Sitting in the Park

It was Friday, and I had only four hours until I left my job forever. Finally, I was making the jump from a lowly academic journal to the glamorous world of magazine editing. My job in New York began in one week, and I was leaving my shabby little cubicle and awkward, unfriendly coworkers behind.

Things were hectic: I'd spent all morning forwarding my email contacts to a personal account, arranging for the moving truck to come Sunday, and thinking of article pitches I wanted to assign. All the while, receiving a steady stream of well-wishes from coworkers who had barely spoken to me in three years. Sayonara, suckaz, I thought, except for one person.

For three whole years, Anil and I had been the only people of color in the entire editorial department. When I started, I was fresh out of college, but I knew my stuff. Anil was a little older, in his thirties, and he caught me up on office politics, and even saved my ass once or twice.

Anil was strange. He was barely taller than me, but wiry and strong, with black eyes that saw everything and one of the most incisive minds I had ever known. He had an indeterminate olive complexion, and until he told me he was from Nepal I didn't know what he was, racially speaking. Anil didn't believe in what he called "the National Geographics tango," or asking someone about their culture in order to form an idea of their personality.

"Talk to me as an individual, get to know me as a person," he said. "Then we can talk about Kathmandu." Turns out, he'd lived for many years in Atlanta and was very at ease with black culture and politics. I liked him immediately, and immensely.

Anil hadn't been by to see me all morning, which was a little strange, so I shot him a chat message.

"Que pasa, 'manito?" We often wrote or spoke to each other in bad Spanish, a little in-joke because his wife was Mexican.

"Cool, just finishing up a report left over from yesterday. Let's take lunch early, like 11:30?"

"OK."

"Monique, good luck in New York!"

I looked up to see Shari, my boss. Pushing fifty and fighting it, Shari might have been attractive if she wasn't so catty. Anil had told me that she'd written a couple of mediocre books and was threatened by anyone with writing talent. She'd tried to sabotage me on more than one occasion. I put on a wide smile, swiveling my office chair to face her.

"Thanks, Shari! I'm really excited about the opportunity."

She exhaled through her nose like a bull snorts—her version of a laugh. "Just hope you keep that enthusiasm. New York can be brutal. And there's no shame in coming back if things don't work out."

I bristled at the implication.

"Thanks for the offer. But it's not necessary. I don't plan on coming back."

"Well, don't speak too soon. Hey, I did my time in New York, too. I could've stayed, but I opted for a better quality of life here, and you may decide to do the same. Everyone isn't cut out for the rat race, and when you see how far an editor's salary goes in the city—"

Strolling by, Maryse came to my rescue. Over six feet tall, with a solid frame and short blonde hair, she still looked damn good, even in her sixties. Next to Anil, she was my closest friend in the company.

"Oh, shut up, Shari," she said with an arch smile. "Don't you have some forms to fill out, or something?" That French accent of hers made everything sound amusing, so she regularly got away with murder.

"Maryse, you're such a clown," Shari giggled and walked away. Maryse continued smiling until Shari was out of sight, then turned around with a grimace.

"I'm sure whatever she had to say was appropriately unpleasant. The frustrated prostitute."

"She offered me my job back. Sort of a pre-emptive lack of faith, like she knows New York is going to chew me up and spit me out in a couple of months." I tried to mask my own jitters; the prospect of moving to New York was a little scary.

"You will do fine; it's here that I'm worried about. This place is crumbling. It will not be the same without you, my dear." Maryse gave a wistful sigh, then kissed me twice swift and hard on the corners of my mouth. She pressed a small ivory box into my palm and walked away quickly.

Inside the box was a beautiful antique bracelet. It matched my taste perfectly. I slid it on my wrist and held it up to admire it.

At 11:30, Anil rose without looking at me, pulled on his jacket and headed out. We'd started being more discreet about our friendship this year.

Everyone knew we were close; we had a daily habit of taking lunch together to walk the neighborhood. But a couple of times on our lunch tours, we'd been so busy talking and cracking up that we'd lost track of time, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. Three drinks deep at the Christmas party, Shari had finally cornered Anil and asked if we were seeing each other. Since then, we'd toned down our public, platonic PDA.

I descended the stairs about ten steps behind Anil, but halfway down my heel slipped and I plopped on my bottom. I cried out in surprise, and Anil leaped the stairs two at a time to get back to me.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Anil, I just slipped." I put a little weight on my foot, but the pressure sent a ripple of pain through my ankle. I tried to stand but he forced my lap back down.

"No, you're just going to sit still for a minute. Let me look at it."

Anil cradled my foot gently, and grinned. "Cute," he said, referencing my tangerine nail polish, and I gave thanks I'd gotten a pedicure yesterday. He slipped off the high-heeled sandal and gently turned my ankle left and right, feeling for tenderness.

"It's just a little twist," he said with relief.

Just then I noticed that my shoe looked funny.

"Damn, I'm going to have to go buy a pair to get through the day."

"No you don't. It just needs to be popped back in." Anil pushed the heel firmly back onto the back onto the shoe, putting his full weight on his elbow to force it down. It popped back into place, almost good as new.

"Never underestimate a Third World cheapskate," he joked. "I'm more worried about this ankle. Maybe we should skip the walk." He looked as though the suggestion pained him.

"No way," I insisted. "This is our last one. I'm fine now."

Anil's hands continued massaging my leg. He stroked up and down my slim ankle with his thumbs, firmly rubbing my heel and the pads of my feet. He suddenly pressed upward between my big toe and my skinny toe, sending a low jolt of pleasure through me that made my eyes involuntarily close. When I looked at him, he tried to maintain a neutral expression, but his eyes gave him away. He had liked my reaction, a lot. He held my gaze and continued working his magic up my calf. There was a challenge in his eyes that made my stomach tighten.

I dropped my eyes to his hands. He alternated between light, teasing caresses and long, firm strokes. He neared my knee and I could barely breathe. My thighs were trembling. If he went higher...

Anil reached my knee, then worked his way back down to my sole. Thankfully. I breathed a sigh of relief; things had almost gotten out of hand. He was kneading the pad of my foot when he hit another hotspot and I gushed in my panties. His eyes narrowed and his breath came out in a rush. I wondered if he could smell me.

"I feel better, now. Let's go," I said shakily,

pulling myself up by the railing. We were hard pressed to keep rumors down about us as it was, without going all Red Shoe Diaries on the staircase.

At the sidewalk we went left instead of our usual right. Our small office is located in a residential area, full of trees and cute, 1950's bungalows. De rigueur for this time of day, everyone was at work and the sidewalks were totally empty. It was warm, but breezy, and the first leaves had just begun to fall from the trees. Anil and I walked along in silence.

Normally it would have been an easy silence, but I was still embarrassed from creaming over a foot rub, and a little peeved because I felt like he had been toying with me.

"So, you're really leaving me, huh?" he asked jokingly.

"Ummhumm, and good riddance," I teased. "Though if I'd known about your foot rub skills, you might have persuaded me to stay. You're in the wrong business, homie."

"Well, I can't do just anybody. I'm a hooker but I got standards." We laughed.

"So is Thomas moving with you?"

"No, I'm going to NYC alone," I answered.

"So what's that mean for the engagement?"

"It's still on, we're just postponing things for another year. Seriously? I've got to take this chance, Anil. Otherwise, I'll never know what I could do. I'd be stuck here forever."

"No you wouldn't. If you were still here by next year, I'd shoot you myself. I know you'll do well. I'm just going to have to find a way to keep sane around here without you."

We entered the gates of a small neighborhood park. Brewer Park was our special place. Before Anil, I'd liked nature but never really appreciated it. He'd taken me through and introduced me to almost every living species growing here, teaching me to notice little differences throughout the seasons until I felt like I knew each leaf personally.

We took a winding path through a small but dense copse of trees, approaching a worn bench under a graceful elm tree and sat together. The sun dappled Anil's licorice hair with hints of chocolate, and soft breezes teased up the edges of my skirt. Tiny yellow blossoms peppered the grass and golden leaves drifted down on my locks, into his lap. His arm snaked around my shoulders and pulled me close. I could hear his quickened heartbeat, and I knew he felt my body heat, warmer than the autumn day.

An elderly woman pushed a toddler in a stroller along the wooded path, and smiled at us as she headed toward the park exit. "Beautiful day for lovebirds," she called out.

Anil and I laughed and he waved, his wedding band flashing in the sunlight.

"Monique," he began. His deep voice rumbled in his chest, sending a thrill through me. "I don't know how to say this. There are so many things I should have said before now."

Oh God, the conversation we had been avoiding for the better part of a year. I'd been dreading and dreaming about it for months. But some vestiges of the Catholic training that poisoned both our youths remained. We had managed to keep our relationship innocent, to each other, our partners and almost to ourselves. Any kind of revelation demanded action, consequences.

Besides, I really did like Anita, even if I was a bit afraid of her.

"It's okay," I shushed him, trying to lead us back into safe territory. "I'm going to miss working with you, too."

"It's not just that. Not just a work thing." He laughed, a little embarrassed. "I don't know what will become of me if I can't see you every day. We won't walk, can't talk..."

Somehow in his recounting of the things we couldn't do, I looked up. Our faces were only inches apart and his hand was holding mine. I stopped listening and looked at our hands. My small, bread-brown one was clasped in his long, wiry caramel fingers. His words were flowing faster now, and snippets of them were penetrating my ears.

"Mess up our friendship," "before I met you," "didn't know how much I—" I had to stop him before he went too far.

"Anil, Anil," I cried against his torrent of words.

"You can't, I won't let you stop me this time," he flared. "Not saying it doesn't mean it's not there, it doesn't stop me from feeling what I feel. The way we both feel."

I pulled away, but he grabbed me and pulled me back hard. Too hard. I crashed into him and his mouth mashed against mine, hungry, so hungry. I melted like butter, my thighs opened like a lock. The air roared in my ears, and I heard faint moans but couldn't tell who they emanated from. His breath was ragged as he drove his lips against my neck, nearly incoherent.

"Tell me you want me too," he pleaded. He kissed the tops of my breasts and I realized I was on my back. I clung to him like I was drowning. A cool breeze told me my dress had ridden up. I felt his desire blatantly through layers of our clothing. I tried to stop moving under him, but I couldn't control my body.

"Say it!" I hardly recognized his voice, it was so full of need. His hard body felt so good on mine I could barely string words together. We were openly grinding now, but it just seemed to inflame us more. Anil pulled down my neckline to free a Hershey kiss nipple. He sucked it skillfully, eliciting a cry as I arched my back off the ground.

"Oh God, Anil, we can't!"

"We can't," he agreed, tasting my other breast. He slipped two fingers under the elastic of my panties and shockwaves exploded behind my eyes. He pulled a stiff nipple with his teeth and I cried out loud.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to see you like this? Feel you wet all over my fingers?" He waved his glistening hand in front of my face, then stuck his fingers in my mouth for emphasis. I sucked them all the way into the back of my throat.

"You little bitch," he chuckled, making me laugh too.

Our lips found each other again and this time, it was less of a duel than a dance. In that moment, I surrendered. He didn't have to take the kiss, I gave it and demanded it of him, too. My hand crept down to his waist and I grasped the thickness below his belt. He grunted.

"Do that and we're not going to make it back to the office," he warned.

"What do I care? It's my last day, anyway."

Dying leaves crunched under us as he speared into me for the first and only time. It was the middle of the day, and I was under Anil, under the sky.