The Pleasure Of His Company

“Are you heading down?”

“Not anymore, now that you’re here,” her mother said.

Of course not. What she hoped was a smile spasmed across Adah’s face. “Okay. My room or yours?”

“Yours, of course. You must want to shower and get cleaned up after being out there in the heat.” Her mother fanned her face with her slender clutch purse as she stepped back to let Adah off the elevator. “After ten minutes out there, it felt like my skin was covered with sand and sweat.”

She fell in step with Adah down the wide and well-lit hallway toward the small room Adah had booked. Adah cringed, suddenly remembering her mess. Although she’d been in Aruba for only a day, most of the contents of her suitcase were already spread all over the room, a tendency toward untidiness she carried over from how she treated her space at home. The common areas were orderly and almost obsessively neat, but her bedroom and bathroom were booby-trapped with piles of clothes, books and makeup in danger of falling over.

She wasn’t dirty, Adah often reassured herself, just disorganized. Her habit of just stuffing her rolled travel clothes into her suitcase in no discernible pattern meant she often had to dig to the bottom of her luggage to find the exact thing she needed. Then after all that searching, who wanted to repack everything? There was just no point.

Her mother was the complete opposite. She used packing cubes, elegant and expensive, that she carefully arranged before each trip. Underwear in one cube, dresses in another and so on. Then she just slipped the prepacked cubes into the drawers of whatever hotel she checked into. Adah envied her mother’s ability to easily and neatly transition from place to place. But Adah had never made any effort to take on those qualities for herself.

Biting the proverbial bullet, she slid the keycard in and opened her door. “Come on in.”

Inside was the same disorder she’d left. Clothes all over the bed and the chair near the window. Her suitcase gaped open on the dresser with her other bathing suit and underwear spilling out. She grabbed clothes from the chair and tossed them on top of the suitcase.

“Sit.” She scrubbed a hand self-consciously over her windblown hair. “I’m going to have a quick shower—just make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s okay, darling.”

But Adah hadn’t forgotten her mother’s earlier comment about her getting cleaned up. “It won’t take me long. Sit and play some music on your iPad or something.”

Then she seized the nearest item of clothing on the suitcase and rushed to the bathroom. Barely fifteen minutes later, she walked out, running a brush over her hair, her body freshly lotioned and wearing the fitted floral sundress her best friend had insisted she bring to Aruba.

“Inject some sexy in your life, Adah,” Selene had told her as she pressed a large department store bag full of dresses and underwear she’d gotten nearly free in her job as a fashion buyer.

Adah felt like a fraud in the garment, effortlessly pretty in a way she couldn’t pull off in her everyday life. It felt like she was playing dress up, or at least trying to be like her mother. But she swept those thoughts away. Refreshed from her rushed shower, she twisted her straightened hair into a quick topknot.

“What brings you here, Mother?”

“My only daughter, of course.” Her mother had truly made herself comfortable, streaming a Luther Vandross song from the small iPad on her lap. She shut it down by closing the cover and set it aside. “I didn’t want you to feel all alone in this strange new place by yourself,” she continued.

“I’m not alone, Mother. There are thousands of tourists on the island this time of year, not to mention all the people who live here.”

“You know what I mean. You’re always going someplace by yourself. I think you’d be tired of that sort of solitary existence by now.”

Her mother had grown up in a boisterous home as one of six children and often voiced regrets she hadn’t had another child after Zoe died.

“With Zoe gone, I’m an only child, Mother. I’m used to being alone. Most times I prefer it.” Like now.

“Nonsense.” Her mother made a dismissive motion. “Nobody really likes being alone. But I can only be with you for a little while. There’s some business back home in Atlanta I need to tend to.” The business that had shaped the course of all their lives since it started. “I came to treat you to something nice for your birthday. I know your father and I were so busy last month we didn’t get a chance to celebrate with you properly.”

Weeks before they’d done the annual dinner at Adah’s favorite restaurant but hadn’t had time for the separate weekend trip to Saint Simons Island that was also part of the birthday tradition.

“It’s okay. I know with the company being in trouble, you and Daddy don’t have as much time as usual.”

“That’s no excuse, darling. And that’s the reason why I’m here!” Her mother looked excited about whatever she was about to reveal. “I moved you to one of the rooms on the top floor and reserved a half day’s pampering session in the most beautiful spa. The masseuses there are award winning—although I didn’t know massage was something you could get awards for.” Her mother frowned like she was giving serious thought to her last remark.

“Mother, you really didn’t have to.” Adah had come to Aruba by herself to think. The key part of that being by herself.

“I know. But I want to.” Her mother leaned forward with an even bigger smile. “Our appointments are tomorrow morning. They’ll pick us up from here at ten. And while we’re gone, they’ll move your things up to the new room.”

And that was that.

Adah immediately knew her mother’s ploy for what it was. And she was half surprised at its transparency. A bribe to get the wedding show on the road and pull the family business out of the fire in which it had found itself despite her parents’ brilliance and the relative success of its line of natural hair care products. Still, she allowed it all to happen, the ever-present guilt pricking her into saying yes to whatever it was her mother wanted.

Her twin, Zoe, had died when they were just eleven years old. A car accident on the way home from a young entrepreneurs’ summer camp. It was beyond awful that her sister, her best friend, had died. Adah had forced Zoe to sit on the passenger side of the car’s back seat just because she’d wanted to sit behind the driver for a reason she couldn’t even remember now. The guilt about that still tore her apart. Even at eleven years old, Zoe had been the one eager to take over the family business and make it even better. All Adah had wanted was a job where she could be surrounded by children and hear their laughter all day.

In the end, as co-owner of an exclusive day care complex in North Atlanta catering to some of the city’s wealthiest residents, Adah had gotten the job she’d wanted. Zoe had gotten nothing but death.

* * *

The next morning, after a restless night spent with her mother on the other side of the wall in an adjoining room, Adah woke and pulled on the same sundress from the afternoon before and the leather sandals. The car that came to get them smelled of the spa, something vaguely citrusy and clean, making her feel as if she were already resting on a masseuse’s table and waiting to be transported to boneless relaxation. But she knew peace wouldn’t come. Her mother had something to say, and she would state it when she thought Adah was most vulnerable—while she was getting her massage.

She did try to relax during the car ride through the bright and tourist-rich streets of Oranjestad, the car’s engine purring through roundabouts and past casinos that burped out victims of the previous night’s gambling excesses. Her mother sat across from her, looking content and refreshed, like she’d had the good night’s sleep Adah had been denied, her hair perfectly put together in a gray ponytail resting over her shoulder, an ocean-green dress complementing the slender lines of her body.

“You don’t really have to do any of this,” Adah said.

“I know, darling. But I want to do this for you. It’ll mellow you. Besides, after this, your father and I will feel better about not doing enough for your birthday.”

Her mother plucked a slice of pineapple from the silver dish sitting between them. Juice exploded from the fruit and dripped down the side of her mouth. On another person, it would have looked clumsy, but her mother’s delighted laughter and the delicate way she wiped the juice from her mouth with one of the cloth napkins made her seem charming and young. Not for the first time, Adah wished she had been the child her mother deserved, a truer reflection of her instead of this awkward and too-soft girl-woman who barely knew how to style herself.

Adah drank from a bottle of water, not wanting to chance any fruit on her dress. With her luck, one of the dark red strawberries would squirt out of her mouth and down her front, making it looked like she’d just suffered a massive nosebleed. Or a mugging.

In the spa, beautiful women in white whisked Adah and her mother away to a serene room that smelled even more like tranquility, this time with low, strings-heavy music and dim lighting. The women gave them fluffy white robes to change into and plied them with cucumber-infused water. An old Deep Forest album, humming with the sounds of chirping birds overlaid by timid violins, played in the background.

Once she was lying on a massage table, with her mother in an identical position a few feet away, Adah actually tried to relax. A silent masseuse began to work on her face, smoothing eucalyptus-scented circles over her forehead and cheeks, while her mother shared stories about what Adah had missed in Atlanta the single day she’d been gone.

“And Petra doesn’t seem like the type to fall for someone that shallow, or scary,” her mother said, continuing her portion of a conversation Adah was barely paying attention to.

She was talking about a bank manager friend of theirs who’d hooked up with the cold but slightly scandalous anchor of a national news network based in Atlanta. On the outside, Petra seemed boring, and everyone she knew was stuck wondering how she’d managed to snag a man like Gabriel Saint.

“Every woman has something about them that only appeals to a select few people,” Adah said. Petra kept things pretty low-key and had a wicked sense of humor she often kept hidden. “Petra is a badass,” Adah said. “She just doesn’t show that side of herself very often.”

“Well, one person must have seen it, and I mean Gabriel Saint, because everyone is mystified about them being together.”

“Including you?”

“Including me.”

Adah smiled as much as the hands moving on her face would allow. “You only see what you want to see.”

Her mother laughed, not admitting to the truth they both knew. And it was so comfortable talking with her about the old familiar things that Adah did actually relax.

But then her mother said, “Have you been giving much thought to the wedding, darling?”

Adah released a slow breath through her nose. “No, I haven’t.” The masseuse paused with her hands on the suddenly tense muscles of Adah’s thigh. After a quick glance at Adah’s face, she continued the massage.