Lust (36 page)

“Evangeline, don’t be rude. Alexander has been calling all
day, every day, to check in on you. So I thought it would only
be right to ask him to come today.” She turned to Alexander
and said, “Why don’t you settle in. I’ll get you some food, and
then you can meet Evangeline’s father; he’s eager to meet you.”

My mother held Alexander’s hand as she ordered us like
children to “play nice” and then left us—alone. My parents had
never meet anyone I dated. I wouldn’t disrespect my parents
by bringing home men who had no future for me, and right
now, Alexander was no different. I didn’t know what our future
would bring, and I was too scared to find out.

“I hope this is all right, my being here. I just had to see
you and make sure you were OK. I’ve been worried sick.” He
looked sick—sick from my words to him, my hasty and malevolent
departure from him, and my disappearance from the
life we had created in this last week.

My heart was running toward him, but my mind held my
body still. “No, it’s fine. Thank you for your concern, but you
didn’t have to bother. I’ll be fine.” It was the first time I lied to
him since we became involved, and the words barely made it
through my lips.

“Don’t shut down on me, please,” he pleaded. “I want to be
here with you and for you. I know all of this is scary, but it will be
less so if you have someone to help you through the fear. I would
never wish any harm upon you or be the reason for any coming to
you; I would lay myself down to suffer a horrible death if I knew
it would save you from ever feeling sorrow again. I love—”

I thanked God at that moment for my parents’ entrance, as
he was undoubtedly going to profess his love to me.

“Young man.” My father entered the kitchen at that very
moment with my mother; both with excited grins on their faces.

Their excitement was perplexing to me; they hadn’t previously
heard or known of Alexander, yet they reacted as though
they had known him to be in my life forever.

Alexander stood tall and masculine and immediately extended
his hand to greet my father. “Sir, Alexander Mason. It is
a pleasure to meet you.”

My father took his hand and accepted him without question
to who he was or why he was in my life; I felt astonished
that my father was so at ease, especially since Alexander was
the first man I had “brought home.” Neither of us introduced
him as my boyfriend. We couldn’t; we were both unsure
what we were to each other. But considering how my mother
and father were caring for him, they assumed he was the love
in my life.

“Come, Alexander. Come walk with me. Do you drink
wine?” Without expecting or entertaining an answer, my father
continued, “It’s OK if you don’t drink wine already; you will
learn to drink my wine.”

My father turned his back to escort Alexander toward the
back door, when I paused them, trying to detain them from
possibly going out and planning the rest of my life. I was certain
that my father would be planning the wedding, and I was
even more certain that Alexander would be more than happy to
go along with it.

“Papa, Alexander and I need to talk.”

But my father is even more stubborn than I am. I obviously
got my thickness from him.

“Evangeline, no argue with Papa. I know you want to be
alone with your boyfriend, but Papa doesn’t know this man
who’s stolen my little girl’s heart. Make Papa happy and let me
welcome him into our family.” Smoothing his hand over my
cheek, he bypassed me.

He is my papa, so I backed down reluctantly. But his words
remained in the air—every single one.

Your boyfriend.

The man who stole my little girl’s heart.

Let me welcome him into our family.

Alexander stared into me but quickly followed, respecting
my father’s wishes to go outside to chat.

My mother sensed that something was eating away at me.

“You are that in love, aren’t you? I have never seen you so out
of your skin and so scared.” She was the only one in the world
who knew the emotions that ran threw me. She could read my
eyes and tell my story. But what she was seeing in me was the
hardest thing for me to admit.

I stared out the window to where Alexander stood beside
my father in the garden. They were giggling and chatting, taking
sips of their wine. The comfort they shared between them
was amazing to watch. It was easy. They bonded almost as
quickly as Alexander and I had. The thought of that made me
feel better; I wasn’t crazy for falling for him overnight. After
all, my family had fallen for him in just a few minutes.

“I don’t know what I am, Mom. I am scared and I am crawling
out of my skin. But I can’t do this; not now. I’m not ready
for this; my life isn’t made for this.”

Tears began to swell in my eyes as my mother shared her
wisdom. “My little girl, a woman can never prepare herself for
love, or to become a wife or a mother. It is not something you
can prepare yourself for, but it is one of the most memorable
and enjoyable times of your life if you allow yourself to accept
it.”

“Mamma, I can’t just accept it. I can’t sacrifice everything
I’ve made for myself to become…” Looking around the kitchen
at the suburban soccer mom’s dream, I stopped my eyes when I
reached my mother. I let all my fears out. “I can’t become this.

I’m not like you; I don’t aspire to be a housewife. I won’t sacrifice
losing myself to become just that.” And though I spoke
only the truest of emotions, I held regret for what I had insinuated
to my mother. I had wounded her, and though that wasn’t
my intention, it was how she felt.

“Is that what you think? That I dreamed or planned on
becoming a wife and a mother? That I lost myself and settled?”

I tried to formulate my response without openly telling her
that it was, in fact, exactly what I thought. But this was my
mother who I had already wounded, so I had to avert doing any
more damage.

“Don’t try to answer me just to appease me. Don’t forget
that I made you. I know what you are thinking before you do.

I’m not upset that you think this of me; I’m just upset that you
assumed it to be true instead of discussing it with me.” She
pulled a chair out behind me and then pulled another out for
herself and sat next to me. “I see me in you, Evangeline. I was
determined and successful and scared of not being able to do
everything as I wanted to do it. But life is too short, my dear. If
there is anything you learn from Chrissy’s death, let it be that. I
chose to work part-time to be a wife, and I chose to give up my
career when you came along. Not because I couldn’t do it all or
because someone told me I shouldn’t do it all. It was because my
priorities no longer revolved around my career. I wanted to be
what I am today, and I don’t regret a moment that has passed.”

I had no response for her. My mind circled around thoughts
of Alexander and the nights we had spent together. All of that
entwined with the advice and insight that my mother was giving
me, and my contentions became irrelevant. My fears, on the
other hand, rose to unbearable heights; it was unlike me to not
have an argument to stand on.

“Evangeline, don’t make rash decisions, but do make decisions
that won’t alienate you from your future.”

We both turned as we heard the men entering the kitchen
from the yard.

Trying to wrap up our conversation while still making her
point, my mother grabbed my face with both her hands. She
feared for me and for what I would miss out on. “I’m going to
say one last thing to you and then pray that you don’t let this
man slip through your life. The only risks you will regret at the
end of your life are the risks that you did not take. He has called
a dozen times every day since you returned from your trip, just
calling to make sure you were OK and to offer himself up for
anything we needed. He loves you dearly; that’s obvious.”

My mother stood from her chair and went back into the den
to check on Chrissy’s parents. Alexander and my father came
in from the yard and stood near me in the kitchen. My father
continued to smile, but Alexander recognizing the look of fear
on my face, and turned solemn.

My father, remaining clueless to the emotions flying between
Alexander and myself, gave me an unsolicited approval.

“Well, Evangeline, I’m going to have to teach him how to
get his hands dirty, but this is a good man. I am very happy.”

Patting Alexander on the back, he left us with our doubts and
bewilderment. All of this could have been squashed had my father
hated Alexander, but he didn’t; he had signed him on to be
part of the family. And who wouldn’t? Alexander is amazing!

Alexander and I said little to each other the rest of the
day. He chatted with my family and, of course, Samantha and
Marcus, while I drank my ass off. It felt so strange for me to see
him there in the middle of my private world, and all the while
he seemed like he had always been there, or at least should have
been. It was all too much to swallow, but he had everyone eating
out of the palm of his hands. They were all so engaged in
his conversations and jokes. My mother kept feeding him, my
father sat beside him, and I…Well, I kept drinking so as to
stop myself from speaking. I wasn’t being given a choice to have
or keep him in my life; it was accepted as fact, and his awardwinning
charm convinced them all that they wanted him there.

So what’s my problem? Don’t I want him here? Shouldn’t I be
happy that they accept him? No one answered me as my thoughts
tried to iron out the debacle that was now my life.

My mother and I helped Chrissy’s parents get settled in for
the night. I paid little attention to who came and left after that.

One thing is for sure, tequila’s got nothing on my father’s wine;
I was smashed, barely standing on my own two feet. I bid my
parents good night, fumbling through the sentence, and went
back downstairs to find Alexander staring at the family photos
that lined the bookshelves. He stared as one would in an art
gallery, trying to take it all in. But I had to interrupt; I had to
get him out of there. With the amount of alcohol I had had to
drink, there was no doubt that if he didn’t leave, I would have
him bare assed on the coffee table.

“It’s getting late,” I interjected, but he never turned or
stirred to look at me.

He spoke, drawing me nearer with his words. “You were
beautiful as a baby. How old were you here?”

“I was two in that photo and four in this one,” I said as I
pointed to the pictures he questioned. I opened my mouth to
say more as he turned to me, grabbing my elbows.

He wrapped me in his arms and cuddled me like the infant
I was in the photo. I stood blanketed by his warmth and emotions,
enjoying the feeling that I had craved for days. But I was
in my parent’s living room, having mental arguments about
what I was to do with him.

“Alexander, you have to go. This isn’t right. Everyone assumes
you are my boyfriend, and I don’t lie to my parents. Now
they all love you, and I’m going to look like the evil witch who
sent you away.” I spoke into his chest, as he refused to lighten
his grip around my body.

“So then don’t,” he whispered. I raised my head, hoping to
catch his eyes, praying I could understand why he was doing
what he was doing. “Don’t be the evil witch,” he said. “Don’t
send me away. I know you don’t want to send me away; I can
feel you from the inside out. Your body reacts when it’s near
mine. Your temperature rises and your breath catches just
like…when you orgasm.”