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Jamila sat in her car after a hard, tiring Monday at work. She was supposed to be leaving for home, but she sat in the car in the parking lot at work trying to brace herself for calling Nia. She hadn’t spoken to her since the Morgan incident and she hadn’t spoken to him either. In the spirit of growth and maintaining friendships, she wasn’t about to let their friendship die because of this. Nia meant too much to her.
She took a deep breath, dialed her number and waited.
Nia answered, “I guess you do still love me.”
Jamila let go of a worried sigh. “I didn’t think you would answer the phone.”
“Nah, girl. I know what you were going through. It’s all good.”
“Yeah, but I still owe you an apology. I’m sorry. I let my emotions get the best of me and I took it out on you.”
“Yeah, you did, but I understand. What you should be doing is explaining this to Morgan.”
“I doubt if Morgan wants to hear anything I have to say after I went off on him.”
“He will. He thinks the world of you.”
She tsked and asked, “How do you know that?”
“Because he talks about you all the time, Mila. Even before you gave him a chance. He was always into you, and believe me when I say I’ve watched him turn down women because the only woman he wants is you.”
“Yeah, and I accused him of doing something I’m almost certain he didn’t do because of my stupid ex-boyfriend. I just don’t know how to separate my ex from my future.”
“You have to put all of that behind you, girl. It’s easier said than done, I know, but it’ll be well worth it, especially for a relationship like the kind you could have with Morgan. I know what kind of man he is and he’s nothing like your ex. He’s a good, down-to-earth guy and you’re a lucky girl to have one of the good ones. It’s all I want for you.”
Jamila twirled her hair and said, “Well, uh, I guess my next phone call should be to him.”
“That’s a good idea. And let’s plan something this weekend.”
“Yeah, let’s do that. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay, girl. Go get that man. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Jamila started the car and drove straight home deciding on the drive that she’d shower and relax before working up the nerve to call Morgan.
When she arrived home, Jamila noticed a package resting against the door – odd considering she hadn’t ordered anything. And there was no address on it. No labels whatsoever. She picked it up, looked around and then took it inside. Upon opening the package, she noticed it was a painting – the painting of her childhood home that she and Morgan had painted together. She marveled over how wonderful the picture had come out and she could see all the finishing touches he added to make the painting come alive. While she looked it over, she reminisced on the time she spent with Morgan. She enjoyed painting with him. She enjoyed being with him and she especially enjoyed the way he had kissed her.
She blinked out of her trance and looked at the note.
Jamila,
I hope you like the painting. I finished it for you. I hope it means something. I suppose I’ll use this opportunity to say the things I didn’t get a chance to say to you. When you saw me with the woman at the studio, she was talking about an exhibition. She’s a fellow artist. Nothing is going on between us. We were just doing what we always do as artists – share our successes and failures. There’re not many of us black artists around here, so the community we’ve built, we cherish.
But I do not cherish it more than you. I would never do anything to jeopardize my chances with you after fighting for you so hard—after falling in love with you before you ever gave me the time of day. I want to apologize for the comment I made about your ex. You have a right to feel the way that you do and you didn’t need to hear that at the moment. All you needed from me was understanding, and I wasn’t understanding because I didn’t understand. But, I do now. I understand that you had a bad experience and I’m not riding in on a white horse to make everything better. I just—I just want to be with you. Here is the poem I wrote for you in its entirety. I didn’t get the chance to slide the rest of it into your pocket.
A picture is worth a thousand words,
Still, I write my heart out to you.
These brushstrokes translate into beautiful love notes
That do the things I cannot do to you.
An evening with you feels like forever
I never want it to end
I always want you near me
Even if it’s just as a friend
Who am I kidding, just a friend
That for me surely won’t do
You are the bright light to my darkness
I carefully guide my steps straight to you
I’m no poet, I’m a painter
But these words I write tell a story
You plus me equals math I can teach
All for your honor and glory
So let us take this journey to happiness
It could be me and you forever
But first, let your friend know that you’re feeling me
And this is what you tell her
Say, yeah I thought he was different,
Girl, you know those painters
But when he kissed my lips, I almost slipped
I didn’t want to run, I wanted to thank him
Yeah, I’ve been through troubles,
You know the story, the situation was sticky
The man with two first names, however,
Taught me that love ain’t all that tricky.
It just takes patience, dedication, and trust
It takes holding onto the right one
Because at the end of the day, all I can say
Is, when I get started with you, I’m never done.
Let’s keep the momentum, ain’t no need to trip
I know you kinda feelin’ ya boy
Let’s turn ‘like’ into ‘love’, the kind from above
And we’ll experience the ultimate joy.
Jamila lowered the note to the table. The shower would have to wait. She needed to go get her man like Nia told her to.
She ran to her car and drove to his house and when she didn’t find him at home, she went straight to the studio. She parked and walked swiftly to his studio space. There he was, standing behind an easel wearing a black, paint-splattered smock over a black shirt and blue jeans. He looked up and saw her but didn’t acknowledge her right away. He just kept on painting. He was probably upset, she surmised. She couldn’t blame him for that.
Clenching her sweaty palms, she said, “Hi,” as she took further steps into his working space. “I got the painting.”
Morgan frowned slightly and kept on painting.
“Look, I wanted to come here and apologize for the way I reacted.”
“Why are you apologizing, Jamila? If that’s how you feel, then that’s how you feel.”
“It is how I feel, but—”
“Then there’s no need for you to apologize.”
“Morgan, I’m trying.”
Morgan lowered the brush to the table and said, “I don’t want you to change who you are because of me. I never asked you to. All I want for you is to acknowledge the pain you experienced with your ex and look at me as your something better, because that’s what I am, Jamila. I’m not in this to hurt you. I’m trying to get to know you. I want to grow with you and be a part of your life. I cannot do that if you’re looking at me through the lens of something somebody else did to you.”
Downcast, Jamila replied, “I understand,” then turned to walk away. She was too late. He must’ve had a change of heart since writing that note and those words in the poem he left for her.
Morgan asked, “Where are you going?”
“What?” she asked looking at him again.
“Where are you going?” he asked again.
“I—I’m leaving. You said you’re done.”
“I didn’t say I was done,” he said picking up a rag and wiping his hands as he walked over to her. “I said I can’t be a part of your life if you’re blaming me for something another man did to you. That’s what I said. And that means, the ball is in your court now. I know why you were lashing out at me—I get it—but now I need to know if we can move on from this?”
“Do you want to?” she asked.
Morgan smirked. “Of course I do. Do you want to, Jamila?”
She nodded. “Yes, but I—this is new for me. I don’t know if I will be able to—”
She looked up at the ceiling briefly to help keep the slight wetness in her eyes away, inhaled sharply, and said, “It’s not in me to be this relationship girl all over again, but I want to do it. For you.”
“I want you to do it for you, as well. I want you to be happy with this.”
Looking up into his eyes, she said, “I want you to be happy, too.”
“Good.” Morgan gripped her chin with his right hand and said, “Because I couldn’t dare take another week without talking to you, girl. Now, give me them lips.”
Cupping her chin, he tilted her head upward as his mouth slowly inched toward hers. And then he took a hard dive into her mouth, making sure he was getting all he’d missed last week. He gave her space, yes, but never gave up hope that he would have her in his arms again while moans emitted from her mouth. She leaned into him, relaxed and let herself feel all he had to give.
The kiss reinforced the words he said to her – he wasn’t a man who was trying to hurt her. She could feel that much in his kiss. Morgan was different – especially if he gave her a second chance after what she’d done.
Shivers ran through her after Morgan picked her up and lowered her to the table that housed his paint. It gave him better access to suck on her tongue hungrily and thoroughly. Her arms closed around him and as she held on to him, she matched his energy and deepened the kiss.
And then he leaned into her, accidentally knocking over a small can of teal paint.
Ending the kiss, he quickly turned the can right side up and said, “Look what you made me do,” then seductively bit his bottom lip while staring at her lips like he wanted seconds.
“I made you do that?”
“Yes,” he said, pressing his paint-coated index finger to the tip of her nose.
“Again with the paint on my nose?”
“Yes.” He pressed the tip of his nose to hers and now he had paint on his nose. “I say this links us together, so I’ma start telling people you’re my girl.”
“I guess that would make you my man.”
She smiled.
“I like the sound of that,” he said, then took her mouth again for another breathtaking kiss.