Leon's Way (28 page)

“You losing it, baby?” he teases, beating my body with his, skin slapping wet against skin. I sink—I’m not even on my elbows anymore. He’s dominating my mind, my sex, and all the way up to my aching nipples. Sensing how I am, he gives my boobs a one-handed squeeze, and then he stops, dead.

I moan, still shivering with the aftershocks from him. Leon shoves in again so hard I whimper, and he grows so big I can hardly accommodate him anymore. I wiggle, squirm, wait for this amazing feeling to be over and last at the same time. Again, he pulls out and rocks into me with all his force.

“Ah,” he breathes, pure satisfaction in a single syllable. His love pulsates out, coating my channel and making me drip. When he separates us, he kisses me and helps me down. I think he’s going to clean me with the towel by the bed, but instead, he lies down with me, runs a palm over my side, my hip, and down my thigh.

Leon nudges me into the sheets. I’ve got my pillows stacked high, and he makes sure I’m comfortable before his hand skims down to my cleft. I’m sensitive there, but he’s not touching my sweetest spot. He moves down, finding utter slickness, sliding his fingers through it, dipping in for more. Soon his love covers my mound and every crease of my vagina. He hums, satisfied with the sensation.

“This, baby, is so sexy,” he tells me. Intertwines our fingers and brings us down for me to enjoy our love too. It’s slippery, silky-soft, and I throb for him again, so fast.

“You’re crazy, Leon,” I stutter.

“For you.” He nuzzles in against the crook of my neck, tickling me. Blows out a sigh that sounds too heavy for something so good. “I’m not a fucking saint, Arria. I’m trying to let you go, here, okay? You should be helping.”

My laughter is easy. “I like to be your demon. Can I be your only demon, please?”

“You’re the devil.” Beneath his joke, there’s an undertone of distress. Exposing how unsure he is of himself in this role.

There’s respite in physical oblivion. But once we come to our senses, reality waits, gritty and unforgiving.

“Oh, Arriane!” my mom exclaims. “Why didn’t you tell me? The plans changed since we last spoke. I would have insisted on having the whole day off if I knew you’d be here. I could have called Trix—remember Trix who worked with me?”

“Uh-huh…”

“She
is
busy with her husband’s company, but she’d step in for me no problem, especially with how rarely you visit anymore.” The last part isn’t as upbeat as the first. There’s definite resentment. Just… it hasn’t been as enjoyable to visit when I know how my mother feels about Leon.

“It was a last minute decision, and Leon’s working at Choice this week,” I explain into the phone. “I’ll be knocking on your door in two minutes tops.”

“Knocking!” she scoffs, and I laugh.

“Okay, I’ll be breaking down your door in two minutes, belly first.”

“Careful with my grandbaby,” she play-admonishes.

Five minutes later, she’s raised on her tiptoes to hug me. I’m not tall, but I’m a house in all senses of the word in comparison to my mother right now. “Goodness, are you sure you’re not having twins, sweetie? You know, I wasn’t aware until the last three weeks with you and your brother. Have they checked thoroughly?”

“Ha, yes—I’ve got a single inhabitant. He’s just a big boy like his daddy,” I say, flushing at the double meaning. I’m ridiculous. Thank God my mother doesn’t catch on—why would she? This is my one-track mind; I’m fresh from Leon’s bed, my heart is full, and my limbs and secret places sore from him.

Mom hikes her shoulders up and lets them fall. She rubs her arms, her way of saying she’s uncomfortable, that I can expect a conflict. I know what this is about. I’ll be giving birth any day now so I guess it’s time we have this conversation. She waves me into the kitchen.

“What do you drink these days?” she asks. Together we were always big tea-sippers. So many good talks over the years. My taste buds have morphed with my body, though.

“Diet Pepsi.”

She raises her eyebrows and sees that I’m serious. “Wow. Well, pregnancy does change one’s habits. You don’t overdo it, right?”

“No, Mom,” I lie—although it’s not that much of a stretch; Leon doesn’t want the baby exposed to it, so I never get my fill of soda around him.

Head ducked, Mom bustles in the fridge, reaching deep and finding what she seeks. She screws the top of a half-liter and sets it before me with a glass. “Here. Leftover from bridge night. So what are your plans after the baby is born?” she asks.

“You cut right to the chase, don’t you?”

She lowers her voice as she sinks down next to me at the table. “We should make the most out of our time before I go to work, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. Muster courage. “If Leon still wants me, Mom, I’ll be committing to our relationship… long term.”

The soft lines around my mother’s eyes deepen. Sitting up in the chair, back straighter than before, she’s tense nerves and objections ready to erupt.

“Mom, we
are
in a relationship,” I say before she can speak. “Most people don’t break that off when they have babies. Rather the opposite. You know?” I add my little question in a plea for her to understand.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like when it doesn’t work out? You can do this alone—look at us! You and your brother did great after your father left. You didn’t suffer, did you? Not after the initial…” She trails off, remembering Dad’s departure again. “That’s what I don’t want for you or my grandbaby,” she continues, knowing my mind went the same place as hers.

In general, I’m honest with Mom. It’s almost an innate thing because she’s made it easy to trust her. I had no need to sneak around behind her back as a teenager. She’d always be there for me with advice that mixed adult wisdom, motherly care, and understanding.

I’m used to being in agreement with her over matters of love. My first middle school crush. My first high school love. My first little heartbreak. All of it, I shared with my mother, and she made me feel better. Today she doesn’t.

“I need your support,” I beg. “It kills me that you don’t agree. He’s the father of my baby, and I’ve loved him for so long, Mom.”

“Love doesn’t mean anything,” she blurts out, and I inhale sharply. This is not like her.

“Are you joking? Mom, please don’t say that stuff.”

“I’m sorry, no—love is good. Love is what you want, but not at the expense of happiness. Love and happiness don’t necessarily go hand in hand, Arriane, and this man—Leon—from what I understand, it would be an understatement to call him a handful.”

I feel my shoulders hunch around my heart. I’m heavy. My stomach is heavy. My heart is leaden with disappointment and want for approval from Mom. All my friends in high school envied me; some playfully told me they’d change out both parents for my one, because she was perfect and that was all you needed.

One perfect parent.

Am I, though? Would I be as good as Mom? Even so… would this baby boy not benefit from growing up with his father if he could?

“Mother, I’m going through with this. Yes, you were a great single mom with us, but we did have Dad for the first twelve years, and we love him too. There’s a reason why Chahel is in New Delhi with him. You guys didn’t work out in the end, and your heartbreak after he cheated and him moving out… all of that was not something I wish upon any person, least of all my son. But the thing is—I’ve got to stop sissying out because of what happened to you.”

When I see Mom’s reaction, it dawns on me that I have never given her my side of the story before. She’s stunned, eyes all but bugging at me. The three of us, my brother, Mom, and I, have always spoken about the occurrences as if my brother and I were a part of them. But really, we weren’t. Infidelity has nothing to do with the children. It’s the parents’ business, as is anything “grownuppy” as my brother would have jokingly called it.

And I’m right in my assumption: “What happened to
me
?” she says, incredulous.

“Yes, Mom. We suffered the consequences, but really—we didn’t even know what cheating entailed. I’m thankful that you protected us from everything. You did a stellar job of downplaying and shielding us from your heartache.”

Her eyes fill with water. Lip trembling even after all these years, she reaches out and draws us cheek to cheek.

She cries. I cry for her. I don’t miss my father anymore—it’s been a long time. “Arria, I’m just so scared for you. The longer you have with someone you love dearly, the harder it is to let them go. When I said love is what you want, I made a general, brave statement. Still, I owe you a last warning, baby girl: real love never dies. If you open the door, it will imprison you and never let you go.”

My mother and I have concluded our weeping fest by the time Leon knocks on the door. He’s taking a break from the club overhaul to lunch with me. My heart swells beneath my ribcage, not leaving room for doubt.

I’m in deep, Mom. It’s too late.

Mom gets up and opens the door. I hear pleasantries in the hallway, the silky sound of Leon’s voice as they approach. My pulse thickens, and as always I’m afraid for my blood pressure. Idly, I remind myself that I’ve got a physician in Talco too, someone who could probably see me if I need it. I took my pills this morning. I’m okay.

Leon enters our kitchen. I see him for the first time in these familiar surroundings. My heart bounces at his eyes zooming in, the lightest of blue trapping me. That barely-there smirk…

Leon’s face sets. Suddenly alert, his gaze flows to my chest, and I realize my hand is covering my heart. I let go, but he still prods, “Are you okay?”

I rush out a giddy laugh that makes me sound like I’m thirteen. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He lowers to his haunches, takes my face between his hands, and studies me. Then, he places a chaste kiss on my mouth. It’s not enough for either of us, so he gives me a second—a third dry lip-smack. The light air escaping his nostrils sends a jolt to my girly parts.

Harnessed passion. I adore his harnessed passion.

“When is your next checkup with Dr. Rosenthal?” he asks me. Mom crosses her arms behind him. She’s staring unabashedly, taking in everything Leon is with me. Discomfort creeps up my back and to my neck. Every move he makes is being judged.

“Monday morning.” I lean out of his attention, flicking a glance at Mom. “Anyway, we should get going, Mom. You’ve got to head off to work, and somewhere downtown there are samosas with my name on them.”

“Samosas, huh? Not pure lettuce?” Leon teases.

“I eat real food too,” I say, and he hums in playful disagreement.

As we step off the terrace, Mom’s voice reaches us from behind. “Leon,” she says, pitch low. My love turns and meets her gaze calmly.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Take good care my daughter.”

Am I dreaming? I’m all about letting go, accumulating good karma, seeing beyond the monster from my childhood, and achieving closure. But this?

“Mom, what does John think about you coming here?” I enquire, reminding her of her husband of ten years back in San Francisco.

I’m at the airport, picking her up. She called me at six a.m., not to ask my opinion but to tell me she was seconds from boarding a plane. She had to rush, she said, and we’d chat once she arrived.

Once she arrived!

And here she is. Ayako hasn’t been in Deepsilver since she fled from the sperm donor. Now she’s back to see the man she used to love…
die
. It’s what I gather, but Ayako being Ayako, she must want him to exhale in peace.

“Oh, Katsu, John’s fine.” Mom lets out a tired breath. From the redness in her eyes, I’m guessing she hasn’t slept in a while. “He’s got work, but if I’m still here by the weekend, he’ll join me. I’ve got a room at the Hilton on Concord Street by the way,” she adds as I grab her single, elegant suitcase and unbuckle the pull-handle for a better grip.

“I don’t get why you’re doing this, Mom.” She tends to mull things over for a long time before she acts, so her coming here isn’t an impulse. I need to learn where the heck this came from.

Instead of enlightening me, her reply deflects and catches me off guard. “They’re moving him to hospice today.” Ayako’s lipstick glistens bright as always, but all I grasp is the sadness of the smile it accentuates.

“What? They never told me. How did they tell
you
?”

She lifts a small hand with the single gold band she wanted for a wedding ring from my stepfather. Does a ribbon-shaped swirl in the air, indicating with eyes and gestures how she’s not sure. “Since I learned about your father’s stroke, I’ve contacted Doctor Randall periodically. Yesterday, I had a gut feeling—I still have that for Marshall sometimes—and checked in with her.”

The short drive downtown is quiet. I’m struggling with the thought of seeing my mother in the same room as the sperm donor. Drifting in and out of sleep, my father hasn’t been as responsive over the last days. He might not wake up, I soothe myself. Plus, I don’t even recall the two of them together–I have no reason to freak out.

Shishi. He’ll remember. God, I wonder how he’ll react to Mom being here. “Did you tell my brother?”

“No, I decided against calling him. I figured it’s better to deal with his reaction in person.”

“He’s been… working himself up lately, with everything. Between the baby arriving any day now and Dad dying, I have no idea what he’ll say.”

We both have a pretty good idea, though. He’s going to flip his lid and want to send her straight back home.

My mother blinks fast, her signature effort when she tries to keep from crying. I pull into the hotel and park the car. She’s got her hand in her purse, searching for something, a handkerchief.

“Mom, it’s okay. Leon will survive. You know how he is—he just hates not controlling everything. Your son’s a total control freak.”

She laughs with glossy eyes, and I smile too. I’ve missed my sweet mother.

“I talked with him,” she whispers.

“With who? Shishi?”

“No, your father.”

I’m floored by the news. I had no idea she’d spoken with the sperm donor at all since she left Deepsilver. Why is she doing this to herself? And here I’d been surprised by her contact with his doctor!

“About what?”

“A week ago, his physician called me. I’m usually the one calling, Kat, reaching out to
her
, but your father had insisted on getting ahold of me to apologize.”

Mom gets out of her seat before I do, before she finishes her story. Opening the back door, she yanks at her suitcase. She’s so small, though. My mother isn’t strong despite her appearance the way I am, so I haul it out for her, lock the car, and start dragging the thing toward the hotel entrance.

“What did he say?” I prod.

“Not a lot. Your father was in a drug haze. Since his liver is failing, he’s in so much pain. You’ve noticed, I’m sure, that he’s not clearheaded anymore?”

“He sleeps almost nonstop, ” I offer.

“Well, he asked for and got my forgiveness, but he wasn’t satisfied. He pleaded for me to come so he could tell me in person, to be able to see that I really was accepting his remorse.”

“He’s the king of the world, huh, bossing people around,” I say, laughing. “Thinks we’re his flipping chess pieces. And so you came?”

Mine was a small barb, insinuating that she’s following his orders. By the glint in her eye, she’s fully aware. Ayako isn’t one to make excuses, though.

“Yes. So I came.”

My mother wastes no time. She unpacks, folding and putting away clothes and toiletries with an efficiency that rivals Shishi’s. Next, she snatches her purse from the table, and voilà, she’s ready.

Mom tells me not to fret, that she’ll get around by hotel shuttle and taxi while she’s in town. I need to do my job, she reminds me, which is true, but I worry about her anyway.

“Let me go with you this first time?” I plead, and thankfully, she concedes.

It takes me a minute to find hospice. Situated in a lower building, it hides in a corner of the enormous hospital lot. Two stories tall and flanked by oak trees, it looks ancient and sort of pretty. Utilitarian in style, the house still boasts an old-fashioned elegance I can’t categorize until I read the plaque by the door. This is the original Parkwood Hospital built in the nineteen hundreds. It makes sense to me that this solemn, elegant place is the last stop for people.

Once through the front doors, I notice how it has all the necessary amenities. It shouldn’t be a surprise, but the contrast between outdoors and indoors is stark. A nurse walks ahead of us, showing us the way because my dad’s room is at the far bend. Overlooking a small patio in the back, the nurse says.

It’s hushed here. I look at Ayako, who’s sunken into herself. My mind ruminates on her time with the man she’s about to visit. Her quiet-place must have been really important back then. Physically a lightweight in every sense, she was strong enough to survive such psychological and physical abuse.

I’m in awe of my mother. She knocks on the door to her dying abuser’s room. Swings it open with steady hands.

The bed isn’t the regular hospital kind. Sure, the contraptions and handles allowing staff to regulate him are there, but it’s got a wooden headboard. The room itself has two overstuffed La-Z-Boys next to each other in front of a small floor-to-ceiling sliding glass door.

The walls play host to serene paintings with gulleys, mountaintops, birds that are free to soar, dip, and roam. I can’t look at the shrunken man in the middle of the bed yet. It’s the surroundings. The fact that they’re not so hospital-like twists my heart over opportunities lost. Over the person my father could have been back when he didn’t need hospitals.

I stop in the doorway. Grasp onto Mom’s arm, hindering us both. I’m not ready to see her with him. “Are you calling Shishi soon?” My voice wavers as I buy precious time outside
his
sphere.

She tips her face up, eyes on my father even though she focuses on my question. “I know, honey. I need to decide what to do. When does he return?”

“He didn’t say. Arriane is visiting him, but she’s got a doctor’s appointment in Deepsilver tomorrow. Leon, though? Worst case, he doesn’t come back until she’s in the maternity ward.”

My mother’s smooth forehead creases imperceptibly. “I should explain in person, Katsu. Maybe I’ll borrow your car and surprise him.”

I feel my shoulders ease, muscles I didn’t know were tense loosen. “Yeah. I’ll be your driver.”

Mom’s eyes aren’t on me anymore. She moves into the room, quiet, quiet, until fingers flutter across the blanket to my father’s hands. He’s asleep, transparent tube suspended from a nostril and needles slipped in through slack skin on a hand. A shivering sigh comes from my mother, and I go, grab her by the shoulders, and lean my cheek against her hair.

“Mom?” I whisper, afraid of interrupting. Afraid I’ll wake him up too.

She shakes her head, composing herself. For me, it’s easier, I’m sure. All I do is compare him to the fantasy picture of a dad he never was. Of my stepdad—of my friends’ dads. But my mother? The grief I see in her eyes must stem from different memories.

“There were good times too.” Her fingers lift and tremble over her lips. She sniffs in a breath, gathering energy before she turns to me. “I’ll be sitting here for a while, honey. I brought a book. I want to be here when he wakes up.”