Leave the Night On Pt. 04

We consider each other. She's not giving me an out. She's laid her vulnerability bare and has asked me to do the same. I decide she deserves the same honesty she's just bestowed upon me. "I sure as hell don't feel I have the right to be jealous of every man who's ever touched you, but I am anyway. So, yes. I guess you're allowed."

She bites her lip, studying me closely, and I can tell she likes my answer. "I like Karen. It's clear to see you two have no interest in each other besides friendship and the wellbeing of your child, but she's so...beautiful. Even knowing what happened between you two, how she made you feel invalidated and disrespected, I'm still jealous. It's absurd and if I had more sense, I would never tell you this, but I'm jealous, Julian." She exhales through her nose, shaking her head in disbelief. "But you know what? It's not her fault, it's yours."

Ah. I see what she just did there. She won't give me time to reply to her admission of jealousy. "Mine?"

She threatens me with a joking smile. "Yours. And your good taste in women."

And we're back to banter and out of the danger zone. "I seem to be choosing better and better the older I get," I say, playing along.

"And old you are, let's not forget that."

"Lucky you I have so much life experience. I know lots of ways to make you come."

She lifts tantalizing eyes to mine, batting her long, curling eyelashes. "Don't you dare threaten to shatter my frail self-control in public. You've done enough damage already," she says, shifting her hip and making me wonder if she's feeling the lingering wetness I created but didn't have time to taste.

I smile some more, glad because she deliberately says things to drag joy out of me. Because she chooses words with the sole intention of getting a rise out of me. Because when I do smile at her, I'm rewarded with that look of satisfaction in her eyes that tells me my instant of happiness is a victory to her. Right now, she's looking at me as though my smiles are her source of life.

I've never had this before. I never saw my smile make anyone besides Hannah this happy. "I haven't had this since years before my divorce." The words are water overflowing, spilling out of me.

"Haven't had what?"

I gesture to the gap between us. The gap I wish I could breach. "This. This... fun, the talks, the-"

"The mind-blowing sneaky sex?"

"Nah. Of that I had lots."

"Oookay, swagger."

I place a hand in between her thighs. It's there and then gone before the warmth of her skin is transferred to mine. "But I never had it like this."

"Am I that skilled?" She's trying to banter, I'm being serious.

"You are the best person I've ever slept with."

Her eyes turn into two giant saucers. "Okay," she drawls, feigning offense. "Are you saying I'm actually kind of average in bed, but compensate for my lack of sexual skills by being good at heart?"

There she goes, making me laugh again. "Are you fishing?"

She grins. "Obviously."

"I'm saying, My Pearl," I start, leaning in a little closer to her ear. "That you are a delicious wonder in bed. You're also the funniest, sexiest and smartest woman I've ever been naked with. And that combination is the thing I've never had before."

She tenses, blinking too fast too many times. The reaction is immediately repressed, and yet I still see it. I can already see these subtle changes in her, the way she is quick to re-compose herself. I smile inwardly. By telling her more about me, I'm also getting to know her better.

"Wow," she whistles. "You silver-tongued rascal."

"I am good with my tongue, My Pearl."

She shifts, and I don't miss the muscles on her thighs tensing as she squeezes them together. She clears her throat. "I think the kids are tired of waiting for the cake."

"Yeah," I murmur, accepting her unsubtle request to diverge the issue. "Today is your chance to taste my cake."

"I'm sure it tastes as decadently good as everything else you cook."

"True," I concede. "Although nothing tastes quite as good as you."

***

PEARL

"MISS JONES?"

I turn at the sound of my name in an accented, unfamiliar voice. My eyebrows rise, panting a surprised expression on my face. With my hand still on the handle of my car's door, I gaze at Julian's mother. "Mrs. Song! Hi."

I glance around the school's parking lot, noting there's no one around but Mrs. Song and myself. At first, I intuit she's here for Hannah. My immediate second thought tells me that's not it. She's here for her own child.

"Hello, Miss Jones," she says, politely. She sounds pleasant enough. Her face is full of soft etching lines that portend what will become of Julian in the far future. He'll still look good when he's old.

His mother is wearing simple, but pristine clothes. She's clutching a small handbag in front of her chest. She's smiling tightly. That smile never leaves her face. She holds onto it like it might fall if she's not careful. I remember seeing it like a brand on her, the only other occasion we met, when she caught me making out with her son.

I know what that smile is. It's polite. Proper. It conveys a certain level of submission. It tells you she's not a threat. She's a mere piece composing the background. There, yet invisible. Quiet and undisturbing. She holds herself with a sort of pose that seems calculated. Her shoulders are a little stooped. I imagine years of hard farm labor must have done it to her, although her slouching shoulders strike me as a gesture of habit. It's as if she takes care to seem meek and unthreatening.

Seeing Mrs. Song here, with this smile and this posture, in front of me, reminds me of my own father's family. His parents were immigrants, too. From Senegal. My grandmother had that same curve to her lips, that same invisible weight on her back. I remember asking her once, when I was barely 6-years-old, why did she have to walk all bent and curled like that. She'd told me her back ached because she was always carrying the burden of her origins over her shoulders.

I didn't understand her then.

That weight is what I see in this old woman. The weight of a country she was forced to leave behind. Inside, she's hiding an unfathomable strength. I recognize the glint of it in her eyes. She's a fortress built by those years of struggle, of a life lived for the sake of her children. Now, she's here in this place that won't fully acknowledge her, all for love of her sons.

"How are you doing, Mrs. Song?" I ask her, finally shaking off my stupor.

She nods, giving me the sense Hannah got the habit from her. "Good, good."

She looks right at me. I face her equal to equal, imitating that tilt of the chin. None of us speaks for a while. Curious and a little wary, I finally ask, "Is there anything I can help you with, Mrs. Song? You're here about Hannah?" We both know she isn't.

She shakes her head. "I would like to talk," she says, pointing a gnarled finger at me.

I tilt my head. "To me?"

Her mannerly smile quivers. "Yes."

"Would you like to go into the school? Sit down a little," I offer her, hiding my bewilderment poorly.

"No, no. We talk here." She points to the ground at her feet.

"Okay," I say and wait for what I know it's coming.

She stands a few inches shorter than myself wearing that smile as a habit she can't abandon. Her eyes do a quick survey of me, from head to toe. "You and Jae-Woo," she says. "Not good, Miss Jones. Bad match."

Jae-Woo. "Julian and me, you mean?"

She nods. "Very bad, Miss Jones."

I'm the one who nods now. "Ah. I see."

There isn't anything like disapproval in Mrs. Song's words. She doesn't look at me like I'm somehow unworthy of her son. She doesn't see me as inferior, either. I would know what such a look was.

No. I know what I am to her.

I'm a disturbance in her plans. I'm the cause of more hardship for a life she worked hard to make easy.

I'm a waste of all her sacrifice, same as Karen was.

I'm trouble, a bend on the road Julian was supposed to take and I presume, correctly, his mother is here to tell me as much.

"You see. Good," she says, coffee-colored eyes shrinking. She gave him those eyes, although his are softer. He hasn't seen as much hardship. "You and Jae-Woo not right for each other," she states, again.

I start wondering to myself; for how long has she been planning to corner me and make her opinion of my involvement with her son known? From the minute she walked in on Julian and me, that day of Hannah's birthday party, I saw she instantly knew what was going on.

To some degree, I think I understand her objection to me as a partner for her son. After knowing what his marriage to Karen was like, I know why this woman is here, warning me off him. Yet, I find my pride won't let her do it.

I train my eye on her, pouring all the respect and fierce determination I can muster into a look. "Why?" I ask her.

She eyes me with confusion.

"Why are we...I mean," I stop, and rephrase my question. "Why are Jae-Woo and me a bad match?"

A brief graveness brushes over her features before she fixes her smile back in place. "Jae-Woo is father. He needs to take good care of Hannah," she speaks each word carefully, as if testing them rolling on her tongue. And I know those reasons are not her real ones.

I sigh, loudly. I wish I had slept better last night. I wish I were feeling more patient today. This woman deserves my respect. I can't blame her for being how she is, for thinking how she does, considering the life she's had. However, she can't tell me I'm not right for her son without even knowing who I am. She can't judge me for what she thinks I might be, or for I'm not to blame for not being.

"Mrs. Song, with all due respect. I understand your concerns," I start, facing her full-on. "But you don't know me. I might not be the kind of woman you would choose for your son and I am fully aware of the complications of our...relationship. But you, as his mother, should understand Julian better than I do. He won't settle for anything or anyone he hasn't chosen himself. And I know he would never choose without considering Hannah first." I lay down my words clearly. I'm careful to be sure she understands I won't be cowered. "I care for your son, Mrs. Song. You must agree there can be no better woman for him than one who feels both for him and for his child. I respect you. I respect your concern for him. You might not see it, but we are the same. This land doesn't accept me fully, surely as it does not embrace you. What happens between Julian and me can only be decided by Julian and me. If it ends or if it doesn't, it depends solely on our own choices."

Mrs. Song's eyes narrow into slits. For the first time, she reveals the wisdom I suspected she was hiding behind that practiced smile. There's something of stubbornness to the tilt of her chin. She's clearly not used to being talked to the way I just talked to her. "You want Jae-Woo," she says, and it's not a question.

"As long as he wants me as well," I retort. "I'm sure he doesn't mean any disrespect to you, as I don't myself."

She eyes me with a strange curiosity. It's plain to see she doesn't appreciate my tone, or even my attitude. However, I think I glimpse something awfully like respect there.

Deciding we've nothing more to discuss, I open my car door. "If there's nothing else I can help you with, Mrs. Song, I have to go," I say. And then, to soften my initial rudeness, I add, "Your son is the best man I've ever met, Mrs. Song. He's good. He's honored. He's a great father to Hannah. I'm also sure he is a good son to you. But you can't intimidate me. Julian is a grown man. He can decide for himself whether I'm good enough for him or not." I get into my car and slam the door shut. "Have a good day, Mrs. Song," I say before rolling my window shut.

I drive away, leaving Julian's mother standing dumbstruck in the school's parking lot. If I dare think of a future with that woman's son, I'm sure to have a mother-in-law who will be a challenge.

***

FOR THE PAST FEW WEEKS, I've been feeling less active. I'm sleeping six hours a night. My morning runs are managing that incessant agitation that often governs my body. In truth, I'm acting as close to a normal person as I ever was.

Today, though. Today my blood is boiling, threatening to blow off my brain with how fast it's flowing through my veins.

I've emptied the kitchen cabinets. All of them. Every door and every drawer. Every glass, plate, bowl and cutlery we own is currently displayed either on the dinner table or on the island. The rain outside won't abate otherwise I'd be running this buzzing off my limbs. Cleaning the inside of the kitchen cabinets was my only alternative to spontaneous combustion.

I'm beginning the process of putting the glasses back again, sorted by size, color and function, when the door to the loft opens and Cami bursts in, cursing the rain in French.

"Pearly!" She greets me with the same silly nickname she has used from the second she met me.

"Hi, honey."

She shrugs off her damp coat and boots, leaving them on a pile by the door. She's such a messy creature. Lil's always collecting the shit constantly being peeled off Cami.

"You're Cinderella again? I thought you were done with all this cleaning," she says, plopping down like a log on the sofa. Mal immediately appears and jumps to her lap meowing his contentment at her return. "Aren't things with Mr. Pretty Dick going well?"

"Cami, I love you," I tell her, setting the wine glasses side by side on their proper shelf, "but you are so fucking inappropriate. I can't believe you."

She beams like the sun, then rises from the sofa and comes to sit on a stool by the counter. Mallory is curled safely in her arms.

"Come on, talk to me. No evasion. I'm a shrink."

My answer is a deliberate slow roll of eyes

"Come on." she goads me, fixing her sea blue eyes on my grimacing face.

"Why are you wasting energy on cleaning again? You should be saving yourself for your sexual exercises with Julian."

I lean against the sink, crossing my arms over my chest. "Things are...getting weird," I confess to her, accepting my friend's offer to hear my drama out.

She pouts. "Weird how?"

"Just...I don't know. Weird."

Understanding, mainly of me and how I work, lights her face like a neon sign. "You mean things are getting serious. You mean you really like him. You mean you are freaking the fuck out."

She guesses right.

I sigh, "Yeah."

Mal purrs and meows under Cami's hands and I remember he's alive because of Julian. This stupid cat is only one of the reasons why I'm so infatuated with that man.

"His mother came to the school today," I tell her. "She confronted me in the parking lot."

Cami's mouth drops open. "No!"

"She came to say that her son and I are a no-no. A bad match. Apparently, I am wrong for him."

For whatever reason, maybe because I want to be validated or something, I expect my friend to back me up. That is definitely not what Cami does. "Pearly, honey," she says, almost mockingly. "She's a sixty-year-old immigrant woman. Her values are widely different from yours."

I blow an annoyed huff of air. "Yeah, I know, Camille."

"Don't make her an excuse," she chides me. "She's not the reason you're maniacally cleaning the kitchen cabinets. This is subterfuge, you're trying-

"Camille, don't use your psychotherapy bullshit on me."

She pouts that insouciant mouth of hers. "I'm not! I swear!"

"You so are!" I say, throwing a damp, dirty cloth at her. "Quit it!"

She dodges my throw and the cloth lands somewhere over her shoulder. "Okay, I'll stop," she concedes. "If you'll be honest with yourself."

I roll my eyes. "There you go again."

"You're crazy about him, aren't you, Pearly Girl?"

"Yeah, obviously," I admit.

She shrugs. "From where I'm standing, the solution is pretty simple."

I'm inwardly cringing in anticipation of Cami's solution to my dramatic love life. "Pray, do tell, Camille."

"Just tell him you're in love with him."

I do actually cringe then. Outwardly. "I can't be this blunt. Also," I add. "That's...a very...strong verb to use."

"Whatever," she dismisses me with a wave of her hand. "My suggestion is, instead of only opening your mouth to let his dick in, open it to tell him you...like him."

"He knows that. I've told him I like him. Plus, he's confident enough to know that by my actions alone. Including the fact that I practically beg to have his dick in my mouth every time I see him."

"Then what's the problem, my Goddess?" She asks.

I turn my back on her, returning to the task of putting the glasses back in their places. "Problem is," I begin my confession now that I'm not facing her. "I am still falling in love with him and I'm afraid of what's going to happen when I hit the bottom."

That might be a lie. I might have fallen already but won't admit it.

"LIL!" Cami cries, all of a sudden. I whirl around, the glass in my hand almost falls and shatters to the ground.

"Jesus Christ, Cami!" I shriek.

I hear Lil yelling "Whaaaat?" from her room.

"LIL, COME HERE NOW! YOU HAVE TO HEAR THIS!"

Beckoned by Cami's bellows, Lil rushes into the kitchen, nearly breathless. "What happened?"

"Pearly Girl is on the verge of giving a man her precious little heart!" Cami announces, nearly bouncing on her stool.

"Really?" Lil's freckled face lightens with hope. She's such a hopeless romantic when it comes to other people's love life, but she never seems to settle on a soulmate for herself.

"Oh, don't you two start," I murmur, half annoyed.

Cami's mouth opens in feigned indignation. "Honestly, my Goddess, your love is like the Lord of the Rings' ring. You're like that creature holding on to it."

I roll my eyes at her. "I like Julian, okay? Fuck. I'm head over heels for him, actually. I'm not denying it."

"I knew that already," Lil says, clearly disappointed in me for not giving her more ammunition to mock me with. "I'll be surprised if he doesn't know it, too. You should see your face when he's around. It's like half your brain is cotton candy. You get stupid even, like you want to lick him head to toe."

Cami snorts a laugh. "She probably has."

"I can't help it!" I confess to my best friends in the world. "He's a fucking dream of a man!"

"And you're scared," Lil infers.

Cami raises her hand like she's won Bingo. "That's what I concurred."

I throw exasperated hands up. "Yes! I'm horrified! Freaking the fuck out!"

Both Cami and Lil eye me in that way of theirs, like they see right through my bullshit.

"Don't give me that look, you two. You all remember my last boyfriend," I say, and the mention of him charges the air around us with pain and anger. "But Julian...he's a lot. He's incredible and it's too much. Too good to be true. He's a package. He's a whole family. He's lived ten years more than I have. There's a kid and a dog and a scary mother in law waiting for me," I say, and it's the first time I voice these concerns to anyone, even to myself. "I'm not sure he has considered me in this light. As an addition to his family."

In the wake of my confession, all three of us are quite long enough that I'm on the verge of storming out of the house and braving the rain outside when Lil walks behind me and puts her arms around me, resting her chin on my shoulder. "You can't think like this. You don't know that he hasn't considered you for such a position in his life," she says, always the voice of reason. "You have to give this guy a chance to make up his own mind. If he thinks you're too much for him we'll take you back. But he will only return you if he's stupid."

"If I were him, I would never return you," Cami offers. "I would never let go of my precious."