Doin' Me (18 page)

Reyna stopped dead in her tracks, turned, ran to her old bedroom, and closed the door. She'd heard the voice, his voice. Tyson was there, in her mother's living room, discussing the Bible. Her mother had said he was coming by, and although she wanted to see him, she wasn't ready to see him. She needed time to come up with a plan to put her life in order.

She leaned against the closed door and caught her reflection in the dresser mirror. She gasped; Tyson couldn't see her like this. Not with her hair sticking up every which way. He'd seen her plenty of times without makeup. In fact, he preferred her not to wear it. Never had he seen her in tattered leggings and a bleach-stained T-shirt.

She rummaged through the drawers and closet in search of something, anything, she'd left behind to piece together an outfit. She found a long blue jean skirt, a remnant from her “holy” days, and a brown sweater top that tied on the side. The outfit was bland, but it would have to work with the black sandaled heels she'd been wearing when her mother picked her up at the real estate office. After changing, she took a scarf from her mother's room and wrapped it around her head like an African head wrap. Just before slipping into the heels, she applied baby powder to prevent her feet from sweating.

She closed Jewel's bedroom door without checking the mirror. She knew the look didn't make a fashion statement, but this was the best she could do with limited resources.

When Reyna entered the living room, Tyson stopped mid-sentence in the conversation he was having with Jewel. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, standing to his feet.

Reyna snickered, and said, “You're either blind or have cataracts if you think I'm beautiful in this getup.”

Jewel quietly watched Tyson walk over to her daughter and rest his hands on her shoulders.

“This is a vast improvement from the drool and snot you had last night. Did you know you sleep with your mouth open?” Tyson said.

Reyna hadn't expected the merriment coming from her anal friend. The jeans and loafers were totally out of character.
Mylan must be good for you,
she thought, but replied, “How does Malee feel about you spending all your time with a crazed tenant?”

“Jealous, are we?” He chuckled and then pulled her in for an embrace. “Are you all right? I was worried sick about you after Paige called.”

Reyna didn't want to be embraced, but at that moment she needed his comfort. Besides, he smelled good. She had expected his arms to warm her on the outside, but she hadn't anticipated the throbbing in her heart when his muscular arms enclosed her.

“I'm so sorry for not being there for you,” he said after releasing her too soon. “When you showed up at the office, I knew something wasn't right. I should have made time for you. I should have followed you at the restaurant.”

Tyson's sincerity, reflected in those hazel eyes, drew her in like a magnet. She wondered how apologetic he'd be once he saw the condition of the town house.

“And ruin Mah-jong's surprise picnic and dinner? I don't think that would have worked out well for you. That girl looks like she knows karate,” Reyna said to lighten the mood. She didn't want him taking responsibility for the mess she'd created. “Seriously, she's beautiful,” she added when he smiled. “You look good together.”

Tyson opened his mouth as if to say something but didn't, and her heart sank. Not that she actually expected him to tell her the relationship was over, but it would have been nice.

“Reyna, you've been cooped up in this house all day. Tyson, why don't you take her out for some fresh air?” Jewel suggested from the couch. “Since she's all dressed up and everything.”

Reyna felt like kissing her mother for butting into her business. A second longer and Reyna would have been in tears for what could have been.

“That's a good idea,” Reyna answered, clearing her throat. “Let me get my purse.” She turned to retreat to her old room, but Tyson stopped her.

“Sweetheart, are you sure you're up to it?”

I am so stupid. What have I done?
her head screamed when she looked up at him. Whether he knew it or not, Tyson's eyes reflected his emotions. When he was angry, charcoal flecks danced around his pupils. Happiness presented amber and light brown hues. She'd never witnessed the dark green hue now boring down on her, but her intuition told her it was love. Tyson really cared. Why couldn't I read Peyton like that? she wondered.

Because you didn't want to,
her conscience answered back.

“I think some air will do me some good. Besides, there's something I need to tell you,” she said, referring to the news of her real father. “I'm fine,” she assured him.

Jewel followed her down the hall to her bedroom, whispering, “Tell him the truth, the whole truth. It'll set you free.”

 

 

Reyna sat on a bench beside Tyson at Lake Temescal in the Oakland Hills. The secluded tranquility was just what she needed to lift her spirits. Twice on the drive over depression had nearly consumed her. Ironically, both times when she felt herself going under, Tyson had said something to distract her.

“So, I guess Paige told you everything,” Reyna finally said after watching a fisherman reel in a medium-sized catfish.

Tyson extended his hand, and she accepted it. “All Paige said was that you weren't yourself and that I should check on you as soon as possible. Your mother filled in the blanks. What I want to know from you is what's driving you to drink.” Her hand shook uncontrollably, and he drew closer to her. “Reyna, what is it?”

It took her over twenty minutes to get it out, but she relayed the circumstances surrounding her conception without breaking down. “All this time I've been grieving for the wrong man. That's the story of my life—going after men who don't want me.”

He squeezed her hand. “I'm sorry you had to suffer that, but at least now you know the truth.”

“The truth hurts too much. At least the lie gave me hope,” she replied and snickered, although she failed to see the humor.

“It won't always hurt. Your earthly father may not know you exist, but your Heavenly Father knows where you are. He knows everything about you, and He loves you unconditionally.”

She snatched her hand away, but not as forcefully as in the past. “Please, not now. I can't deal with God and 'em right now.”

A bird hunting for food captured their attention in the silence that followed.

“You didn't find out until that evening at Zachary's. What did you come to my office to tell me?”

Leave it to a lawyer to pay attention to details.
Reyna changed the subject. “Manglee must really have you twisted if she got you to come out of those tailored suits and into jeans. Don't think I didn't notice those khakis the other day. That woman deserves sainthood for changing you.”

“First of all,” he began with a bit of amusement, “it's Mylan, but you already know that.”

Reyna playfully rolled her eyes and smacked her lips.

“She didn't change me. I'm still the same person. The only difference is I'm finally comfortable in my own skin. Mylan had nothing to do with the changes you've mentioned. You can thank the Honorable Fredrick Stokes for that.”

“I don't understand.”

“I almost feel guilty about sharing this now, considering what you're going through,” he said, digressing. “I'm sorry if this upsets you, but my father and I have established a relationship. We're actually friends.”

Reyna took note of the smile playing around his beard and feigned happiness with a smile of her own while he shared the details of their reconciliation. “That's wonderful. I'm happy for you.”

“We talk daily and hang out often. Mylan and I even went on a double date with my parents to the symphony.”

The smile faded. She'd met his parents only once, at Kevin and Marlissa's vow renewal. They were cordial, at the very least.

“I'm happy for you. Miss Mylan is just perfect. She'll make you a good wife,” she lied. “What?” she asked when the charcoal flecks flashed.

“Honesty is important to me in any kind of relationship.”

Her abdominal muscles tightened involuntarily.

“You don't mean that, but you're right. Mylan will make the right man an excellent wife someday, but I'm not that man,” he revealed. “Don't pretend like you're disappointed,” he added when she gasped, “because you're not.”

She closed her mouth and looked away and held on to the bench to keep from jumping up and doing a celebratory dance.

“I know the suspense is killing you. Go on and ask me how I can be so sure she's not the one for me.”

Reyna's determination to prove him wrong lasted less than thirty seconds. Her fists pounded her lap. “Ugh! I hate it when you're right.” She faced him. “What happened?”

“She broke up with me after Zachary's.”

“She broke up with you?” Reyna thought the idea ridiculous, yet she'd been foolish enough not to give the man a chance. “Why would she do that?”

Tyson's facial expression didn't change, but she could tell a war raged in his head. His eye color changed twice.

“She ended the relationship once she realized my heart wasn't in it.”

“You seemed pretty captivated to me. You kicked me to the curb, negated me down to an appointment slot. Not that I'm jealous or anything, but when she walked in, you started lip-locking like I wasn't in the room.” She thought he'd find humor in her comment, but his anal side resurfaced.

“It was just a peck, and you don't really want to go there. I never kicked you to the curb. You sat yourself there. All I have ever tried to do is help you, but . . .” He let the statement hang.

“Ouch!”
She believed Tyson would never hit her, but he was an expert at slapping her in the face by being blunt. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you away,” she finally admitted to him. “I made a mistake.” She expected him to confirm her assertion, but he didn't.

“Reyna, do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then tell me what's going on. I know you. It's more than the news about your father. I can see it in your eyes. You came to my office to tell me something. What is it?”

She turned away, but gentle hands touched her chin and steered her head back.

“Please tell me. I can handle anything as long as you're truthful.”

Reyna opened her mouth and bit her lip several times as she struggled with right and wrong. Sure, telling Tyson about Peyton was the right thing to do, but if he turned on her, that would be wrong. And he would turn on her, once she revealed how she betrayed the trust he'd placed in her when he offered his home. Peyton had done the damage, but she'd allowed it to go on far too long. And just how was she supposed to tell him that she'd probably lost the job he helped her find and that she was now broke and could no longer afford the below market rent he offered. If only she'd told him that day at his office, they could have worked out a repayment agreement.

“Can we eat first?” The words trickled out more like a plea than a question.

In resignation, Tyson released her and hung his head. Reyna bowed her head also and prayed he wouldn't give up on her. When Reyna realized what she was doing, her head snapped back up. Determined not to beg God for anything, she turned her attention to the waterfall.

“What do you have a taste for?” he asked after a prolonged silence.

“Well,” she said, scooting closer to him, “if it's not too much trouble, I'd love one of your famous Philly cheesesteak sandwiches and homemade fries.” She paused. “Please,” she added when he continued to stare. “I'll peel the potatoes and cut the peppers and onions.”

A smile lacking brilliance creased his beard. “If that's what it takes to get you to talk, no problem. We'll have to stop at the store first for groceries to take back to your mother's house. Or, if you want to eat in the comfort of home, we can cook at your place.”

“No,” she blurted. “I mean, I'm not ready to go back to Mother's just yet. Let's go to your place and have dinner on the patio. The weather is perfect, and I like watching you move around that gourmet kitchen.” It sounded lame, but that was the best she could come up with to keep him away from the town house.

Tyson's hazel eyes squinted, then relaxed. “Fine, but you should call your mother and let her know you'll be out late.”

Reyna snickered and rolled her eyes. “As long as I'm with you, she doesn't care if I ever come back.”

“Yum, this is so good!” Reyna declared, with strings of melted provolone and Muenster cheese hanging from her chin. “This meat is so tender, I could eat this every day.” Not bothering with a napkin, Reyna used her fingers to peel the gooey delight from her chin, then savored it before devouring another bite of the sandwich.

Tyson shook his head at the irony of it all. He and Reyna had worked together on every aspect of preparing dinner, from grocery shopping to setting the patio table. Although she'd been inside his home only a handful of times, Reyna had moved around his kitchen with ease, storing food in cabinets and the pantry and prepping food. They'd worked in sync, with little conversation required. She'd questioned him only when she couldn't locate the casual dinnerware. “I should have known,” she'd said when he informed her he didn't own any, but if she would select a set, he'd purchase it. She'd smiled and proceeded to set the patio table with china.

Judging by the peaceful atmosphere, it was as if they'd always been together, but they weren't together, and Tyson doubted they ever would be.

All weekend his heart and mind had battled over his feelings for Reyna. His heart embodied the love he possessed for her, but logical thinking told him to move on. In church on Sunday he'd prayed for direction with Reyna—something he'd stopped doing months ago—but he didn't get an answer right then.

He took Paige's urgent call Monday morning as a sign, of what, he wasn't sure. Then Jewel had called, and everything became clear. He had to help Reyna, but he hadn't figured out how. Although now she was more receptive to him, she was still pushing him away. Mylan's discernment of Reyna's feelings for him, combined with Reyna's fit of jealousy, had left him with a minuscule amount of hope. However, Reyna had crushed those hopes when she refused to level with him.

The Reyna seated across from him, licking cheese from her fingers, wasn't the same headstrong, know-it-all woman he'd chased down Kevin's hill six months ago. He often wondered if anyone else had noticed the natural glow on her face. Whenever she entered a room, she brought sunshine. The thick layer of makeup she insisted on wearing dimmed the illumination for him, but she still radiated.

Today, without makeup, her natural beauty appealed to him, but the glow had vanished. He had noticed the second she entered the living room at Jewel's house, and every time he had looked at her since. She smiled and laughed with him, but depression clouds and rainstorms blocked her sunshine. Her vibrancy and drive were depleted. Fresh emotional wounds commingled with old ones had built a fortress to keep her spirit bound. Something or someone had devalued her and had caused her to lose self-confidence and to find solace in a bottle. Before driving her back home, he planned to use every litigation tactic he had to make her talk.

“Would you like me to make you another one?” he offered after she'd taken the last bite of her sandwich.

“No, but I'll trade you a fry for a bite of yours,” she said, waving a fry in his face.

He slid his plate over. “You don't have to bribe me for anything. Just ask for what you want, and it's yours.”

Her left hand shook slightly, and her eyes blinked rapidly. Something else new that he noticed. She seemed nervous and fearful, but she put up a good front.

“I see your anality is back,” she teased and slid the potato into her mouth, then reached for the remaining half of his sandwich.

He allowed her to eat in peace, but the second she washed the last bite down with lemonade, the interrogation began.

“Leave them,” he instructed when she stood to clear the table. “I'll do them later, or the housekeeper will take care of it in the morning.” He stood and reached for her hand. “We need to talk.” He didn't miss the fear masking her face when she timidly accepted his hand and followed him inside to the den. Instead of sitting side by side with her on the sofa, he directed her to the lounge chair. Wanting to concentrate on her every word and move, he sat on the ottoman in front of her. He waited for her to begin. After several minutes of watching her play with the belt on her sweater, he initiated the conversation.

“Reyna, sweetheart, talk to me,” he said in his most nonthreatening tone. “What's going on? You know you can tell me anything, and I promise I won't judge you. I know you think I have in the past, but that wasn't judgment. I spoke out of frustration because I wanted so much more for you than what you were settling for. I wanted . . .” He stopped before he turned the focus away from the present. “Just tell me why you came to my office. What did you want to tell me?”

She ceased playing with the belt and wrung her hands. “Can I have some tissues?”

“Don't move,” he said and backed off the ottoman. Hope stirred when he returned from the bathroom and found her still there.

She accepted the Kleenex box from him but waited until he had repositioned himself on the ottoman before she spoke.

“My life is a mess, and I don't know what to do about it. You were right. It's more than my mother's confession about my real father. It's strange, but that may have brought us closer together.”

Tyson started to ask how but didn't want to interrupt her now that she had opened up.

“Since I last saw you, I've made some bad decisions. I was so determined to prove my mother, you, Pastor Jennings, and everybody else wrong, I dwelled in a fantasy world I created with people that weren't real. I gambled, and I lost everything, including part of myself.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Drinking numbs the pain and gives me an escape. When I'm drunk, I don't have to face the truth that I don't have anything. I lost it all. My car is gone, and my credit cards are maxed out. I'm sure Paige is going to fire me, and soon you'll evict me, because I can't pay you.”

“Hold on,” he said, lifting her chin. “I don't know about Paige, but I'm not going to evict you.” At least he could ease one of her worries. “You can stay in the town house as long as you want rent free.”

“No, I already owe you more than I can pay,” she blurted, then quickly added, “I mean, you were already taking a loss by charging below market rent.”

He massaged her shaking hands. “Relax. The town house is paid for. I use the rent to cover the taxes and HOA fees. The rest I save. Stay as long as you need to.”

“Thank you,” she mouthed. Sniffles accompanied the tears that trailed down her cheeks, and she allowed him to wipe the tears away with a tissue.

Tyson needed more details. “Is the white guy you were hugged up with at Skates one of the fake people you're referring to?”
Bull's-eye,
he thought when her jaw dropped and her breath caught in her throat. He didn't miss the fear in her eyes, either.

“How d-did you f-find out about Peyton?” she stuttered.

“Peyton. So that's his name.” Tyson kept the invidious comments that surfaced in his mind to himself. “I didn't find out anything. The night my father and I connected, we ate dinner at Skates. I saw the two of you there, but you were too busy giving him a lap dance to notice me.”

“I did no such thing,” she said in her own defense. “I've been liberated, but not to the point of—”

“Okay,” he interrupted, not wanting her to get off track. “You weren't lap dancing, but you were practically sitting on his lap. So is he part of your fantasy world?”

“Yes.” Her head dropped. “He earned the top awards for best actor and director.”

His heart constricted as images of the horrible things the man might have done to Reyna flashed before him. Even at a distance the man had looked shady to him.

“Are you still seeing him?” He had to know. “Is he still part of your life, fantasy or real?”

Her head shook laterally several times before the answer came forth. “No. I'm done.”

“Are you seeing anyone else?”

“No.”

Tyson released the breath he'd been holding. At least there wasn't a third party involved; still, he couldn't shake the feeling that Reyna was holding something back.

“How did you feel about me before that night?” she asked.

The question caught him by surprise, and he was uncertain how to answer. “What do you mean?”

She leaned forward and for the first time made eye contact. “Level with me. What were your real feelings for me? We were once close friends. I know you cared about me, but to what extent? In the past you dropped hints, but you said nothing concrete. I probably wouldn't have listened back then, but I'm listening now. How much did you care?”

He leaned forward with his elbows perched on his knees, contemplating how to respond. How could he answer the question without revealing how much he still cared? On a regular basis he trained clients on how to answer questions without giving up too much information. The time had come for him to follow his own advice.

“I cared a lot. When I walked into the restaurant that night, I was in love with you.”

She gasped and covered her mouth, then fell back in the chair.

“However, when I exited, I accepted that you didn't see me that way and would never feel the same. That night I started the process of releasing you from my heart.” He released a sigh of relief, thinking he'd dodged a bullet.

“What about now? How do you feel now? Were you successful in removing me from your heart?” She held her open palms up. “Think about it before you answer, and please don't lie to me. I don't trust my own judgment anymore, and I'm leery of most people. I don't trust my mind or heart to decipher what's real from what's fantasy. People have lied to me and have fed me pipe dreams so they could take from me, but with you it's different. Everyone else takes from me, but not you. You freely give to me, knowing I can't give you anything in return.” The tears and shaking returned. “Please, tell me how you feel. If you care about me, tell me. I need to hear it. Tell me. I'm listening, and I'll believe you. I just need to know, as messed up as I am, that I'm worth loving. That I'm not worthless and stupid—”

“Stop! You're not stupid.” His heart couldn't take any more. The self-preservation wall tumbled down, and he fell from the ottoman to his knees, collecting her hands.

“It didn't work,” he admitted audibly for the first time. “As hard as I tried, it wouldn't go away. Mylan's good looks and sensitivity couldn't touch what I feel for you. Thank God she had enough sense to send me packing before I ruined our lives by substituting her for you.” He squeezed her hands. “I do love you, but in all honestly, it feels like a death sentence, because you won't let me love you. You would rather manipulate and reject me than open up to me. You insist on settling for mediocrity when you can have and be so much more. You're a daughter of the king, and you deserve the best, but you refuse to receive the gift the Father wants to give you through Him and through me.”

He closed his eyes and emptied his lungs. The burden of internalizing the pain her rejection had caused weighed heavier on him than he'd thought. Her serene countenance surprised him, but not as much as the touch of her fingertips caressing his beard.

“People change,” she whispered before pressing her lips against his.

If his confession hadn't left him open and vulnerable, Tyson would have broken the sensual exchange. Instead, he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, and when she gripped his head and pressed him closer to her, he returned the favor by releasing the scarf concealing her unkempt hair.

“Don't,” she moaned against his lips when he pulled at the scarf. “I look a mess.”

“You're beautiful with or without chemicals,” he mumbled against her neck as the scarf cascaded to the floor. He assumed the truthful words pleased Reyna, because her tongue slid deeper into his mouth and her hands tugged at the buttons on his shirt. He cried out when her soft fingertips found and massaged his pectorals, and he lost control.

When Tyson finally regained control of his mind and body, Reyna lay beneath him in his bed, moving in sync.

 

 

Reyna imagined she resembled a mental ward escapee, lying there giggling and crying at the same time, with her “overdue for a perm” hair standing all over her head. What was she to do? Euphoria and bliss saturated her being, and for the first time she knew what it felt like to be loved by a man. Tyson did love her and not just with words. With his thorough lovemaking, he'd cherished her and touched her soul, giving her the gift of womanhood.

“Are you sorry?” He asked the question while kissing away both her happy and regretful tears.

“Sorry that I didn't save myself for you,” she answered honestly. Chase and Peyton didn't deserve her. “Are you sorry? I mean, what we did is contrary to your lifestyle. I'm not very good at it, but hopefully, I wasn't too bad.” She let out softer nervous giggles in anticipation of his answer.

The dark green hue returned to his eyes and a warm smile parted his beard, causing her heart to jolt.

“No, sweetheart, I'm not sorry. I love you, and you're perfect for me.” He leaned down and brushed her lips with his own. “But I can't condone what we did. As wonderful as it was, the act was contrary to God's will, and I failed to protect you. Are you on the pill?”

The giggles ceased. She wasn't on the pill, and her supply of condoms was at home. “No.”

He rolled onto his back and mumbled something Reyna interpreted as a desperate prayer. Fresh tears threatened to fall as she felt him withdrawing from her emotionally. She bit her lip and prepared for the worst.