Close but careful. The kind where you knew each other's patterns too well to hide in them. Desawn answered with, "What's wrong? " Because Marcus only called on week nights when something was wrong. Marcus told him about the restructuring first. Desawn listened and said, "Get the document and fight it.
You got the numbers clean, practical, the way their father had taught both of them to approach a problem. " Then Marcus told him about Clare and Desawn was quiet for a moment longer than usual. "How long has this been going on? " Desawn asked. "Nothing is going on, Marcus. We're neighbors. We're friends.
You called me on a Tuesday night to talk about a woman. I called you to talk about work. You talked about work for 4 minutes and you've been talking about her for 9. " Desawn's voice was not unkind. It was the voice of a man who had watched his brother disappear into survival mode for 4 years and was being careful with what he found on the other side of it. Is she good?
She's Yeah, she's good. Does she see you? The question landed the same way Linda's version of it had. Why does everyone keep asking me that? Because it's the only question that matters.
Deshawn paused. Diane saw you. That's why losing her broke you the way it did. Not just love. She saw the whole man.
That's rare. That's the thing. A longer pause. I'm just asking if this woman does the same thing. Marcus sat with that for a long time.
Long enough that Desawn said his name quietly to check he was still there. Yeah. Marcus said, "She does. " Desawn exhald slowly. Then don't blow it by being scared. I'm not scared.
You are absolutely scared. Marcus didn't argue. They talked for another 20 minutes about other things to Shaun's kids. Their mother's upcoming birthday, a trip they'd been half planning for 3 years to take to New Orleans together, normal things, the kind of conversation that stitched a life together from the outside when the inside was still figuring out its new shape. After he hung up, Marcus sat in the dark kitchen for a long moment.
Then he got up, went to the hall closet, and took out his suit. It was a good suit. He had bought it for a hotel industry conference two years ago. Charcoal gray, well-cut, the kind of thing that worked because it was simple and he wore it like it belonged to him. He put it on the hanger on the back of his bedroom door and looked at it.