♠ author's note: we're back!!! Shout out to the incredible reader that found my wattpad and left over 160 comments on this fic that successfully got me out of my writing slump.
♠ summary: The date of dates continues following their arrival in Brazil, Lorence and Terrance find themselves tested by truth, tempered by laughter, and drawn closer than ever. A night that begins with questions ends with a revelation neither of them expected — one that could change everything.
♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)
♠ word-count: ~4.8K
⌖ - Rio, Brazil
The past few years play in my mind blurring into a mosaic that houses a bigger picture. I want to make sense of it, but the pieces blur, and all I can feel is the ache of knowing it matters too much. ‘Love at first sight’ The villa is eerily quiet when I come out of the bathroom, it's been much like the car ride home. I smile to myself seeing the room is free from the chaos of me getting dressed, but the smile fades when Terry isn't occupying a side of the bed. It’s an odd thought for me. Too intimate - something I've never been very good at. But I want him, even if it’s new and out of my comfort zone. The way he's treated me since Monaco gets me out of my head and forces me out of the room to look for him. It doesn't take long to find him outside on the terrace overlooking the ocean in his own world. He stands there, his silhouette capturing the commanding presence of the man that made me weary. Now, I try not to swoon. I smell his cigar before he turns and the wind blows it in my direction. I can see his eyes are low from the lights inside the house.
“Sorry I took so long in the shower” I apologize not knowing what else to say.
“No problem.”
“Thanks for cleaning up my clothes” I add and he holds the cigar away so the wind won’t blow its smoke on me.
“No problem, everything on the bed is in the closet by color” he explains but the warmth in his eyes has faded into something more withdrawn. Gone is the tenderness from the beach or from dinner. There's a wall between us now, and for the first time I’m on the receiving end of someone pulling back. I guess after three years of having me run it’s become his expectation of me. He’s giving me space, room to process and breathe but if we’re going to be together it’s a habit I need to try to break. My mouth opens and then closes when I don't know what to say. I’m about as good with my feelings as I am with my words during times like these.
“I’m gonna go shower” he says, holding an arm out to lead us back into the villa. I follow suit and watch him lock up, securing each entrance out of habit. I’m about to head into the primary bedroom when he enters the one he got ready in earlier. More space. I pause before entering what I thought would be our room for this trip and fall back onto the bed with my eyes closed. My mind goes back to the stretched silence as I try to decode my responses and how he interpreted them. Is it him trying to give me space or him needing it?
My mind drifts back to Cassandra and her words in Monaco, before the fiasco. He had spoken about his mother — and even the mention of her seemed weighty. I listen to the steady hum of running water, thinking of my own mother. I know firsthand the emotional toll that door can bring — the pain, the angst, the vulnerability. I try to recall his expression when he spoke, searching for clues.
Maybe my lack of enthusiasm… I shake the thought away. It feels unproductive. I swallow hard, leaning on the tools I’ve learned to sit with my feelings. I focus instead on how his revelation makes me feel. In the car in Monaco it was undeniable — he loves me. Every moment we’ve spent since has only reinforced it. I’m a priority in his life, not an afterthought. And that truth only magnifies the intensity.
Insecurity.
I breathe through it, letting the honesty settle. My eyes close. I place my hand over my stomach, thoughts drifting to the woman who was supposed to love me and never could. I curl in, pulling my knees to my chest, bracing myself. Somewhere behind me, water stops running in Terrance’s bathroom.
I’ve tried it all — therapy, treatments meant to heal the wounds of abandonment; and nothing has ever fully succeeded. Maybe nothing ever will.
Terrance faced unfriendly fire for me, I tell myself.
And Ma and Pops like him.
He fits in. The way he looks at me, the way he makes me feel; second to none. Joel said he’d never leave. I keep turning it over in my mind, aiming for thoughts that soothe rather than wound.
The AC hums, and a cool breath of air settles over me, pulling me beneath the downy sheets. The silence is so complete I hear the ticking of the ornate clock on the wall. Minutes slip by: five, ten, twenty. After half an hour, I get up taking the comforter with me. I find Terrance on the couch, phone in hand, somewhere deep in his own world.
“Cold” he asks better than I am at compartmentalizing but I don't answer with sterile words and a distanced disposition. I try my hand at warmth and courage as I sit across his lap wrapping us both in the comforter. The tension in his body increases before falling away as he adjusts my position.
“Are we sleeping on the couch?” I ask, relaxing into him and his arm runs down my back where it should have been half an hour ago.
“Lorence, I dropped a lot on you today. I understand if you need space” he says, sounding like Mr. Richmond. I sit up and the comforter falls away from us slightly. I hold his gaze with my own, the air between us is more charged than it's ever been, but this time I’m not mad, neither is he. One look and I know we’re on the same page, each of us trying to respect the others boundaries as best we can. I reach for him, putting my hand on his shoulder. He pecks my inner wrist, the one that was hurt and I lean forward wrapping him in a much needed bear hug. He returns the gesture and it feels too good to put into words. He hasn’t held me like this since we were running for our lives. It feels like another new beginning. When he lets me go I smile first, placing a kiss on his cheek like a smitten fool. He kisses my temple before managing to pick me up with the covers and heading to bed.
The silent harmony means more to me right now than words do.
“Terry?” I speak as he puts me down.
“Yes?” he asks.
“I love you” I tell him first. He nods with a smile accepting it.
“I love you too” he says like it’s a relief to finally say it. He looks lighter.
“I’m quiet because it’s how I cope with big feelings” I explain and he nods knowingly.
“I know,” he nods.
“I appreciate everything you put into this and how open you’ve been with me. I can't wait to spend tomorrow with you and finally see this painting” I smile trying my best to open up. Terry’s hand finds the small of my back, scooting me closer to him.
“I love you” he repeats and I can feel his heart racing as I rest my head against his chest. I repeat the words against his heart letting sleep take me once our heartbeats sync.
—---
Last night was a turning point but there's no foreboding in my chest. I pick a sundress that's bright and bold with the confidence of someone sure and grounded. Someone who woke up to her man’s head laid on her chest as he snored lightly with both arms wrapped around her.
“You look amazing,” he compliments, pushing a bowl of fruit in my direction.
“I’m trying to impress this guy” I wink and he smiles. I eat some of the fruit as he leans on the marble counter across from me.
“Are you really feeling okay?” he asks and I nod.
“Yes” I tell him, reaching my hand across the counter and he takes it bringing it to his lips.
“I’m sorry about bringing the mood down yesterday, I had other plans and… just believe me I’m sorry” he apologizes, making me smile. It’s not funny but I shake my head chuckling a little because I really must terrify him if he thinks his humanity is something he needs to apologize for.
“I appreciate the apology but it wasn't necessary. Yesterday exceeded my expectations. Even with the bump in the road. I know we’ve had communication problems in the past but my silence is me processing. I wasn't upset or disappointed.” I explain trying my hand at vulnerability.
“Just promise me that you'll tell me if it’s too much or if you're mad” he says rounding the island.
“I promise I’ll try” I smile and he chuckles giving me a bear hug.
After a scenic drive we end up in a vibrant art district, there are people and colours and I fit in perfectly with the locals. Terry and I hold hands as we walk in and out of shops buying trinkets, clothes and keep sakes and it feels too arbitrary to be real. When the neighbourhood changes and gets a little rougher Terry tenses but before he can go full Mr. Richmond I head to the restaurant window and ask all the kids what they want. More and more come but I make sure they all get something to eat before we continue to wherever Terry is taking me. I can feel his eyes on me.
“I’m not in danger. You’re right here and they’re just kids.” I interject.
The sigh that leaves Terry tells me it’s a point of contention. “You’d have done the same if I wasn't here.”
“If you turn up your nose at them then you would’ve done the same to me.” I tell him honestly. His eyes widen and then narrow as anger stirs.
“Can we talk about it?”
“Havent you read my file cover to cover?” I ask.
“I have but your parents never seemed to struggle” he says.
“They didn't. I don't want to kill the mood with my baggage. We can talk about it some other time” Shrug not wanting to reopen old wounds.
Terrance nods, giving me the space I asked for, and we end up at a gallery. I get goosebumps crossing the threshold, the air humming with color and texture. The place feels alive, immersive, like stepping into another rhythm of the world. I let go of his hand, letting my eyes lead me around the space. The art is astounding in its expression, the techniques so varied I’m at a loss for words. It’s emotive, and a strange pride stirs in me as I see our cultures depicted with such care, celebrated in a place where they belong.
“Terrance,” a woman’s voice calls. Her tone is that of an elder, and when I turn, it’s confirmed. She’s a tiny little thing with oversized energy, a mix of Mama Odie from The Princess and the Frog and Edna Mode. Round tortoise-shell glasses magnify her eyes, and her smile is wide and mischievous.
“My god, you’ve grown,” she says, reaching up to hug him. He leans down stiffly, like a cat enduring a toddler’s grasp.
“To what do I owe the pleasure… Ohhhh.” Her gaze slides past him to me. Her lips freeze in the shape of an O, her eyes widening, and then her whole expression softens into a knowing grin. Without hesitation, she strides over, takes my hand, and pulls me with surprising force through the gallery into a room cast in moody blue light.
“He found you,” she says at last. I follow her gaze and my breath stutters. My eyes. My face—but not mine. A painting, impossibly familiar, impossibly wrong. Goosebumps ripple over my arms as I take a step back.
“She doesn’t like it,” the artist observes. “Not one bit.”
“It’s beautiful,” I manage, though the words are bitter in my mouth. My throat is tight, my reality stifling.
“Are you okay?” Terry asks gently, his brow furrowed.
“It’s haunting,” I answer, because it is.
“How?” he presses.
I swallow, looking away from the canvas that won’t stop dragging my gaze back. “To me, it looks like my mother—with my eyes.” The admission feels dangerous, like a door opening that I’d rather leave locked.
The artist tilts her head, studying me as if she’s piecing something together. “She was a beautiful model, but she was always crying. So I asked her for a photo.” She hands me a book, open to a picture of my mom holding me as a toddler, both of us smiling. The sight cuts deeper than it should.
“I almost shouldn’t remember what she looked like before all the cosmetic surgery,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. “But I do. And it’s eerie that I see pieces of her in my reflection.”
The artist nods knowingly. “Spirit told me to change the features, particularly the eyes. I did good—it’s only slightly off. When I was done she called it ‘me but better’”
Something inside me folds. The painting pulls at threads I didn’t know existed, threatening to leave me undone.
“Lo,” Terry whispers, with concern in his voice.
“She’s processing, Terrance. Hush,” the artist says. Then, to me: “Lo, is it? Call me Syl.” She pats my hand before guiding me toward an airy space with high ceilings and the smell of coffee. She sets a steaming mug in front of me and places the book in my hands.
“I don’t want it.” The words come out sharper than I intend. Terry takes it from me before the moment can shatter further. My armor slams down, and I stand quickly, smiling tight. “Thank you, Syl, for your hospitality. Your art is breathtaking, but if we stay longer it won’t be good for me.”
I all but flee into the sunlight, my hands trembling. I sink onto the grass before my knees can buckle, pulling my phone out with shaking fingers.
“Sin,” I whisper when she answers.
“What’s wrong?”
“Terry’s been so great, but I’m gonna ruin it by pulling away.”
“What happened?”
“I wish I knew. He had this painting growing up that meant a lot to him. Turns out, it was one my mom posed for when she was modeling. To the naked eye, it looks like me. But I don’t see myself. I see her. And…” My voice breaks. “I see all the ways she still lingers in me.”
“Lorence, don’t let her actions ruin something good. Don’t let that evil fuck win. I know you can’t see her without him creeping back in, but Terrance loves you. And wow—it’s pretty unbelievable. I mean, what are the odds? Why would the universe work so hard to get you two together?”
I lie back in the grass, eyes stinging, letting her words wash over me. “I don’t know.”
For a breath, I hide there in Sin’s voice and the sky above. But the earth itself turns against me—sharp stings bite at my ankle, then my calf.
“Lorence, there are ants.” Terry’s voice cuts through, and when I open my eyes, he’s standing over me, his shadow blotting out the sun. Concern etches his face, and in that moment I know—there’s no running.
“Sin, I’ll call you later,” I blurt, sitting up, brushing at my legs.
“I love you, Lo. Don’t run from it.”
“I love you too.”
I hang up, breath catching. The grass crawls, the painting lingers, and Terry’s shadow stretches long across me. Discomfort follows me everywhere. There’s no escape—only forward.
“Terrance, why don't you sit with her on the terrace, I'll bring out some food and I’ll be out your way.” Syl says cutting the tension between Terry and I, giving me a beat longer to recover.
“Sounds good” I agree and we head up steps instead of heading back in to enjoy the terrace. Terry doesn't take his eyes off of me but I can’t see his eyes yet, not until I put the scared little girl away. What are the odds? I ask myself trying to make sense of it when he reaches for me, sitting me across his lap and placing a kiss on my arm as we look out at the city below. It only takes moments to relax into the safety of his touch. Then I remember how much this means to him and try to get a grip.
“I can understand why your mom liked it here” I say reaching for one of the books on the outdoor table. I open it and flip through seeing photos of Terry’s mom. He smiles and he’s in a few of them too. I smile seeing a little version of him smiling and showing off all his teeth. He laughs putting an arm around me as we flip through the albums.
“She could make anyone smile, and she had this gift of bringing peace to every situation. No one says a bad word about her. She was the complete opposite of my father. Free spirited, soft, smiling, generous with her time, slow to anger and deeply sensitive.” Terry shares. “I wish she was still here every time I find myself happy to be alive” he confesses. “That’s whenever I’m with you, it’s the only time I’m sure she’d be proud of the man I’ve become” he says.
Somehow his words feel like medicine for whatever I’m feeling. I let them hang in the air awhile before I look up at him. My smile is genuine this time.
“Sounds like it’d really like her” I say.
“You would, a hundred percent and she’d like your folks too.” he smiles.
“Are you close to her side of the family?” i ask.
“No, she was the only one who migrated. She wasn’t close to her parents and always said she was an only child. It checks out. She liked artists, free spirits. I lost touch with most of them when I moved in with my dad.” he explains.
“Well, my family is huge as you know, if you ever need to borrow any relatives” I tease trying to lighten the mood..
“Can we talk about your mom?” he asks and I sigh. No is a reflex but I want the rest of this trip to be carefree.
“You know my mom,” I say as a bid for distance.
“The woman that gave birth to you,” he specifies.
“What about her?” I ask and he tucks my hair behind my ear so he can see me better. His thumb lingers there a second before he pulls away, giving me space.
“What happened between the two of you? What’s she like?” he asks and I swallow.
“She got pregnant with me young, she was out in Florence about to be a model and she got knocked up. That’s how I got my name but my biological father was married and didn't leave his wife for his pregnant teenage girlfriend. I came and she loved me—or that’s what everyone says. Then she got a boyfriend who was abusive, I got adopted by my parents and my mom and the guy broke up I guess. She’d come into town with money and gifts and we’d spend time together and I’d have fun and then she’d disappear and the cycle would continue until I stopped wanting to be picked up only to be put back on the shelf. I didn't have her phone number, I couldn't speak to her but she could just come home and give me the time of my life and then disappear. She blew up and was gone for some years. She married some old guy. She’s not so manic anymore. I have her number now, she calls and writes and invites me to things but I stay in my lane,” I explain, giving him the sanitized version of the messy melodrama.
“How do you feel about it?”
I pause, my voice quieter now. “When I was a kid it felt like I had to choose. My mom… she was in her own world and my family saw it. They saw me withdrawing and her not showing up the way she should as a mother. Eventually, they had to make a choice too. And they chose to protect me. It was complicated… she lost her place in our lives and I lost her.”
“What happened that you needed to be protected again?” Terry asks.
I swallow hard, looking away for a moment before meeting his eyes. “When I was older I tried to bridge the gap. I thought I could make it work, make peace, but it was too much for me. The stress made me sick to try and manage everyone’s feelings. So they stopped letting her come around. I think she understands now, and I think she’s trying to make amends. But the rest of the family… they haven’t forgiven her. I get that.”
“You forgive her?” he asks.
“I love her, Terry. I always will. But she’s no good for me, and I wish it wasn’t like that. Love doesn’t take away the anger, and anger is just fear, right? So I stay away… like I said — complicated.”
“Is it the same with your biological father?” he asks after a moment of silence.
“No, he came around a few times when I was little but I was afraid of men so he’d send money and presents and when I got older he paid for my university. He’s alright I guess aside from cheating on his wife. He’s a photographer, nature now not women. We aren't close,” I shrug. “I know it sounds bad, but I like to pretend they don’t exist,” I admit, sighing softly. “I don't want to be insensitive to your loss,” I add and his eyes soften.
“You aren't. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says.
“People have lived through worse,” I shrug.
“Do you know where the abusive boyfriend is?” Terry asks and I smile.
“You and Joel have the same bloodlust.” Terry lets out a small chuckle, but his eyes stay soft on me as I continue. “I don't think he’s alive, she loved him too much to ever be over him. He’s dead to me at least — that’s why I never talk about him,” I explain.
“He can be dea—”
“Shhhhh,” I tell Terry, feeling an odd sense of relief as I look up at him. He stops and I sit back. I lean over, tracing the edges of a photo in silence. “This is the easiest it’s ever been to talk about with anyone,” I confess feeling lighter. He relaxes, tapping his ears, and I snicker at our running joke before resting my head on his chest looking at one of his childhood photos and it feels like our relationship is growing healthy roots.
We sit in silence for awhile until I get an idea. “You should commission a painting of your mother, Syl’s really talented. Give her one of the bright rooms. When you see something that reminds you of her, buy it and put it in there with her photo. Make it a place you can go when you miss her. Keep her memory alive by talking about her. Make copies of these please,” I add, tapping on the photo album.
He smiles softly, brushing his thumb across my hand. “It doesn’t hurt to talk about her with you,” he says.
“Well, I’m here to listen,” I tell Terry, meeting his gaze with something close to trust.
He nods like there’s more to say, but then Syl emerges from the kitchen with a tray of traditional appetizers. Her warm smile breaks whatever tension was left between us, I get off of Terry's lap, taking a seat beside him and we settle into the comfort of her company. We spend another hour talking, laughter weaving in between stories. Syl shares a few anecdotes about Terry when he was younger — shy, stubborn, and full of quiet curiosity — and I realize his family truly is the artist community he grew up with.
When he lets his guard down with her, I see a side of him I rarely get to: warm, unguarded, open. It’s a side of Terry that belongs entirely to this world — far away from work, from ambition, from the masks he wears — and I like it. I like it more than I expected.
By the time we leave Syl’s, the air has softened between us. The rest of the day turns into something spontaneous, effortless. We wander streets without destination, laugh at inside jokes, chase the sunset. The kind of day that leaves you lighter. For the first time in a long time, we don’t judge each other for what we’ve survived. We understand. We share the quiet comfort of survivors.
When we get to the house later, something feels different. The air hums with a gentle expectation. Rose petals dust the walkway, a soft promise underfoot. I brace myself. He opens the door and the lights are dim, a thousand tea lights scattered among floral arrangements and red roses. My eyes can’t choose a focal point. My surprise isn’t a facade. Even the hot tub is done up.
He shifts slightly, like he’s rehearsing his words. His hands twist at his belt loop, a small sign of nerves I don’t usually get to see. “I really want to ask you to be my wife. Girlfriend just doesn’t feel right,” he says, and he’s right.
I study him for a long second. His voice carries that seriousness reserved for moments that matter. But there’s also something softer beneath it — vulnerability. I smile before I realize it. “Then ask,” I say, surprising even myself. It’s brave, sure, unguarded. I’ve never seriously considered marriage, but he doesn’t scare me anymore. I want him around.
His breath hitches. “I don’t have a ring. I didn’t ask your pops.” His voice is tense. I shrug, and he scoffs, shooting me a sharp but half-smiling glare.
“Lorence, if you think I’m bluffing, please know I’m very serious. And if you’re playing, you’ll end up having a wedding,” he says, stepping closer. His lips brush mine in a quick kiss that’s almost nervous but full of intent. His hands rest firmly at my hips, steadying himself — steadying me.
I tilt my head, grinning. “I’ll pretend to be surprised when you ask in front of my family. Since we have to work on you, surprising me. But I want a pink diamond.” My voice carries the faintest teasing lilt, light as a hum.
His lips twitch. “What shape?” he asks, smirking, indulging me as though I’ve turned this into a game.
“Marquise. Ethical, please,” I add, like I’m making a declaration. I catch the faintest laugh in his breath as he nods. “Not too big,” I warn.
“I need people to know you’re spoken for from a distance,” he counters softly, stepping closer, letting the playful banter drop into something more intimate.
“Not too big,” I repeat, smiling.
“What else do you want?” he asks, leaning his forehead toward mine.
I rest my chin on his chest, laughing softly. “You to take my Ma, Sin, and Cassandra with you ring shopping. I don’t want to take that away from them.” My words are gentle, but my tone is mischievous.
He nods, amused. “What else?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, tilting my head up to catch his gaze. “I’ve never thought about marriage or engagements in any significant way,” I admit, my voice softening.
He studies me like he’s memorizing me. “Do you want the proposal to be casual or a production?” he asks quietly, half teasing, half serious.
I grin. “Can’t I answer once the ring is made?”
“You have a week,” he chuckles, brushing his thumb against my cheek. “If you think I’m playing, you’ll see.” He steps closer, lowering his voice to something almost fragile. “So… you’ll be mine?” His words come slow, measured, like he’s holding his breath.
“Yes,” I whisper. My heart feels light, reckless. His eyes close, his shoulders easing like a man finally letting go after years of holding on.
When his gaze finds mine again, it’s soft, unwavering. “I’ve been yours from the very start,” he murmurs, reverent, as if he’s telling himself a truth he’s kept sacred.
I hum softly, a playful tune just for him, and he smiles down at me, his gaze soft and unwavering. “You never cease to amaze me,” he murmurs, reverent, as if this is a truth he’s carried for years.
The sound of the ocean drifts up to us, mingling with the scent of salt and rose petals. I rest my head against him, the weight of everything melting away. For a long moment, there’s nothing but the rhythm of our heartbeats — aligned, unspoken, enough.
______________
authors note: thanks for reading my loves, please don't forget to like comment and reblog. let me know how we feel about the recent developments between Lorence and Terry.
thoughts throughout the chapter?
at the END 👀 Lo you better not play - that man is serious!
I love how vulnerable they're learning to be with each other 🥹
I'm with Joel and Terry ready to grab the blicky for that ole dirtbag 🔫
summary: it's finally time for dallas and terry to catch up just like old times. but with new information about the dubois clan being shared and old memories arising. where will this leave the pair now?
pairing: terry richmond x dallas dubois (oc!)
content: language, crude remarks, allusions to a eating disorder, ANGST, mentions of death and pregnancy related death, mentions of mortuary practices, LOTS OF LORE Y'ALL. allusions to non sexual acts. pda.
note: be advised that while this installment is considered a main part, there may be references or connections made to weekly interludes that may contain information important to the storyline.
a/n: evening! it feels good to be back! i hope everyone enjoys this one, because i for sure enjoyed writing it!
p.s: please feel free to comment, like, reblog, or send a letter with any rambles, hit my dm for questions, and more. i enjoy hearing from you all - arie ✨
p.p.s: i tried to get the song link as a pandora one but it wouldn’t work! ☹️
song inspo:
The drive to the local diner was nothing short of quiet and squeamish as Dallas Dubois and Terry Richmond arrived for a dinner the ex-marine felt was long overdue on many different fronts.
It was there that you’d find the ex-friends sitting across from each other at a booth while Dallas answered questions and queries about topics he never got to ask. Like the parameters of the Dubois family dynamic.
“ I can’t for the life of me understand why Devin acts the way he does. When I look at him and then look at y’alls daddy. It’s like night and day. If I didn’t grow up here, I’d find it hard to believe that’s his son–that’s he’s your brother. Wild, man.” Terry shook his head, taking a sip of his lemonade.
“ Half-Brother.” Dallas pointed out, making Terry quick to frown. He never did like it when people did that. Made distinctions like half or whole when referring to having siblings. He personally didn’t believe in any of that. Blood was Blood, whether it’s a drop or a liter. Which also meant family was family.
Period.
“ Hey! Don’t scrunch those bushy brows at me. I’m just repeating the same thing he tells everyone anyway.” She playfully scolded as Terry was swift to fix his face at her request,“ He’s quick to correct anybody that Ramsey and I are his half siblings. So why shouldn’t I get to.”
“ I’m aware.” Terry noted, remembering actively hearing Devin make the distinction very clear on the rare occasions they found themselves intermingled in the same social settings. “ But I guess I just can’t wrap my head around why? I mean it’s not like you and Ramsey run around calling each other half of anything.”
Which was true. The bond that Dallas carried with her oldest brother was one that couldn’t be defined as half anything, or nothing less than wholesome. In moments of triumph and tragedy, Ramsey remained Dallas’s closest confidant for things that she found herself not even being able to share with her mother or Anora. And in return Dallas found herself being the soundboard for the most important and curious moments in Ramsey’s life. They had always supported each other in these ways and she had been thankful to have him all this time.
“ Well that’s because to Ramsey and I we don’t see each other as anything else. Blood is Blood, no matter the quantity of what shared cells may run through our veins. He’s my brother, plain as that.” Dallas explained. “ Besides, we were raised by the same mother and father. Grew up with the same values and lessons instilled in us. The only main thing that would make us differ is the age gap. But even still I’ve always felt he and I were of the same wave length. So…” She shrugged, leaning over the table and reaching a hand over to Terry’s basket of food to snag another cajun fry to dip into the delectable orange sauce on her plate.
“ If you don’t mind me asking…” Terry started, slightly pushing the basket more toward the center of the table, “ What happened to Ramsey’s mother? Do you know? Because I’ve never heard any of you talk about her before. Just about your mama or Evaline.”
Dallas nods, “ Ramsey’s mother, Lydia, was Daddy’s first wife. They were college sweethearts and fell in love during undergrad when he was in mortuary school and she was studying nursing.”
“ After they got married their junior year, she switched to accounting to learn how to help Daddy manage the business after she got fascinated with the idea of opening up their practice.”
“ Long story short they both graduated, and Daddy got an offer from a professor of his to buy the professor’s family’s older and outdated mortuary that needed a bit of work but was otherwise good. The only thing was that the mortuary building was here in the professor’s home town of Savannah. Which meant they would have to leave Oklahoma and move here.”
“ Of course they decided to do it. And when they got here they convinced Seymour Flemming’s son, remember him? He was the old white guy who struck all that oil in Alabama. Well, Daddy negotiated with his son, Wallace, who he knew had a black wife, to invest in the business for the repair costs and such. While promising to give him a stake in the company.”
“ Once that deal was sealed they started renovations on the place and they opened up in spring of 1985. And by that time Lydia had gotten pregnant with Ramsey but unfortunately she died giving birth to him in early 86’.”
Dallas sighed, “ Doctors missed her having severe hemorrhaging after she kept complaining of abdominal pain post delivery.”
Terry felt a wave of sympathy flash through his chest for Ramsey and Mr. Dubois both, “Damn. I’m sorry.”
“ Yeah. After that Daddy decided to raise Ramsey by himself with the help of other people at the home like Anora’s mama and Mr. Ducane, who have both been there since the home started.”
“ That was until he met Evaline at an old juke joint in Knoxville she was singing out of during one of the times Uncle Amos, Daddy’s twin brother, had a gig there that night. And had asked Daddy to come and fill in for their sax player who was out sick.”
At this piece of information being divulged, Terry found his eyebrows touching a bit in shock. Because while it had been a known fact around town that L.T Dubois once had a fondness for music and could be seen frequenting the local jazz clubs with his third wife on a good night, Terry still had never heard of him being a player himself, “ Yo’ daddy on the sax? Really? I know he liked music. But I never knew he played.”
Dallas gave a short laugh, “ Hmmph. I don’t even think ‘play’ is the right word, to be honest.” A smile danced on her face at the memory of being a young girl, sneaking out of bed, and following the hum of the music all the way to the garage where she could find her Daddy working his Sax to the sound of a reference track in the back. And never did he scold her or shoo her away. Instead he indulged her curiosity by allowing her to be his devoted audience member until her eyes shut and his music became a background music to her sweet dreams.
“ He was absolutely extraordinary with a sax. Never heard anything quite like it.” Dallas beamed, “He’s one of the reasons I still like listening to Jazz music when I need to fall asleep. It’s comforting.”
Terry watched the admiration on her face with a small smile of his own, happy to know that despite the years Dallas had to watch the unfortunate demise of her father, that in the end she was able to hold onto images and memories of them together in a happier time.
“ Anyway, he and Evaline met, hit it off, and he married her after six months of knowing her. Then she moved up here. But she never worked anywhere unless it was at one of the local clubs singing. Never helped with the funeral home and barely looked after Ramsey or Devin once they had him.”
“ Which may explain where Devin gets his spirit of laziness from.” Terry commented, beginning to piece together the similarities of what he knew of Evaline to then compare them to present day Devin.
“ Right. But eventually after a while, and against Daddy’s many protests, Evaline decided she wanted to get back on the road and decided to get a gig singing back up for a blues band touring up north. And she left my Daddy to figure out how to juggle a seven year old and a baby under two by himself, while still trying to run a business.”
“ But like many other unfortunate young singers during the height of the Reagan administration, Evaline went out on the road and got hooked on crack, bad, after a band member laced a cigarette he gave her with it.” Dallas explained.
“ When she came back home. She was just never the same. Just really erratic all the time, impulsive, and even started abusing both crack and alcohol.”
“ Daddy tried his best a couple of times to take her to rehab. But it never stuck. And the final straw was when she almost burned the house down with her, Devin, and Ramsey in it.”
“ What?!” Terry’s voice unintentionally carried over the confines of the booth as a few patrons looked to catch a glimpse of the slight disbelief spreading on his face.
“ Mhmm.” Dallas confirmed, “ They said she had been trying to make a pot of greens and left it on by itself. It caught on fire and by the time the fire department got there after Ramsey managed to call 911, half the kitchen was in flames.”
“ Once they put out the fire, they found her in the basement laundry room strung out. Pipe in one hand with an unfolded bed sheet in the other.”
“ Daddy made the decision then to press charges and she ended up going to county jail for six years on different charges of child endangerment and drug possession. He divorced her and got full custody of Devin too.”
“ Fuck. He couldn’t catch a break.” Terry slid a hand across his back of his neck as he tried to imagine the absolute strain L.T must have been under to endure all those events occurring on-top of each other like that.
“ Yeah, it seems like he couldn’t. When in actuality the truth is my Daddy was just someone who always found himself in the oddest of cases. Whether they’d be on purpose or not.” Another small smile appeared on the young mortician’s face as she prepared to tell Terry another fact that she knew he wouldn’t be able to believe.
“ Case in point, after everything that had happened to him during that time, including his first wife dying, his second wife being a drug addict with the marriage ending in divorce, and him now having two young children to see about on his own. It wasn’t until about a year later that Daddy found himself in another curious predicament when he met my Mama at a funeral in Dallas, Texas mind you…for her late husband.”
Immediately Dallas stifled her laughter when she watched Terry’s face drop as he began shaking his head in rightful disbelief, “ Just stop it. Forreal, stop. Cause ion’ even wanna hear anymore at this point. Cause this the most messy Tyler Perry bullshit you’ve said thus far. And I don’t think I can keep listening.”
“ Oh yeah. It’s messy for sure, No doubt.” She laughed, “ But you have to let me finish since I done started now.”
“ Well then go ahead.” With a smirk, Terry dropped his napkin on his plate before leaning back against the booth with his arms crossed giving her his undivided attention, “ Finish telling me how your nosy ass spawned from all these messy ass events with this name too. Dallas.”
At his remark she frowned, opting to throw a regular fry from her plate at a quietly chuckling Terry who she called a jackass before she continued, “ Like I was saying before you rudely interrupted me. This incident occurred when they had just opened the Dallas location under Uncle Amo’s leadership back then.”
" Wait, I thought your Uncle Beau was over the Dallas location?" Terry questioned, mentioning the baby of the three Dubois brothers.
" Mmm. Mmm. No! Uncle Beau would NEVER, ever, ever, EVER..." Dallas found the need for dramatics in her words important, " Take over leadership of either home. He draws the line at sitting on the board of trustees for the business. And that was a task Daddy had to practically tackle him into."
" No, instead he prefers keeping to himself up in Philadelphia, teaching and living his life. He always sends a card around the holidays though, or he may call on a birthday for a quick catch up. But that's it and that's all. He sort of disappeared after Daddy died. And I know for a fact him and Uncle Amos don't talk." Dallas explained.
" And I don't blame him either. Uncle Amos is a piece of work..." Dallas dryly laughed.
But before Terry could probe furthered she continued,“ Uncle Amos had called Daddy and told him of the husband’s passing since they knew him. And Daddy went to Texas for the funeral so he could pay his respects to her late husband who he’d played football with way back in college at OKS.”
“ I remember that he once said that from the minute he saw her sitting on the front row in front of the congregation, she was the prettiest thing in black he’d ever seen.” Dallas always found it funny to think that in the midst of grieving and crying people Dallas had somehow made this out to be like it was a scene pulled straight from LoveBoat regardless of the fact of its setting.
“ But he knew it was inappropriate to pursue a woman after her husband had just died, so he left it alone and went back home. Plus he was still getting over what had happened with Evaline.”
“ It wasn’t until a couple months later that he was back here in Savannah and stopped to get a drink after work one evening down at Viola’s. That low and behold who was the first person he saw when stepped in the door…”
“ You have gotta be fucking kidding me.” A sarcastic laugh passed his lips , “ What was she even doing down here?!”
“ Visiting her sister, My Aunt Tootie, here in Savannah. Who at the time had followed her now ex-husband up here who came to work for your Uncle at the construction company funnily enough.”
“ Wow. Just goes to show you that the south is too gotdamn small.” Terry concluded.
“ Indeed it is.” Dallas agreed before continuing, “ Yet, he found himself practically tripping over his feet trying to get her. And tried to play it off like he wasn’t ready to fly through the roof at seeing her.”
“ So, he sat down, bought her a drink, and they hit it off. Next thing you know four months later they got married, she moved down here, and they had me. The end.” Dallas clapped, leaning over to take a sip of the half melted strawberry milkshake she’d impulsively ordered off the menu.
And as Terry began trying to process the Dubois family crash course Dallas had so eagerly given up, there was only one thought pressing against the forefront of his mind, “ Damn, yo’ Daddy moved quick. I mean that nigga didn’t waste anytime calling the preist and jumping that broom. Cause that’s three wives in ten years is crazyyyy.” He laughed.
“ Yep! And he dared anybody to comment on it too. Especially to his face. Because even though he always knew people talked shit about it behind his back. He also knew that nobody would have the balls to say anything to the Undertaker of all people, to his face about his affinity for marriage.”
“ Undertaker.” Terry snorted, “ I remember him having that nickname. And I also remember you starting it and him hating it.” Terry recalled the alter-ego that the children of Savannah had made up for L.T, that was accompanied by a town legend that said if he ever caught you staring at him long enough, you’d be faced with a tombstone. And whether that meant the wwe move or him actually hitting up you upside the head with an inscribed cement slab would be left up to your own imagination.
“ Me too. But it just fits! I mean they’re both big, tall, intimidating, and have a knack for keeping a collection of ridiculous ass hats.” She shrugged, snagging another fry from Terry’s plate, “ What can I say. Besides I think he secretly liked it. I remember hearing him jokingly refer to himself as the Undertaker once to Mr. Ducane in the staff office. So I think he was just frontin’ is all.”
“ The same way you front about people callin’ you, Precious?” Terry said, noting the way his words snatched the playfulness out of the air around them as Dallas tensed her body, angling it away from him to stare off toward the front of the building.
“ It’s not a front, Terry.” Dallas arms found a home crossed against her chest, “ I don’t typically like people calling me that. You know that, and you know why too.
“ No, I don’t know that.” Terry countered, leaning forward on clasped hands, “ What I do know though, is that yes, you don’t like certain people calling you that. But I’ve seen when some people have called you that and a smile a mile wide has stretched across your face.”
“ Like…”
“ Well for one, your Daddy.” Terry noted, watching as her face softened, “ I remember that he could have called that name out to you in the middle of a crowd and you would’ve heard it clear as day with a grin on your face.”
“ Then I heard your mom call you it a couple of times, even though I know she prefers to call you her dumplin.” At the mention of Terry knowing that, Dallas turned her head even further away to try and hide the flushed cheeks she now sported; that was evidence of embarrassment at the fact that he even knew that was a thing.
“ I also know that Ramsey sometimes calls you Precious even though he prefers to call you Pinky.”
“ And I call him Brain right back.” Dallas noted the silly nicknames she and brother had for each other based on the comical rodents as seen in episodes of the Animaniacs cartoons he’d watch with her on Saturday mornings over a bowl of cereal. See, Ramsey even in his youth could have always been described as an academic, preferring to always have some kind of older literature Dallas couldn’t pronounce in his hand as he always was being carted off by their mother to attend young writer’s conferences and guilds. Which in turn made Dallas compare him to Brain, due to their shared intellectual abilities. With Ramsey then calling Dallas, Pinky, to give reference to the young girl’s silly personality.
“ Right. But my point, is that even though in the past people have used this nickname in an ill fitted way. And you claim that nowadays you hate hearing it. I just don’t think that’s true.” Terry resolved.
“ Because I think that if said by the right people, it’s something you actually love hearing.” He offered.
“ Yeah? And you may have been right about that once. But none of that matters now, because after years of having peers call me that only to throw things at me or hurl hateful comments my way about my weight as a young teenage girl or other...issues…I was having. You have to know that hearing the nickname, no matter who says it, doesn’t give me the same joy you’re talking about.”
“ And you can partially thank your little teammate and your fiance for that.” Dallas turned to him now taking in the seriousness that had seeped into his face.
“ Right, well hopefully things have changed since then." Terry's eyes narrowed.
“ Because I don’t like the way he treats you.” Terry states, “ At all.”
“ And you know if I’m around I’m going to tolerate him or anybody else’s shit when it comes to you at this point. So keep that in mind. Cause I mean that.” At his declaration Dallas felt a small flutter occur in her chest, a familiar movement that she still felt foreign to have after all these years. Especially here…with him.
But one tiny passing flashback to a time before was enough to let the feeling flee away and bring her back to the present, “ Well those are pretty words, Terry. I appreciate that.”
“ But.” She sighed, “ Not much I can do about it, that’s my brother. Whether I like it or not.”
“ Although it hasn’t always been this bad. I mean, yeah, he was terrible when we were younger. But I remember a time right before y’all graduated he became half-way decent to me.”
“ I think maybe it’s because Daddy died and he felt some kind of way. Grief can do that to a person, make them more compassionate I guess.”
Ass whoopings can do that too.
I can still remember when I hemmed him up senior year and threatened to beat his ass in the locker room after a game once in front of everybody when I caught him call you a—
Terry didn’t wanna finish the thought, but he’d made it clear then that if he heard of Devin disrespecting or mistreating Dallas whether he was around or not, he’d rearrange his face into one only a mother could love. And for the rest of the year, he hadn’t heard a peep from Devin other than a play being called on a field.
“ Yeah, death can sometimes bring people together that way.” He agreed, taking a sip of his lemonade, “ Y’all getting along better now? ”
“ Sure.” Dallas put on a smile as real as a counterfeit bill.
Which prompted Terry’s eyebrows to take on that famous frow in them that she secretly loved,“ Sure? What does that mean, Dallas?”
“ Sure. That’s what that means, Terry. That it’s neither here nor there on any given day. The end.” She squeamishly attempted to dismiss his concern.
“ Dallas—”
“ Stop.” She held up a hand, “ I don’t wanna talk about him right now. Especially not while I’m having a good time dishing out the family lore here.”
At the notion that Dallas was actually enjoying the two of them being in the space together, Terry found himself relaxing for a moment with a small smile, “ Speaking of…I don’t think you’ve ever told me how your parents met.” Dallas shifted, “ I think after my yapping it’s only fair I get to hear how Terry Richmond came to be.”
When a small silence took a space with them in the booth, Dallas mentally kicked herself for becoming comfortable enough to let her curiosity sour the content mood they’d built over the course of the last two hours. She could especially tell by the way Terry had suddenly gone quiet, opting to send her a small tight lipped smile before he said, “ It’s getting late, D. And I wanna make sure you get back home before it gets too dark.. So, how about I tell you another time, yeah.” Terry quickly explained before motioning for the young waitress to return to the table for their tab.
From there returning to the car had been even more awkward then the actual drive there.
It wasn’t much to be said under the guise of the setting sun who so graciously painted a picture on its surface using hues of pinks, oranges, and blues that Dallas focused on through the windshield, instead of paying attention to the many racing thoughts she had in her mind.
Whereas all Terry could try to do in addition to watching the road in front of him, was to try and sort the many thoughts floating into his brain into a variety of different categories that were already filled to the brim with previous things he’d put there in a promise to himself to sort later.
The only thing was, now just couldn’t be later.
Instead now , just needed to be now.
And at that moment he needed to figure out how to rejuvenate the atmosphere between them that his involuntary shut down at the restaurant had induced. Because while he hadn’t meant to recede into himself in that way at the innocent question posed by her, he still couldn’t help that it was as if he had felt every vein in his body calcify into stone as his chest began to weigh down with an eerie feeling of grief…and anger… at the thought of his parents.
But whatever personal shit that he needed to work out between himself and the unfamiliar person he’s seen in the mirror every morning for the last eighteen years would have to wait.
Because he didn’t want anything to taint his time alone with her while he had.
Not even himself.
“ Dallas, look... I’m sorry.” His voice broke over the low sound hum of the radio, “ I didn’t mean to brush you off like that it’s just that–
“ It’s fine, Terry. Really.” Dallas quickly turned, offering a sympathetic, “ I should’ve known better. I just forgot that that’s a sensitive topic for you. So it’s my fault for talking too much.” She apologized, returning her gaze back out of the passenger window.
“ Hey.” He softly called, “Hey.”
When attempts failed he pushed forward,“ Lorraine.”
At the sound of her actual name, Terry succeeded in grabbing her attention once more before speaking, “ Dallas, you weren’t talking too much. You talking is never too much, alright?” He did his best to watch the near vacant road while still trying to hold the seriousness of her eyes.
“ If anything…” He paused, “ It’s really just about me learning how to talk more about stuff. Even things that’s a little sore for me…”
“ So you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” He spoke, “ If anything I’m sorry for cutting it short. Cause I really didn’t want us to stop talking.”
“ I like us talking.” The words coming out small but meaningful across his hips.
“ I like it, too.” Dallas quietly quietly, allowing a somber smile to take residence on her face once again.
Then there was another silence that took to the air, only this time it felt…comfortable.
That was until the universe decided to reveal a gesture to the two of them, as that song began to plan on the radio...
We were holding hands in the park
We had to hurry home before it's dark
I can't wait to see your smile again
And I love the time we spend...
Out of the corner of his eye he caught the slight turn of her head she did, more than likely wanting to gage what his reaction to it would be.
“ You can turn it if you want.” He spoke, timid in a way meant to not scare her off.
“ No, it’s alright…I like this song.” She whispered, feeling a long forgotten fleet within her stomach she hadn't in she couldn't recall when.
“ Me too.”
I just wanna be alone with you
(I just wanna be alone with you)
And there's nothing else I'd rather do
(There's nothing else I'd rather do)
I just want the chance I had again…
Though neither of them would acknowledge why.
The same way neither of them would acknowledge how their hands had found their way to clasping together on top of the console just as Terry hit the side street leading back to the back parking lot. And with each turn of the wheel, another thought seemed to turn in the back of Dallas’s mind. Thoughts that she knew were being brought on by the better part of her conscience whom she usually always listened to without failure…at least until now.
Because as of now it had seemed that the finicky little organ beating rapidly in her chest had begun to take over, and it seemed that all Dallad could do was say a silent prayer that the man next to her would mistake the sound of her loudly beating heart for the bass of the song they both knew they loved.
From there it only took a moment before the car became stationary in the lone back parking lot beside the black Audi A5 that sat close to the garage door.
His grip never seemed to slip on her hand.
“ Thanks for going with me.” He spoke first, looking to her.
“ No, thank you for offering.” She countered, “ It felt nice to talk over dinner for a change. Usually we if I don’t visit Nory & Ethan or go visit my Mama, It’s just me, some meal prep, and a stack of paperwork.”
“ Mmm. Well maybe we'll have to start changing that more often.” He shot out into the air, hoping she’d receive it.
“ Yeah, maybe.” She hummed in agreement, “ Not too often. But every once in a while wouldn’t–Ah—mmm.” She winced out in slight pain.
“ What? What’s wrong.” The concern in his voice was prominent as he lowered the radio, ready to hear whatever discomfort he was sure to try and remedy.
“ Nothing stupid eyelash.” Dallas waved him off, reaching up blindly for the visor.
“ Let me see—
“ No, Terry, it's fine. It’ll come out on its own in just a minute. I got I–”
“ Dallas.”She felt her body slightly jolt when she heard her name come across his lips again that way.
There goes that tone again, she thought to herself.
“ Move your hand and let me see.” He beckoned her over.
Reluctantly complying to his request with a small huff of protest and pain, she let go of his hand and released herself from her seat belt before clambering to somewhat lean in his direction, careful to steady her shaking hand back on the console.
When he noticed she stopped short he encouraged her further, “ Come closer.”
Alarms going off in her head at the prospect of being almost face to face with him if she moved a couple inches more to the left, Dallas fixed her mouth to protest again, but found the words falter once she seen the stern set of his own mouth out of the current good eye she had.
So now she had moved so close she could feel his minty breath gently blow against her cheek as he attempted to get the eyelash, and in turn made her eyelashes and heart all in one sick synced movement.
“ There.” He said, “ Got it.”
“ Thank you.” She whispered, drawing back some, but not completely.
“ You’re welcome.” He whispered back, the air stilling between them.
“ I should go.” She practically had to force the words to tumble out, seeing as it was a declaration that was the complete antonym of what she actually felt.
“ Yeah, you should.” He paused, “ But I don’t want you to.”
Girl, don't leave me, don't leave me
Don't leave me, baby (Ooh)
Girl, don't leave me, don't leave me
You know I'll be here for you (Oh)
Girl, don't leave me, don't leave me
Just me and you (Mmm)
“ I don’t really want to either.” She returned, this time letting honesty coat her words.
“ Then don’t.”
She didn’t have time to blink or be confused about his last statement because all the working power her brain had left was zapped with the quick shock that inhibited her body at the feel of his hand on her cheek and the taste of his lips on hers.
The moment his lips touched hers she should’ve pushed him away, but instead her hands desperately grasped at the flex of his back to draw him closer into her.
With only one thing being whispered into the cool Savannah air against each other’s lips.
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
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2087
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