Chapter 40: Chapter 40

Scott insists on driving me to the airport, even though I told him he doesn’t have to. He drops me off at terminal one and asks me to wait for him while he parks the car. It’s snowing outside and the roads are slushy, so I point out where I will be waiting for him and go inside. I watch his black Mercedes drive off, his tires lose traction as pieces of snow fly up from the road. I stare wistfully as he drives off wishing he’d come too. Lately, we’ve been inseparable, and it will be more fun if he comes.

A skinny lady with two little boys that appear to be five and seven walked by me. Both kids are playing with toy airplanes mimicking captains of crashing flights. The mother shudders when the kids create a sonic boom noise as the two planes collide into each other while she continues to struggle to carry her one very large suitcase.

Scott’s familiar touch distracts me from the lady and her two sons, “Are you ready?” His chocolate brown hair reaches his shoulder blades and his warm eyes and sweet smile make me dread our separation. It’s going to be a long seven days.

“Sure am,” I say sounding more enthusiastic than I feel. I reach for my bag, but Scott gently swats my hand away, to porter for me. We find the long line belonging to the domestic flight's booth and wait to check-in. Scott reaches for my hand with his free hand and holds me while we stand in line. I stroke his fingers and get lost looking into his dreamy eyes, “Tell your mother I say hello, and make sure you text me on Christmas.”

“I’ll call you,” he corrects, reminding me he’s not into social media the way I am. I eat, sleep, breathe it, whereas he can live without it. When it’s my turn in line, Scott steps aside while I hand the lady my boarding pass. He places the luggage where she directs him to and then we find a secluded area in the airport near my boarding gate where we can snuggle without too many passengers seeing us.

We lean against a glass wall overlooking the Air Nigeria hangar, unknowingly giving all their employees a full visual. We keep it clean kissing each other frantically only breaking away when I hear the last boarding call to my flight to Abuja. I have to push him away which isn’t an easy feat and dash to the gate before the plane leaves without me. I turn to him one last time and wave before leaving him.

Mom and Aunt Grace pull up in an old Cadillac convertible with lowered suspension creating the illusion that the car is only a few inches above the ground. It’s sunny outside but the temperature is only sixty so I’m surprised to see them driving with the soft-top down. They are wearing sunglasses and their hair is all disheveled, but they appear happy.

The trunk pops open as I approach and I place my bag into it before getting into the back seat of the car. Mom and Aunt Grace look back at me with huge smiles on their faces while drivers impatiently start honking at us for not moving quickly enough. Mom throws the car into drive and pulls away from the curb placating them. As our speed picks up so does the wind, whipping strands of my hair into my face. I hold it into a make-do ponytail with my hands as I try to take in my surroundings.

Mom pulls up to a large wrought iron fence hiding a pretty little bungalow. Magically the fence slowly opens allowing us entry to the curved driveway lined with shrubs. Mom parks the car under the canopy situated next to the house. The modern house is adorned with a stucco exterior and a rust-colored Spanish roof. Oddly enough it’s the bay window that captures my attention housing Aunt Grace’s most precious plants, “It’s lovely,” I compliment.

“Thanks,” Aunt Grace answers proudly, “Dinner will be ready in an hour.” Mom pops the trunk, causing my attention to be drawn away from the house. I grab my bag and followed them inside. They give me a grand tour of the house showing me their modern kitchen with new appliances modeled after the nineteen-fifties era. There are three nicely sized bedrooms and one living room with the bay window that houses the only television in the entire house. I can foresee seven days of boredom, thank God for my cellphone. I put the hour to good use unpacking my bag and taking a shower before hearing Aunt Grace call out, “Dinner’s ready!”

They are already sitting at the table by the time I arrive. I take the vacant chair and stare at my plate. It’s a meager portion of salad with a vinaigrette dressing over top. Their salad has carrots, nuts, shredded cheese, “Did you forget to make mine?” I ask sarcastically. The memories of starving while living with mom come flooding back. Mom places her fork down on the table and looks at me exasperated, “You can’t turn into a fat blob if you want to do shows. You have to look pretty on the ice, like a princess to get the good contracts.”

She looks over at Aunt Grace for help, who looks back at me, “Well dear, unless you’re trying for the part of Fiona from Shrek, you’re too chunky to be a princess and that hair of yours, when’s the last time you had it cut?” She says utterly disgusted.

“You must have gained twenty pounds since the Olympics! What have you been doing?” Mom complains. “I know we’ve both been through a lot but you don’t see me packing on weight! What’s Scott feeding you?”

Aunt Grace looks worried, “Please tell me that gorgeous boy isn’t following in your footsteps?” Mom glares at Aunt Grace, “Surely you jest, and that beautiful boy will never have an ounce of fat on him. That reminds me I must call Deborah and wish her a Merry Christmas!”

Aunt Grace ignores her and says to me, “We’ll book you in with Clive after Christmas so he can fix that matted mess of yours. He does amazing perms and color treatments. His cuts are great when his arthritis isn’t acting up.”

Mom grins, “Wait until you meet him! He is as queer as they come and for a ninety-five-year-old, he’s a natural Edward Scissors Hand.”

“What happens when it flares up,” I ask worriedly.

Mom shrugs, “He usually cuts too much off. We just complain and then he gives us an extra five percent off on top of the senior’s discount.”

“I’ll wait until I go back home,” I tell them.

“You don’t know whose good where you live, trust us, they don’t get better than Clive. He might retire next year; this might be your only chance to meet him.”

Grace looks up dreamily, “If only he were thirty years younger.” “You’re such a dirty old woman,” mom complains.

Offended Grace reminds mom, “This is coming from someone who watched Coming to America ten times?”

Mom ignores her turning her attention back on to me, “Isabella, I hope you and Scott aren’t screwing just because you live together?”

“Hardly appropriate dinner table conversation,” Grace comments. “It’s not like her dad is here to hear it,” she defends.

“We’re dating,” I admit.

“Not for much longer if you pork out,” mom says under her breath. “Let’s just have a nice meal,” Grace buffers.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I answer. “Have you seen what I’ve been given to eat?”

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” Auntie Grace pats my hand, “you’re having the same soup as us.”

I retire to my bedroom early for some serious sexting with Scott.

I’m not sure if I should call or text him so I text.

ISABELLA: Scott?

SCOTT: Call me on mom’s line.

ISABELLA: Ok

I dial his mother’s number and he picks up right away, “Isabella?”

“It’s me.”

“I’ve been worried.”

“Sorry, I would have called you earlier, but I was saving it for right before bed.”

“Is that where you are right now?”

“Ya,”

“Me too,” he admits.

I miss him. It feels comforting just to speak with him on the phone. His voice is deep and gravelly. It has a sexy tone, even when he isn’t trying to be. I cuddle under my covers with the lights off in my room and concentrate on him, his breathing, his words, pretending he is lying next to me. I touch myself gliding my fingers over my sex pretending they are his. When he notices I’m quiet, he asks what I’m doing, I admit that I’m masturbating to the sound of his voice and he says that is so hot, he starts stroking himself too. I listen to his short breaths that get shorter as he gets closer to coming, and then there is a long sigh. I know he’s finished. He whispers into the phone, “I love you.”

I whisper back, “I love you too.”