Page 56 of Love: Take Two

I sigh.

There is no "but" with my mom. There can't be. She and Dad gave so much to send me abroad for school, then graduate school. Every immigrant whose parents are a continent away knows that the price you pay to come to America is settling for video calls when you can't fly home, living up to or surpassing the success of your parents' friend's children, and unwavering obedience and impeccable manners, even if you know your parents are only calling to voice their disappointment.

"HiMaman," I answer, doing my best to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.

"Oh, it'sMaman? So you know who I am? I thought you might have forgotten since you're too good to call anymore."

"Maman," I start, but she cuts me off.

"No,ma cherie. You listen to me now."

I swallow down another sigh.

"You are over there working hard," she continues, her tone more resigned. "You visit when you can, send money home even though your father asks you not to." She hesitates. "You are making us proud,ma cherie. I don't think I always remember to tell you that."

I'm speechless. So shocked by her words that I simply stare out the window and watch the city pass by.She's proud of me?

"Awa? Are you there?"

"Yes, yes," I answer, clearing the lump from my throat. "I'm sorry,Maman. I'm here."

"Yes, well." I can't hear it, but I know she's pursing her lips. "Your father noticed the distance between us. He said I'm too hard on you." She pauses again. "Awa, you're a grown woman who has already excelled beyond our wildest dreams. And if I get too caught up in what this or that friend says about their son, or push you too hard, I'm…I'm sorry. I love you, I want what's best for you, and I want to be in your life."

I'm stunned. My mother hasneversaid that. She loves me, she supports me, but she's never beenproudof me. It's why I could never stop working. Her approval—the ultimate prize for the grueling hours and endless sacrifices—was always just out of reach. Thank goodness it's not a video call, because the tears streaming down my face are making a mess of last night's already smudged makeup.

"Thank you," I push out, hoping to hide my emotional state. "All I want is to make you andPapaproud."

"Well," she answers, her voice thick, "you've succeeded. Now, can we please stop this fighting? I can't bear it any longer. I love you."

"I love you too,Maman," I sob. There's no point in pretending I can withstand this much parental pride without losing it.

We talk all the way back to my place, catching up on her friends from church, Dad's job, and even some of my former classmates she ran into at the market last week. It's not without a few snide remarks on how often I come home, or a generous gift another friend's daughter sent her parents, but it's better. For the first time in a long time, I feel respect between us.

Iamaccomplished. Iama good lawyer. Iama gooddaughter. And nothing—not comments from my mom, not an insane workload at Gehrig & Associates, not even whatever is happening between Noah and I—is going to make me lose sight of that again.

I hang up the phone with a promise to call later this week, then immediately dial Rory. It's time to get back to work.

Chapter thirty

Noah

"Ugh, shit!" I shout into the steamy bathroom. Evidence that my need for Awa remains intact swirls down the drain, and I scrub off the rest of last night with the loofah and body wash set Maya gifted me for Christmas.

This morning was weird, right?I mean, she said it was fun. She let me kiss her. But it was only on the cheek. And that hug was awkward as fuck.

I finish rinsing and step onto the shaggy rug outside my shower, rubbing on body oil before grabbing a towel. New York hasn't caught on that it's spring, and I'll be itching by lunch if I don't properly moisturize. As soft and supple as her skin is, I'd bet money Awa's moisture routine puts mine to shame. Coconut oil. Maybe cocoa butter. Something that makes her smell—and taste—almost edible.

And there my dick goes again. Already half-hard when I just jerked it five minutes ago.

Maybe Awa's a witch, I chuckle to myself. She cast a spell on my dick all those years ago, and now I can't be around her, can't evensmellher, without getting riled up.

I palm myself through the towel absentmindedly, falling back into the memory of last night. The last time we came together, she was innocent, hesitant to even say "fingering" as she trembled under my touch. Then last night, she's begging for my cum and talking about her "tight little pussy". And she thinks we're not doing that again?

I scoff.

Good luck with that, baby.When I see her today, I'm going to remind her of just how good it is between us. How wet I can make her with just my words until she's creaming all over me again, preferably in a bed this time.Awa Faye—mean, beautiful, formidable—you are going to be mine.

Where the hell is she?!