I gave her a nod, not knowing what to say. Trisha and her big booty friend left the table. I watched them exit the area of the restaurant, too.
“It’s good to meet my namesake.”
Huhn?
I looked over to the Vic lady and, this time, her smile was wide enough not to be missed. Her eyes were low, too. I’d seen that more times than I could count coming up.
Twisting my mouth nervously, I then asked, “What do you mean?”
“Namesake. You know. You have my name.”
My face balled, I was confused. Her licking her lips was the only clear messaging happening at the table. “Wha—why you say that?”
She leaned in closer, head falling to the side, eyes getting even smaller. “Your name is Victoria, and mine is, too.” She laughed quietly.
I stared at her, picking up too much from her energy. Then I shook my head. “That ain’t my name.”
Her face wrinkled. “It ain’t. Your name’s Tori, right?” I nodded, feeling crazy uncomfortable. “Then what could Tori be short for?” She yanked my ponytail softly.
I swallowed, knees trembling beneath the table. “Ka—KaToria.”
“Ahhh!” Her head bounced slowly up and down. “That’s even prettier. You know what it means?” Her eyes shot over to the direction Trisha and Karen had left in. That’s when I knew. I’d been here before. Too many times, but mostly with grown men. I shook my head. “Okay, cutie. Then why don’t you give me your number so I can help you figure out the meaning.”
She reached inside her suit jacket and pulled out a pen and business card. Vic turned it over to the blank side. “Write it there, KaToria, and I can school you on it.”
At first, I couldn’t move. I could only stare at the small white rectangle. My number? For what? I decided right away to not upset Trisha again today with anything concerning me. I snatched the pen and scribbled my dorm number. She was reaching for it before I could finish.
“Is this your cell?”
“I don’t have one.” My stomach started to turn and throat squeezed at what I’d just done. Trisha would be mad as hell at me. But I didn’t know what to do…didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I needed to go. “Tell Trisha I had to get back to the campus. I’ll get up with her later.” I snatched my jacket off the back of my chair and broke out of there.
Vic was asking something, but it was behind my back because I was fucking out.
I watched the table being cleared under the candlelit ambiance. The soft play of a live accordion backed by a baby grand piano filled the restaurant. It was half filled as it should be, I guessed, for a weekday.
“Can I get you the dessert menu?” the waiter asked; his eyes traveled from me, landing on NormaJean across the table.
Her eyes sparkled with wanton charm as they always did, riveting men—and sometimes women—unexpectedly. She regarded me, high cheekbones bronzed and sparkling under the soft light. “I don’t think we will. Thanks.” Her voice was melodic and clear.
“Very well.” He offered a neck bow before leaving, not paying another glance my way to see if I agreed.
It wasn’t personal. NormaJean was that mesmerizing.
“How’s your mother?” A note of sincerity in her cords.
NormaJean crossed her fingers painted a dark red at the square tips. Her head wrapped in a black turban with sparkling gems in the Chanel brooch holding it together. Only NormaJean could wear such a piece as a necessity and make the shit look like classic vogue, similar to the simple diamond studs in her ears. I guessed at thirty-four years old, she had it down to a science.
I chuckled, rubbing just beneath my bottom lip. “She’s good.”
“Still teaching at William Paterson?”
“Nah. She started at Kean this fall. They have a larger and ‘more active’ women’s health program, according to her.”
NormaJean scoffed, “Damn feminist. Does she still hate me?’
A harsh chuckle pushed from my nostrils. “NormaJean, my dear, my mother will go to her grave hating three people: her father, my father, and you.”
Finding it funny her damn self, she giggled. “I guess I deserve that.” Her eyes twinkled, spearing into me. “Enduring her animosity for me is one penance I wear without regret.” She angled her head. “Give the young lady a break.”
My head reared and eyes narrowed. “That was a swift change of pace.”
“Keep up.” Her chortle was breathy. “Instead of viewing her as disgraceful, useless, and annoying, you should try seeing her as a young, untarnished bud filled with potential the world needs.”
I scoffed. “You’ve got a lot of faith in a young, mean ass girl you’ve never met.”
“Because I was once a young, mean ass girl most wished they never knew.”
“That’s because I hadn’t been born yet. If so, you would’ve lost your mind from the smiles I put on your face.” I flashed a wicked smile.
With a repressed grin, NormaJean shook her head. “You wouldn’t have known how to make me lose my mind: I taught you those primal skills. You forget?”
Snapping my fingers then pointing to her, I agreed, “Touché.”
She scratched above her brow, smiling bashfully. “Now, back to the point. Everyone deserves grace. If she’s a horrible person—which I doubt she is—hopefully she’ll improve. Two of the best things I did were grow the hell up and make friends.” I nodded, appreciating her revelation. “And thank goodness I learned to. It made this whole cancer experience that much more bearable. Thanks to friends like you and others, I’m not going to die alone.”
My mouth dropped and nose flared. “Is that why you flew out here?”
That’s fucked up!
Flying so far to dump death in my lap.
“Oh, dear, no!” She giggled. “Ashton, calm down.”
I tried relaxing in the dimly lit restaurant, but I had no control over my heartrate that was now on fucking Pluto.
“Then what are you saying, woman?”
Her lips met, mouth widened into a smile, and long thick lashes smacked. “I’m cancer free, Ashton.”
My eyes burst wide and spine inclined in my seat. “Are you serious right now?”
Her lips parted and those perfectly white chiclets appeared. NormaJean smiled so big and bright, something I could only recall seeing after fucking for hours straight. When she nodded, I shot to my feet and leaped to the other side of the table. I grabbed her wrapped head and kissed her forehead. Her little hands rounded my waist and squeezed.
“I’m so fucking proud of you, girl!” I whispered through gritted teeth.
“Thanks, Ashton.” Her voice was small, and unusually fragile.
I took back to my seat, relieved as hell. It had been a tough past eight months of surgery then chemo. I’d taken more last-minute flights just to be by her side than she’d been able to talk me out of. I missed a game last season when she had an emotional breakdown after having both breasts removed. In her line of work, those accessories carried six zeros or more behind them.
“Thank God,” I muttered, meaning it. I may have acted like a heathen, but I knew God. Well. “This shit is finally over.”