No, I’m not.”

“So you say. Be for real, Aaron. Do
you
look good all the time?” she challenged.

“Yep!”

“I see you’re very humble, too,” she said, not smiling one bit.

“I
know
I’m humble.”

She groaned. “Aaron, if a person has to call himself humble, he’s really not humble.”

“But I
am
humble,” I said, winking and reaching out for her.

“No, no, no, move,” she said, shoving me and nearly pushing me out of the bed. “Shoot, Aaron, I need to get my lazy butt up and do something resourceful. I’m so tired, though.” She yawned and rotated her shoulder. “Excuse me, but I feel like I could stay in bed for a week.”

“Let’s do it,” I said reaching toward her again, but she moved away.

“No, you need to go and live your life. You can’t be under me all the time.”

“But what if I like it and I want to be with you?”

“Well, I like being with you, too,” she said in a soothing voice, “but we just can’t keep doing this.” She shook her head. “It’s insane.”

“But why not? If we like being around each other, why can’t we?” I asked.

“Aaron, if I’m around you all the time, I won’t be of any use to you. No one appreciates things that are too accessible. They’ll take it for granted.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, believe me when I tell you. We need a break from each other—”

“Oh, hell no.”

“Now, I know you might not want to hear it, but we need to try, Aaron. I mean, can’t we just try?”

“Well, what if I don’t want to?”

She snorted and laughed. “What you want doesn’t matter. All couples need a break sometime, and it’s going to happen either purposely or by a force of nature.”

I stiffened. “Meaning?”

“Meaning if we don’t give ourselves some space, even if we don’t want to, something else or another will cause it to happen.”

I cleared my throat and stared at her. Sighed and started getting dressed.

“DADDY, WHAT WAS IT ABOUT MOM
that made you wanna be with her for the rest of your life?”

It was later on that night, and I was hanging at my folks’ place for a change. We were in Dad’s cozy study. My father, Lendan Oliver, was a man of average height but big-framed. Tonight he was dressed in a maroon and green rugby shirt and dark slacks, sitting at his desk stroking his beard while reading a day-old copy of the
Houston Chronicle
. Patience was having its perfect work tonight. I let him take his usual time in saying what he had to say.

After ten full minutes, Dad placed the newspaper on his lap and asked, “What’s a five-letter word for ‘Ex of “The Donald” ’?”

“ ‘Ex of “The Donald” ’? Hmmm. Marla?”

“Heh, heh,” he laughed. “You sure about that?”

“Yep, Daddy, I’m sure. Marla Trump is Donald Trump’s ex.”

“Well, what about Ivana? That’s a five-letter word, too.”

“Who?”

“Ah, never mind; maybe Marla is more of your type,” he joked.

I laughed in my throat and patted my dad on his back.

Using a pen, he jotted down a few letters, then raised his chin and smiled.

“So when’s the wedding?”

“Huh?”

“You must be thinking about hooking up with some fine young lady, since you need all these answers, Khristian.”

I winced. From time to time, Dad got a kick out of calling me by my middle name. Maybe it’s because he chose Khristian for my birth name, but Mom insisted on Aaron. I didn’t really like him calling me that, but I wasn’t about to dispute him.

“Oh no, Daddy. Don’t put that on me. I’m still in school, barely got a job. I’m in no position to get married.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because . . . I just know.”

“Ah, you don’t know, son. When you’re in love with a woman, it doesn’t matter if you have one grand or if you’re in debt by ten grand. You’ll do whatever it takes to be with her, shield her . . . love her.”

“Are you saying you were in debt when you married Mom?”

“Son, unless you’re a Kennedy or a third-generation Jackson, you’re in debt the day you’re born.”

He chuckled and turned his swivel chair back to the crossword puzzle. Although I asked him two more questions, he ignored me for the longest. Then finally he turned and asked, “Okay, here’s a good one. What’s a five letter word for ‘the future wife of Aaron’?”

“That’s not in there, Daddy.”

He chuckled again, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.