Choose Me (30 page)

“Better. The doctor put me on a blood pressure medication, which seems to be helping. The only thing is I have to take it
every day, which I don’t like. I’m not used to taking medication prophylactically. You know, for prevention.”

“I know what ‘prophylactic’ means,” I said. “Like condoms.”

It was meant to be in jest, but she cleared her throat and didn’t reply. Taking a last puff out of my cigarette, I exhaled
slowly, waiting.

“Are you smoking?” she asked.

Was the woman psychic or what?
“Why?” I asked.

“You sound like my father does over the phone when he’s smoking.”

Silently, I squashed the butt in the ashtray, without denying or admitting anything. I had run out of excuses, and finally
she picked up on my hesitation.

“No pressure. If you get a chance, stop by. I make a mean
arroz con dulce.”

“A-what? What’s that?”

“Rice pudding. So if you can’t make it, I guess I’ll see you … Sunday?”

“Uh …”

She laughed. “The spirit of the Lord told me to keep inviting you to service, so that’s all I’m doing.”

It was almost six o’clock when Jade finished cooking, eight by the time we sat down to dinner. I found myself eating Mama’s
tossed salad and vegetarian turkey—“tofurkey”—which she brought. Mama, of course, loved Akil, especially after he delivered
an impassioned grace. His parents were also devout, punctuating every sentence with “Praise God,” and “Yes, Lord.” They talked
about religion before, during, and after dinner, as if Jade and I didn’t exist, since Jade was as un-religious as I was.

After dessert—after Akil helped Jade clean up the entire kitchen and put away the leftovers—he turned to Mama and said, “I’d
like permission to court your daughter.” I choked on my second slice of pecan pie and Jade pounded my back; then, when she
realized I was faking, she grabbed a chunk of my back in a pinch. I couldn’t believe he actually used the word “court.” It
was too much for me; I had to get out of there.

At nine-thirty, I called Eva, figuring her guests would be gone. She said only her sons remained but they would soon be leaving
to visit with her ex-husband’s side of the family. I figured by the time I made the forty-five-minute drive from Jade’s, it
would be safe to drop by. Jade insisted I bring a sweet potato pie, and I stopped at Walgreen’s for chewing gum and a couple
of bottles of sparkling white grape juice, my contribution to the dinner.

I recognized Tony from his pictures. He opened the interior oak door and took inventory from behind the glass security one,
overtly sizing me up just like the dog, King, had done when we first met. Because it reminded me of my reaction when I met
Akil, I had to smile, in spite of his ill manners. He slowly unlocked the door without question, so I assumed Eva described
me and told him I might be stopping by. He was about my height, with a very serious sneer on his face that, coupled with his
close-cropped hair, bordering on scalped, made him look like a menacing ex-con, a mulatto skinhead. As the oldest, it was
apparent that he had been the man of the house for a while and, like any dominant male, probably felt his role was in danger
of being usurped. Any minute, I expected him to sniff me and mark his territory. I was glad King was nowhere in sight.

“You must be Tony,” I said, being the mature adult and extending my hand.

He took my hand in a traditional handgrip, which was firm and confident, but the sneer never left his face. “Mr. Black. Come
in,” he said formally. As I walked in, I could see him taking in my locks, army-green cargo pants and cracked leather jacket,
with a superior air.

Eli, who stood several inches taller behind his brother, had long hair in cornrows. Grinning, he came around and took my hand
in a welcoming, brotherly soul handshake. I could tell Eli and I were going to get along just fine.

“Hey, Adam,” he said. “Ma’s on the phone. Sit down.”

Great,
I thought as I sat down in the rattan chair in the living room.
The Spanish Inquisition.

Almost simultaneously, both brothers sat down a few inches apart on the sofa opposite me. From the kitchen Eva waved, the
cordless phone balanced between her ear and shoulder.

“I brought some sweet potato pie my sister made,” I said.

Eli jumped up and all but snatched it out of my hands. “Alright!” He lowered his voice and said, “Ma can’t make sweet potato
pie. You know, her being a Hispanic and all.”

I chuckled.

“You know my ma from church?” Tony asked with the slightest suspicion in his voice.

“Anthony Roberto Prince, Junior,” Eva interjected, walking into the living room. “I already told you where we met, so stop
the cross-examination.” For the first time, I noticed Eva was wearing a dress, a knee-length café-au-lait number that embraced
her curves and clinched the arc of her lower spine. Although I tried not to be obvious, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

Tony frowned at his mother and Eli punched him, laughing. “Yeah, Anthony Roberto.” He dodged out of reach as Tony tried to
punch him, then whizzed the pie by Eva’s face as they bypassed each other. “Adam’s sister sent some pie. I’m gonna max this,”
he said, hurrying into the kitchen.

“Clean up your mess,” Eva warned him. “My eighteen years of servitude are over.”

“Hey, Ma, have I told you how much I’ve missed your wonderful voice?” he yelled from the kitchen.

“Oh, I’ve missed yours more,” Eva said, equally sarcastic. She sat casually on the arm of my chair and placed her arm around
the back. I saw Tony eyeing us critically through half-closed eyes as he leaned back on the sofa.

“What did Grandpop say?” Tony asked his mother, his eyes still on me.

“He won’t be able to come by. He wants you guys to stop by tomorrow.”

“So, what’s your major, Tony?” I asked.

“I’m leaning toward adolescent psychology.”

“Good field.”

“You have any children?”

“Tony,” Eva said with a hint of warning in her voice.

“No, I don’t,” I answered, gripping the neck of one of the bottles of sparkling grape juice.

“He knows you don’t. I already told him.” Eva was staring Tony down, as if daring him to ask one more intrusive question.
When he finally looked away, she turned back to me. “You want me to open one of these?”

I shook my head; I did, but I didn’t want to be left alone with Tony, not because I was afraid of his questions, but because
I wasn’t in the mood to put the little knucklehead in his place. I had to remind myself that he was as overprotective of his
mother as I was of my own mother. Mama had invited me to have dinner with her and Mr. Jameson Stevens twice, and both times
I made myself conveniently scarce.

The phone rang and I hoped it was for Tony so he would go away for a while.

Eli came into the living room, putting on a jacket and carrying a considerable slice of pie on a paper plate, a big chunk
already packed in one of his cheeks. “That was Daddy. He said he’s leaving Grandma’s house soon so if we want to see him,
we better come now.” He turned to me with appreciation and gave me some dap. “Hey, man, this pie is fla-a-ame!”

“Eli, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Eva said. “And don’t come home too late. There are a lot of drunks driving out there.”

“
Si,
Mommy.” Eli smirked in my direction. “She thinks we’re still ten.”

“Ma, we’re going over to Grandma’s house to watch the game,” Tony insisted, putting on his own jacket. “You didn’t want us
watching it here. Daddy taped it.”

They both kissed Eva on her cheeks. Tony shook my hand again, mechanically, then muttered something that sounded like, “Good
meeting you,” but I wasn’t feeling it.

“You want me to tell Daddy anything?” Tony then asked Eva.

Eva gave him the evil eye and I knew he had asked that question for my benefit. “No. If I have anything to say to your father,
I’ll tell him myself,” Eva said tersely. “You
can
tell your grandmother I said, ‘Happy Thanksgiving.’ Wait. Take her a plate of
arroz con dulce.”

She trotted to the kitchen, the dress swishing against her calves, and brought back a cellophane-covered plate of rice pudding.
Tony and Eli were halfway out the door.

“I love you,” she called out.

“Yeah, yeah,” I heard Eli say. He popped his head back in the door as Eva was closing it. “Hey, Tone, you think we should
leave them alone?”

“Boy …” Eva warned and faked a back-handed slap at him.

Eli ducked and laughed, then turned to me. “It was nice meeting you, Adam. Finally. I thought my ma was making you up.”

“Likewise,” I told him, smiling.

“Don’t come home late, I mean it. If I’m asleep, don’t wake me up to braid your hair,” Eva warned before closing the door.

Then, we were finally alone. Eva brought two champagne glasses out of the dining room hutch and I poured the sparkling grape
juice. She sat on the arm of the chair again, this time with her legs turned toward me.
Friends,
I reminded myself.

“You know how to cornrow?” I asked.

“You sound shocked,” she said, then added condescendingly, “I can also jump double-dutch and play tennis like the Williams
sisters.”

I laughed. “You
wish
you could play like Venus and Serena.”

“I bet I can beat them in double-dutch.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, sipping from my glass. “Your sons look like good kids. Or adults, I should say.”

“I’ve been blessed. They’re good boys. Especially now that they’re out of my house.” She grinned.

“I don’t think Tony Junior likes me much, though.”

“It’s a front. He pretends to be tough,” she assured me. “They both worry about me; I worry about them.”

“They’re grown up. You shouldn’t have to worry about them too much.”

“There’s still a lot to worry about. Especially when they’re back in the city. Did you hear about the college student that
was killed on Tuesday?”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” Two days before Thanksgiving, a college senior visiting his family in Chicago had been shot and
killed while walking with friends in his old neighborhood. It was just one of the many shootings that had taken place that
week, but because the young man had been a gifted student at an Ivy League school, the news media had capitalized on the story,
overshadowing the other senseless murders that had occurred of ordinary young people. “That was sad.”

Eva physically shook and crossed her arms. “Sometimes I get sick thinking of all the things that can happen. I try not to
dwell on it, but sometimes I just can’t help it.”

“They look like they can handle themselves.” I knew that “handling themselves” had very little to do with the randomness of
being at the wrong place at the wrong time, but I was trying to get her mind off of them. I took her glass and mine and placed
them on the end table.

She started to get up. “You want to try my
arroz con dulce
?”

“I sure do.” I pulled her down into my lap and embraced her, savoring her lips slowly and hungrily. “Tastes real good.”

She responded at first, smiling through the kiss, then stopped, pulling away to look at me with her cocked brow. The smile
was gone. “Are you smoking again?”

I released her and stretched out my legs, irked that I hadn’t been successful in concealing my secret, irritated that she
had interrupted the little pleasure she had allowed me so far. “Do I smell like I’ve been smoking?”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Then I guess I have.”

“Don’t you care about your health?”

“My health?” I asked incredulously. “Why are you bringing up my health? You’ve never even asked what kind of cancer I had.”

“I figured you would tell me if you wanted me to know. I thought it was something personal.”

I stared past her at the fireplace and noticed her wedding picture was gone. I debated whether I should tell her. With a finger,
she turned my face toward her. “Tell me. I want to know.”

“Testicular,” I said simply, watching for her reaction. When she didn’t have one, I continued. “‘TC’ for short. The doctors
wanted to do an orchiectomy, remove one of my … testicles, but I refused. I opted for radiation and chemotherapy. They said
the risk of reoccurrence is higher without surgery, but I told them I would take that chance.” It was then I remembered that
I was past due for my last follow-up.

As she listened, she took one of my hands between hers and caressed it, much the same way I had done at Buono Dio. However,
the feeling was quite different when she was doing the caressing. I wondered if she was aware of how her touch made me feel,
or if she was really that naive.

“I broke up with this woman before the cancer. We got back together afterward, but … it didn’t work out. Anyway, she started
seeing someone else and one day I followed her, and saw her … with him … walking in the rain … holding hands …” I paused to
see if she knew the song.

“Cold-busted,” she interjected and smiled empathetically.

I didn’t say any more, hoping she would let it go. I had confessed more than enough. For now.

“Aren’t you worried it’s going to come back? Especially if you smoke?”

“If you want me to leave, just say so,” I told her brusquely. “Don’t try to start a fight about my smoking so I’ll get upset
and leave.”

“I’m not trying to start a fight.”

“Okay,” I said indifferently. “We’re supposed to be friends anyway, right? What are you doing kissing me if we’re just friends?”
I tried to stand up but she didn’t move. “Excuse me.”

She stood and let me up. I started for the door, but she pulled me back by my coat and turned me around. “Okay, I admit it,
I
was
trying to get your mind off of us, so we didn’t get caught up in the moment and end up frustrated. I know you don’t believe
this, but this is hard for me, too. Maybe harder. You don’t think premarital sex is wrong so it’s easier for you. I know you
think it’s harder for men to abstain, but it’s just as hard for women. At least for me.”

I scoffed, refusing to embrace her, though my arms yearned to hold her. Instead I held up my hands as in surrender. “What
do you want me to say, Eva? I said I was going to try and I did. But it’s getting harder and harder. One day, I’m fine with
it, and then, I’m not.”