“You should be smiling enough for both of you,” I said, freshening our drinks. “Is there somebody else?”

  “No,” Jade answered flatly. “I don’t think Yoshi’s having an affair. He’s too much of a workaholic.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “Are your eyes wandering?”

  Jade sipped her wine thoughtfully and cleared her throat. “Well, I’ve sort of met someone else.”

  “Sort of met someone else,” I repeated, rolling my eyes. “Are you hugged up with somebody or not?”

  “No, not really. It’s just an attraction. I mean, I haven’t done anything about it yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “I’m not even sure it’s mutual. Although I feel it is.” Jade looked soulfully into my eyes. “Nothing may ever come of it. It’s just reminded me that it can still happen, that’s all.” She let her head sink back and stretched her arms along the top of the sofa.

  “Of course it can still happen,” I said. “You’re not even forty yet. It’s not like you’re past fifty.”

  Jade sat upright. “Age is not the issue. It’s just that I put my passion into my belly dance and kids and I thought that was enough. That I could get by.” Her voice trailed off.

  I thought about the song “We Got By” that Al Jarreau sang. It was one of my all-time favorites. But when Jarreau sang about getting by, about her bringing the beans and him bringing the wine, he wasn’t talking about what Jade was talking about. Jarreau was talking about getting by without money. Jade was talking about getting by without passion. They were entirely different matters.

  “But I couldn’t really get by,” Jade continued. “I mean, I almost could until this new musician began performing at Arabian Nights,” she added softly.

  “Arabian Nights, it sounds so romantic,” I murmured after a sip of wine.

  Jade’s eyes lighted up. “When I dance to this guy’s music, it’s like making love with my soul mate.”

  “That’s beautiful,” I said with a sigh. “Stick to that fantasy. Because reality would probably only disappoint you. I mean, what else do you know about this guy?”

  “I don’t need to know anything else about him,” Jade protested. “We’re in harmony.”

  I drank a swallow of my wine. “Yeah, but is harmony worth throwing everything away for? I don’t think so. Just continue to enjoy things the way they are,” I suggested. “Don’t rock the houseboat.”

  “I am going to rock the houseboat!” Jade said, jumping up. “This marriage is making me lose faith in myself. The only thing we have in common is our kids. I feel totally devalued and unappreciated,” she moaned. “Yoshi thrives on making me look stupid. Last month at a party, he made this big deal in front of people because I thought Brut was a brand of champagne. I didn’t realize it meant ‘very dry.’”

  “Don’t feel bad, I just recently learned that myself. I never bought champagnes that much. I just graduated from Korbel to Chandon.”

  “Yoshi claims that his friends aren’t interested in what I have to say. But he doesn’t communicate, he lectures. I’m sick of it and so are my sons!” Jade shouted tearfully.

  “I understand,” I conceded. “I mean, you shouldn’t have to be miserable. But maybe you should just pamper yourself. You could take a spa vacation.”

  “A spa vacation is not a magic bullet, Dee Dee. I’ve been there, done that and got the T-shirt.”

  “Well, some women would take Yukihiro Yoshimuri for everything he’s got in an effort to find a magic bullet,” I pointed out.

  “I want more than what Yoshi’s got and it doesn’t have to do with money.” Jade sighed. “It has to do with feelings, Dee Dee. Don’t you do feelings?” She looked me in the eye.

  I swallowed. I felt uncomfortable, like I could break down and cry myself. I felt like maybe something was wrong with me all of a sudden. I considered myself a warm, feeling person. I knew I wasn’t perfect. I had my fears and insecurities, but didn’t everybody? I might not be the deepest person in the world, but I didn’t consider myself shallow, either. I didn’t appreciate Jade capping on me, but I wanted to respond to her without sounding defensive.

  “Yeah, I do do feelings,” I answered. “But I’m no expert. Maybe I’m still in kindergarten.”

  “We were probably better in touch with our feelings when we were back in kindergarten,” Jade suggested.

  “You got a point,” I agreed. “Maybe that’s when we were experts.”

  “I’m sorry, Dee Dee. I didn’t mean to be so hard on you. I just felt frustrated.”

  “You were just trying to make it real. I understand. We’re cool.”

  Jade paused and sat back down on the couch. “I just want the artist I fell in love with.” She sighed. “Not the working stiff who tells our sons that the nail that sticks out is the one that gets pounded down.”

  “Who would believe you met Yoshi at an artists’ colony?” I marveled.

  “Yeah, he was a painter and I was a poet. It seems like another lifetime,” Jade added with a faraway gaze. “The first week we were there we went for a walk in the woods and we got lost. I really was frantic, because soon it would be dark and cold and I wasn’t sure what wild animals were around.” She hugged her knees. “I directed Yoshi in circles, getting scratched by bushes and splashed by mud. Finally, Yoshi said, ‘Don’t worry, you’re with a Buddhist.’ I was so impressed with his calmness.” Jade exhaled, sinking against my plump leather sofa. “I had nothing left to lose, so I just put my faith in his ability to lead us back to the trail. That was hard because all my life I’d rebelled against the sexism in my family and my culture. But there was something gentle about the way Yoshi took charge. And I told myself, if he finds the way back, I’ll marry him, if he’ll have me. Anyway, Yoshi led me back to where we originally got lost and we discovered that we hadn’t gone far enough to make the turn. We were exhausted and relieved. We’ve been together ever since.”

  “It’s so romantic.”

  Jade frowned and sipped her wine. “But we’ve come to the end of our road now. I hardly write poems anymore and Yoshi hasn’t painted in years. Our tantric lovemaking is just a memory.”

  “I’m sorry that I tried to talk you into settling,” I conceded. “Don’t tolerate anything less than harmony.”

  ten

  I resigned myself to never hearing from Skylar. I was determined not to contact him. My mother’s words rang in my ears: “If a man is interested, he’ll let you know.” I might never hear from any eligible man again, I told myself. It was possible that I might spend the rest of my life as a cat owner/auntie/godmother/friend who gave to the needy, fought fat and helped preserve the blues. It wasn’t a bad fate. I had a lot to be thankful for, I reassured myself as I wrapped up another shift in the control room.

  I paused at Freddy’s desk on my way out as usual.

  “Why is it black folks suddenly become so wise when they get old?” Freddy asked, reaching for a slice of pizza. I was so tempted to join him in devouring the thick, juicy slices, but I wasn’t really hungry. Still, hunger and wanting to eat could be two different things.

  “Freddy, you must be a mind reader. I was just thinking about my old age, just a minute ago.”

  “Well, to be considered wise all you have to do is live long, do little and say even less,” Freddy advised solemnly.

  “I might be able to manage that.” I nodded, leaning against the wall. “My problem is what to do in the meantime.”

  “In the meantime, you best grab you a piece of this pizza.” Freddy pointed. “You don’t wanna be saying, ‘If I had my life to live over, I wouldn’t have let that pizza get cold,’ do you?”

  “No thanks,” I answered, backing away. “I try to only eat when I’m hungry. I’m in between sizes now.”

  Freddy winked. “The hell with being in between sizes, you need to be in between two sheets. Girl, you need some sugar in your bowl.”

  “Don’t go there,” I warned. “Don’t even tell me what I need.”

  “Dee Dee, I’m just talking to you as a friend. I just want you to have a reason to glow.”

  “You can’t just reach out and find Mr. Right,” I snapped. I didn’t want Freddy feeling sorry for me like I was a spinster closing up the library.

  “Well, maybe you need to settle for Mr. All Right, then,” Freddy suggested.

  I tensed up. I couldn’t bring myself to say, it wasn’t like Mr. All Right is busting my door down, either. I felt frustrated. I didn’t expect to cause whiplash at age forty-one. I would settle for turning just one head, provided it was the right one.

  “Dee Dee, there is nothing wrong with your body.” Freddy’s soothing tone interrupted my thoughts. “You was never fat, you was just what they call healthy.”

  “I’m not trying to be skinny,” I said, as though thinness were within my reach. “My main goal is to be fit. I just want to feel good in my body.”

  “Somebody else could feel good in your body, too,” Freddy teased.

  “Freddy, you’re creating a hostile work environment. It could be considered sexual harassment,” I added half jokingly.

  Freddy looked skeptical. “Anyway, like I was saying, there’s no such thing as a dumb, old, black person in a rocking chair,” he said, chomping on his pizza.

  I swallowed my saliva. My mouth watered for the tangy sensation that Freddy was savoring. But I reminded myself that I wasn’t really hungry. “It’s true,” I agreed, glad to have the subject changed. “I just saw this great movie called Lone Star. It had a wise old sista in it, rockin’ with purpose and the sheriff hangin’ on her every word.”

  “Y’all can be dumb as doorknobs in y’all’s heyday, too,” Freddy marveled. “But don’t let y’all get old,” he added, wiping tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth. “’Cause then evahbody’ll think y’all Solomon.”

  I nodded. At this point I would settle for a mushroom, I thought.

  “It’s like you’ve caught it all your life,” Freddy continued, narrowing his eyes and biting his bottom lip back. “And the darker you are, the more you’ve caught it. I mean from both black folks and white folks.”

  I nodded. Freddy reached for a small brown paper bag and took a swallow of beer. “And therefore, the more people want to hear what you gotta say, before you croak.” He belched.

  “Yeah, because like Langston said, ‘A Negro has known rivers. And a Negro’s soul has grown deep like the rivers,’” I recited.

  “You ain’t got a talking cat, do you?” Freddy asked, taking another swallow of beer. “’Cause if you do, then you could really make you some money.”

  “My cat’s named after Langston Hughes, the poet and writer. That’s who I was referring to.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Freddy mumbled, trying to play it off. “Anyway, seems like you oughta be able to retire from being black.” He yawned. “Oughta get a gold watch or something.”

  I was driving home the next night from my marketing job. I especially liked my neighborhood on summer nights. It had rained again earlier, but it had stopped as abruptly as it had started. The streets were still wet. The air was warm and clean and breezy like a tropical night. The pleasant weather had brought folks out. It was nice to see children playing under the watchful eyes of parents on their front stoops. Our neighborhood had an eclectic mix of people, different ethnicities, young, old, gay, straight, artists, families and singles, blue collar and professional folks. It was a good balance of trendy and real. For me, Edgewater had become home.

  I could smell the breeze off the Lake as I walked toward my building. I planned to light vanilla-scented candles and take a long soak in my bathtub before curling up with my mystery. It was times like these that I appreciated my empty nest. The only responsibility I had was feeding my fur child. A lover would be nice, but tonight I cherished the rare feeling that I was enough all by myself.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised to see Tyeesha in a rain poncho sitting outside my building. I wondered if something had happened.

  “Fairy godmother, I need to talk to you,” Tyeesha said in a barely audible voice, her head drooping, covered with wet braids.

  I felt relieved. Nothing traumatic could have happened, because if it had, Tyeesha would’ve been too broken up to call me fairy godmother.

  “Here, you’re young and strong,” I said, handing Tyeesha the sack of cat food. “What happened?” I asked as she followed me into the building.

  “I’ll tell you when we get upstairs,” Tyeesha answered mysteriously. Maybe T was still trippin’ on Sharon’s coming out, I thought. I knew that her mother had begun dating that woman she’d met at the conference at Malcolm X College. Maybe T was having trouble coping with it. Or maybe Tyeesha had gone and done something foolish and it had nothing to do with her mother.

  “I did it,” Tyeesha announced, after I made her take off her wet poncho and began towel-drying her braids.

  “It” had to mean sex. I frowned instinctively. I was feeling so motherly, rubbing her head. “I thought we agreed that you were going to wait,” I reminded her.

  “Wait for what?” Tyeesha asked, sounding clueless.

  “Wait until you were ready,” I answered firmly.

  “I was ready.”

  I sighed and gave Tyeesha’s head one last good rub. “I just hate to see you growing up so fast. I want you to enjoy your teenage years.”

  “Can’t sex be part of enjoying them?” Tyeesha asked, throwing the towel into the hamper.

  “I wanted you to be able to enjoy your innocence for as long as possible.”

  “What’s there to enjoy about innocence?”

  “Sometimes there’s nothing more precious than innocence,” I said, flashing on my childhood abuse. My eyes watered. I didn’t want to go back to jumpstreet. I paused and took a deep breath. “I just don’t want you to be burdened by adult worries like …” My voice trailed off.

  “Like what?” Tyeesha asked.

  I swallowed. I remembered the shame and worry, the cold instruments, the twinging pain, the sound of the vacuum suction, the nurse telling the doctor that the contents were overflowing, and those contents were what would have become my baby. The memory of my despair would echo forever, all because of one mistake. I felt a wave of protectiveness wash over me. “I just don’t want you to have to go through what I went through.”

  “We practiced safe sex.” Tyeesha rattled the words off so automatically that it reminded me that we were living in matter-of-fact times.

  “I’m glad you took precautions but nothing is one hundred percent except abstinence,” I recited.

  “You want me to become a born-again virgin?” Tyeesha asked.

  “Yeah, but I’m not naive,” I answered. “I know that it’s hard to put the genie back in the bottle, once he’s gotten out. But remember, when you open the door to sex, you open the door to a whole host of stuff, and it’s not all physical,” I cautioned.

  “Like what?”

  “You can go to stupid city. And you can get your heart broken. Because, when you open yourself sexually, you’re also making yourself vulnerable emotionally. A man’s sexuality is hanging all out there.” I motioned with my hands.

  Tyeesha covered her mouth and giggled.

  “I’m serious,” I continued. “Your sexuality is like a buried treasure. And it does make a difference, no matter what anybody says,” I added firmly. “Most women can’t separate sex from love that easily or that completely. Sex and love are both powerful. That’s why it’s so important for a woman to love herself. And that often comes with maturity. End of speech.”

  “I really care about Malik. He’s been nice to me,” Tyeesha said, goo-goo-eyed.

  “That’s good—he should be nice to you.”

  “Everybody tells us how to stay away from boys.” Tyeesha shrugged. “But nobody tells us how to be with boys.”

  “Well, my advice to you in dealing with anybody is to ask yourself, ‘Is this person good for my self-esteem? Does he make me feel good about Tyeesha?’ If he makes you feel bad about yourself, then he’s bad for you.”

  “Malik is sweet to me. He is so sweet,” Tyeesha gushed.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” I said, feeling a little envious of her puppy love. “I won’t stand for anybody dogging you. And I am thankful that you all used protection.”

  “Yeah, we did,” Tyeesha said, bending down to pet Langston. “At least the first time.”

  “The first time!” I shouted. “What do you mean the first time?”

  “We did it three times,” Tyeesha confided, raising her shoulders to her ears like she was afraid of me.

  “Three times! Three damn times! In one sitting?” I asked.

  “We weren’t sitting,” Tyeesha protested, confused.

  “I mean … you know what I mean.” I sighed. “Anyway, you only used a rubber once?”

  “Yeah, it sort of came off the second time,” Tyeesha explained sheepishly as she followed me, carrying Langston. “And we didn’t have another one.”

  “Then why did you do it a third time?” I asked loudly.

  Tyeesha stared down at my Santa Fe tiles. “Malik said, since it came off in the middle of the second time, it was already too late. We may as well do it a third time.”

  “Jeepers creepers!” I exclaimed. “Nobody in my day ever did it three times.”

  “Nobody in my day says, ‘jeepers creepers,’” Tyeesha commented.

  I rolled my eyes. “We had a first time and that was it,” I insisted, setting Langston’s food dish on the floor. “That’s why they call it the first time,” I added, filling Langston’s water bowl. “We did it once and we didn’t particularly enjoy it, because it was only the first time. It was supposed to get better. Maybe it took three times or ten times to get good. But it didn’t get better the same night.”

  “Maybe the rules have changed,” Tyeesha suggested, raising her eyebrows. “Maybe everybody does it more than once now in the same night.” She batted the long eyelashes people had been exclaiming over since she was a baby.