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Authors: Britni Danielle

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #United States, #African American, #Women's Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Multicultural, #Multicultural & Interracial

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BOOK: Two Steps Back
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Eight

 

“I’m headed to the airport, mom
. I’ll be back,” Jaylah called over her shoulder without even thinking. She hadn’t told her parents Johnny was flying into town because didn’t feel like having a long, drawn out discussion about what kind of man he was or what his intentions were. Jaylah wasn’t even sure she wanted tell them he was in L.A. at all.

“What’s at the airport?”
he mother asked, flipping through a magazine.

Jaylah considered making something up, but decided against it.
“Johnny.”

“Johnny? Is
he one of your friends from college?”

“No, he’s my…
” Jaylah didn’t quite know what to call him. Her soon-to-be-divorced boyfriend?  Her baby’s father? The first man she’d ever truly loved? Her obsession? “He’s my boyfriend, mom. He flew in from London for the weekend.”

Mrs. Baldwin put down her magazine and stared at he
r daughter. “And you’re just now telling us?”

“We weren’t sure he would be able to get a flight. It was
kind of last minute and I wanted to wait until I knew for sure he’d be coming,” Jaylah lied. It seemed better than saying,
I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d make a big damn deal of it.

“Oh.
” Mrs. Baldwin glanced at her watch, then looked at the ceiling and began murmuring under her breath. She appeared to be running a list through her head, her fingers keeping score. “Well, it would be hard to pull off a proper dinner in such a short time. I’d need to scrub this place down, go shopping, and start cooking, but it’s already after one.”

“That won’t be necessary mom, he’ll probably be jet lagged anyway. He’s been flying all night.”

“Okay then, tell Johnny we’ll expect him for dinner tomorrow evening.”

“Mom, that’s really not necessary.
This is his first trip to L.A., he’ll only be here a few days, and—“

“And nothing. Your father and I need to meet this man. He
is
the father of your child, isn’t he?” There it was again, the subtle,
you’re a hussy
jab. Mrs. Baldwin glared at her daughter as if she had lost all sense of decorum.

“Of course, mother.”

“Then we need to meet him and hear what his plans are. Jaylah, you’re our only child. You expect us to sit back while you have a baby,
in London
, with a man we don’t even know?”

Jaylah rolled her eyes, resisting was futile. “Fine mom, we’ll see you on Sunday.”

“You
are
coming home tonight, aren’t you?” Mrs. Baldwin asked, cocking an accusatory eyebrow.

Jaylah hadn’t planned on it. If the week
end unfolded the way she hoped, she would be snuggled up beside Johnny for the next two days. “I’ll call you later.”

 

* * *

 

Jaylah stood in the baggage claim fiddling wit her hair. Since 9/11, people were no longer allowed to meet their loved ones at the gate as soon as they deplaned, instead they were forced to play a chaotic game of hide-and-seek amid hundreds of weary travelers scrambling to claim their bags.

She
paced a narrow strip of the floor and eyed the escalator, growing increasingly annoyed each time a person descended the moving staircase that wasn’t Johnny. A raucous colony of bats banged around in her stomach making her feel like she wanted to vomit, and she thought about running to the nearest restroom, but swallowed back the feeling.

Jaylah laughed at her nervousness, thought it silly she was carrying on like a schoolgirl who
was hoping to catch a glimpse of her crush in the hallway between classes. Johnny had had this affect on her from the beginning—unsettling and enticing her all at once.

The crowd streaming into the baggage claim began to thin but there was still no sign of Johnny. She took out her phone and checked for missed calls, then texted him again: “WHERE ARE U??
?”

Ten minutes passed and there was still no answer; Jaylah was beginning to feel sick again.
She plopped down on a bench that still allowed her to watch the escalator, and checked her phone.

“He said 3:30, right?” she asked herself, scrolling through her email to find his flight information.

“He better be on this plane,” she said after confirming she was definitely on time. Then it happened again, the need to check his story overtook her. Jaylah looked up the number for Virgin Atlantic and waited patiently for a customer rep to confirm Johnny was a lying asshole—or not. She steeled herself for either one.

“Hi, I’m
calling to see if a passenger boarded a flight. I’m waiting for him in the airport and he should have been here by now,” Jaylah said, rambling to the agent. “His name is Jonathan Poku. P-O—“

“I’m sorry ma’am, we don’t give
out that type of information,” the woman said.

“No, you don’t understand.
I’m not a stalker or anything, he’s my boyfriend and I’ve been waiting for about an hour now, and—“

“I apologize ma’am, but we don’t give that type of information.”

“Well, can you at least tell me if he made it to Heathrow on time?”

“Ma’am—“

“Please? We haven’t seen each other in weeks and I’m pregnant and I’m just stressing out about it. Sorry.”

“It’s ok ma’am,” the woman said,
softening her tone. “Let me see.”

Jaylah’s grip on her phone tightened and she could hear her heart beating in her ears. She braced herself for the worst.

“Ma’am? A passenger by the name of Jonathan E. Poku checked in at Heathrow at 18:37 GMT on Friday, but I cannot confirm if he boarded the plane.”

“Thank you,” Jaylah whispered. “Thank you.”

She hung up and immediately felt silly. “Why would he send me his flight information if he wasn’t going to show? Of course he’s here. Of course,” she reassured herself.

Jaylah watched a new rush of passengers flood the escalator and began to feel hopeful
again. Her heart knocked around so hard she pressed a hand to her chest to get herself to calm down. She stood to her feet and walked toward to the crowd.
He has to be with them
, she thought as she searched the faces for her lover’s.

But he wasn’t there.

Forty more minutes passed and Jaylah sulked back to the bench, defeated and increasingly worried. She tried to push the negative thoughts out of her mind, but they kept creeping in.
He changed his mind. He’s not coming. He doesn’t want you; he wants Fiona. He’s her husband, after all. You’re just his whore.

Jaylah shook her head to dislodge the thoughts in her brain. Tears began welling up, and she jammed
the heel of her palms to her eyes to stop them from spilling over.

“Get it together, Jaylah,” she commanded. “
Stop acting like a fucking cliché!”

She counted backward from 100 to
take her mind off crying, then decided to give Johnny a few more minutes before she left.

She
checked her watch. “If you’re not here in 10 minutes, Johnny, you’re on your goddamn own.

Hunger crept through her body, gnawing at her insides, and for the first time Jaylah realized she hadn’t eaten all day. She had been too nervous to eat, scared whatever she ingested would come rushing up her throat. Her plan was to pick Johnny up, have lunch, and get him settled into his hotel, but that had been nearly two hours ago and she was barely holding on.

Five minutes.
She prepared herself for the worst and wondered what she would tell her parents about his sudden Houdini act. Her mother would certainly see Johnny’s failure to materialize as yet another reason Jaylah needed to forget about London and stay in L.A., but that was off the table.

“No matter what happens, I’m going to do what’s best for
me
,” she told herself. She had spent the majority of her 28 years living for others—her parents, her friends, her job—she wouldn’t add Johnny to the list.

“I love him like crazy, but I come first,” she reminded herself, “I come
first.

A fresh group of travelers descended the escalator and Jaylah gave them a passing glance. Time was up. She stood to stretch, grabbed her purse, and took one last look at the group before she headed
toward the door. She massaged the back of her neck and walked through the sliding glass. When she stepped outside her phone buzzed.

“COMING DOWN NOW.”

Johnny’s message stopped her cold. Jaylah peered through the plate-glass windows and saw him—shoulders slumped, shirt rumpled, head swiveling back and forth, scanning the room. He didn’t look like the self-assured man she fell in love with; he was a mess.

A minute ago she was pissed off and ready to leave, now she was moving
through the crowd toward the escalator, a smile tugging at her heart.

Johnny saw her standing at the foot of the
stairway and returned her smile. He jogged down the remainder of the steps, grabbed her tight around the waist, and covered her forehead and cheeks with warm kisses.

“What happened?” she asked. “I was just about to leave.”

“I’m so sorry, babes,” he breathed into her neck. “Customs. They detained me.”


What?” Jaylah searched his face. His eyes were bloodshot and tiny lines crisscrossed his forehead. His usually luminous dark skin appeared dull and ashen, and though he was always impeccably dressed, his clothes were disheveled. “Why would they detain you?”

“Being black with an African name can trigger these types of things. It’s happened before, but they didn’t give me a reason
this time. They just kept me waiting, asked a lot of questions, and subjected me to several searches. I had to turn off my phone, which is why I couldn’t let you know what was happening. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s ok
ay,” Jaylah said, kissing his cheek. “I’m glad you made it safely.”

Johnny smiled the smile that usually caused Jaylah’s clothes to fall off.
“Well, I’m here and I’ve had a rough go of it, does this mean you’ll tell me the news now?”


Soon. I’m starving. Let’s get out of here and get something to eat. I function a lot better on a full stomach.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Jaylah slid her hand in his and led the way to the parking lot. Johnny had been a man of his word. She had asked him to travel 5,000 miles just to have a conversation and he’d shown up without hesitation. She wasn’t sure what would happen to them, but in that moment, she felt like her father was right. Everything would turn out fine.

 

* * *

 

Jaylah and Johnny strolled along the cobblestone promenade of Fisherman’s Village in Marina del Rey. After waiting all afternoon to eat, she gorged herself on jumbo shrimp, French fries, and the largest ice cream cone Johnny claimed to have ever seen.

Unlike Jaylah, he nibbled on his salmon trying not to leg jet lag and impatience overtake him. As they walked along the wharf,
she knew he wanted to hear what she had to say, but took pleasure in making him wait just a little while longer.

“Thank you,” she whispered when they stopped to stare at a boat trudging through the harbor.

Johnny wrapped his arms around her and she relaxed into his embrace. “For what?”

“For coming. For moving out. For putting up with my
shit.”

He kissed her
cheek. “No worries, babes. I know you’re testing me.”

Sh
e stared up at him, surprised he’d caught on to her plan. “Testing you?”

“Yes. But I get it. I fucked up, and you’re trying to see if I’ll fuck up again.”

He was right; Jaylah had been waiting to see if Johnny would falter. Would he lie to her again? Would he prove himself untrustworthy? Would he cheat on her the same way he’d stepped out on his wife?

“And will you?” she asked.

“No, I don’t plan on it, babes.”

You didn’t plan on cheating on your wife with me, either
. A
nd you didn’t plan on knocking me up
, she wanted to tell him, but she gazed at the water instead.

Jaylah rested
her head against Johnny’s chest and imaged what their life would look like a year from now. She’d be a vet at
Glamour
, regularly crafting features for the website and the print magazine; they’d own stylish flat in Highbury that would house her books and his record collection; they’d go on dates to the theater or Ronnie Scott's; they’d make love every night because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other; and somehow, despite their too-full life, she and Johnny would raise the most beautiful baby the world had ever seen.

“So, about what I said o
n the phone,” Jaylah said, inching toward her news.

Jaylah could feel
his body tense up beneath her; apparently Johnny was bracing for the worst as well.

BOOK: Two Steps Back
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