"So do I."

THIRTY-ONE.

Soon food was on the table. Logan blessed the meal. I waited out of respect.

Crab angels. Fresh basil rolls. Thai barbecue chicken. Catfish special. Thai teas.

We remained civilized yet tense, ate like normal people, that elephant sitting between us as we dined. Surin West was large, its decor made me feel like I was in Thailand, the place smelling of so many spices, every wall adorned with photographs of Thailand and its people.

Lunch was done, more like we'd eaten all we wanted to eat, had delayed as much as we could.

I glanced at my watch and said, "Thirty minutes have passed. You've said nothing."

He nodded. "I just don't know what to say."

"You have me here. You have my ear. You sent flowers and cards and messages, and you promised to stop it all if I went to lunch with you. If I gave you an hour. Well, I'm here. Stop delaying."

"You make it sound like you're in one of those Hollywood meetings."

"Excuse me?"

"The ones your mother runs. You said she could be brutal. When you walk into her office you'd better have your stuff together. How she gives you one minute, two if she likes you."

"I am my mother's child."

He gave a short smile, one that implied that maybe that was the problem.

I saw a montage of memories in his eyes. They went by like a silent film, each memory in color, each and every one he possessed, the moments he was clinging to, places we had traveled, going to football and basketball games, times spent at Memphis in May, times spent gambling in Mississippi, walking through the Civil Rights Museum, going to the Orpheum, Play house Square, Pink Palace Museum, trips to Nashville, watching films, cooking for me, working out at the gym, riverboat cruises. A season of memories went by in his eyes. I had wanted to see Memphis, he was my guide to all things new.

Those were mostly daytime memories. Wonderful experiences, my venture into the unknown.

But I remembered the ones that came at night. The ones that left me unfulfilled.

I remembered opening my legs with him and feeling cheap for allowing myself to do so.

I remembered him coming and me holding him so he couldn't see the disgust in my face.

He lowered his head, frustration so heavy it strained his neck, voice thick and sullen as he said, "When I played for U of M I never fumbled a ball. Why can't I hold on to you?"

"Because I'm not a football."

"Always the smartass."

I paused, let seriousness settle between us.

Without the sarcasm my heart rate would rise, my palms would become damp. Without the use of wit as a defense mechanism he would know I was afraid. Fear was weakness uncontrolled.

He asked, "Do you have to sleep with so many men to find plea sure?"

"I don't sleep with a lot of men."

"How many men will you have to sleep with to find plea sure?"

"And plea sure is more than sex. It's mental as well."

"You said you were with two men while we were together. Was that mental? Was being with two men you didn't know, was being with strangers mental?"

"I didn't come here for you to scold or condemn me at length."

"I'm not trying to do that to you. Just asking. As a friend."

"As a friend? We've never been friends."

"All the shit we did?"

"A friend would listen and try to understand another friend."

"How will you know when you're satisfied?"

"What is this, my inquisition? Do I get burned at the stake after this? Where is this going?"

"I'm just trying to understand."

"No, you're not trying to understand because people who try to understand stop transmitting and receive." I spoke in an angry whisper. "You're trying to make me feel guilty. It's not working. If you had it your way, there would be no questions. When people don't see things your way, instead of embracing and trying to understand another point of view, you try to criticize and dissect and ridicule."

He fidgeted while I once again became agitated, defensive, argued on behalf of me. When I was done, he sat back, sipped his Thai tea, and shook his head like I was way off base.

He said, "It's not about what man wants, it's about what God wants."

"You don't see the difference?"

"There is no difference."

"So there is no difference between man and God?"

He took a breath, his expression perplexed and frustrated. "I'm just trying to understand."

"God?"

"You. I'm trying to understand you."

He took a deep breath, his exasperation rising.

He repeated, "How will you know when you're satisfied?"

"Why do I feel like I'm being persecuted? Why do I feel as if I'm walking uphill carrying a cross?"

"Doing this shit, living this way makes you feel free?"

"Relationships can be slavery."

"Relationships are salvation."

"At least the ones I've been in have felt that way, like slavery."

He cleared his throat, nodded. "So, being in a relationship with me was slavery."

It was my turn to take a deep breath. Aggravated. This had been a mistake. A big mistake.

I'd thought he was going to bring me something new.

He only had one song to sing, and his song made me weary.

We could argue until the sun fell from the sky and nothing would change. He had his point of view. I had mine. It was as if we each had our own religion.

Logan said, "I was dumb to fall for anybody like you. Just dumb. I loved making love to you. Loved being with you. I was very comfortable with you. You might have been messing around, but even now, after all of this time, I'm not ready to let down my guard and sleep with anybody else. Not yet. Love you too much. I don't like the fact that I love you, but I do."

Again I felt rankled. Again I struggled to remain in control.

He said, "I wanted to clear a few things up."

I nodded.

"I never cheated on you, Nia. Never. I had plenty of chances to, but I am not about that."

"Okay. You could've said that in a text message."

"Not that. Wanted to look you in your face and tell you that."

I nodded. That didn't mean I believed him, just wanted him to continue.

He went on. "I don't chase women. A man will lose a lot of money chasing women, but a man will never lose women chasing money. I have money. I have never had to chase a woman."

I didn't say anything.

He sighed. "But I'm chasing you."

I had a moment of empathy for him. He was me when I was at Hampton, pleading for my lover to love only me, asking for the impossible. Logan looked defeated, but remained in battle, determined. Again, as the lunchtime crowd chattered, as silverware clanked against plates, as the wonderful scents of spicy beef and chicken and curry dishes laced with pork filled the air, I gave him my attention and silence. We had only been here a few minutes. Some minutes felt like seconds, these minutes felt like hours.

Logan panted.

I asked, "You okay over there?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Just can't...what I feel for you...it won't...I can't stop loving you."

Once again he was getting emotional.

I said, "You will. You will move on and find a better love. A better love is always around the corner. You just have to let go and remain open to the possibilities. You will find a better love."

"When?"

"You will, Logan. Just let me go. Let it go. Part of being in love, if you love me, if you really, really love me, is learning to let go. If you loved me you would want me to be happy. No matter what my choices were, you'd want me to be happy. The same goes for any other woman in your life. Love wouldn't want you to make anyone a prisoner. Love is not supposed to suffocate anybody."

He lowered his head.

I felt like I was talking to a grown man whose body had developed, but his mind hadn't evolved, not in a way that would allow him to be able to deal with matters of the heart.

I said, "Sometimes you have to let go."

He paused before he sighed.

He said, "I know."

"Logan..."

He raised a finger, did that like he didn't want me to say another word.

I let him have his moment, pretended to live in the land of guilt and shame.

What ever it took. What ever it took to end this madness, I was willing to do.

But still, since the eye could not see itself, I had to ask him one question.

"Logan, how do you see me?"

"You really want me to answer that?"

"I asked. Pull no punches. How do you see me?"

"You have to have everything your way. You don't compromise. You're a spoiled brat."

"Spoiled brat? I've worked hard to get where I am. Spoiled? I compromise. I choose who I compromise with and what I compromise about. I compromise every day of my life. You think that because I didn't choose to compromise with you that I don't compromise? And you call me spoiled?"

"I think you're afraid of me. Not me, as in the person I am, but what a man like me offers. I think it's too much for you. I thing you're shallow and pathetic. I think real love, pure love, you can't handle that. You need the shallow shit. Men you meet for a night and never see again. You need the lost and shallow people in your life, people like yourself, so you'll feel comfortable. Church or whore house, we all go where we feel comfortable. You can be in control with people like that. You can't control real people."

His denunciation ended there.

We stared at each other.

I asked, "You done?"