Page 3 of The Wrong Reciprocation

Arturo smirked and gripped her chin once more, gently turning her to face him so that he could place a firm kiss on her lips. "We will do no such thing. I'm going to take you out; we're going to go dancing, and I will show you a fantastic time because you are a fantastic woman. Only then, when the night comes to an end, and your heart is full of joy from dancing, and your belly is full from dinner, I will bring you back to my house and I will fill you in other ways."

Saturday, she reminded herself. It was already Wednesday; she could wait until Saturday. Luckily, she had brunch with her girls that morning to take her mind off of things until the time was right.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I can wait.”

2

BRUNCH

Twyla floated home that afternoon on a giddy cloud of joy, and not only because she'd received an orgasm induced by someone other than her three favorite toys for the first time in eighteen months. It had been so long since she'd made a genuine connection with someone and that almost excited her more than the prospect of sex.

Since her grandmother's passing, the already delicate relationship she had with most of her extended family had seemed to fracture. Her mother was only seventeen and still in high school when Twyla was born so her grandmother practically raised her. Oftentimes it felt like her mother was more like her sister than her mother and just let Twyla’s grandmother take over. Her grandfather passed when she was toddler so she didn’t remember anything about him, but her grandmother always used to tell her that Twyla had been on his hip until he passed away.

Twyla and her mother lived with her grandmother throughout her entire childhood, with Twyla only moving out to go to college and grad school. Once she graduated, she was right back in that house with the two of them. When her grandmother passed, it was like losing a parent. Twyla had felt so disconnected from everything and everyone that at times it felt like she was merely coasting through life rather than living it. Being excited about something again made her hopeful. And even if things fizzled out between her and this man she'd been crushing on for months, it would be okay.

Feeling energized, she found an upbeat playlist on her music app and blasted it from her phone as she started dinner. She danced to the music as she cooked, imagining Arturo's solid body behind hers, holding her close to him as she rocked to the beat.

"Cooking and dancing? What got you in such high spirits?"

Twyla nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her mother's voice behind her. Turning, she found the older woman standing just inside the opening of the galley kitchen of their shared townhome. Linda Jacobs was leaning one hip against the counter with her fist propped on the other, a small smile on her face as she watched her oldest daughter.

"Hey, mama!" Letting out a breathless laugh, Twyla went to her barely graying twin and kissed her on the cheek.

"Hey, baby. Whatcha cookin'?"

"Smothered porkchops, rice, and corn."

Linda strolled further into the kitchen and peeked over Twyla's shoulder as she flipped the chops to sear the second side.

"Smells good."

Twyla smiled. "Thanks, mama." She turned to grab the flour from the pantry, feeling her mother's eyes on her back. When she returned to the stove, she laughed at the waiting expression on the older woman's face.

"Why you looking at me like that, lady?"

"How am I looking at you Twyla Reneé?"

Throwing her head back, Twyla cackled. "My middle name?! Mama, please." As she laughed, she set the flour on the counter and picked up the pair of tongs sitting on the spoon rest. After using them to remove the porkchops from the skillet, she threw in the couple tablespoons of butter she'd already had waiting and turned to her mother, a hand on her hip.

"Well?"

Linda Jacobs quirked an eyebrow. "Last time I checked there wasn't anything wrong with your hearing, so I know you heard the question I asked you when I came in this kitchen."

As her mother's only child, Twyla knew this lady like the back of her hand and was well aware of how she hated to repeat herself. Twyla also knew just how far she could push her buttons before cuss words and threats of violence started getting thrown around. Linda's fuse had always been a short one, and more than thirty years later Twyla still found it hilarious. One could say it was only funny because her mother had never actually laid hands on her, but Twyla would argue that it was hilarious regardless.

Raising her hands in surrender, Twyla giggled. "Okay, okay, mama. Dang."

Sensing that the butter in the pan was fully melted, Twyla turned back to the stove and sprinkled some flour over the melted butter. As she stirred the makings of her roux, she considered how much she wanted to share with her mother.

"Do you remember that fine man from work?"

She glanced at her mother whose eyes were on the ceiling as if a Rolodex of her memories were up there and she was sorting through them. A brief flare of annoyance rose inside of Twyla because she was sure the other woman knew the exact mention that she was referencing. There had only been one so this display was unnecessary. Twyla had been gushing about Arturo to Vanessa over the phone and Linda had caught the tail-end of the conversation. It would’ve been fine but Linda had apparently secretly listened in and only announced her presence once Twyla ended the call. Finally, Linda turned her gaze back on Twyla, her head cocked to the side.

"The one with the accent?"

Pursing her lips, she nodded. That was one of the tidbits that Linda must’ve heard Twyla exclaim to Vanessa. "Yeah, him."

"What about him?"