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When she pushes at my chest, I take the hint and pull away. In the soft candlelight, her eyes are luminous and her shining lips tempt me once more.
Despite my reluctance to touch any subject related to my reason for being in Escondido especially one that could ruin the mood, I respond, “I play four instruments very well and I’m fairly decent with six others.” At her upraised brow, I add, “I’m pretty good on the piano, guitar, saxophone, and drums. When you were younger, what did you like to do with your parents?” I hand her a full glass, an expectant grin on my face.
She shakes her head with an answering smile and shrugs before emptying the glass and reaching for me. When she tries to slip away, I prolong our kiss for a few seconds more.
“My parents liked to travel a lot. By the time I was four, I had been to most of Europe and every state on the east coast. They didn’t have to take me with them everywhere. They could have left me with G-mama or Glamma, but they loved me so much they didn’t want to exclude me from their adventures. The funny thing is, I don’t remember the famous places we visited. What I remember most are the pillow fights, scavenger hunts, and the family drawing time in the hotels. When my dad would tackle me and tickle me until I couldn’t breathe or when my mom and I would go through hair tutorials for new matching styles for our hair.”
As Kenya speaks, nostalgia shadows her smile, but the memories seem to be more happy than sad. As she paints a picture of a loving family, I can’t help but to envy her. Although the Houstons are amazing people who raised me as if I was always their son, I wonder how different I would be if my family had been so accepting.
“I can’t believe I’m droning on this way.” Kenya cups her face, hiding herself from me.
I pull her hands away. “Keep going. Your parents sound like warm, loving people.”
“They were the best.” Kenya clears her throat. “It’s my turn. I want to hear more about your hobby. How’d you get into it? And don’t try giving me a short response like your first one. You’ll have to take two shots if you don’t tell me everything this time.” She huffs and crosses her arm, but she can’t pull off the intimidation tactic. She couldn’t the first night we met and she still can’t now, but her failure only highlights her cuteness.
With reluctance coloring my response, I measure my words. “Thanks to Khadijah, the Houstons became a musical family. She liked to sing and whatever she did, I wanted to help. I think the first instrument I learned was the harmonica, but it didn’t keep my interest for long. I probably frustrated the family because I kept switching instruments. My interest would wane and I moved on until my first set of drums.”
“Aren’t drums a parents worst nightmare?”
Before Kenya realizes what she’s done, I empty a glass and tug her toward me. This time when we stop kissing I don’t free her.
“The entire neighborhood begged me to find another instrument. They even donated a violin, a flute, and some other instruments to sway me. Out of guilt and respect for them I learned to play them, but nothing beat percussion instruments and the drums fired my soul. I think the neighbors saw how down I got from the separation. Eventually the neighbors took pity on me and we came to a compromise. Ever since, whenever I needed to clear my head, I just needed time alone with my drumsticks and a surface.”
An eager smile spreads Kenya’s lips. “Then why aren’t you playing now to recover from your burnout?” She hits her forehead. “Dumb question. I’m the reason, aren’t I? You’ve had to waste time convincing me to give you a chance that you refused my offer to move my office. And because I have to work, you can’t play.”
“There’s more than one way to handle burnout. I’m doing it through finding pleasure in simple things like watching the intense concentration take over your face when you’re drawing.” I swipe my finger above her eyebrows. “Or seeing your cheeks spread with satisfaction when a scene comes out better than you first envisioned. I’ll play again when the time is right.”
Kenya turns her sorrowful eyes on me and opens her mouth, but I press my finger against her lips. “You’ve asked me more than one question. It’s my turn now.” I hand her a glass. “If we’d met somewhere else, would you have given me the time of day?”
“I… Do you think I blame you for… I guess my behavior would lead anyone to think that.” She takes a breath and holds my hand. “The simple answer is yes, but not for the reason you might think. It wasn’t the place we met or you specifically. That night was my first time at a sex club and doing other things. You made me feel so much. I’ve never been so uninhibited that I got scared. I scared myself. I know it sounds silly. One of the most sexually liberated women in the world raised me, yet I can’t seem to deal with my own sexuality. But because of your persistence, I’m trying to face my hangup.”
I stare at her as pieces of a puzzle begin to connect inside my head, but there’s no way… “I know your experience is limited but it sounds like what you’re saying is—”
“It’s nonexistent. Yep.”
“Not even…self…exploration?”
She drops her gaze to her lap and shakes her head.
“No wonder you ran from me.” I sigh and contemplate what this will mean for us.
“I told you—”
“It wasn’t me. I heard you and it’s finally sunk into my hard head.” I rise from the couch and collect our glasses and the vodka bottle. “It’s time I head home.”
From behind me I hear her footsteps follow me into the kitchen. “Why? Did something I say make you change your mind?” Her voice is shaky with uncertainty.
“Nothing you say could change my mind.” I pull her into my arms. “But we’re playing with fire and you aren’t ready for this heat. For now, get a good night’s sleep and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Despite wanting to stay with Kenya, I leave her. My mind whirls with the wight of her confession. I can’t deny wanting to be her first and only in all things, but Kenya will be my first virgin. As I prepare for bed, the enormity of what it means to be her introduction to sex presses on me.
I fall into a fitful sleep plagued by dreams of an unsatisfied Kenya consoling me for letting her down. Due to my unsettled rest I wake with enough time to barely avoid the tree branch crashing through the roof and onto my bed. Pain sears my head down the left side of my body.
CHAPTERTWENTY
Kenya
Aloud crash jolts me out of a dreamless sleep. I sit with my head clutched in my hands until my heart calms from the scare. The storm pounds at the house, shaking the shutters and rattling the boards we used to cover the windows. My mind drifts to the bungalow and its resident.
