Romulus Read online

  When I don’t respond, he raises his thick, black eyebrows indicating that he’s still waiting for an answer.

  I try not to frown, but judging by the expression on his face, I know I’m rocking something akin to a frown right now. He looks confused with his eyes squinted. He’s trying to understand the things I’m not saying. He’s good at that, sometimes, but this particular time, I’m sure he has no clue. How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with him – especially when that best friend only sees you as a friend and nothing else? When that friend treats you almost like one of the guys and never thinks twice about confiding in you regarding his latest conquest?

  To other women, Romulus is just a player – a guy they’d jump to have a chance with even though he makes his no-strings-attached policy clear for them out the gate. To me, he’s more than that. He’s deeper than that. He’s not just a man with extraordinary good looks, a ripped body and a hefty bank account. That’s why I don’t understand why he’s the way he is with women when he’s so much more and deserves so much better. He’s smart. He negotiates land deals for St. Claire Architects. He even helped me acquire my store in this poppin’ community. I know I wouldn’t have gotten this prime location without his help.

  When it comes to love, however, he’s a no-show. He’s always been cut and dry, never one for involving his feelings in anything. For instance, right now, he knows I’m pissed at him about something. He cares about me but he tries not to care too much so the situation doesn’t affect his heart. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to penetrate it no matter how long we’ve been friends. No matter how many times I let him borrow this or that. Crash at my place. Cook for him. Clean for him. Romulus is Romulus. Take it or leave it. Lately, I’ve been thinking about leaving it.

  “Derra?”

  I glance up at the sound of my name off of his lips realizing I have yet to answer him. He’s holding a barbecue fish taco in front of his mouth, waiting for an answer before continuing his feast.

  “What are you talking about, Rom?” I ask. “I’m not sweatin’ anyone.”

  “You must be. After all, you did miss a family dinner for this dude—not to mention you’ve been avoiding me like the plague. Like I did something to you.” He changes his mind, places the taco back on his plate and goes for the Vodka-Sprite instead. He takes a quick sip then sets the glass back on the table. It’s mostly ice now.

  I fix my lips to speak a lie, knowing it’s a lie before it leaves my mouth when I say, “I haven’t been avoiding you—”

  “You have, and you know you have. I don’t know why you’re lying to me right now.”

  I sigh, avoiding his eyes, on the brink of getting up from this table and ending dinner early. Out of sheer frustration, because I’ve had years of it with him, I ask, “What does it matter whether I’m avoiding you? Who am I to you?”

  He frowns. Darts his head back like I’ve offended him. I don’t care if I did. I hate this feeling I have when I’m with him. It’s kinda like – well, when you see a guy you like and hope he notices you over all the other women. Hope he sees something special in you that other women don’t possess – but he never does. If this kind of oversight happened in passing, I could deal with it better – say if I was at a festival or something and I think I’m the hottest thing smoking, then another woman comes along and the hot, random guy suddenly turns his interest from me to her. That sort of thing. But this feeling – the feeling of being invisible and not good enough for the man I love – happens to me every single time I’m with Romulus.

  I’ve come to the conclusion that I will never be good enough to actually catch his eye even though he’s spent more time with me than all the women he’d dated combined. I’m his friend. He’s my friend. That’s been the only thing between us and I feel like I’m breaking some unwritten, code of conduct that states the best friend can’t fall in love with the best friend. Now, what do I do? Remain friends with a guy who I’m in love with, yet who could never be mine? That’s too much torture for me. So yes, I started seeing someone – the guy who owns the guitar shop a few doors down from me. He’s a nice guy, so I thought I’d give him a shot and finally go out on a date with him. Have some male interaction with a man who’s actually feeling me. Only problem is, I’m not feeling him. But hey, you know what they say – if you can’t have the one you love, love the one you’re with.

  Don’t get it twisted – I don’t love guitar dude by any stretch of the imagination, but you know what I mean.

  “I can’t believe you just asked me that,” Romulus says. “Did you really just ask me that?”

  “Forget it,” I say, placing my feelings aside because I’ve become good at doing that in his presence – a learned behavior that I acquired from years of hanging around him. “I’m trippin’ right now. Forget I said anything.”

  I scoop up some corn salsa. He resumes eating his taco, glancing at me when he thinks I’m not looking.

  Since we’re on the patio, we can see people passing by on the sidewalk. Two white girls walk by wearing Chuck’s. One girl has purple streaks in her blonde hair. The other blows a plume of smoke out of her mouth from vaping.

  Guys ride by with big rims on their cars, bumping the latest Drake and DJ Khaled. Moments later, we hear the firetruck from the firehouse on the corner rev up its engine and blaring siren.

  “Who are you to me?” he asks after the noise dies down. He shakes his head slowly.

  My question bothers him. Rattles him. He can’t seem to let it go. “Forget it, Rom.”

  He finds a napkin beneath his plate, wipes his mouth and says, “I don’t want to forget it. I want to talk about it. You brought it up, so who are you to me, Derra?”

  I look away from him. When he’s agitated, it’s difficult for me to maintain eye contact with him. I take a moment to get my thoughts in order. I can’t blow up, storm off, get an attitude. I can’t even make the wrong expression, because no one knows me better than Romulus-freakin’-St. Claire.

  I sip more of my drink and respond, “I—um—I’m your friend.” Saying those words out loud does something to me at that moment. It makes me realize I will never be more than that to him. A friend. I can’t be that friend. Not anymore.

  I take a moment to wipe my mouth then leave some money on the table because I don’t want him paying for me like he always does – like we’re on a date. We’re just friends. Friends pay for their own food, right?

  “What are you doing?” he asks. “We’re not finished eating.”

  “I’m finished. Have a good evening, Romulus.”

  “Derra, wait,” he says.

  I keep going.

  The good thing about sitting on the patio is the outside exit. I walk right out onto the sidewalk and run across the street before a line of cars gets here. Then I head around the building so I can take the stairs up to my apartment.

  When I’m inside, I breathe hard. My chest feels heavy. I can’t believe I left him like that. I’ve never just left him no matter how mad I was at him about something or how mad he was at me – I’ve never up and left. But I had to. Now, I wait like a sitting duck for the moment I hear his large fist banging on my door because I know he’s not going to let this go.

  Romulus doesn’t let anything go without it being thoroughly talked about. Explained to death. He needs to understand why things happen. He’s been this way since I’ve known him – since we met our freshman year at UNC. I still remember how we met.

  He’d showed up the first day of class without a pencil, pen – nothing to write with – and the teacher came out the gate swinging on day one. Romulus tapped on my shoulder. I turned around to see this good-looking guy smiling at me – teeth as white as my loose leaf paper. He whispered if he could borrow a pen then joked and said if I let him borrow one, he’d be my best friend, flashing his white teeth again. I was so floored by how good he looked, I’m surprised I didn’t fall out of the chair. I somehow managed to maintain my balance while handing him a pen.
I never thought we’d become friends for real, but that’s what ended up happening. I got stuck being his friend. The guy who all the girls wanted was easily accessible to me, but only a friend. He never tried to kiss me. Never hugged me excessively long or shown any interest in anything besides a friendship. I got friend-zoned a long time ago.

  I finger comb my hair up into a ponytail and fall on the couch, thinking about him. I’m always thinking about him. Handsome, muscular guys like Romulus are usually perceived as airheads, but Romulus is smart – like seriously a borderline genius. Ask him the square root of anything and he’s got the answer back to you in a second. He helped me through many analytics and business math classes. But like most geniuses, he can’t relate much to feelings. He can’t understand why certain things happen and how people react to them.

  For instance, when his sister-in-law, Gianna, gave birth to her daughter, she had some unexpected complications. Instead of trying to console his brother, Ramsey, Romulus went and stood up against the wall. I’m sure it affected him – I mean he is human – but there’s a missing link in the pathway to his heart. That’s why it’s so easy for him to be a friend to me, but nothing more. Dating all these women is easy when he doesn’t have the ability to form any sort of attachment to any of them. In his eyes, they could never be good enough for him. No one can.

  Boom, boom, boom.

  And so it begins…

  He’s knocking. I know it’s him because I don’t get visitors up here. If I’m hanging out with my girls, we go kick it someplace else or at their houses – not here in my cramped, little apartment. Plus, I know the sound of his big fist banging on my door.

  Boom, boom, boom.

  “Open the door, Derra. I need to talk to you for a minute.”

  My chest tightens. Now, what am I going to do? I could just tell him the truth – tell him how I feel and keep my fingers crossed. Hope for the best. But I know I won’t confess anything. I’ve never had it in me to be upfront with him. Never been the aggressor in any relationship.

  “Derra!”

  “Hold on! I’m coming,” I say finally getting up from the sofa. I open the door and there he stands, filling my doorframe with his height.

  Brows furrowed, he asks, “Can I come in or—?”

  “Yeah, you can come in.” I step aside so he can enter, already feeling the tension intensifying between us. I know he feels it, too. He won’t admit it, though. Not his style.

  “Why’d you leave dinner?” he asks, cutting right to the chase. There’s no beating around the bush with Romulus.

  I sit on the sofa and take a breath, thinking that now’s my chance to tell him how I really feel. Tell him, Derra. Just say it. Say I’m in love with you. Tell him.

  “I—um—I’m—” I cover my face with my hands.

  He sits next to me. I feel the warmth radiating from his body. Smell his delicious scent – one I can never seem to get used to. It engulfs me like fire to gasoline.

  “What’s on your mind, Derra?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing,” I cower, revealing my face again

  “Nothing,” he repeats. “I was trying to have a conversation with you, but you flipped out on me.”

  “I didn’t flip out, Rom. I just wasn’t in the mood to talk.”

  “But why? Because I asked about your dude?”

  My dude…

  I went on a date with him once. I don’t consider Jamar my dude after one date. He’s a nice guy who works a few stores down and asked me out on a date, so I went. What was the alternative – wait around for Romulus to actually notice me. Like that would ever happen…

  “Derra?”

  “No, I don’t care that you asked me about him. I just wasn’t in the mood for conversation. To be honest with you, I didn’t feel like going out to dinner tonight, anyway.”

  “Then why didn’t you say that upfront? I would’ve gone home if I knew I was going to be a bother.”

  “Romulus, don’t play that game with me.”

  “What game? I’m serious, Derra. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling it?”

  I can’t believe he’s asking me that. Why didn’t I tell him? So I could hear him complain about us not spending time together and all that. As it stands, he acts like I committed a felony when I didn’t show up to his mother’s for family dinner. So, canceling tonight would’ve definitely pushed him to the edge.

  I lounge back on my plush sofa cushions, still somewhat foggy after the drink and I feel like I’m sweatier than normal. And hot. I’m burning up. I pinch my shirt and move it back and forth quickly to generate some air.

  Romulus leans back to where I am, looks at me and asks, “Are you drunk?”

  “No, I’m not drunk,” I say, not bothering to look at him. He’s asking me if I’m drunk and I can smell Vodka on his breath. Some nerve…

  “Then talk to me. You haven’t been making much sense lately.”

  “I haven’t been making much sense?” I ask, making the mistake of turning my head to the left to see him staring back at me with those darling eyes. Oh my gosh…I do believe my heart skipped a beat.

  “No, you haven’t. I feel like I’ve done something to you and you won’t come out and say it. Be open with me.”

  “Rom, I—”

  “Stop beating around the bush and get it out.”

  I blow a breath. Close my eyes. He’s on a rant, killing my slight buzz.

  “It all started with the family dinner,” he says. “You weren’t there—didn’t give me a heads up that you weren’t going to be there, but you called my mother to inform her that you weren’t coming because you had a date. When I asked you about it at Gianna’s baby shower, all you had to say was you had a new mindset as to the reason why you didn’t show up. So, I assumed this new mindset was the guy you claimed you had a date with. Am I right?”

  He’s partially right but since I don’t want to breakdown or clarify anything any further, I say, “Yes, Romulus. You’re right. I didn’t come to the dinner because I went out with Jamar.”

  “Jamar,” he says with derision. He pauses. Thinks for a minute. He’s still staring at me, looking like his pride is damaged. Something about learning Jamar’s name pisses him off. “You blew me off for a date with Jamar.”

  “No. The date happened to fall on the same night as the dinner, so I chose to go with him. And why am I explaining myself to you right now? You go out all the time. I’m not running down behind you, keeping track of your crowded dating schedule.”

  Ignoring me, he says, “So you chose to spend the night with Jamar rather than with your family.”

  My eyes narrow. “Why are you saying his name like that?”

  “Answer my question.”

  “Romulus in case you’re confused, my last name isn’t St. Claire. I love your mother and father to death. I even love your brothers like they were my very own brothers, but if we’re getting technical, they’re not my family and neither are you.”

  “Wow,” he says processing what I told him, then a frown appears.

  I sigh. I know what I’m working with. Know what I said has bruised him somehow, but it wasn’t my intention. He wanted me to be straight up and so I took his advice. Still, I see that he’s thrown off base by my words. For a guy who’s usually never rattled by anything, I’ve noticed some things I say to him affects him more than I think they probably should. More than much worse crap he lets roll off of his shoulders that has nothing to do with me. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this,” I say, attempting to smooth things over.

  “You just stuck a knife in my back. I think that’s a pretty big deal,” he says, standing, pacing the floor. “I never knew I meant so little to you.”

  I stand up when I say, “Romulus, you know that’s not true.”

  He ignores me, walks to the door. I catch up to him, secure my arms around him as much as I can. I can feel his body is stiff. He’s upset. He hates to show it, but I know he is.

  “I’m sorry,
Rom. I didn’t mean that,” I say, releasing him so I can step around him and see his face. Here I stand before him, staring helplessly, losing myself in the eyes of the man I love.

  “Why’d you say it if you didn’t mean it?” he asks.

  “I told you I wasn’t necessarily in the mood to talk right now. You’re basically trying to make me do something I’m not ready for and—”

  “And things just come out wrong, huh?” he asks. “Is that what you’re trying to say, or do they come out more truthful?”

  “Romulus, I think the world of you. All I was trying to say was, those are your family members. If I date someone and end up falling in love—not saying it’s going to be Jamar, I’m just saying—if I fall in love and marry someone else, do you think my husband is going to want me spending time with you and your family? I’m thirty years old. I want to fall in love. I want children and quite frankly, I can’t keep spending all of my time with you when my prince charming is out there somewhere waiting for me. That’s what I meant by a new mindset. I need to start thinking about my future.”

  “And I’m nowhere in your future. I get it.” He steps around me to continue to the door. He stops shy of grabbing the doorknob, then turns to look at me again. “But just for the record, I would never—not in a million years—do to you what you’re doing to me right now. Bye, Derra.”

  I’m crushed. I feel like I’ve actually hurt the man who’s incapable of being hurt. He’s gone and I’m left feeling guilty and angry at myself, trying to think of all the different ways I could’ve said what I said without the end result being him left feeling insulted.

  Chapter 2

  Romulus

  It wasn’t like Romulus to show up at Ramsey’s house on a Saturday but since he called ahead and knew Ramsey was hanging around the house today with the family, he decided to take the drive from Ballantyne to Lake Norman. He had a lot on his mind and brooding around the house was doing nothing to help the cause.

  “Hey, Romulus,” Gianna said after answering the door.

  “Hey, sis,” he said, giving her a loose hug since he knew she was still recovering. “What are you doing answering the door?”