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I recalled how different Zakai had seemed tonight. There was a . . . steadiness about him that I’d been unprepared for. Of course, the last time I’d seen him, he’d been drunk. But tonight he’d declined even a glass of champagne. Did he plan to apologize for the way he’d treated me? Did I still crave that? I rubbed my temple. Would it matter? An apology wouldn’t heal the scars he’d inflicted. Zakai’s possible regret wouldn’t erase the terrible memories of his rejection. Once I’d thought nothing would. Now I knew that my peace was in my own hands.
Still . . .
I sighed as I stood, heading into the back bedroom where a little boy slept, his beautiful face peaceful in the soft glow of the nightlight. I knelt down beside the bed, running my hand over his silken ebony hair, my heart swelling with the incomparable love I felt for him. I heard the soft sound of Ayana’s footsteps behind me and turned my face halfway to see her standing in the doorway, watching me kiss my child goodnight. “I have to tell him, Ayana,” I said softly. I would feel Zakai out first, see what it was he wanted, but despite that, I knew what I would eventually have to do. “I have to tell Zakai he has a son.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Metropolitan Museum of Art was pleasantly quiet on a Tuesday morning at nine a.m. I bought a ticket and entered, climbing the set of stairs that led to the upper rooms.
I wandered, letting the art surrounding me act as a balm to my frenzied soul, breathing in the holiness. The first time I’d come to the Met, I’d looked with awe and wonder at the exhibits that seemed impossible to have been conceived and created by mortals. I’d thought then, as I did now, that if anyone doubted whether man was made in the image of God, he need only take a walk through an art museum where masters’ works were on display.
There was divinity inside us, and some were blessed with the talent with which to translate it from soul to canvas so that others might be given a view of heaven on earth. Some might say it was a dramatic reflection, but it remained my conviction all the same, one that was reaffirmed each time I walked these hallowed halls.
Calm descended as it always did, but after only a few minutes, those specific molecules began to quicken and on an inhaled breath, I turned, unsurprised to see Zakai approaching. He smiled, somewhat bashfully. “You’re early,” he said.
“No, you’re early,” I replied.
His smile grew and he scratched the back of his neck as a woman walked past him, her eyes lingering. “I planned on taking a few minutes to calm my nerves.”
He was nervous? I’d never known Zakai to have an uncertain bone in his body. Then again, perhaps I’d never really known Zakai as I’d once believed. I understood much more about myself now and the world. It was obvious that my interpretation of our time together was skewed, many details forgotten. Perhaps imagined. Time did that. Years.
Or perhaps we’d both changed. Perhaps, in some ways, we were virtually strangers. The thought brought a deep and biting melancholy despite it not being new nor surprising information. “This place has always brought me peace,” I said, choosing not to address his nerves or my own, stepping to the side where a wooden bench sat near a gigantic painting of the American Revolution. I gestured to it and he nodded. “And it spurs my creativity.”
“I can see how it would.”
We both took a seat, he on one side, me on the other, our legs facing opposite directions. For a moment we were quiet, both staring at the artwork running the length of the opposite walls we faced. This was a quiet hall and few people wandered.
“So what happened?” he finally asked quietly.
I turned my head, looking at his profile. His shoulders were somewhat slumped, but I got the impression he was holding himself steady, unmoving as he waited for my answer. “What happened?”
He turned, meeting my eyes. “With your marriage.”
Oh. I sighed, looking away. There was so much between us. Circumstance. Choices. Lies. Truths too harsh to handle. If I was going to “start fresh” for the sake of our son, if Zakai’s and my relationship was going to be one that benefited the little person we’d created, then I would have to commit to transparency. It was the only way forward.
“I . . . I was actually never married.” I looked down, fiddling with the rings on my index finger. “The truth is, after that day . . . the party . . . us . . . I called things off. I knew I couldn’t marry Dawson.” For a moment he looked stricken and opened his mouth to speak, but I held my hand up. “It wasn’t just because of what happened between us.” What happened between us. The fact that I cheated on Dawson—for that was the stark and ugly truth of what I’d done, no matter the emotional justification.
