Malichai and I spent the next two days uninterrupted either in his bed or in the bath. He held me as I cried rivers of tears that had been dammed for the last four years, he rocked me slow as we talked and shared things neither of us had ever spoken about with anyone else. We played, and laughed as we revisited our child hoods while we used the bed as a trampoline. We made love, my God how we made love! Again he held me tight as new tears fell, this time from fear of myself and my feelings for him; and our retreat ended while he massaged my head in the bath.
"Marry me Justine ..." The words slipped from his mouth slow and clear.
"I can't ..." I whispered without a seconds thought.
"You can't? What do you mean you can't? What, do you have to ask your other husband first? He chuckled as I shifted away from him to get out of the tub. "Justine, come on, I'm serious, marry me!"
Grabbing a towel I looked over at him. I guess I thought if I looked at him long enough I would see the future, our future, together. I wanted to see that if I agreed to marry him, we would live happily ever after, but all I saw were two pleading eyes bluer than the clearest seas starring back at me.
"I'm serious too Malichai, I can't marry you."
As I left the bathroom I heard water splashing as he gave chase after me foregoing his own towel.
"Justine, talk to me." He said as he crossed the threshold to my room.
"You're dripping on my carpet Malichai."
"Why Justine?"
"Um, because you don't have a towel, dork" I said attempting to change the subject.
"Why won't you marry me Justine?
I turned my back to him as I towel dried my hair. He waited patiently for me to answer him, and after five minutes passed in silence I felt him leave the room. I did not turn to face him until he slammed his bedroom door rattling my walls. I could not remember if I had breathed since his proposal, but when I heard "The Thing About Love" blaring from his stereo I inhaled deep. And that breath rushed from my lungs again in one huge sob as I collapsed in a heap onto the floor.
"Hi Mama, is everything alright?" My voice was raw from crying as I answered the phone.
"Hey Baby, I'm calling to see if you are alright, why haven't I heard from you in three days!"
"Oh Mama, I've been busy that's all ... you know how I get when I'm writing..." I said trying my best to put on a smile for her through the phone.
"Yes, Justine, I know how you get when you are writing ... but somehow, I don't think that is why I have not heard from you. What's the matter? You sound like you've been crying." My mother was psychic. I could never hide anything from her, good or bad. She knows me better than anyone, and rightly so, she is my mother. I had not told her Malichai had come to town, and I certainly had not told her he was living with me indefinitely.
I was careful to visit her often lest she make a surprise visit to my place and die of a heart attack on seeing Malichai. She never really liked Malichai. She tolerated him at one time, because I loved him, but if she had had it her way we would have never have met. When I came back home from New York, she vowed to...
"stomp a mud hole in that white boy" if she ever saw him again. "I just don't know what you see in that big lump of nothing living off a trust. I know Mr. New York City ain't worked a day in his life! How would he have taken care of you like a man should take care of a woman playing finger paint all day long?" She said to me as I cried my eyes out in her lap the night I got back home.
"Mama he's a sculptor, not a painter. And he is a good man, well he used to be anyways ..." I said between sobs.
"Hupmh seems to me that a good man wants a good woman ... not another man!" she'd replied.
My mother may be psychic, but when it comes to giving consolation, her skills are lacking. And now I found myself at a loss as to what to tell her. It was rare that she actually caught me upset, and she is a smart lady, so I am sure she already had an inkling I was upset behind Malichai yet again; to her chagrin, she knew we still talked often after the break up.
"Justine, are you still there?" She said into dead air left by my silence.
"Yes Mama, I'm here." I sniffed back tears as I answered here.
"What's wrong Justine? Do I need to come over there?" She asked nervously.
"No Mama, I'll be alright. It's just that ... um, Mama, someone proposed to me tonight." I mumbled hoping she did not catch what I had said.
"Proposed! What? Like marriage? Who Justine? You never said you were even dating! And why are you sitting there crying? Is he there with you now?"
"Um, yes Mama, like marriage. I'm not dating; he's someone I have known for a while, years. He is here now, but in the other room."
"Justine, no please tell me that boy is not..."
