Page 59 of Letting Go
I take a deep and slow breath before responding, debating how much I want to reveal just yet. “And on the personal front, I no longer have to run into my ex-girlfriend or her current fiancé that happens to be whom she cheated on me with. I get to have a backyard again and live in more of a suburban feeling neighborhood, whereas when I lived in Atlanta I was in the concrete jungle. Having a dog in a condo wasn’t ideal in Atlanta, but it’s much easier with a backyard like I have now here in Nashville. I’ve also met some pretty incredible people since moving here.”
“Pretty incredible people or pretty people?” And there’s the beautiful laugh again.
“Both statements would be accurate, ma’am.” I shake my head at how cute she is fishing for more information. Fish away, darling. I’m not going to bite … yet.
“Anyone in particular?” She’s playing coy now.
“Indeed,” I reply without elaborating.
“Care to share more with the class, sir?” This little minx.
“I intend to do a lot of sharing amongst other things when the timing is more appropriate. But when the timing is right?” I groan as I try to find the words without taking this too far, wiping my hand down my face. “I will be extremely thorough and dedicated in those communication and exploration efforts. Including physically, verbally, and orally.” She sharply intakes her breath, and I love that this is torturing both of us.
But we need to move the conversation to a safer topic before my filter is completely gone and I admit that she dominates my thoughts like I want to dominate her in bed.
I clear my throat to try to calm my imagination down. “What does the rest of your evening look like? Also, to be safe, are you enjoying an adult beverage on the porch and if so, is the freezer stocked up with mint chocolate chip ice cream?”
She laughs. “I will have you know, sir, that I am enjoying a beverage, but it’s only a glass of sweet tea.” A laugh and a sir? Fuck me. “Any tipsy-induced snack foods are safe tonight. I called you without the influence of alcohol.”
“So, this phone call is not a drunk dial, got it,” I tease her just a little. “I’m enjoying a beer right now while we talk, but it’s my first and only for the evening.” I extend my feet up on the ottoman in front of the patio sofa. “I’m convinced beer always tastes better when enjoyed after a day’s hard work.” The sun creeps slower and slower down the horizon as our conversation continues.
“Once you finish your one and only beer, you’ll shuffle off in your slippers to bed, but the real question is do you allow Ghost to sleep on the bed or is he forced to sleep somewhere else all by his lonesome self?” Of course she has to give me a mental image of taking her to my bed. I adjust myself as I respond to her.
“Ghost has been known to sleep on the foot of my bed, but he enjoys his ridiculously expensive bed that my mama gave him for Christmas. I didn’t even know they made dog beds that were asbougie as his, but of course Ghost loves it,” I say as I shake my head while Ghost snores quietly at my feet. “And for the record, I may be a few years older than you Ms. Vivian, but I do not shuffle anywhere and I sure as hell have not, do not, and will not ever wear slippers.”
“Oh? And how many years are we talking about here, sir?” Vivian asks.
“My birthday is August 8, 1985,” I answer.
“Well, six years is not that many but yes, you are my elder.” She laughs in response. “I turned thirty-three this last fall.”
“That’s right, so please remember to mind your manners with your elders, young lady,” I tell her in a faux serious tone.
“But … no slippers, huh?” She circles back to my previous comment.
“No way, I’ve always hated slippers. I run hot in general, but slippers may have been designed by a masochist. They’re like little, hot, balmy sweaters for your feet, why would someone want that? If I need to cover my feet, I’ll wear socks like a normal person but most of the time I prefer to be barefoot when I’m home. Slippers remind me of this crotchety old lady that lived next to my elementary school growing up. She would always yell at us to play quieter during recess, sitting on her porch wearing her slippers and a scowl. To be honest, I don’t think I have ever even owned a pair. If I have, I never wore them,” I explain.
“Some people love slippers, but I loathed tripping over them,” Vivian says quietly, and I notice she said she loathed in the past tense, not a present tense use of the verb.
“No need to worry about tripping hazards in my house, other than maybe some of Ghost’s toys. I can’t claim that doesn’t happen on occasion.”
She laughs and our conversation turns to lighter topics like toys that dogs and children both love to play with or chew on. I findmyself laughing more during this phone conversation than I have in a long while and before I know it, we’ve been talking for over forty-five minutes. A small yawn escapes from Vivian as I check the time.
“I really do hate to end this nice conversation, but I should probably let you go and call it a night.” I really mean that too, I could talk to her all night.
“I’m sorry, you must have heard my yawn,” Vivian replies. “You’re not boring, just so you know, I really enjoyed talking to you tonight. I think my day is just catching up with me.”
“You never need to apologize to me for what you need, Vivian,” I say with so much more meaning than just her being tired.
“I’m not sure why, but I believe you when you say that.”
“You can believe me and what I say, Vivian. I won’t ever lie to you, even if it isn’t what you want to hear or if I can’t tell you something, I still will never lie. It’s not who I am.”
“It’s really not, I can tell,” she softly replies.
“Good. I’m glad you know you can trust me.” Clearly we’re both talking about so much more than just little white lies. “It’s not in my DNA to be untruthful and I don’t have a high tolerance for liars in my life, professionally or personally.”
“That’s a good thing, Walker … a really good thing.” She casually says my name but something about her saying it steals my breath away. Hearing my name on her lips is the sweetest my name has ever sounded.
