Dindi Pt. 05

"Mo? Mo!"

"I have to call people, Gee." Was the only thing I thought to say. Was the only thing I could think about, really. A hundred people to call. A hundred people to tell James didn't want me anymore, because I didn't know how to love him.

****

TRAVIS

Sometimes I was fortunate enough to have half a day without Dindi intruding into my head. Mornings and nights were the worst. Everytime I lay in my bed my mind told me how much softer it felt when her body was under mine. Or how sweeter it smelled when her hair was all over my pillow.

I just wanted to forget her, being stupid enough to think I could do it. A few nights ago I had tried drinking myself into oblivion. A random woman had even managed to get all the way into my bed. Before I had time to do anything to her, though, I opened my eyes and saw she wasn't Dindi. Needless to say, I didn't even try to be polite when I asked her to leave.

Dindi had been gone a week. I hadn't had her in a month. Every damn thing I looked at, or touched, reminded me of her. When I showered, I found her vanilla soap bottle was still half full. When I got dressed, one of her lacy panties was hiding amid my underwear. My paranoia was bad enough that I chose to circle around my whole block in an attempt to avoid the little bistro by the corner.

Dindi wasn't even here and she was driving me fucking insane. She had a talent for doing that.

Whatever shit she'd said to me when she came to talk, she didn't mean it. One of the very first things I learned about her was what a bad liar she was. Obvious as an open book. Every dishonest thing she'd ever said was stamped as a farce on her face.

The plan was to wait for her return. She was meant to be back in a week. Seven more days. In the time she'd been gone I had done some avoidable stupidities. Thanks to my sister, though, nothing I would regret too much. Charlotte slapped me back into reality. She made a point of calling everyday. Had forced me to go to her house in the weekend so I wouldn't be left alone with my worst enemy: my own thoughts.

Besides my sister, work was the only thing keeping me whole. I started working on a project the day after Morena left. Pouring my heart and soul into it. I wish I was able to say it had nothing to do with her, but in truth it was more about her than anything else.

I had developed a new found sympathy for the love sick dog you read about in cheesy novels, too. I was pathetic, really. What I didn't seem to be able to do was stop thinking about Dindi, or wanting her, or loving her.

I checked my phone and realized I was late. Shit. I was supposed to have left half an hour ago. Max would kill me if I were late to meet him again. He had given up on me a while ago. I was sure Lotte had opened her big mouth and he wanted to meet me to present me with one of his sermons.

My phone in my hand was presenting me with another tempting thought.

Call her again. Just do it. Maybe she'll pick it up this time.

No. I'd give her time. I needed time myself. At least she had said she loved me. I could tell she didn't mean to, but she said it, and she meant it. It was hard to tell each one of us was more scared of the feeling. Her or me. If I had to bet, I'd say her. She'd been the one to run.

She wasn't completely wrong. I understood her. Her experiences made her scared of involvement. And even if I wasn't entirely to blame for what had happened with Anissa, I had admittedly hurt her. I saw I had. However, she wasn't as right as she believed herself to be. Of course she'd need time. But she didn't listen to me. For the first time in years I made a mistake I could explain. A mistake that wasn't caused by my hands, not really. A had an explanation, not an excuse, an actual truthful explanation to what had hurt her so much.

None of us were being fair to each other. She least of all. She loved me. She did. I knew she did. I had seen it. She'd said it. The only honest thing she'd said that day when she threw harsh unintended words at my face. I knew just what she was trying to do. She wanted to push me away, to make me give up on her. I had inherited my father's stubbornness, though.

The worst thing, even worst than being without her, was the knowledge I was the man who was finally tearing her walls down. And at the same time, the man who made her hide behind the rubble again. I wanted her back. I spent my days thinking what the fuck I'd have to do to achieve that. I wanted her more than anything, but most importantly, I needed her to be alright. I needed her to open herself up, if not for me, at least for some lucky bastard who'd come along in the future and have enough sense to avoid hurting her. I just couldn't bare to be the man who'd broken her permanently. I'd try to fix things. With everything I had. I hoped that, if she decided against being with me, I would be able to forget her. However unlikely that possibility was.

****

"Hey, man. Thanks for coming." My brother greeted me, standing up from his chair at the very same restaurant I had made him wait for me months ago, only to be disappointed by my tardiness.

"No problem, Max." I told him, surprising myself at my honesty. "I'm glad you called."

Surprising the hell out of me, Max had called inviting me for lunch. He had said we needed to talk. I didn't need to ask him about what.

I sat myself down on the chair opposite his betting 50/50 on the possibility of him being here to talk about mom.

"So, how are you, Travis?" His answer was clear on my face.

I was shit. That much was obvious. And Max knew it, judging by how he was looking at me.

"Oh, I'm great. Just dandy." I couldn't help my ill humor slipping down my tongue.

In the same way Charlotte always made me feel responsible for her, Max made me feel younger, irresponsible. It wasn't something he did on purpose, I supposed. It was just the way we were. There was too much of Dad on both of us.

He gave me the condescending look my father used to give me. "Oh, come on. No need to be sarcastic."

The waitress approached our table with perfect timing. I was about to give Max a rude answer. She introduced herself, but her voice was distant to my ears, insignificant as the sound of the cars' horns. Instead of paying her any attention, I looked at my brother fixedly. A staring contest. In turn I had my own eyes -my father's eyes- staring back at me from Max's face.

There was a funny thing in them, though. An emotion I don't recall ever seeing on them. Something like pity, or maybe just sympathy when disapproval and brief signs of affection were what I'd gotten used to.

"Mister?" The sound of the girl's voice, now louder, snapped me out of wherever I was.

"Yes." I answered, turning my head her way.

In her face I saw the same thing I'd seen a million times before. That smile I had come to know as opportunity. Opportunity to entertain myself with someone else's body. Opportunity to forget.

As if on automatic mode, I felt my lips twitching into a returning smile. I didn't even have to feel or think anything. It was just the way it worked. A habit. They smiled at me, I smiled back, then it was implied we'd leave together.

But now, even as I smiled at that girl who was, admittedly, pretty, all I wanted in the world was for her to be Morena.

"Just water, please." I said to her, still smiling so widely it hurt my cheeks.

The waitress returned my forced smile with genuine enthusiasm, battered her eyelashes and walked away.

"How the fuck do you do that, Travis?" Max asked, shaking his head while looking at me with a sort of amazed bewilderment.

"Do what?"

"That." He said, pointing to where the waitress had disappeared. "You didn't even say anything and the girl was all over you." Max laughed, and that made me smile with true conviction this time.

"It's just a bad habit I picked up along the years." One I didn't want -or needed- anymore.

Fast as the the wind, the waitress returned with my water and Max's soda. She left with another smile my direction and I noticed a small piece of folded paper under my glass. I chose to ignore it.

Max and I fell into a silence that, although uncomfortable for most people, was familiar enough to the both of us that it became comfortable. I drank my water, he sipped his fizzy drink until I decided to cut the bulshit.

"What did you want to talk about, Max?" That could have been a rhetorical question.

Max sighed, ran his trademark nervous hand through the blond hair we had both inherited from our mother before he spoke. "I've talked to Charlotte. She's worried about you. I thought I'd check in on you myself."

I had to laugh at his reply. "Check on me, uh? One of your big brother burdens?" I was being a dickhead. The look on Max's face let me know that much. He had nothing to do with my issues, so I made myself stop behaving like the wayward younger brother. "I'm sorry, Max. I'm just...tired, I guess."

"Have you talked to her?"

"Which her?" Coming from Max, her could only mean two people. He was either talking about Morena or our mother. Silently, I was praying for it not the be the latter.

"Mom." He said clearly thinking it was obvious she was the one he was referring to.

Why the fuck would he think I'd try and talk to her? Oh, but he didn't know the whole story. I hadn't told him a thing. He only knew I had had an argument with our mother. A serious argument. Whatever Charlotte's faults she could keep a secret, and I had asked her not to tell Max just what that argument had been about. But then again, mom might have told him herself. Him being her favourite, prodigal son.

"No, Max. I haven't." I told him, to which he just nodded.

"And Morena?"

"She doesn't want to see me. She made that clear when she left the fucking country to avoid me." I was beginning to feel a bitterness in my mouth when I talked about her. It was a new resentment I came to know as a side effect of being dumped.

"I see." Max mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "I'm sorry, Travis."

"Ah, well, I deserved it. Some of it, anyway." I didn't need anyone else being sorry for me. My self pity was enough.

My brother looked at me as if I were an alien.

"How could you deserve it, man?" He said, sounding appalled at my words.

"Oh, come on, Max. We all know how I am. I could've tried harder to avoid Anissa, tried harder to make Morena stay, I-"

"Who the fuck is Anissa?" Max asked, interrupting me.

I clamped my lips shut. My brother and I studied each other with confusion, the way a man watching his reflection in the mirror make movements on its own would.

"What exactly did you want to talk about, Max?" If my brother didn't know about that whole situation that had driven Morena away, then there was only one subject left to make him want to have a serious talk with me.

"I just..." Max stammered, still confused. "I didn't think Morena would be offended enough to leave the damn country, Travis. Hell, from what she told me, I didn't even think she'd break up with you because of what Mom said."

"From what she told you? What are you talking about? What did she tell you?" I felt like Max was speaking Chinese.

There was a crease in between Max's blond eyebrows, but it only lasted a second or so. It quickly morphed back into smooth skin as understanding washed over his face.

"What?" I asked.

"She didn't tell you." He said almost to himself with a bitter quirk of his lips.

"Didn't tell me what, Max?" And which she did he mean? "What the fuck are we talking about here?" I threw my hands up, suddenly tired of not knowing what on earth was happening.

Max took another sip of his drink, running a second nervous hand over his hair.

"I heard it, Travis. Your discussion with mom. And so did Morena."

My brain took longer than normal to process the information. Morena had told me she'd heard what my mother had asked me. But she didn't say anything about Max hearing it too.

I opened my mouth, but realized there was nothing I could think to say, so I shut it again.

"Come on, Travis. We were standing right there in the living room. None of you made any effort to be quiet. Mom had to know we could hear you."

Now that Max said it, it was obvious. Of course they could have heard us from where they stood. In that moment, though, when I realized what kind of person my mother might be, it didn't even occur to me to try and turn the volume down. I saw red.

"I didn't see any of you when I left. You were both outside the house." My mother and I yelled at each other for about five minutes before I had decided I had had enough and left to find both Morena and Max standing in the front yard.

"Morena dashed out the minute she heard mom ask you if you two were sleeping together. I stayed behind." Max confessed.

I gave him a look that silently enquired whether his curiosity knew no bounds.

"She's my mother too, Travis. I was just as disappointed in her as you." He said, sounding just as sad as Lotte had when I had told her about Mom's misconceptions. "I just needed to hear her say she was sorry or something."

"But she didn't."

"No." He agreed. "I left just when she said you shouldn't come back home. I'm so sorry, Travis."

Looking at Max I knew that if his reaction hadn't made Mom change her mind, nothing would. She had succeeded in disappointing all three of her children with one stupid take.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked him.

If he knew what had happened that day, why didn't he talk to me? Being the Mama Boy he was, I hoped to god Max wasn't here to try and make me have another talk with Mom. This time I wasn't the one to blame. I wasn't the one who had to apologize.

"Morena asked me not to." He said, to my complete surprise.

"She what?"

"Yeah. She even scared me a little." Max uttered a soft laugh clearly remembering her telling him to keep his mouth shut and I could imagine just how she did it. "That woman really is in love with you, Travis."

"What did she say to you?" I asked him, ignoring the latter part of his speech.

"She told me not to tell you anything about what we had heard. She said those kinds of remarks didn't bother her anymore." He stopped and gave me another unprecedented look. This one full of amusement and love. "She said she knew you loved her just as she was, and that if I loved you too I shouldn't tell you something that would hurt you so much. So I didn't."

I regarded my brother intensely. I loved him, just as sure as he loved me. We were both sure of it in that moment. We were also acutely aware of all the years and little bumps in life that had pushed us away from each other.

Max grunted the same way our father used to whenever he felt too uneasy with a particular situation.

"Listen, Travis. It doesn't matter what Mom thinks. I really like Morena. Lotte and I both agree she's good for you. Just go get her back. She loves you. And you deserve it. You really do. It's about time you found someone who's good to you."

I pushed up from my chair, so did Max. We stood in our feet facing each other without any of the bitterness and disagreements we had collected over the years. I hugged my brother to thank him for just that. For being my brother.

"I love you, Max. Thanks for this."

"Hey, that's just part of a big brother duty."

We had a quiet lunch, making small talk about my nieces and nephews. I left the restaurant with a newfound admiration for my father. Despite their marital problems not a single bad word about my mother ever left his lips. He knew how I felt about what he was doing to her. He knew what kind of prejudices she had, but he never said anything against her, not even when she deserved it (and I'm sure she did at some point).

He didn't want his children, specially me, to have a tainted image of her. Instead, he let me hate him, push him away while I defended mom with tooth and nails only to have her diminish and disrespect the woman I loved now. The words she'd said to me that day were still ringing in my ears.

"You're just like your father. You would choose that kind of woman over your own family."

"That kind of woman? What kind of woman, mother? The kind of woman I love?"

"Listen to reason, son. That girl is not good enough for you. I understand you're a man, you want to have fun, but she's not right-"

"She's not fun. She's much better than I. Better than I deserve. I won't leave her, mother. I love her."

"Love her? But she's-

"Yes, she's black! Damn right she is! And I love her all the more for that! Christ! What an idiot I was! I can't believe I sided with you all those years ago. I lost all that time with dad when he was the one who was right in all of this! If this is the kind of woman you are, no wonder he chose Moira over you!"

"You don't mean this, son. I'm your mother!"

"Yeah, you are. I didn't choose that. But I chose Morena. I love her, and I'll stay with her."

"I won't stand for it, Travis. I won't have her under my roof! If you chose that mulatto girl over your own family you don't have to bother ever coming back here!"

"That's ok, mom. I wasn't planning on coming back anyway."

Thinking of my parents I felt a surge of that shame and pain regret is known to give you, but then her voice was in my head:

There's no point crying over spilled milk, Travis."

No, there was no point.

****

MORENA

"You did get the negatives, didn't you, Mo?" Gee asked me.

We were having tea in my mother's garden. It was a chilly evening, but he'd been trying to get me out of the house for the whole of the week. I had complied since, technically, the garden was out of the house.

We sat at my mother's little white tea table. The sky was the familiar gray, contrasting in such a way with the rich green of the trees, it made your eyes hurt.

"What would I do that for?" I didn't want his damn pictures. I wanted nothing to remind me of him. My mind did that well enough on its own.

Gee widened his eyes. They were always greener home. I supposed they reflected the scenery.

"Mo! You said yourself you were a bitch to him! What if he puts them on the internet or blackmails you or something?"

"Blackmails me?"

"Yeah. Into getting back together."

I sipped my tea, ignoring his theory. "Whyever would he do that, George?"

"To get back at you." He rolled his eyes, clearly thinking he was stating the obvious. "Or with you."

"Nonsense." I was quick to dismiss his theory. "Life isn't a Mexican soap, you know."

The idea that Travis might use the intimate pictures he had of me had crossed my mind on several occasions, actually. But I gave him more credit than that. He would never be that childish. Or stupid. He had no reason to keep them, however. I might ask him for them when I got back. That if I had the guts to face him again.

"Here are the biscuits, children." My mother reappeared, setting a plate of biscuits on the little coffee table.

George filled his hands with more biscuits than he could eat.

"Auntie Lo, tell your daughter to stop being so silly." He spoke trying to chew at the same time and succeeding in scattering his lap with biscuits crumbs.

My mother knew something was wrong the minute I stepped foot inside her house. She also knew it had to do with a man. I cried in her lap for a whole hour before I told her the whole story. Strangely enough though, she was keeping quiet, which scared me more than anything. My mother was the kind of wise that made you fear her. When she spoke, it was god's honest and brutal truth. I was sure she was waiting for the right time to give me a piece of her mind where Travis was concerned.

"Is this about her American boy?" She asked, giving me a motherly look from under her tortoise teacher glasses.