AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You look like a million dollars.”
“Ha,” she said. “For that you get a hug.” She sat her bags down and wrapped her arms around him.
He held her tight and after a moment pressed his forehead to hers. She sighed dreamily and then pulled back, looking at him with twinkling eyes.
He glanced at Khalil who was watching them curiously. Caught, he flushed. “Um, it was nice to finally meet you Mama Talia!”
“Nice to meet you too, Khalil.”
He glanced over at Gabriel and grinned. “Definitely ho-ho-yes.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, but a smile danced all over her pretty face. “Definitely.”
With that Khalil hopped back onto the shuttle bus to park it.
“What was all that about?” Gabriel asked.
“The universe is being very talkative with me today. Don’t worry about it.” Her arms were still around him, and he found it hard to worry about anything. Her mouth twitched, as if she’d read his mind. “So…”
It was painful letting her go, but he did. And then ran a hand through his hair to keep from grabbing her and pulling her close again. “So, I thought that it’d be more comfortable to hang out in our break room. I ran it by the manager and she’s fine with it. These are unusual circumstances, so everyone is being pretty flexible.”
“It’s really nice of her. I appreciate it.”
“Are you hungry? I can take my lunch in a bit, and we can eat at the restaurant.”
“I’d love that. But is there a place where I can clean up? I want to change, and I’d murder someone for a hot shower.”
“I know the feeling,” he said. “I scrubbed my armpits in the sink when I got here. Sadly that’s the best you’re gonna get.” His face burned as he realized precisely how unsexy that image probably was.
Her laugh was clear and chimey as a Christmas bell. “I’ll take that.”
He led her to the employee bathroom. “Okay, I’m gonna go do my rounds and I’ll meet you at the restaurant in twenty.”
Never in his career had he worked faster to get to his lunch break. He had time to stop and look in the mirror, lamenting his lack of a razor. He grew facial hair so fast he never bothered fully shaving. He usually kept his stubble long and groomed, which gave him a dangerous looking edge that worked for his job. But the scruff was a little out of control now. He sighed. At least they’d look disheveled together.
He smoothed out his wrinkled pants and headed to the restaurant. She was already seated. He took a moment and just looked at her. She was finally out of her jacket, but was wearing that truly horrendous Christmas sweater with flashing lights. It didn’t tell him anything about what she had going on underneath it. He knew she was rounded and curvy, but he wanted a little more inspiration for the lusty thoughts he’d been having since waking up with his morning wood pressed against her coat-covered ass.
She was on the phone with someone, her expression was grim, her gorgeous smile nowhere to be found. “I’m sorry I didn’t fly out a day earlier, but I do not have the power to change the weather or go back in time. If I did, I’d be there. The storm isn’t letting up—” she took a deep breath. “No, I’m not trying to ruin Zara’s first Christmas. This is me telling you that it’s unlikely I’m going to make it, becau—” Her eyes narrowed. “I understand that the pictures won’t be perfect unless everyone is there, but you’ll have to learn to live with them being good enough.” Whatever was said, she flinched. “Right. Well, wish everyone a Merry Christmas for me. I’m really glad they’re not sleeping on the airport floor.” She jabbed the screen and then slammed the phone on the table.
“Hey.” He sat down slowly. “You look festive.”
She looked up at him, her eyes stormy. “It’s a lie. I do not feel festive inside.”
“Well, you lie beautifully.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I heard some of that. Would you like to talk about it?”
She tilted her head and looked at him for a long moment, as if debating what to say. Right then, the waitress came to take their order. Though he was eager to hear what was going on with her, he couldn’t help but notice the decisive way Talia chose her food. No dithering over what to get. He liked that. After the waitress wandered off, he raised his eyebrows and waited.
“Alright.” She leaned back in her chair. “I’ve never been any good at telling a short story, but the condensed version is that my affluent black parents believe that we have an obligation to the world to appear perfect. To be leaders. To impress white people. I grew up with them dictating everything I could do and say. How I dressed and wore my hair. Always represent, Talia. Never let them see you sweat. Keep your feelings to yourself, you’ll make us look bad.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve never been great at following rules. I was a problem child that liked art and being silly and digging my hands in the dirt.” She smirked. “My mom calls me a heathen. ‘Talia, stop behaving like a heathen and cross your legs!’ and ‘Talia, go flat iron your hair, you look like a heathen.’”
He tried to imagine growing up like that. His family had been very different. “That sounds miserable.”
She shrugged. “Coulda been worse. But I didn’t have a good time, that’s for sure. They churched me and smoothed me. Straightened my hair while I kicked and screamed. It’s just…not who I am.” The waitress brought their drinks and Talia thanked her, before sipping her hot chocolate. She closed her eyes and smiled contentedly for a moment. “My brothers and sister are just like them. Stepfords. Law School. Med School. Business School. Married wealthy. They live in boring neighborhoods with boring partners, and they’re having kids that they’re making into boring clones of themselves.”
“So that’s why you don't like going back?”
“Yeah. There’s nothing in Prospect Heights for me, except my family’s disapproval. I’m forty, unmarried, no children, and I didn’t bother with grad school. So all I have in their eyes is a useless Bachelor’s degree in counseling and an even more useless one in fine arts. And worst of all…” She leaned forward and he leaned forward too, mesmerized by the intensity of her eyes. “I go on the internet and tell people my actual feelings. My failures and successes. When I’ve been sad or frustrated. When I had to take anxiety meds. It’s disgusting. Appalling, even.”
“Being honest and sincere? How devoid of class,” he said.
