“People will look at you and see only that you are small. Or that you look different. But like this ballerina, you are more flexible and resilient than you appear. If you work hard, are honest and brave, you’ll find that you are capable of pivots, leaps and spins that will take you wherever you want to go. And when you feel like you can’t take one more step, that’s only fear talking. The world and everything in it, is yours my miraculous girl. So, when you feel afraid, I hope you’ll remember that and do it anyway.”
I check the time again. It’s almost midnight. If I’m going to do this, I have to do it now. I strip, put on the only matching set of underwear I own, and slip into my raincoat. I order an Uber to his place, slide on my single pair of high heels, and head out.
On the way over, I’m riddled with doubt for most of the ride. What am I even going to say? What if he’s not home? Or not alone? I shake that thought loose. I spent ten years in a marriage that lasted nine years too long. I’m done putting my happiness on hold. If he rejects me, it won’t kill me. But wondering if he was the one I let get away might.
As the car pulls off the busy, commercial-lined aorta of Houston, Westheimer Road, and onto the leafy tree-lined street of Wildewood Parkway, I roll the window down and take a deep breath. The transition in environments is so drastic, it’s almost like driving through a portal to another world. And it never fails to relax me. There’s just something about this stretch of road that feels like coming in out of the cold. Rivers Wilde isn’t really a small town, because it sits right in the heart of the nation’s fourth largest city. Which in the eyes of a girl who grew up in a small town makes it something even better. Because it gives you the escape from the city, the close-knit community, the cluster of small businesses that double as watering holes. But it’s also welcoming of outsiders and thrives on its diverse population of residents.
The enclave is subdivided into two residential sections: The Oaks, a community of single-family homes that range in size from bungalows to full-on mansions, is an idyllic sprawl of manicured lawns, wide streets canopied by fragrant magnolia trees, and dotted with Children Playing signs every few hundred feet.
The Ivy, a cluster of towering chrome and glass high-rises, was designed to cater to the lifestyles of singles or married without children couples. It has twenty-four-hour restaurants and exercise facilities. Several coffee shops with plenty of seating, and free Wi-Fi. You can pick up your dry cleaning, go to the bank, and mail a package without ever leaving the complex. And when you feel like socializing, Rivers Wilde’s main street is less than a ten-minute walk away and is brimming with world class restaurants and bars. I plan on moving in as soon as the lease at my current place was up.
“Hello? We’re here.” My driver’s raised voice shakes me out of my mental meander.
“Sorry, thanks.” I give him an apologetic smile that he returns and climb out.
My doubt comes surging back, but I don’t break stride as I cross the luxurious, terrazzo-tiled lobby toward the bank of elevators. The doors open as I approach, and I hesitate a beat. Do I really want to do this?
Yes. He’s leaving. I take a deep breath, step on, and press the button for the 20th floor. My heart is beating a nervous galloping rhythm when I arrive at his floor, and by the time I reach the door of his unit, I’m dizzy with nervous energy and trepidation.
The door flies open right before I knock, and I jump back with a yelp of surprise. Tyson’s assistant, a Sudanese bombshell who used to model before she came to work for him, stops short in front of me, her purse on her shoulder and her keys in her hand. Her brow furrows as she looks me over. “Can I help you?”
I’ve only met her a few times, but clearly I didn’t make the impression on her that she made on me because she’s acting like she’s never seen me before. “Hi, Fatima. I work at Wilde World. My name is Dina,” I add when her frown only deepens.
She leans away, scans me from head to toe, and then her eyes widen in recognition. “Wait, oh my God.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I just didn’t recognize you without the…black clothes. You’re The Hunter.”
I laughed the first time my assistant told me that’s what people called me because of my all black all the time wardrobe. “Uh—yeah. I guess so. That’s me.”
She grimaces in apology. “Sorry, you don’t really look like a hunter. It’s just you know you like hunt down stuff? And you wear all black…”
“Yes. I know, but thanks.” I give her a tight smile and glance over her shoulder into the apartment.
“Wait, are you here for …Mr. Wilde?” The disbelief in her voice and the way her eyebrows disappear into her hairline as she takes in my cliché as fuck bootycall getup makes knots of dread form in my gut. The last thing I need is gossip around the office about this.
I force myself to smile. “I missed his party earlier, was in the area, and thought I’d stop in to say goodbye. I didn’t realize he had company.”
“I’m not company, I work for him. Come on in.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before she disappears back inside.
I hesitate. This was a bad idea, but if I leave now he’ll know I was here. Besides, I didn’t come this far to only come this far. So I pull my big girl panties up and step inside the devil’s lair.
“Sorry, there’s nowhere to sit but on the boxes. I’ll go tell him you’re here.” She saunters down the hallway and sticks her head into an open door. “Mr. Wilde, you have company,” she yells, and then comes back to the living room to slip her shoes on. “He’s in the shower, so it’ll be a minute. I’m going to pick up some food from Frenchy’s. Do you want anything?”
“No, I’m good,” I reply absently as I make a one hundred and eighty degree turn around the room. I’ve never been here before. I used to wonder what side of his personality would win out when it came to decorating the devil’s lair. Would it be the monochromatic, expensive, look but don’t touch style of Tyson at work? Or the colorful, relaxed, but intentional style of the Tyson he is in private? Or, would I discover that, he’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man—and a little bit of both?
I trap the flutter happiness before it disappears and stow it away for later.
It would be a fool’s errand to anchor such heavy hopes on the fragile foundation of we have. And I’m no fool.
I know that this is more about the idea of him than anything else.
But what an idea it is.
His door opens, and I get ready to throw this Hail Mary. I think he’s worth it. I hope like hell he proves me right.
3
Beautiful Liar
Tyson
I heard Fatima shout over the shower’s thundering spray, but couldn’t make out what she said. She came over to go through my list for the movers. I’ll be gone when they come to get my stuff, and she’s the only person I trust to make sure nothing important gets left behind.
I didn’t eat a thing at the party Regan threw, and I hope Fatima’s already made that food run.
This move happened so fast, I barely had time to finish packing before it was time to leave. I throw on the only pair of jeans and one of the T-shirts I haven’t packed and walk out to the living room. “Did you say someone was here?” I call down the hall.