Taking Chances (Sharing Space #4) Page 3

  “And he’s going to meet my mother next week. We wanted you to come over on Wednesday and have dinner with us. Everyone’s going—”

  Then it hit me. Everyone might not be there. Uncle Troy was lying in the hospital with possible damage to his heart after having a mini-stroke, and I was standing in the hallway trying to convince someone who was supposed to be my friend to be happy for me and show some support.

  “You know what? I don’t have time for this. This is definitely not the time or place.”

  Myra dropped her arms and sighed. “I’m sorry. I just—“

  “Myra, it doesn’t matter. Black, white, or green, we have something and I’m not going to let you stand here and try to spoil it. Thanks for coming, but I’m fine now.” I walked away without giving her a chance to say another word. When I entered Uncle Troy’s room I found him awake but drowsy.

  “Hey, how are you feeling?”

  “Like I need to get home.”

  I laughed despite my pain. I sat and held his hand until Crystal arrived a few minutes later with a small duffel bag.

  “Daddy, I got you some clothes, toiletries, and your iPad.”

  “Oh, see now. This just isn’t necessary. I won’t be here that long.”

  “Daddy, you’re going to stay as long as it takes for them to make sure you’re going to be okay.” Crystal checked the blood pressure monitor next to his bed that had been set to take a reading every thirty minutes. I could tell by face that she didn’t like what she saw. “Chloe, Patrick’s sitting outside. He’s cute, girl.”

  I smiled.

  “He said Myra was here. Where did she go?”

  Before I could answer Uncle Troy rolled his eyes and said, “How many people did you call?”

  “Daddy, stop it. People care about you.”

  I gave Uncle Troy a kiss on the cheek and turned to Crystal with a knowing look. “Myra had to leave.” She didn’t push the subject; instead, she nodded her head towards the hall.

  “Go see your man. I need to talk to Daddy alone anyway.”

  Patrick and I didn’t speak in the taxi going home, but sat as close as we could to one another. I rested my head on his shoulder. He placed an arm around me and gently stroked my hair. I cried quietly the whole ride. When we entered the apartment I thought about how differently I’d imagined the day ending; I’d pictured a relaxing night with Patrick, eating pizza, and talking about our day. Instead I was overcome with immense sadness over Uncle Troy, over Myra, and for Crystal.

  Patrick helped me out of my coat and walked with me to the sofa. At first I sat, but Patrick placed his hands on my shoulders, indicating that I should lie back. I did. He knelt down on the side of the sofa and slowly removed my shoes. After a quick kiss on the lips he left the room. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about how sick my uncle had looked in that hospital bed. I tried not to think about how scared Crystal must have been, or how devastating it would be for Brianna if something happened to her grandfather, the only male figure in her life. I should call her, I thought, and my mother too, but I couldn’t lift my arms. I was exhausted.

  I was vaguely aware that Patrick was in the bathroom, and that there had been water running. I opened my eyes in time to see him approach the sofa and hold out his hand. He’d changed into a white tee shirt and pajama bottoms. It’s what he usually wore on nights we’d stay in and watch a movie cuddled up on the sofa, and seeing him that way always made me feel safe and at home. Rising from the sofa I took his hand and followed as he led me to the bathroom. There I found my robe and a towel folded on the sink, the bathtub was filled with water still emitting a bit of steam, and my favorite lilac-scented candles were lit along its corners.

  I turned to thank Patrick but, once I was facing him, he began to unbutton my shirt. His eyes never looked up from what he was doing as he undid button after button, finally reaching my navel. With a soft tug he removed the shirt tucked into the waist of my skirt and finished the last two buttons. His eyes and hands traveled to my shoulders as he gently removed the shirt from my body and tossed it aside. Only then did he look me in the eyes. Before I could say a word he placed both hands on either side of my waist and turned me around.

  He pulled me against him, my back pressed against his chest, his hands still on my waist. He slid his right hand across my stomach and up between my breasts, finally coming to rest on the right side of my neck where he used it to brush my hair aside. Patrick planted small kisses on my neck, which caused me a slight shiver even though it was burning up in the bathroom. With his hands guiding my waist again, he pushed me away a few inches and then began to unzip the back of my skirt. He eased the skirt to the floor with both hands, kneeling with it as it fell. As he rose he kissed the back of my legs, the small of my back, and finally my shoulders.

  I turned to face him in nothing but my bra and panties. There was no fear or self-consciousness as his eyes took me in from head to toe. I’d never felt sexier or more desired. I stepped forward to kiss him but was stopped as he reached behind me and began to unfasten my bra. When that too had hit the floor he pulled me forward into his arms. My breasts were pressed against his tee shirt and I could feel his heart beating against me.

  We kissed softly at first, then more urgently as he slid his hands to my waist and then even lower to help guide my panties to the floor. He bent to my knees, kissing my breasts and stomach as he went. I placed my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as he helped me step out of the panties. He stood again, wrapping his arms around me as he did, and then kissed my lips, eyelids, and face.

  He slowly backed me against the bathtub, his lips never leaving mine, and when I could move no further I took two steps back into the warm water. He broke away as I lowered myself into the water. Patrick kissed me briefly on the forehead then turned and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

  Where the hell is he going?

  Once it was clear he wasn’t returning anytime soon, I reached up to the shower caddy above my head and grabbed a ponytail holder. I tied my hair up and began to bathe. My body ached after such a long day, but even more so it ached for Patrick. I was about to call out for him when he entered the bathroom, carrying a mug. He grabbed a towel from the rack above the toilet and dropped it on the floor to cushion his knees as he knelt at the side of the bathtub. When he was lower I saw that the mug contained steaming tea.

  He knows me so well.

  It felt like we’d been this way forever. How could I have doubted giving myself to him? How could I have thought this man, kneeling before me with a boyish smile and cup of my favorite tea, would ever be anything but good for me? I reached up and rubbed the side of his face, running one finger along his dimpled cheek. A trace of water was left on his face once I removed my hand to take the mug from him and place it on the bathroom floor. He looked briefly confused, but then understanding dawned as I reached out with both hands on either side of his face and pulled him closer for a kiss.

  I turned my body so that I was kneeling in the bathtub as I greedily pulled Patrick towards me. The water moved in unexpected waves and some landed on the floor and on Patrick. If he noticed, he didn’t care. We were both on our knees, me inside the tub and Patrick out. As we kissed I reached to pull his shirt up over his head.

  His body was solid, warm, and wet as I kissed across his chest, his hands gripping my hair. Something had to give because it was as if we couldn’t get to each other fast enough. We couldn’t get close enough. Kissing and standing, he helped me step out of the bathtub, dripping warm sudsy water all over him and the floor. I shivered again as my body left the water and Patrick lifted me into his arms. Carrying me down the hall towards the bedrooms he never hesitated as he pushed open his room’s door with his foot, entered, and then closed it the same way.

  The sun had begun to set, but still provided a soft light throughout his room. He laid me on his bed and quickly drew the curtains closed. The room darkened considerably but was still lit enough that I could see
the look in Patrick’s eyes as he lowered himself on top of me. As we kissed I raised my body off the bed slightly, trying to be as close to him as possible. I began to run my hands up and down his back and wrapped my legs around him. His hands roamed up the sides of my legs, which only made me tighten my grip. He kissed down my neck and raised himself slightly to lower his pants. When they were off, he reached over towards his nightstand and I didn’t have to look to know he was getting a condom.

  When we broke our kiss to look at one another, really look at each other, nothing needed to be said. Any fear that I’d had that going to this next level wouldn’t mean anything to Patrick was erased. As he looked at me I felt beautiful and cared for, and I knew that what was about to happen was more than sex—that what we’d begun to share over the past few months had been about more than living together and sharing space. I wanted nothing more than to share as much of myself as I could give with this man. He lowered himself and, as he entered me, he said the first words either of us had spoken since coming home.

  He said my name.

  Chapter Six

  The Two Thanksgivings, Part I

  Patrick

  “Patrick, I think we made a mistake.”

  “Chloe, go to sleep.”

  “How can you be so calm?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You drive me crazy.”

  “That feeling is mutual.”

  It was the Tuesday night before Thanksgiving and we were lying in my bed. I rolled on top of Chloe. She looked amazing. Her hair was a tousled mane all over my pillow, her face without makeup still beautiful as she had a glow about her every time we finished making love.

  “Not that kind of crazy. I mean, yeah that, but I don’t understand how you’re not nervous about tomorrow. You’re going to meet my mother for the first time. That’s a big deal, Patrick.”

  Our bedtime talks had become habit. For the past week we’d spent every night in my bedroom. Now that we’d crossed that threshold we were pretty much all over each other every night. It seemed we were doing most of our talking in bed. Chloe didn’t think that Myra would be coming over for our early Thanksgiving dinner the next day considering what happened at the hospital. That subject was one of the first of our late night talks.

  “I’m confused. I’m embarrassed. I’m angry. I can’t believe she spoke to you that way. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing,” I’d told her as she lay in my arms with her head on my chest.

  “Well, it’s not right. I feel awful. I know that Myra has trust issues when it comes to white people and, to be quite honest, I have no idea where it comes from, but I would have thought she’d trust my judgment and just be happy for me.”

  “Her accusations were hurtful and totally off base, but I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt because she’s concerned about you. I respect that.”

  “Yeah, but that still doesn’t excuse what she did. Hell, I’ve been concerned about some of the guys she has dated, but I never acted like that. It just wasn’t my place. I’m going to talk to her.”

  Chloe tried, but Myra didn’t seem interested. For the past week she’d avoided Chloe at work and wouldn’t return her phone calls. Chloe had finally given up and gave in to her own anger at the situation. “Whatever,” she fumed, coming in from work one day. “If she wants to act like I’ve done something to her then screw her. I extended the invitation and that’s all I can do.”

  Eventually our pillow talk got around to the subject of my own delicate relationships. “I don’t even think Max realized how deeply he hurt me. He asked how it felt to be the one everyone turned to. Well, it sucks. Everyone in my family knows that Charlotte is slipping away. Everyone is worried about her, but somehow I’m the one they all expect to fix it. Does he think I like seeing my mother’s face lose hope when I have to tell her Charlotte doesn’t want to have anything to do with our family? Does he think it was easy keeping one friend’s secret from another?”

  As usual Chloe knew exactly what to say to make me feel better. “You know what I think? I think we’re both too consumed with trying to fix things beyond our control, things outside of our responsibility. You can’t beat yourself up over Max’s behavior towards Paul, or Charlotte’s decisions in whom she dates, or whether or not she’s going to class. All you can do is try and help when they let you.”

  We were determined not to let anything spoil our holiday plans; that is, until the night before Chloe’s mother was to arrive. That’s when Chloe seemed to completely lose her shit. We’d spent the whole day cleaning the apartment and shopping for groceries. Chloe’s uncle Troy was released from the hospital after a few days and insisted he was strong enough to come the next night with Crystal and Brianna. Including Paul, Chloe’s mother, and Chloe and me, we had to cook for seven people. Frankly, that had me more on edge than meeting Adrian Brooks for the first time.

  “Patrick, you’re worried about the wrong thing. You don’t understand. My mother was a cop. A detective. She knows how to get things out of people and sometimes it’s a little scary.”

  “What is she going to do? Lock me in a room with a bare light bulb and shackle me to a chair until I confess my intentions towards her daughter?”

  “Handcuffs, not shackles, and you’re not helping. I just want you to take this seriously and be prepared. She’s a handful.”

  “Like mother, like daughter,” I said, kissing Chloe on the forehead. “She already knows about us, right? So, the hard part is over.”

  “Yeah, I told her that—ouch!”

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, rolling off of her.

  “No, not that. Leg cramp. Anyway, I told her that we had gotten close without going into too much detail. I told her that you were an actor. Oh! She was very excited to hear about your audition on Monday. She loves Shining Moments, so you have that going for you, and I told her you were white.”

  “Was that important?”

  Chloe was lying on her side facing me with her head resting in her hand. “I don’t know, but it didn’t seem like I should leave it out. Don’t you think?” A funny look crossed her face. “Patrick, you did tell your parents that I’m black, didn’t you?”

  “No, I didn’t think it was important.”

  “What?” Chloe sat up suddenly. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No, I’m not kidding. I told them what you do, and that you’re great, and that we’re involved. And I told them that I’m happy. What else do they need to know?”

  “Don’t you think they may freak out a little bit? You already said you’ve never dated a black girl before and now you’re bringing one home.”

  “Why would they freak out? They’re not like that, Chloe.”

  “Well, how do you know? I mean—”

  “Hmmm, let’s see. I think I would remember family cross-burning barbecues.”

  Chloe slapped me on the arm. “Don’t be a smartass.”

  “Chloe, my family knows black people. My brother Liam’s best friend is black. My father worked with a few black firefighters.”

  “Patrick, knowing black people and working with them is not the same as having your son bring home a black girl for Thanksgiving dinner. I can’t believe you didn’t think my race was worth mentioning.”

  I wasn’t being completely honest with Chloe. The thought of telling my parents that she was black had crossed my mind and I’d decided not to. Of course I wondered how they’d react to Chloe being black, but it seemed to me that mentioning it beforehand would be like admitting there was something wrong with it. I’d never heard either of my parents, or any of my siblings for that matter, utter a racist word my whole life. I trusted that my family was the family I knew them to be.

  “Chloe, just trust me. They’re going to love you no matter what color you are.”

  ***

  The next morning Chloe’s inner struggle was obvious. She was excited to see her mother, but nervous at us meeting for the first time. She’d burned the toast at br
eakfast twice and, when she wasn’t in the kitchen preparing dinner, she was in her bedroom double-checking that it was perfect since it’s where her mother would be sleeping.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to sleep on the sofa,” I said as I sliced yams at the kitchen counter.

  “We’ve been over this,” Chloe responded while rinsing off a green leafy vegetable in the sink. “I just don’t think it would be appropriate for us to sleep together while she’s here.”

  “You think she’s not going to know we’re sleeping together?”

  “She may, but she doesn’t have to know know, you know?”

  “No, but I’m sure that made sense somehow. Doesn’t matter though, she’s your Mom. You know her better than I do. Just remember this conversation when you wake up tomorrow with a pain in your neck.” I walked over to the sink and placed a quick kiss on the back of her neck.