Once the doors closed, she braved opening her eyes. The mirrored walls gave her the shot she hadn’t known she wanted. Him covering her. His head resting on hers, eyes closed, mouth contented, smooth brown skin shimmering like glazed pottery against his black dress shirt. Her small against him but not dwarfed, face wrecked but not caring.
She would have taken this picture hundreds of times but never thought that she’d want to be in it.
He was a dream that she hadn’t dared to transcribe. How could she have ever imagined this kind of love? She hadn’t even seen this on TV.
“How are you here?” she asked again, causing his eyes to flutter open.
“How?” Their eyes met in the mirror, the insecurity there twinning her own. “I took an airplane, rented a car, and booked a hotel room. Then I drove over here after missing you at the synagogue.” He popped his eyebrows in thatobviouslysort of way. “Figured you might need a ride home.”
Monique sucked her teeth. “Okay, Mister Literal.” Fighting her smile at how deftly he redirected her anxiety, she tried to push off him.
“What? I answered your question.” He pulled her close again, turning her around and tucking her under one arm as he worked his way out of his coat and put it on her.
“You know what I mean.” Being so close, enveloped by him, his breath warm against her face made her lightheaded in a way that had nothing to do with illness.
He turned her around to face him. “Andyoushould already know why I’m here.” He zipped the coat she nearly swam in up to her chin and turned up the collar. His hands and eyes fixed on her face.
“I really wanna kiss you,” he said as the elevator doors opened to the lower-level garage, and his hands fell away.
For probably the first time in her life, Monique wanted to be kissed.
CHAPTER 28Maurice
He held her hand from the elevator to his rental that he’d parked in the building’s underground garage. Unsure of what was more uncomfortable, their silence or small talk, he gave small talk a try. “This building is dope,” he said as they passed a limestone pillar before going through a set of doors. “The details are spectacular.”
Monique hummed an affirmative. “We’ve come here a few times to hang. Chickie could never really live on her own, but her folks are cool. It’s crazy. I see how their faith helps them make sense of everything, but it doesn’t make losing someone to this disease any easier. I mean, we all have our losses. Death is still inevitable, but…” She sucked in a long, stuttering breath and let it out. “You were talking about the architecture.” She glanced behind them toward the elevators. “Honestly, I’ve never paid much attention.”
“That’s okay,” he said, opening the car door and settling her into the passenger seat. “You were focused on what was important at the time.”
He crossed in front of the car and felt her eyes on him, like she was trying to figure something out. When he slid behind the wheel, he asked, “What is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re looking at me like you wanna say something, so say it. You don’t ever have to hold back with me, Monique. I’ma always let you have your say.”
The Aunties’ story was a textbook example of clear communication delivering its promise. And although he had never had any conscious aspirations of a romantic partner, he desired to be understood and understanding in every relationship. He needed Monique to believe that about him.
“So, tell me what’s on your mind? Where you wanna go? What you wanna do? Lady’s choice.” He gave her a closed-mouth smile. “First, let’s get warmed up. Nobody told me it would be so cold!” He turned over the engine.
Monique chuckled. “It doesn’t take much to get used to it, though. All you need is the right gear.”
“Says the person whose job requires them to be in it—what’s the saying? Through rain or sleet—”
“Nah, man. Don’t butcher our creed.” She turned toward him and raised her right hand, holding three fingers up.“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”
Maurice huffed a laugh. “I didn’t know the Boy Scouts was a direct line to postal work,” he said, maneuvering the car onto the street.
“I take my work seriously,” she said, dropping her hand. “I’m looking forward to getting back out there.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What’s there to tell? I drive a truck, walk, and deliver the mail.”
“Beloved…” He took her hand and held it. “Don’t minimize your work and the impact it has.”
She pulled in a deep breath. “I’m trying to decide if I like or dislike how you always seem to know what to say.”
Her tone held humor, sort of. They were on unsteady ground and probably would always be with their pockmarked pasts. But with each beat of his heart, Monique helped smooth those divots, little by little. He hoped he did the same for her. It seemed like it, but until she told him directly, he’d never rest. And even then, he’d work to smooth out all the rough places within her heart and mind that he could.