The Virginia Question

Once I knew Corinne's name, I could no longer call my silence patience. I confronted Darius on a Sunday morning, the day she posted most often about God.

Her newest message appeared while his phone charged on the kitchen counter, beside a cooling cup of coffee. I did not touch it. The screen stayed lit long enough.

I believe everything is lining up the way it should.

"What is lining up?" I asked.

Darius looked from my face to the phone. His hand rested on the counter. He did not ask what I meant.

"You went through my stuff again," Darius said, his eyes still on the screen.

"Your stuff lit up in my kitchen," I said.

"Our kitchen."

"Then answer me in it."

He unplugged the phone, wound the cord once around his fingers, then let it fall. The phone went into his pocket. He took his time.

"Corinne's going through something," he said. "I been encouraging her."

"Toward what? You?" I kept my hands flat on the counter.

"See, this is why I don't tell you things."

I almost admired the neatness of it. He had hidden something from me; now my asking justified the hiding.

"Are you planning a life with her?" I asked, watching his face.

"No," Darius said at once.

"Have you discussed one?"

"Not like that."

"Then what way?"

"Maya, she has two kids. She lives in Virginia. I'm here."

Geography again, dressed as fidelity.

I asked whether Corinne knew he had bought a ring.

His mouth opened, then closed. For a moment he looked past me.

"What ring?" Darius asked, turning back.

It was the wrong answer.

Until then, we had both pretended I did not know about the ring. He had never had to offer it or explain the delay. I had let myself imagine a proposal each time he made a dinner reservation.

"The one you bought from your cousin's jeweler," I said.

Darius pulled out a kitchen chair and sat. One leg scraped against the floor.

"Nadine needs to stay out of my business," he said, rubbing his thumb along the table's edge.

"When were you going to ask me?"

"I was waiting until the time was right."

"What had to become right?"

"Us. Money. School. All of it."

"Then why buy it?" I asked.

He lifted his eyes to mine and held them there. "Because I wanted you to know I was serious."

"How could I know about a ring you kept hidden?"

He pushed his chair back and paced the narrow stretch between the table and the counter. His voice grew louder each time he turned toward me. I had ruined the surprise. I had pressured him, embarrassed him, turned something beautiful into an interrogation. Finally, he stopped talking and waited for me to apologize.

"Call Corinne," I said.

He stopped beside his chair, one hand closing over its back.

"What?" He kept his hand on the chair.

"Call her. Put her on speaker. Tell her you bought me a ring and you're going to marry me."

"I'm not performing for you."

"You perform for everybody else. Give me one show."

He reached across me for his keys without asking me to move. Their teeth scraped the counter.

"Where are you going?"

"I need some air," Darius said, already turning away.

"Darius."

The door slammed, rattling the loose pane in the kitchen window.

Four hours later, he came back with takeout. He apologized as he unpacked the bags, keeping his eyes on the cartons. Then he explained what I had done: cornered him, brought another woman into our home, made marrying me feel like punishment. He straightened a wrapped fork beside my food.

"Did you call her?" I asked, leaving the carton closed.

"I'm done talking about this," Darius said. He opened his carton.

We ate without speaking. My plastic fork bowed against the bottom of the carton.

That night, I dreamed of the ring again. When I opened the box, a tiny mirror sat where the ring should have been.

Later, Darius handed me his phone and stood beside me while I read. The thread with Corinne began in the middle of an ordinary exchange, with a reply to a message I could not find. I scrolled to the top again, then checked the automatic-deletion setting. It was off.

He said nothing was ever enough for me. I went back to the thread. Above the first message, the screen was blank.