Return to Love

“Regina was pregnant when she graduated.”

“Pregnant?”

“She was pregnant, and it was yours, and that’s all I know.”

This was all the information he could get out of his old friend, but it sent him reeling.

Regina had called things off between them just before she graduated. They were supposed to graduate together from Howard University and then get married. Except that, by the end of senior year, he was still a year behind on his classes because he’d been partying too much.

His parents had never given up on him, even after his near-failing grade reports. When Regina put him out, he’d felt like nothing. He’d decided not to come back until he’d made something of himself, until he could show her that he could take care of things. Although he tried, he couldn’t do much about that semester, and he mourned the whole summer over their breakup. But the following semester, after she’d already finished and moved on, he was back with a vengeance, determined to prove himself.

He finished his undergraduate degree in accounting and did an internship within the year. Then he went on to an MBA in accounting and finance. He couldn’t get into an accelerated program because of his grade point average, but he used the two-year program to take real-estate and investment classes. He graduated at the top of his class and then sat for the CPA exam.

In a way, his goal had become money. He joined an accounting firm and used all his degrees to start amassing a bank account. Then he made a vertical move to the position he was in now so that he could move back to the DC area, where Regina still was.

But it wasn’t just money; he wanted everything that came with real success, real responsibility. And he wanted to be more cultured, too. No more baggy pants, no more ghetto fashion, no more looking like the hood. Everything about his life was bent on making it, looking the part, being professional, working hard, getting it right.

She’d gone to study with some artists for a year—or so he’d heard. But other than that, she had stayed in the area after their Howard years. He didn’t have many details; after a while people had finally started to get the message and had stopped telling him her activities. By the time she got back to DC after her year away, he was immersed in his own MBA program down home in South Carolina, trying to catch up. What his buddy had said fell into place. That year away would have been when she’d had their child.

Was it one child or two? Yes, he would be finding out.

He just had to get through the day. Then he had to get his game back and make it through the rest of the week. This weekend he would stake his claim.

* * *

Regina turned the car off and grabbed her purse. She’d had an errand to run for her morning office job, and then she had to drop off some of her pieces at a gallery downtown that was having a showing of local artists. By the time she got to the studio, she was running late.

She found Amelie finishing up with a customer. She had sold one of her large, bead-covered bowls and had a new beadwork project in process on the back table in the bead section.

“Sorry I’m late. I hope that means we’ve been doing well today.”

“No problem, and yes—relatively speaking. We’ve sold one of yours and one of mine. Whoo-hoo.”

There was no one else in the shop, so Regina started pulling out her project. “I don’t know if that’s anything to whoo-hoo about. But it’s good. We have to get our front fixed up soon.”

“I know. I registered us for the seminar you were talking about,” Amelie said, “the one at the community center on starting up a small business.”

“Oh, good. I’ve been working on our paperwork from the books I found.”

And she had been. It was like having another part-time job. Regina pulled out her tiles and began setting up her workstation.

“I didn’t make it to the post office today,” Regina said.

“I’m going to leave early to get some of my jewelry to the consignment shop. Is there anything you want me to take to the post office for you on my way?”

“No, I haven’t even wrapped the package yet. I’ll get it tomorrow. You take off.”

“Okay. I put out two new pieces. This one—” Amelie pointed to a necklace “—is made of yellow jasper beads with cowrie shell accents, and this one—” she pointed to a jewelry box “—is made with rose quartz and Czech glass.”

“They’re beautiful. You keep getting more elaborate.”

“That’s the point.”

After Amelie left, Regina sat down to her project. She was on the sky section and needed to break some more light blue and white tiles. It was the act of hammering the pieces under a cloth that made her think of Nigel. That fraud.

She replaced the cloth and banged the center of a large blue tile, splitting it into triangles. It had been almost a week since he’d appeared out of the blue, and she’d finally stopped worrying that every stranger who turned up might be him coming back for round two.

She straightened out the cloth and went for the triangles, smashing them into small trapezoids. She would get him his item and be done with him. She had too much going on in her life that she wanted to get done. She didn’t need one more thing to distract her.

* * *

Nigel checked the inside pocket of his sports suit to make sure he had everything. She wouldn’t be flinging his check back at him this time. He took a breath. No need to go there yet. He hadn’t gotten anything in the mail, so maybe her bark wasn’t as bad as her bite.

He got out of the car and started unloading the packages from the backseat. It was after 8:00 p.m. on a Sunday, and the studio was closed, so he assumed they’d be home, tomorrow being a school day. He’d get all the packages up the back steps before ringing the buzzer.

It was beginning to get dark outside, so when she opened the door, the warm, yellow light from inside haloed behind her and made her look like an angel—his angel. She had on white leggings and a summer camisole, but the soft fabrics hugged her curves in a way that made his mouth water.

Except that her hips were deeper, she hadn’t changed from the girl he loved. She had natural dimples in the curve of her cheeks so that she looked always on the verge of a smile, and her tapered waist flared out into the most luscious behind he’d ever seen. Even in the simple leggings that she had on now, she made his knees weak.

Her hair was different this time—pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck in a way that emphasized her umber eyes. The anger he saw form in her eyes at the sight of him in the doorway snapped him back to the present, to the fact that they were torn apart.

“Hello, Reggie.”

“Don’t hello me. What on earth are you doing at my house?”

The moment she opened her mouth, his calm was shattered, but he didn’t show it. There was no mistaking the animosity in her voice. She didn’t want him in her private space. She didn’t want him anywhere near her at all.

“I still need to speak with you. Can I come in?”

“No. No, you cannot. And I don’t have anything to say to you.”

He didn’t want to force things with her. He’d let her cut him off time and again in the studio, intentionally giving her the upper hand so that she could see that he wasn’t there to threaten her. But this time, he wasn’t going to back down. This time, he wasn’t going to be sent away.

“Look, Reggie. You and whoever you’re with will not keep me from my child. Or children. You don’t have the right to do that.”

“What?”

“I want to see my children. I know I haven’t been there for them so far, but that will not be the case from here on out.”

She sighed, and he saw some of the fight go out of her—not the rage or the anger that he saw in her eyes, but some of the fight. Her shoulders slumped, and she turned into the apartment, walking away from him.

He gathered up the packages from the stairwell and followed her inside. She had her back to him and seemed to be staring at the wall or at nothing, so he shut the door behind them.

He had been gone a long time. He knew that. Perhaps she had to decide if he was safe or if she was willing to share their children. Or perhaps she just needed to get her mind accustomed to the idea.

He was standing in what turned out to be the dining area, with a kitchen off to the side. There was no partition separating it from the living room, where she now stood.

The first thing he saw was the art. It filled her rooms with color, and she’d even painted the chairs and cabinets and bookshelves to make them pop. All of her touches filled the room—the African masks and dolls on the walls, the embroidered cushions on the sofa, the framed paintings and mosaics covering the walls. So much claimed his eyes that he almost missed how worn down the permanent structure underneath was.