Dindi Pt. 05

I sighed, sulking the way I did when I was a wayward teenager. "Mum, please. I already told you everything about that."

"Not quite." Mother said.

"What do you mean, Mum?" I was sure I would regret asking her that.

She sipped her tea, taking her time to appreciate it before she spoke. "You didn't tell me you were this in love with him."

After you reach a certain age you accept the fact that you can't fool you mother.

"Mum, Travis and I, we-" I trailed off not knowing where to begin or where to end.

She turned her scrutinizing gaze to George after deciding I'd be no help.

"Was he nice to her, Georgie?" She asked him.

George answered her, even though his mouth was too full for him to do so.

"Oh, Auntie Lo. He's not my favourite person in the world, but he is crazy about her. She was the happiest I've seen her in years when she was with him."

"I see." When Mum says I see, you should expect for her speech of conclusion. Usually it leaves you feeling stupid. "And we already know he didn't mean to kiss the other girl."

"Yes. A friend of mine saw the whole thing. The woman threw herself at him, but he pushed her away." Gee said.

I gaped at him. When had he become Travis's biggest fan?

"And I'm sure Morena didn't forgive the poor boy."

"Oh, god, Mum! Please, don't." I was about to be lectured.

"What was he like?" She asked George again, not me; the person who had actually spent time with Travis.

He almost jumped off his chair with excitement. "Oh, I have a picture!"

"You what?!" I shrieked.

He fished his phone out his coat pocket.

"Give it here. Let us see." My mother adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and took the phone from Gee's hands.

It was a picture I had no idea he'd taken. What was it with people taking pictures of me without my permission? Travis and I stood side by side at Gee's birthday party. I was smiling shyly, looking at my feet while Travis looked adoringly down at me with those blue eyes of his.

"Oh my, he's tall!" Mum exclaimed, putting a hand to her chest. "He's blond, too! And positively gorgeous! Oh, you got it from your old mama. The good taste, I mean. And for blond man!"

She gave the phone back to George, muttering to herself. "What a dashing young man!"

Just looking at that picture had me swallowing back the lump in my throat. It lodged itself in my chest, weighing a ton. I'd be damned if I was going to cry around Mum.

"I told you he was handsome." I murmured dryly.

"Well, I didn't imagine this handsome." She was genuinely surprised.

"Ah, well. I guess that's why he has women throwing themselves at him in dark corners. Lucky me." I crossed my arms over my chest. The gesture might have seemed immature, but I was just trying to squash the hollowed pain I felt in my chest.

"Georgie, my darling. Would you mind giving me a minute alone with my daughter." She asked Gee, using her teacher voice.

Oh, fuck.

Gee grabbed the whole plate of biscuits and walked away, giving me an apologetic quirk of his lips.

"Now, child." Mum repositioned her chair so she sat facing me, and took my hand in hers. "You and I both know none of this is about this Travis boy. It's about James."

Sometimes I wondered if this wisdom was something that came with motherhood or if it was just my mother.

"Mum..." Tears were falling down my cheeks without any invitation. My mother knew just where she was going with this talk.

"You are projecting your experience with him on this new boy you're in love with."

She was right, that was precisely what I was doing. I knew that. It still didn't change the fact that I'd done something stupid, and probably would do it again.

"Mum, when I saw that woman kissing him...I was back there again. Right back in that hole James had left me in. I can't risk being that hurt again. I'm not that strong."

My mother took a deep breath, then gave me a look that was all too familiar to me. The same look she used to give me just before she explained why I was being grounded.

"Oh, my dear, you're past your twenties already. You shouldn't waste your life being afraid of love." Mum used her tender, but serious voice. The kind of voice that said I have better listen to her. "Do you think that a relationship should always be a bed of roses? I loved your father but oh, did I want to kill him sometimes! Not every man you'll meet you'll be James. Not every man will hurt you the way he did. But you will never know unless you give them a chance."

"I can't risk feeling that way again, Mum. I almost didn't survive it last time."

"You have to risk it, my love, otherwise you won't live a life that's worth living. Life it's all about getting hurt, you can't escape that."

I wheezed, wiping a hand under my runny nose like a fat little boy. "I don't know how to trust, I don't know how to forget or forgive. I'm damaged."

"Now, you listen to me, Morena. Forget about James already. The prick doesn't deserve to be remembered. He didn't love you as you deserve. He's gone. He's not a part of your life anymore. You can't let him dictate how you'll live it." I was ten years old all over again, being chided for making a mess in her kitchen. "What I gather from what Georgie -and you- tell me, this boy Travis is very taken with you. I am your mother, Morena. You came out of me. I know you. You love this man, too."

"Mum..." I don't even know why I thought to protest against her correct conclusion of my feelings.

"Yes, my dear, you're in love." She nodded.

I looked at my mother, analysing her with the curiosity of a child. She was 59 and still a beautiful woman. In the 23 years my father's been dead, I never heard of her dating another man. She'd know of love.

"He's got eyes just like Pappa's." I said.

She smiled a soft, but sad smile. Her smiles were always sad. "I like him already." She said.

I knew I would never win this discussion with my mother. She'd twist every argument I threw her way against me, making me see things in a different light. The right light.

So, I opened up my mental list of the reasons I had used to convince myself Travis and I would never work.

"His mother hates me, you know. Because I'm black!" That was sure to hit a nerve.

My mother was a black woman who had married a white man sixteen years her senior in the early eights. She had experienced people's disapproval to my father's choice in wife acutely.

Her reaction to my number one item on the list was nothing like I'd expected it to be, though.

"Oh, fuck his mother."

"Mum!" Nothing prepares you to hearing your mother curse. Especially when she is a teacher.

She waved a hand my way. "Oh, my love. You don't have to put up with her. Only him. He obviously doesn't mind what colour you are."

When that backfired, I tried again.

"He is so handsome, Mum." Number two on the list was even worst than number one.

"Yes. I saw that." She said into her tea cup.

"No, Mum. Travis is disgustingly handsome. And he slept with half the damn world, apparently!"

She knew just what I was doing with my childlike behavior and that made her lose her cool.

"Honestly, Morena. Didn't I teach you some self confidence? You are a very beautiful woman yourself. That is why he wants you. Don't be so harsh on him. The poor boy is not to blame for his looks."

"He's also a bit immature."

Mum gave me the same roll of eyes I sometimes gave Travis.

"Then you're perfect for him. You can counterbalance each other. There's no space for two serious people in a relationship and you're too serious and responsible for the both of you. You take it after your father you know. All that serious Germanness."

"Mother,-"

"Child." She fixed her demanding eyes on me. I was 32 years old and she still called me child in a way that made me shiver with fierce respect for her. "You love him. Don't waste love. It is a precious commodity and the regret isn't worth it."

Silly me. Had I really thought I could win this argument against my mother?

She was right. George was right. I was wrong. I fucking loved Travis. I've been in love with him for a little while now. And what had I done? Tried my best to hurt him, using him as a pincushion for my past, unhealed wounds. Wounds he had nothing to do with. Using something he wasn't to blame for as excuse.

"I don't know what happened, Mum." I finally admitted. "Everything was simple, just physical, then suddenly I was his. Just completely fucking his. I'm a bloody mess, I don't know what the fuck to do. Oh, Mum. I'm just so afraid. What if I get hurt again?"

She pulled me in, and rested my head on her shoulder. "You will get hurt, love. That's life."

"Mum." She caressed my hair, the way she used to when I wouldn't sleep at night as a child. "How did you know Pappa was the right one? How did you know you loved him more than you would ever love any other man? How do you know when it's right?"

She laughed. The sound comforting me. I had missed her so much, it hurt even now when I was close to her.

"I didn't know anything, darling. I felt it. You'll feel it, too." I was quite sure I had felt it already. I was just terrified of it. "Allowing yourself to love this man won't make you weak, Morena. After all you've been through, if anything it'll make you stronger."

Ever since I can remember I needed things to be explainable in order for them to be real. Now she was telling me to feel. Who was I kidding, though? I had felt it. And I could tell precisely when I had felt it. That day in the cemetery, when Travis had thanked me for just sitting there, useless, by his side.

In less than a week I'd be back. The first thing I'd do would be to find him, and this time when I talked to him, I'd be truly honest.

"I love you, Mama." I said, putting in those words all the gratitude I felt for having the best mother in the world.

"I love you too, little Moony."

****

"Oh, home sweet home!"

George dropped his body on the leather couch, exhausted from the flight. I settled my suitcase against the wall, closing the door, then I noticed a black little envelope resting on the floor.

"Gee?" I called, but he was snorting already.

I picked it up, turning it on my hand to find my name written on cursive white letters on the black paper. Inside there was an invitation to an exposition two days from now at Lance's gallery called Under the skin.

An invitation for me? At Lance's gallery? Shouldn't it be stressed to Gee?

Then I read: Photographies by Travis Keegan.

A white piece of paper fell on my feet. I picked it up and unfolded it so fast I almost tore it.

I recognized Travis's handwriting.

Please, come.

It was all it said.

****

TRAVIS

"What are you going to do?" My sister asked me for the thousandth time.

"I still don't know, Lotte."

"She'll kill you."

"Probably."

Fashion photography was never my dream job. I loved photography, somehow the fashion industry had worked for me, but what I really loved to photograph were people. Real people. All kinds of people. I had ten years of work just waiting to be seen. For months I've been planning a show to finally let my pictures see the light of day. My encounter with Lance added to the discovery he owned a gallery, had presented me with the perfect opportunity to do it.

After Morena left, I went through my old negatives. I was surprised by how many pictures of her I found. Not the ones she had, reluctantly, let take with my polaroid while she was naked and panting in my bed; But the ones I had taken when she wasn't looking. Pictures of her smiling, thinking, pouting, showing every single emotion I was able to capture without her noticing it.

You're such a creep. She'd say on the rare occasions when she caught my eyes behind a camera.

The woman was always so distracted.

I'd chosen a dozen of her pictures for my exposition. My week was spent in Lance's gallery, arranging every single detail to make sure the explosion was a success. Now, Charlotte was debating the probabilities of Morena murdering me. She was meant to come back in four days. At her own insistence, I spent the week at Lotte's instead of my own home. Being alone with my thoughts was a bad idea.

"It's not about her, Lotte. It's about my pictures." I lied.

"Right. You want to fool yourself, fine by me." The main reason why I chose to go to my sister when I had a problem was because she would always call me on my bullshit. "Don't pretend like this isn't a giant love song to Morena."

"Yeah, Lotte. I love her. I want her back. She doesn't want me. What the fuck can I do about that? Force her to be with me?" There was only so much I could do, the rest was up to her. She'd have to decide if she would want to be with me, or spend the rest of her life pushing people away.

I couldn't really blame her. I didn't know what it felt like to be in her shoes. Be that as it may, I wasn't to be faulted for her past problems. I took complete responsibility for that business with Anissa, but not for the rest.

"Did you tell her you love her?" Lotte asked.

"Of course I did. I told you so." I said.

"Yeah, but how?"

How? What the fuck difference does that make?

"What do you mean, how? I just told her, Charlotte." I retorted, using that mildly irritated tone reserved particularly for annoying younger siblings.

She huffed and her tone, in turn, was the one she used to let me know she thought I was an idiot. "You told her when you felt like saying it, or you told her when you were trying to make her stay?"

"What's the difference?" I asked.

Charlotte put down the knife she was using to cut off the crumbs of her children's sandwiches and directed her shrewd gaze at me.

"There's a difference." She said it like the thing was obvious and I should've known it.

Women. Go figure.

Whether I loved Morena or not. Whether I had told her I did or not wasn't the issue. I did love her, her damn resistance to it was the problem. And Anissa had given her the perfect excuse to dump me.

"I'm in love with her anyway, Lotte." I said, passing her the jam jar.

"Will you talk to her again?" She asked as she spread the red jelly on the white bread slices.

"I sent her an invitation for the exposition." I answered bitterly.

I still wasn't sure that was the best idea. I pondered asking her in person, but was afraid she wouldn't want to see me. So I decided to leave the choice in her hands. If she came then I'd know I still had a chance of getting her back. Who was I kidding, though? If she didn't come I'd still go after her one more time. Just one more time. My pride could endure that.

"Just an invitation?" Lotte didn't hide the fact she thought I should be doing more. I knew Morena, though. If I pushed her now, I would only succeed in driving her farther away.

"And a note." I answered.

"What did it say?"

"It said 'Please, come'."

"Couldn't you elaborate that a little better?"

"I won't send her a fucking love letter, Lotte. I want to talk to her, looking into her eyes, so I know she's lying when she tells me she doesn't want me anymore." My little outburst made Lotte's brown eyes widen.

"What will you say to convince her to take you back, then?" She asked the question to which I didn't know the answer myself.

"I have no fucking idea."

Little Tess, accompanied by her older brother came down the stairs and I just couldn't help comparing the scene with the image I had of Charlotte and I when we were their ages. Back then I took care of her. Now things worked the other way around.

"Well, whatever you tell her, you better shave first. Maybe cut this hair, too. You look shit." She teased, handing me the bag with the sandwiches.

Since I was annoying her at her house, she made sure I wasn't idle, and had charged me with driving my nephews to school.

"Thanks, Lotte." I said, suddenly afflicted with an outburst of affection for her.

"Hey. I know this never happened to you before. But being in love is hard as hell. It's also the greatest thing you'll ever feel. So go get your girl back. If she doesn't want you then she's probably as stupid as I'm beginning to believe she is."

I gave Lotte my best big brother smile before turning my attention to Little Tess. She'd be just like her mother when she grew up.

"Where's your girlfriend, Ucle Trabis?" She asked, as I picked her up in my arms.

"I lost her, Tessy." I said to a 4 year old.

"Maybe she's hiding." The kid didn't even how wise she was being.

"Yeah, maybe she is. But I'll find her soon."

I only hoped she'd let me.

****

MORENA

George made me wear a red dress, despite my protestations.

"People will think I'm an escort." I had said, feeling as comfortable in the dress as a tuna in its can.

"People will think you're beautiful." He'd ended the discussion with that.

Later, when we walked into the gallery I was dumbfounded. Of course I knew Travis was talented. I'd seen a few of his pictures, but the ones in this place were absolutely stunning.

"I'll go find Lance. But, Mo?" George gave my hands a reassuring squeeze, fixing his serious eyes on mine. "You deserve to be happy, darling. I'd say it's about time." He hugged me lovingly, then disappeared amongst the sea of people who filled the large space.

I wandered into the exposition, admiring Travis's beautiful work while keeping an eye out for him. All of his pictures were of people. Faces of all kinds. Some colourful, though most were in black and white. I never knew he did those kinds of photos. They were breathtakingly beautiful.

"Would you like a drink, Miss?"

I spun around to find a waiter by my side.

"Oh, yes. Thank you." I said, choosing a glass of white wine, and returning my attention to the picture of a smiling old woman.

The man lingered, though, staring at me with a curious expression.

"You're the girl from the pictures, ain't you?"

I almost choked on my wine. "What pictures?" I asked on the verge of desperation.

"Right over there." He pointed to some spot over his shoulder. "There's a whole session with pictures of you. You're very beautiful, if I may say."

Fuck.

I should've listened to George. Why the fuck hadn't I asked Travis for those stupid negatives?

"Thank you." I said already walking to the place where the man had pointed.

A few people looked at me as I walked by them. Initially, I had attributed the attention to George's whorish red dress, but now I thought maybe they recognized the naked girl from the pictures.

What the fuck was wrong with Travis? Was this his vengeance? He'd asked me here to ridicule me?

I walked into an area and the first picture I saw of myself was one in black and white. It showed me laughing so hard there was a tear running from the side of my eye and into my hair, which was sprayed all around my head like a halo.

At least, I'm not naked in this one.

Actually I was naked that day, it just didn't show. It was a beautiful image. I remembered him taking that one. I'd been lying in his bed while he tickled me to death, playing with his stupid camera.

As I moved, I saw more and more pictures of me. My face showing every possible emotion. I counted twelve. Most of them were in black and white, but others were colourful too, like the one of me sitting on his windowsill, wearing his t-shirt and reading a book. And the one of me on the beach making sand castles with his niece. Even that stupid photo of me in the elevator's hall was there. None of those pictures revealed much of my body, and I suddenly felt stupid for thinking he'd spread around intimate pictures of me. The worst one showed me smiling with my head thrown back in his tub. The water stopping just above my breasts, the soapy foam hiding anything revealing.