Two Steps Back Read online

  “What?” she asked, changing lanes and glaring at yet another incompetent motorist.

  He cracked an easy smile. “I’ve just never seen this side of you. You’re almost as bad as the cabbies back home.”

  “Whatever,” she said, sticking out her tongue. “I forgot how much I hate driving. I’m so used to taking the Tube now.”

  “Perhaps, you should get used to it again, yeah? As you get further along, I think I would feel more comfortable if you drove instead of took the train. Those things get stuck all the time. I would hate for you to be trapped underground and go into labor or something.”

  She cut her eyes at him. “You’d rather me go into labor while driving?”

  “Of course not. I’d rather be there, but babies are unpredictable, innit?”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine Johnny,” she kissed her teeth. “You worry too much.”

  He reached across the seat and placed his hand on her stomach. “I have every right.”

  Fifteen minutes passed before either of them spoke again. Johnny gazed at Los Angeles whizzing by his window, while an annoying voice began gnawing at the corner of Jaylah’s brain.

  Don’t take the Tube? What kind of crazy suggestion is that? the voice asked. Be careful girl, it’s only the beginning. He’s trying to control you.

  Jaylah quieted the voice and reminded herself that men—good men like her father—doted on their women.

  She’d seen it first hand. Though she was an only child, Jaylah’s mother had been pregnant before. As a mater of fact, Jaylah had had a little brother—Julian--when she was seven, but the baby died a month after he was born. The doctor said he’d passed away from SIDS.

  “Just like that,” he had said, snapping his fingers to demonstrate how her little brother’s life could be snuffed out so suddenly.

  Jaylah’s mother was devastated. She took to her bed, grieving the loss of her son and barely tending to her daughter. For months, Jaylah watched as her father catered to her mother, cooking meals, cleaning the house, and rearranging his schedule at work to nurse Mrs. Baldwin back to herself. Jaylah’s father also lavished his baby girl with attention, aware of how much of a toll her mother’s depression was having on her little seven-year-old life.

  Jaylah glanced over at Johnny. He certainly reminded her of her father. When her morning sickness had gotten so bad she was sprawled out on the couch for days, Johnny brought his office to her flat so he could still close deals while making sure she didn’t become dehydrated again and end up in hospital. Despite their beginning, Johnny had been a man of his word. He showed up when he said he would, called daily to make sure she was okay, and if she ever needed to bury a body, she knew he’d be there with the shovel.

  Johnny was a good man, but there was a thin line between concerned partner and controlling mate. She promised herself to pay attention to which side of the divide Johnny towed.

  “Here we are,” Jaylah said, breaking the quiet that had enveloped them. “You have just about every high end retailer here, want to try Neiman Marcus first?”

  “I’m just the passenger, babes, you lead the way.”

  She parked the car behind the store, which took up an entire block, and she and Johnny made their way inside.

  As soon as they entered Neiman Marcus Jayleh felt underdressed, the £20 floral maxi dress and jean jacket she picked up at Cafe Vintage seemed too boho for such an elegant space. She watched the sales associates, dressed in crisp black suits and sensible heels, size her up then dismiss her as too poor to shop in their venerable store. They were partially right. Jaylah’s budget was more suited for bargain hunting and sample sales than spending thousands of dollars on a Givenchy bag. But there was no harm in browsing, right?

  The first floor of the department store glistened with its polished marble floors, ambient lighting, and stately glass cases full of wares Jaylah could scarcely afford. As usual, Johnny strode through the store confident he belonged. Unlike Jaylah, he often bought things without looking at the price, never glanced at the check before whipping out his credit card to pay a bill, and regularly spent more on a perfectly tailored suit than she paid in rent.

  Jaylah enjoyed the fruits of Johnny’s labor, never having to pay for a beer, a dinner, or a night out when they were together, but their unequal financial footing made her nervous.

  Now that they were expecting a child would he insist she give up her career under the guise of being concerned for the baby? Would he use his money to control her life, her decisions? Would she become so dependent upon him that she couldn’t afford to leave, even if it were necessary?

  Jaylah vowed she’d keep her In Case Shit Happens account fully funded, just in case she needed to make an escape; she refused to be trapped.

  They had been in the store for ten minutes and not one clerk had given them more than a passing glance. They were no closer to finding the men’s department, so Johnny took the lead. They walked toward a woman rearranging gold watches in a display case and waited for her to acknowledge them. When she didn’t even look up, Johnny spoke up.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” he said, deploying the formal British accent he usually reserved for business. Jaylah watched as the woman’s expression changed from annoyed to enamored once she finally looked at Johnny. As she padded toward them, the gaunt woman curled a wisp of blonde hair behind her ear and smiled a little too wide for Jaylah’s liking.

  “How can I help you, sir?” she said, ignoring Jaylah.

  “I’m looking for the men’s department. Where might I find it?”

  “Take the escalators all the way up to the top floor,” she said, sticking out her chest and showing all of her chemically whitened teeth.

  “Brilliant. Thank you.”

  Ugh, even the sales clerks are soooo L.A., Jaylah thought.

  “Would you like me to show you, sir?” the blonde asked, running a hand across her cleavage, as they turned to leave.

  “No, no. I’m sure we can sort it out from here. Thank you again,” Johnny said, smiling at the blonde.

  Jaylah held her tongue until they got on the escalator. She was used to women fawning over Johnny while they were out, he was gorgeous after all, and in London, black men like him (well-mannered, moneyed, gorgeous) rarely had unambiguously black women on their arms. The difference? Usually the women back home had the decency to at least acknowledge her while they shamelessly flirted with her man.

  “Would you like me to show you?” Jaylah mocked the clerk’s valley girl tone. “I’m sure she wasn’t talking about the men’s department. Did you see the way she was looking at you? Ugh.”

  “Really? I didn’t notice.”

  “Yeah, sure you didn’t. That type of thing happens like every time we go out. How can you not notice it?”

  “I don’t know, I’m used to it I guess,” he shrugged like someone had asked him about the weather and he’d said, I don’t know, mate, looks like rain.

  “Humble, much?”

  Johnny chuckled and placed his hand on the small of Jaylah’s back as they transferred from one escalator to another. “That’s not what I meant. Women have always been nice to me.”

  “Johnny there’s nice, and then there’s attempted seduction. She was flirting with you like I wasn’t even there. Who did she think I was? Your sister?” Jaylah said, irritated he didn’t seem to be troubled by the scene.

  “It’s all the same to me, I suppose. I’m not the one doing the flirting so it doesn’t bother me.”

  “Of course it doesn’t bother you, you’re not the one watching your partner get hit on by pretty women.”

  “She was pretty?” Johnny teased, craning his neck toward the bottom of the escalator. “And I am the one at times. I’ve seen how men look at you, babes, especially when you’re wearing a tight dress. Mmm!” He brought his fingers to his lips, then kissed them like an Italian chef tasting something good. “But as long as they don’t cross the line, it doesn’t bother me.”

  “Well, you w
on’t have to worry about all that. Soon, I’ll be huge.”

  “I know,” he said, putting his hand to her stomach and grinning. “I can’t wait.”

  * * *

  Jaylah watched Johnny move through the men’s department as if he was a seasoned fashion expert, and in many ways he was. He knew what worked on his toned body, and quickly brushed off suggestions that would not compliment his six-foot-two-inch frame.

  “I prefer a British cut suit,” she heard him tell the salesman. “You know, two buttons, nipped in at the waist?”

  The pair sorted through endless rows of dark colored ensembles, looking for one that was suitable enough for meeting her parents. Jaylah took a seat and eyed Johnny as he picked through the racks, handing off several options to the clerk before checking out the shirts.

  Jaylah loved watching him, that’s how she’d spotted him the first night, dancing under the flickering lights of the Mau Mau Bar. From the moment she saw him across the room keeping time with the beat, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

  Gorgeous. Intense. Cocksure. She was drawn to Johnny’s quiet confidence and his ability to dominate the space, any space, without even trying.

  Nothing had changed since that first night.

  Back in her flat she’d sit in bed and watch him get dressed for work. After spending the night, he’d emerge from the shower with a towel tightly wrapped around his abdomen and begin shaving his face with the precision of a seasoned barber.

  “What?” He’d asked her once when he noticed Jaylah staring at him. “Did I miss a spot?”

  She’d laughed at the thought of it. “Nah.”

  “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” she said, cocking her head to the side to take him in at a new angle.

  “Like you’re sizing me up.” He crossed the room to sweep his lips across hers before tasting her tongue.

  Jaylah shrugged and smiled. “Just because…” she told him, holding back the urge to say she hoped this was how they would be forever.

  Johnny sauntered over to her, dress shirts in hand, and placed a sloppy kiss on her forehead. “Be right back, yeah? I’m going to try these on.”

  She nodded and watched him disappear into the dressing room.

  Johnny is buying a suit to meet my parents. That means something right?

  Sure he said he loved her, jumped on a plane and flew 5,000 miles because she insisted they speak in person, and was careful to update her about the changes in his life, but what did that really mean? And more importantly, what did she want it to mean?

  The fact remained—Johnny was still married.

  The word rolled through her brain like a freight train threatening to derail her dreams of happily ever after.

  Yes, he’d moved out of his house and had taken her with him to see the solicitor, but that didn’t mean anything right now. Johnny and Fiona had been married for four years and were together throughout most of their time at University. Every memory he had from college, every family gathering he’d attended for the last decade, and every time he’d made love before they met, Fiona had been by his side.

  How could she compete with that?

  Their affair had been a powerful whirlwind, consuming them both at breakneck speed and uprooting the course of their lives. But Johnny was still married, and people changed their minds about getting divorced all the time. How could she be sure he wouldn’t do the same?

  No matter how wonderful he treated her now, Jaylah was uncertain if they could recover from their beginning, from his lie. He had purposely let her fall for him, wooing her with his impeccable charm and the promise of coupledom, knowing full well he had already promised Fiona forever.

  Just a few months ago she floated through London feeling like she’d struck the lotto. After years of hating her life she finally had it all—dream job, new best friend, and a man who adored her. That afternoon in Brick Lane had felt like confirmation that everything she’d gone through—every shitty assignment, run-in with her mother, every asshole she’d dated—had prepared her for that moment. All of her troubles had made getting what she wanted feel that much sweeter.

  Jaylah’s life was going so ridiculously well that she could hardly believe it when she overheard a man ask Johnny about his wife. And instead of correcting him, Johnny had calmly told the man about Fiona’s trip to Scotland and promised they’d all get together once she returned.

  His wife? Johnny was married? she thought as she listened to their conversation that day.

  Her brain couldn’t comprehend it, and the entire idea seemed down right asinine, until she watched his face collapse in on itself when she confronted him. Then she knew.

  Johnny was not only married, but he was a liar. And how could they recover from that?

  The question made her nauseous. Jaylah glanced around for a restroom, already feeling the bile inch its way up her throat. She asked the clerk to point her to the ladies’ room, and raced downstairs to release the contents of her stomach.

  Jaylah barely made it to the stall. She felt like someone had taken out her stomach and shaken everything free. She heaved up chunks of shrimp, and salad, and ice cream from her afternoon meal and her body continued to retch until Jaylah felt like she had been completely wrung out.

  She waited for a few moments to catch her breath, and to make sure nothing else would come spewing forth, before heading to the sink to wash her hands and splash water on her face. While she scooped up handfuls of the cool liquid to rinse out her mouth, Jaylah heard a voice.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?” an elderly woman asked, lines of concern creasing her face.

  Jaylah nodded, then shrugged her shoulders, offering an apology. “Yeah, sorry. Morning sickness.”

  The woman’s face softened into a smile. “Oh! How far along?”

  “About nine weeks. Feels like nine years already,” Jaylah said, trying to mirror the woman’s smile, but she was too spent.

  “Hang in there, sweetie. You’re almost past the worst part,” the woman said before patting Jaylah on the back and walking out the door.

  Although she knew the woman was talking about her morning sickness, Jaylah hoped she was right. She hoped the worst part of her relationship with Johnny, his lie and her unwillingness to completely trust him, was over and they could move on with their lives.

  But she wasn’t convinced; and it was killing her.

  Eleven

  When she was eight, Jaylah’s mother spotted her stuffing a handful of salt water taffy chews in her pocket during a trip to the grocery store. As they moved through the aisles, Mrs. Baldwin eyed her daughter to see if her conscience would kick in before they left, but when it was apparent Jaylah planned on walking out without paying for the candy her mother stepped in.

  “Jay Jay,” Mrs. Baldwin said, “What’s in your pocket?”

  “Nothing, mama,” Jaylah said instinctively, unaware her mother saw her swipe the treats.

  Mrs. Baldwin put her hands on her hips, then crouched down to meet her daughter’s eyes. “Are you sure? Because it looks like there’s something in that one,” she said pointing to Jaylah’s right pocket.

  Jaylah’s eyes grew wide, but she stuck to her story. “It’s just…” She stared at her mother’s stoic face, “It’s just some lint, mama.”

  “Hmph,” Mrs. Baldwin said, crossing her arms. “It looks like something’s in your pocket, sweetie. But since you say it’s not,” Mrs. Baldwin hunched her shoulders and stood up, “okay.”

  Jaylah remembered feeling like she was going to explode, the air in her lungs exacting pressure on her little chest because breathing might give her away. Then it happened, her mother said something that rocked her eight-year-old self to the core.

  “I’m so glad you know better than to lie to me,” she said, putting her groceries on the checkout belt like everything was normal. “Lies are always worse than the truth, Jay Jay. And liars?” Jaylah’s mom kissed her teeth and shook her head in
disgust, “liars are the worst kind of people; you can’t trust them. And if you can’t trust them,” she turned to look at her daughter, “how can you love them?”

  The thought of losing her mother’s love sent a chill from her pigtails to her L.A. Gear sneakers. Suddenly her school cardigan felt like it was made of itchy wool, and her plaid romper felt two sizes too small.

  Although Jaylah was a tomboy who preferred jeans over dresses, she still wanted to be just like her mother. Graceful, petite, and strikingly beautiful. Somehow all of Sarah’s genes had skipped right over her daughter and scattered into her cousins who looked more like they belonged to Mrs. Baldwin than Jaylah did.

  For starters, Mrs. Baldwin was a red bone, at least that’s what Jaylah’s dad had called her on one of their vacations to Florida. It happened because Mrs. Baldwin insisted on lying by the pool, “To get some color back in my cheeks,” she’d said, but her husband had his doubts.

  “C’mon Sarah, you know you a red bone. That’s about all the color you’re gonna get. You better get under an umbrella before you mess around and get burnt!” he said, chuckling to himself.

  Hearing her father’s advice, Jaylah had stayed under an umbrella or a cabana or on in the shadow of a balcony all weekend until her father asked why she wasn’t doing belly flops in the pool.

  “I don’t wanna get burnt,” she said, looking into the mirror that was her father’s face, “like mama.”

  Jaylah’s father brushed off her worries. “Your mama’s a red bone baby girl…”

  “So am I daddy,” she interrupted, “I’m just like mama.”

  “Nawl, sweetie, you’re like me, you know, the color of the earth. We can stay out in the sun as much as we want. Now go on, enjoy yourself, baby girl.”

  The idea that Jaylah was not like her mother did not make sense to her little girl brain.