Saint, p.14
Saint, page 14
Once seated in front of all the equipment, I went through a descriptive overview of everything –from the material the tank was made of to all its parts. It was important that she understood all the parts of the diving gear. Once we were actually underwater, I didn’t need her looking confused when it came time for us to communicate about a specific part.
“So, will we be going under today or what?” She asked, growing impatient after the first hour had passed.
“We’ll do some shallow dives in the pool to get you accommodated with all the gear and relaxed with wearing everything. It’s too soon to dive with you, Beauty.”
She was pouting then with her arms crossed like an upset toddler.
“I want to make sure you’re safe when we get out there, Beauty. So, maybe not today, but soon,” I revealed, watching her deflate.
“I really wanted to go see the turtles and fish.”
“I know, babe, but safety first,” I explained.
Scuba diving was a dangerous sport for a host of different factors. From the pressure of the water, decompression illness, and the possibility of rupturing a lung or an eardrum, caution was required. After spending twenty minutes explaining all this to Tori, she looked overwhelmed.
“How do you feel? Do you still think you’re up for taking the plunge?”
“I mean, how hard could it be? You do it every day.”
“I’ve been doing it for years, Tori. Certain things come second nature to me… But I’ll bring you up to speed. The key thing to remember is to be slow upon ascent and breathe. Never hold your breath underwater with equipment. That’s why you have the breathing equipment. Just… trust your diving instructor.”
Once the scuba store finally opened, we went to pick out a wetsuit to fit her. The task took us at least half an hour. We left the store with a wet and dry suit, though I was skeptical if she’d ever end up using both. I spent the remainder of the morning getting her acclimated to the pool water with all the gear on. We broke at twelve for lunch.
Looking at the way she unashamedly devoured her veggie burger without a care in the world made me light up like fireworks on the fourth of July. I couldn’t stand them loud motherfuckers, but they were nice. I watched as mustard coated the crease on the side of Victoria’s lips and smiled.
I liked her. She was sexy and funny, and she helped me ease up out of my shell. I could be myself with her. The sensation was one I hadn’t experienced in… ever. All of the women I dealt with–there weren’t many– had never brought me to that level of comfort. With others, it was simple. I had hard, long dick. She had wet pussy. We fucked. We came. The end. Not with Beauty, though. I mean, yeah, we had earth-shattering, spine-tingling, mind-blowing sex, but we also had all the other things that made a nigga like me journey down a highway of thoughts.
Themes like
finding forever,
freedom to flourish,
forging a family
and things like vulnerability were at the forefront of my thoughts and feelings. Things I never imagined for myself, much less us sharing. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was love. In truth, I didn’t know shit.
“Can’t we do a shallow dive today?” She begged between stuffing her face with fries.
“Tomorrow,” I insisted. “I need to quiz you to make sure that you’re retaining all the information. I want to see you dress in all the gear without assistance and call out each piece of equipment as you put it on.”
“Ugh. Boring.” Victoria tipped her head back and groaned.
“This boring shit will save your life,” I advised sternly while adjusting the dive belt. Victoria gathered the trash left behind from our lunch and tossed it into the takeout bag. “Don’t you have work to finish up at the office, though?”
“I’m telecommuting until I take this famed dive.”
“That’s code for you getting on my nerves until we go diving,” I smirked.
“You love it, though,” she teased, blowing me a kiss.
“I do.” Shamelessly, I smirked as I confessed my addiction.
Victoria
The vestiges of Summer brought cooler evenings as it made way for fall to occupy its place in the forecasted weather. I welcomed the change with pleasure. The summer was scorching my ass alive. As the year crept to a close, my spring show to debut the line I’d created for the upcoming year drew closer.
Spring shows typically took place in late mid to late September or early October. We were just two months shy of our deadline. With that fact prevailing, my work days became longer. With every day that passed, an increasing level of stress was added the closer my team and I got to October.
All the pieces scheduled to be part of the spring line had been sketched out. The next step in the process was to get everything created. So far, my team accomplished twenty-five of the intended designs. We had another fifteen to go.
Maybe I had been too ambitious with the new collection. The complicated experimental designs were inhibiting our progress. The tortoise coat and the airplane trench kept my seamstresses working overtime in the atelier. At present, I was locked in my office making digital adjustments to the two designs. The only visible lights came from two desk lamps. One was affixed to the collection board, shining light on the sketches and swatches attached to them, and another was positioned downward to the sprawled images on my desk.
Everything else in the office was dark, save for my computer screen. Working tirelessly was an understatement. I couldn’t bear the thought of going home yet. Not when my team was burning the midnight oil.
“Ugh.” My frustration manifested in the form of a groan. With my elbows affixed to the desk, I planted my head in my hands. I was exhausted and hungry, but going home seemed so selfish. Especially when I considered how much time we had left. A handful of seamstresses were busting their asses to get things a few projects done this evening.
Three raps against my door caused my head to shift in its direction. My lack of visual coordination revealed that I’d dozed off in the exact position I’d settled in. My stiff elbow joints confirmed the offense.
“Yes?” I called out to the soul on the opposite side of the door. “Come in.” Whomever it was could enter. There were only a handful of us in the building.
“Hey.” The gruff baritone issued the greeting, energizing me out of my lethargic position. As I moved my arms, my elbow joints popped in protest.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” I smiled and stood as Saint entered the office looking all edible in cargo shorts, Nike slides with socks, and a plain white tee. It was the classic fuck nigga fit, but my husband was far from that.
“I got home, and you weren’t there. Sam informed me he was still at Demure. I picked up something on the way since you seemed to be pulling an all-nighter.”
“I’m not staying all night,” I confessed, wrapping my arms around him and inhaling the subtle smell of coconut, musk, and sandalwood. “I just wanted to pull my share of the weight.”
“Sounds like you need to throw that shit around and go home when your body demands rest, boss lady.”
“I know. I know. What’s in the bag, though?”
Smirking, Saint extracted himself from my grasp and cleared my desk of the papers scattered about. Once he made a clutter-free space, he began unloading the bag’s contents. Hibachi fried rice and vegetables were for me. He’d ordered steak with his portions. Everything smelled like heaven, but as he laid out all the food across the desk, my desire to be at home grew in propensity.
“I don’t know how you work in all this confusion, woman. This shit would run me crazy,” he fussed, glancing around the office at the disarray.
“This was a really sweet gesture, babe.” Ignoring his complaints, I gazed at the food scattered on my desk.
“But…” He froze, waiting for me to rupture the bubble he was on.
“I want to go home and eat in comfort. Then I want a shower, and then I just want to cuddle with you until I fall asleep. I’m tired. I don’t want to spend another minute here.”
“Then why didn’t you bring ya ass home, Beauty? I could have saved the trip.”
“I fell asleep. Your knocks woke me up.”
“Okay. Help me pack all this stuff up so we can get you home.”
Finally home and true to form, I peeled myself out of the chiffon dress I’d been in all day, removed the satin headband from my head, stepped out of the strappy heels, and headed straight for the shower. Had it not been for Saint bringing my plate of food up to the bedroom, I would have happily crashed on an empty stomach.
Looking down at the plate, I noticed everything had been arranged separately. The rice was at least two inches away from the vegetables, and my ginger soy sauce was still in its container –also two inches away from everything else. It all caused me to stifle a chuckle. Saint just couldn’t help himself. He meant it when he said he didn’t like his food to touch.
“I got your little chocolate candies and shit too, Beauty,” he revealed once I’d taken a few bites of my food.
“You mean my Paramour truffles?” My eyes hulked in size.
“The very same,” he nodded as he crawled into bed and positioned himself against the pillows.
Once a month, right before my cycle, I had to have those truffles available to me. Saint had picked up on my cravings and was offering assistance.
“Aw. Thank you, babe.”
“Are you about to get all misty-eyed and start crying?”
“Shut up!” I kissed my teeth and did exactly that.
Chicken and waffles. The simple vegetarian dish was aptly named, though it contained no animal meat. It wasn’t named to be deceptive. It was named because of the familiarity – the look and taste made it familiar to meat for herbivores like me.
Like many who’d chosen the particular diet, I wasn’t against meat or the taste of it. In fact, for me, it was pure vanity. I noticed how celebrities had begun to slow their aging process by reducing meat from their diet. At thirty years old, I sought to remain frozen in time with my current appearance, solidifying my decision not to indulge. The Lion’s Mane mushroom deep-fried in batter was seasoned to perfection, giving it a superb taste that rivaled the texture of meat.
After bathing my plate in hot sauce and syrup, I dug into my meal, pleased by what met my taste buds. Across from me sat Dream and Luna. Beside me sat Robyn. After waiting an expanse of time, we all enjoyed our food in cozy silence.
I’d been dodging my friends for weeks as I settled into comfort with my hoax of a marriage. Despite the truth, I hated thinking of it in such a way. There was nothing hoax-like about it to me. Saint was laid back, kind, and excessively endearing. I was energetic, outspoken, and engaging. Often, I felt like the flame to his impeccable cool.
Together, we lacked nothing except for the presence of unconditional love. Though presently absent, I had no doubts that it would soon flood us both and cause difficulty with leaving once my agreement was fulfilled.
Dream was the first to set her silverware down, prompting me to peer at her in curiosity. That heifer could eat. She never interrupted her affair with a meal until it was finished.
“Okay. Let’s discuss the issue at hand,” she announced.
“Issue? What issue?” I probed, scanning the table for any clues. Wiping my mouth clean with the napkin from my lap, I waited for an answer. Default of shame, I’d started on my plate, greedily devouring the contents without consideration for my surroundings.
“I speak for everyone when I say you have been acting weird and standoffish. You don’t return calls or texts. You’ve been flaking on our meet-ups. When we ask if you’re okay, you say you are, but your behavior tells a different story, Tori.”
Three sets of eyes landed on me, and I realized they’d been waiting to tear into my ass. This brunch was a setup.
“Ahem. Okay,” I started, instantly thinking of Saint and his response to everything. The simple affirmative word granted the ability to either end or continue a conversation. The only person wholly aware of which direction it would go was the person who’d spoken it. The fact that Saint had used it so frequently was ingenious, really.
“I’ve been busy…”
“Oh, cut the shit, Tori, we’re all busy,” Dream started. “Luna has her lumber business, I’m running a nightclub, and Robyn is almost always on the clock. That’s no excuse. If–”
“–I let you speak,” I clipped. “If you intend to talk over me and pursue an argument, I will not engage, heaux. Let me finish.”
Dream swatted her eyes at me, motioning with her hands for me to continue. Already, I didn’t like where the conversation was headed, but I pressed forward.
“As I stated, I’ve been busy. I have someone new in my life, and it’s serious.”
It was the only way to describe what was occurring with Saint in a way that my friends would understand. The question of whether or not I believed those words as I spoke them was unsettled and something to revisit later. Saint had latched on to my heart, burrowing roots, though I had yet to address it.
“We’ve been spending a lot of time together, so if you’ve been to the condo in South Pointe, I probably wasn’t there,” I shrugged.
Hell, up to now, I’d only been back to South Pointe a few times. Once to inform my parents I was moving, and the second time around was to collect personal items from the condo. My parents were nothing like my friends. For them, it was all out of sight, out of mind. It didn’t bother me that our relationship had been that way. Being raised under them, I’d grown accustomed to it.
As far as my friends went, you’d swear they pushed me out of their coochies.
“Wait, what do you mean by serious?” Luna pressed.
“I mean, I’m in his bed more often than my own.”
“So, do y’all live together? Tori, who is the nigga? Damn! Give us something,” Dream fussed.
“If you all would let me speak, I would,” I rolled my eyes. “His name is Saint Miller. He’s a marine biologist. He’s sweet, respectful, very handsome but shy.”
“Ew, shy Tori? Really?” Dream cringed, causing my nostrils to flare. The way her miserable ass disregarded every other adjective to run with that one word seeped under my skin and presented a red flag. “That’s not even your type.”
“The last of my type nearly locked me into a sex-trafficking ring, but alas, I digress.”
“Digress, heaux.”
“He’s autistic,” I blurted, not expecting any consequences as I tried to explain Saint’s shyness. He wasn’t my type, but he was growing on me. In fact, his type was swiftly becoming the only type that made sense for me.
“So, he’s slow?” Dream asked again.
“Like, does he interact with people well? Is he weird or into weird shit?” Luna tacked on.
“How did you get serious with a nigga on the spectrum?” Dream pressed, rolling her eyes.
The offense I harbored was heavily embedded in me. My friends had, in an instant, become frenemies. Saint didn’t deserve their judgment or their harsh words.
“First of all, fuck y’all!” I spat, lifting my glass and swallowing its contents before speaking again.
And maybe it was an overreaction, but were they being fucking for real? I reached for the prosecco, filling my glass again before adding a small drop of orange juice.
“He’s not slow. He’s more intelligent than all of you at this table combined. His brain isn’t broken. It just runs on a different operating system. People like y’all are truly, deeply what’s wrong with the world. The inconsideration, the ignorance, the condescending tone, the disrespect…”
I grunted and shook my head as if it would clear the ickiness emanating from them onto me and then turned to Luna.
“How dare you come for me as if your taste in men hasn’t been questionable, Luna. And Dream? You can’t keep a man to save your next breath. The nerve of you all to sit here and judge me as if–”
“We weren’t judging you, Tori,” Luna tried to assuage my rage, but at that point, I was on a war path. She should’ve eaten those words because they made the affront worse. “We just want to know who this new nigga is.”
“That’s not the way you framed the shit,” I huffed.
“Because we’re ready to go to war for our friend?” Dream chimed while Robyn sat back and sipped her mimosa. Fuck her, too, for being silent.
“Bravo bitches” I raved, clapping my hands for every camera in the restaurant. “Do you feel better about your fucked lives? They have to have been for you to feel the need to berate someone you don’t know. An attack against him is an attack against me! What the fuck is wrong with y’all? And Robyn? How could you sit there and say nothing?”
She began to open her mouth, but I was done listening to those heifers talk.
“Sis, you haven’t even given us the deets on this one, and you’re ready to bury us on the battlefield,” Luna tittered.
“What I do with my pussy is my motherfucking business. Whatever dick I land on is my concern, not any of yours!”
I motioned around the table to every one of them to drive my point home. And that dick they wanted to discuss at length as we often did with our non-prospects actually belonged to me. Saint was my husband, regardless of our agreement. I’d erected barriers around my man. Our sex life was not up for discussion.
Sure, I’d gotten lax with Dream, Robyn, and Luna in the past as we discussed the men in our lives and their performance in the bedroom. We were never serious about anyone when those discussions took place. All four of us were single, mingling, and casually dating up until I secretly bowed out. I was married now. Things with Saint were… different. I’d chosen to carry on as such because he wasn’t like those other niggas. Saint wasn’t a nigga at all. He was a man.
“Never have I ever judged or condemned any of you for the fucked up choices in the men you all have made. The fact that any of you could sit here and make tasteless commentary about a man you don’t know – a man I very vulnerably informed you I was serious with – tells me this is no place for me.”
