Zane's the Other Side of the Pillow

  When he finally came, he looked like he was having a seizure. He clenched his face up and let his head fall down by my right thigh.

  He then looked up in my eyes, said, “I love you, Jemistry,” and then climbed off of me.

  When he went into the bathroom to clean up and get me a towel, I laid there someplace between bliss and wondering if I could actually make a relationship work for once in my life. I wasn’t prepared to consider it love, yet, but it was definitely something worth exploring further.

  TEVIN

  Chapter Twelve

  “The art of love is largely the art of persistence.”

  —Albert Ellis

  Two Months Later

  It was a rainy day in May and the traffic was ridiculous as I tried to get to work. Sibley Memorial was in a quiet area, but getting into the vicinity meant driving through downtown DC from my house near Rock Creek Park. People in DC started panicking and driving crazy when it rained badly; during the winter, snow created absolute havoc. Whenever there were several days of bad weather, I would stay at the hospital like many of the other staff.

  Being a doctor meant going into work when I was supposed to be there. When I didn’t show up, someone could literally die. I had a scheduled surgery that morning. A seventy-eight-year-old woman had vascular dementia. She was already suffering from Alzheimer’s when she had a stroke that ended up blocking the blood flow to her brain. I planned to go in and clear out the blockage from her veins and, hopefully, improve her ability to function.

  When I first became a doctor, I had it embedded in my mind that I could save anyone’s life. Becoming a vascular surgeon made all the sense in the world to me; growing up, my father would always seem so prideful when he would sit at the dinner table and tell us all how he had prevented yet another person from dying. In our presence, he never mentioned the ones who didn’t make it, although I am sure he did to my mother.

  I could appreciate him wanting to shield us from the fact that we are all dying. It is only a matter of the hour and the day. Even when I did realize that inadequate blood flow could damage and eventually kill cells anywhere in the body, I was still inspired to try to allow as many people as possible some additional time. If it ended up being ten more years, ten more days, or even ten more hours, it all counted.

  Watching people deal with sickness and death still bothered me, even though I paid witness to it daily. Delivering the news of death was the worst, even though I never made promises that I could not keep. I was always honest about the complications that might arise, the percentage of people who survived certain things. I understood the importance of being realistic.

  Still, Mrs. Sparrow Turner had touched my heart when I met her, and I prayed that she would survive the surgery. She was a sweet older woman, a widow who had been married for more than forty years before her husband dropped dead of a heart attack a few years prior. She had four children, eleven grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. It always made it harder when people came from larger families. The waiting room would be packed with people pacing the floor, or clinging to one another, and sometimes a relative or two actually had to be admitted for observation because the stress would overwhelm them.

  I will never forget one time when a woman was visiting her husband, who was on life support, after a repair of his abdominal aortic aneurysm. He had been without oxygen for a long time. She was so distraught when I told her that we were checking to see if he was brain dead, and advised her to start considering removing him from the machine, that on the way to the elevator she fell out. She ended up dying from an undiagnosed brain tumor and he ended up recovering. Having to tell him about his wife’s death was one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my entire life.

  Being a doctor had truly humbled me as a person. A lot of my colleagues were arrogant and often made mistakes because of their egos and not wanting to be team players. I was the type who loved to consult with others to get the benefit of their expertise. I realized that different people viewed things in different ways. Being confident was one thing; thinking you were God was quite another. After all, that job was already taken.

  As I pulled into the parking garage in my white E63 AMG Benz, I noticed Katrina Maxwell getting out of her Ford Mustang. She waved and then waited for me to park and get out. Katrina was cool but she was overstepping being professional to try to get me into bed. It was not about to happen. I loved Jemistry and, as I had promised, I would never do anything to hurt or disrespect her.

  “Hey, you,” Katrina said as I walked up beside her. “Don’t you look sexy this morning! Then again, you always look appetizing to me.”

  “Good morning, Katrina.”

  We walked toward the elevator together. I tried not to seem irritated by her, but it wasn’t easy.

  Once we got on, she tried to step closer to me. “I’ve got tickets to see Kem at Constitution Hall next weekend. You want to go with me?”

  “No, but thanks for letting me know he’s coming to town. I didn’t realize that. Jemistry loves Kem; I’ll have to try to snag some tickets.”

  Katrina looked disappointed but she shouldn’t have been surprised. In the six plus years she had been trying to get me to date her, I had never agreed.

  “Well, I’m sure some man will be happy to have me on his arm for the night.” She rolled her eyes. “Even though you think you’re too good for me.”

  I glanced down at her. “Katrina, I don’t think that I’m too good for you. I simply don’t want to date you. We work together. I’ve been around you enough to be able to gauge whether or not we make sense, and most importantly, I’m already taken.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  I chuckled as the elevator ascended to the fifth floor. “Yes, indeed. She’s an amazing woman and I love her. That’s the end of it but I wish you well.”

  Katrina rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth. “I’m sick of men turning down all of this.” She rubbed her hands over her body. “I’m too fine to be single.”

  “I agree. You’re too fine to be single and maybe if you let men approach you, you could easily tell who’s interested and who’s not.”

  “Men approach me all damn day, but all they want is sex. I need a provider. Someone who wants to be with me and only me.”

  “Well, like I said, I really do wish you the best,” I said as I started to get off on my floor. She was going up two more floors. I used my hand to hold the elevator open for a few additional seconds. “And if for some reason you can’t find a date, I’m willing to buy the tickets off you for what you paid for them plus twenty percent.”

  As the doors closed, Katrina looked like I had slapped her.

  Seven hours later, I was sitting in my office, trying to regain my composure. Mrs. Turner had died on the operating table. While I realized that I had done my very best to help her, it wasn’t enough. Even with Alzheimer’s she had this amazing spirit about her, and a kindness that was hard to find.

  My cell rang; it was Jemistry. I answered, “Hey, baby! I miss you!”

  She giggled. “I crawled out of your bed about four o’clock this morning. How could you miss me already?”

  “You left at four, and by five, I was ready to bawl my eyes out. I buried my head in my pillow to fight back the tears.”

  “Now you’re exaggerating, but I have to admit that I miss you, too. So what are we doing for dinner tonight?”

  As much as I wanted to see Jemistry, I didn’t want to carry my pain from work to her doorstep. “Maybe we can chill tonight. I had a long day.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I can tell when something’s wrong with you, baby.”

  “I lost a patient today, and it’s hard on me. I wouldn’t be good company tonight. I promise you that.”

  “Let me be the judge of that. You’re always there to comfort me when I have a hard day at work with all those rug rats I have to deal with. Let me reciprocate.”

  “Sound
s tempting.” I sat back further in my chair, took off my glasses, and rubbed my eyes. “It’s going to be nearly impossible for me to relax, or be a good conversationalist.”

  “We don’t have to go out anyplace. How about I come over to your place, cook you a quick dinner, and then we can curl up on the sofa and watch a good movie. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, and I can rub your back, your head, and even your dick for you until you fall asleep. How does that sound?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “That sounds very relaxing.”

  “Exactly!” She paused. “Tevin, you have such a kind heart and I’m sure that you did whatever you could to save your patient.”

  “I did.”

  “You tried and that’s all that matters. But our lives must go on. One day, one of us will have to say good-bye to the other. Let’s not waste any time.”

  “I’ll be home by seven,” I told her. “Use your key.”

  “Bye, baby.”

  I hung up and thought about all that had happened since Jemistry and I had become official two months earlier. My life had changed in that yurt up in Virginia, and while our sex was what legends were made of, it was more than that.

  When I first met Jemistry, she was obviously upset with the world, but with men in particular. My common sense told me not to say a word to her, to let her sit there, finish off her martini, and sulk off into the night. But my heart instructed me to say something to her, to pursue her. There had only been a few times in my life when a woman had appealed to me right off the bat. The last woman who had that effect on me, I married.

  Estella was like my fantasy woman. Fine, smart, attentive, passionate, and on track to become extremely successful. We had only dated less than six months before I popped the question. I was convinced that it would be the two of us against the world. We would face every challenge, every obstacle together, and raise a gaggle of children in a mansion fit for a king.

  But God had other plans. The first miscarriage made us seemingly closer. The second miscarriage had us wondering what we had done to deserve it. The third miscarriage made us angry . . . her at me, and me at everyone else. I could barely function as a man, much less a doctor, and took a leave of absence to try to pull myself together. Estella went into a shell and completely withdrew from communicating with me, her parents, her coworkers, her friends, and everyone else.

  I tried for two years to bring her smile back, but it never came. Every time she looked at me, all she saw were the children who would never be. She went behind my back and had her tubes tied. I was upset that she had robbed me of the possibility of being a father without my consent. Looking back, I understand why she did it. She never wanted to experience that type of pain again. I was not the one who had carried those fetuses inside of me. I was not the one who’d had to deal with their mangled bodies ejecting out of me. I was not the one who had to feel like a failure because my body could not carry a baby to term. Estella had been through more than I could ever realize until much later.

  Just as I felt like a failure at the moment for not being able to save Mrs. Turner, despite all of my efforts and doing all of the right things, Estella had felt the same when she could not carry any of our children to term.

  It had been years since I had spoken to her, but something made me pick up my office phone and dial her number. Remarkably, it was still the same number and she answered on the third ring.

  “Hello, this is Estella Daniels.”

  “This is Tevin Daniels.”

  Silence.

  “I was calling to check on you. I had no idea that you still carried my last name. Didn’t you ask for your maiden name back during the divorce?”

  “Yes, I did. Just never got around to going through all of the paperwork.” She paused. “Besides, you never did anything to hurt me. Most of my friends who demand their names back do it out of spite. Daniels has grown on me, so no point in trying to get people to call me something else.”

  “True.” I started playing with a pen on my desk. “I was only calling to check on you.”

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “I’m good.”

  There was yet again an uncomfortable silence between us.

  “Tevin, I need to get back to work, unless you needed something,” she finally said.

  “No, no. I don’t need anything.”

  “Well, then, take care and—”

  “Wait a second, Estella. I do need to get something off my chest.”

  She seemed irritated. “And what’s that?”

  “In all these years, I’ve never apologized to you.”

  “What would you need to apologize for? We never hated each other. Sometimes two people grow apart. Sometimes there is simply way too much water under the bridge, to the point where the cars on it get flooded. Sometimes life throws us curveballs that we can never catch.”

  “And I agree with everything you said. I do. But now that I’ve had time to mature, evolve, and think about it all, I realize that I could have been more understanding about what you were going through. I could’ve been a better man and a better husband.”

  “No, you were a good man then and I’m sure you’re a good man now. I was not mentally prepared to handle the loss of our babies. Not three. It was a pain that I had never imagined to be possible, and you tried to stand there by my side. I pushed you and everyone else away.”

  “So how are you doing now?”

  “I’m making it work. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’ll never give birth naturally. My fiancé and I are considering adoption, though.”

  I had no idea that Estella was engaged. Then again, there was no reason why I should have been privy to that information. When we broke ties, we also broke ties with mutual friends. She had her circle and I had mine.

  “Wow, congrats on the engagement!” I told her. “He’s a lucky man.”

  “Thanks, but I’m the lucky one. He accepted me, flaws and all, and I’m grateful for that.” I could hear her moving around on the other end of the phone. “Do you have someone special in your life?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s only been a few months, but I’ve never felt this way before.” I suddenly felt guilty for saying that, even though it was the truth to a great degree. “I mean . . .”

  “Tevin, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m glad that you have found love again. Both of us deserve to be happy.”

  “Yes, we do. Well, I don’t want to keep you. This is my office number, if you ever need anything.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for checking on me, Tevin. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

  “And I’ll keep you in mine.”

  We both hung up and I got up from my desk, took off my white coat, replaced it with my suit jacket, and walked out the door. Life was hard, but it was never meant to be easy. I was determined to make Jemistry and me work out. So far, so good.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.”

  —Tom Robbins

  Jemistry cooked some chicken and pasta for dinner, popped open a bottle of Moscato, and was making an attempt not to talk too much. I felt bad and flattered at the same time; she was really trying to please me.

  She had on this purple dress that made her fineness shine bright and these sexy-ass, bone-white pumps. Some women don’t get that men are truly turned on by the heels. Hell, I wished women would have kept them on in the bed from time to time. Then again, I enjoyed playing with and sucking on a pretty set of toes. Jemistry had beautiful feet; she was on point from head to toe.

  We were sitting across from each other at the dining room table in my five-bedroom home. I didn’t need all of that space, but it made sense for me to purchase real estate. I owned three other homes in the area, but loved living near the park. During the summer months, I loved riding my bike through the trails, hiking, and playing basketball at pickup games.

  I thought back to Jemistry
bringing all of that gear hiking on the Appalachian Trail in Virginia. It was often hard for her to simply go with the flow. Everything tended to be a production; she was always concerned about having everything she needed to do something.

  I sat there chuckling and thinking about it.

  “What’s so funny?” She glanced down at my plate, which was still half full. “I hope you’re not laughing at my cooking.”

  “No, it’s good. Not as good as what I can throw together, but good.” I grinned as she drank a sip of wine with much attitude. “I’m only playing with you, baby. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  “I understand, and I’m sorry for talking so much.”

  “You’ve barely said two words to me since you got here.”

  “That’s because I said that I wouldn’t. I just want to be here for you . . . when you need me.”

  I got up from the table, walked over to her, then took both of her hands and stood her up. “And I appreciate that.”

  I started to lead her into the living room. “Wait! I need to clear the table and do the dishes.”

  “All of that can wait,” I said. “Let’s go pick a movie to watch.”

  “I’ve got that covered. I brought a Blu-ray with me.”

  “Oh yeah, which one?”

  “It’s called Dysfunctional Friends. It’s about a group of friends that are forced to stay together in the same house after a mutual friend’s death. They all agree because his lawyer won’t read his will until they do it.”

  “Aw, so greed makes them deal with one another?”

  “Exactamundo! They had all drifted apart because of drama, or just being busy in life after college.”

  “Sounds like my friends.”

  “Mine, too. I’ve been thinking about hosting monthly networking events to try to bring my crew back together. Remember how we used to make fun of our parents for being busy with life? Now we’re all stressed out over work, some are popping out babies, and scrapbooking or taking yoga classes.”