“Yes,” Jayla admitted, then released a staggered sigh. “I just hope she thinks I’m . . . I don’t know. Good enough for her son. You know how mothers can be.”
“Girl, you’ll be fine,” Tara said. “Derrick adores you, so I’m sure he’s raved about you to his mom.”
“See, that’s the thing. I don’t want to have to try to live up to some crazy expectation. I don’t really know what she is expecting.”
“Jaye, she is expecting the woman her son wants to wife. Now, she raised her son right. I’m sure she trusts his instincts.”
Jayla frowned, slightly discouraged by the last comment. Were Derrick’s instincts right about her? What about her lifestyle, which she’d managed to keep hidden? She felt as tainted as if she were wearing the scarlet letter. But, both fortunately and unfortunately, Derrick’s mom wouldn’t be exposed to all that.
“Thanks, Tara,” Jayla said. Restlessness had her moseying back over to the window to peer out again. “I really do appreciate the encouragement. This is my first time with this.”
“And your last. So after today, it’s all downhill from here.” She paused. “Listen,” she added, “when you get a free moment, I need to talk to you.”
Jayla froze. Tara couldn’t be talking about the affair with her husband. Her tone was much too calm for that to be the case. A car door slammed and had Jayla glancing through the blinds. She saw Derrick already rounding the hood of his car to assist his mother.
“Is that okay?” Tara was saying, pulling Jayla back to the conversation.
“Sure, that’s fine. I got to go, T. They’re here.” She glanced through the blinds again. “But, yeah, you should come over. We can talk and pack my stuff,” she added with a laugh.
“Pack?”
“Yeah, Derrick and I agreed to move in together.”
Tara groaned. “I wanted to have a girl chat with you. Not you trying to put me to work. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Call me later.”
Jayla clicked the phone off and, after doing one final primp in the mirror, trotted downstairs. She opened the front door just as Derrick walked up, clutching his mother’s arm. Jayla stopped in her tracks.
Yes, this was the woman from the picture, but this was the same woman she’d run into at Patricia’s house. She was aging gracefully, with soft wrinkles and huge eyes round with warmth. She’d cut her hair: she now had huge black and silver-streaked curls, and some of them looped around to touch the diamond studs resting in her ears. Derrick looked exactly like her, all the way down to the dimples, so how the hell had she not recognized the woman before? Shit, she’d been so engrossed in her issues, she hadn’t even realized Derrick’s mother was Patricia’s client. She held her breath, silently praying the woman wouldn’t remember their chance encounter.
Derrick wasted no time making introductions as he helped the woman into the house. “Mom, this is my fiancée, Jayla. Jayla, my mom, Gloria Lewis.”
Jayla held out a shaky hand. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Ms. Lewis,” she whispered, averting her eyes.
“Same here, dear,” Gloria said. “And please call me Gloria.”
Jayla nodded and took the suitcase from Derrick. She needed to move. Needed to keep busy. Needed to think. “Would you like me to get you something?” she offered. “Tea? Juice? Water?”
“No, dear, I’m just fine. I need to get these old bones to a chair, that’s all.”
Feeling helpless and still uneasy, Jayla set down the suitcase and stood in the middle of the living-room floor while Derrick helped his mother to the sofa.
Gloria sighed as she lowered herself onto the cushions. “That is so much better.” She smiled. “This old body ain’t what it used to be.”
Jayla eyed the crisp linen skirt suit Derrick’s mother wore, the flesh-tone stockings, and the three-inch heels. She wondered why in the world she would choose to take a two-hour flight in church clothes, but she decided it was best not to ask. Derrick had warned her that his mother was exhibiting symptoms of the early stages of dementia. The last thing Jayla wanted to do was offend her.
And maybe, just maybe, Gloria didn’t remember her. But that begged the question, What the hell was Gloria doing at Patricia’s? This was just too much.
“Jayla is it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jayla walked over and took a hesitant seat on the recliner opposite the sofa. Shit, maybe she did remember....
“Do you cook?”
Jayla opened her mouth and shut it again, slightly relieved at the innocent question. “A little,” she admitted. “I don’t cook as often as I would like, but I know how.”
“Mom, it’s fine,” Derrick said with a smile as he sat down at the other end of the sofa. “Jayla has so many positive attributes. That wasn’t really a top priority for me.”
“But, Derrick, I can cook,” Jayla insisted.
Derrick’s absent nod had Jayla feeling slightly offended. What the hell was he trying to say?
“I understand,” Gloria went on. “I guess I just figured after a flight in from Chicago, she would’ve cooked a little something. That’s what I would’ve done.”
Jayla’s heart sank. Apparently, she had flunked that little pop quiz. She rose. “I would be happy to put something together real quick.”
“No, dear.” Gloria waved her hand and gestured for her to sit back down. “I’m not saying you’re supposed to cook because I said so. Don’t worry about it. I want to talk to you, anyway.” She turned to her son and gestured toward her suitcase. “Son, can you take my bag upstairs? I want to have a little talk with your fiancée here, if you don’t mind.”
Anxiety had Jayla’s forehead creasing with the frown. Damn, she remembered. The secret was out.
“Sure.” Derrick stood and grabbed Gloria’s bag. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the top of Jayla’s head, gave her arm a reassuring squeeze, and headed upstairs.
Gloria waited patiently until she was sure her son was gone, then dove in. “Tell me about yourself, Jayla,” she said. “Derrick doesn’t really give me any details. Says it’s none of my business and that I will get to know you later.”
Jayla nodded. “Well, there is not much to tell, really. I absolutely adore your son. He is . . .”
“No, dear.” Gloria’s tone was laced with slight agitation. “Like, what do you do? Have any kids? Ever had an STD? What number of sexual partners have you had? That sort of thing.”
Jayla’s eyes widened at the questions, and she quickly glanced to the stairs. Damn. Where the hell was Derrick? “I’m sorry,” she said. “I think those are private questions.”
Gloria’s lips curved. “That’s usually a sign that the answers aren’t good, dear,” she said. “See, my son doesn’t ask those types of questions, and that concerns me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I completely trust his heart and his intentions. It’s yours I’m not so sure about.”
“Ms. Lewis, I assure you—”
“You can assure until hell freezes over, dear,” Gloria said. “Didn’t he tell you about his last fiancée? Ran off and left him at the altar.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, my Derrick didn’t see that coming. That little bitch tried to pull a fast one. Excuse my language, but she really was a little bitch. I never liked her.”
Jayla pursed her lips, unsure how she was supposed to respond.
“After his sister passed . . . ,” Gloria went on, “I don’t know. Derrick is so hell-bent on protecting and providing for the women in his life. Even if they don’t deserve it. Not sure where he gets it from, because it’s damn sure not from his father.” She paused and turned curious eyes on Jayla. “So, tell me, Jayla. Do you deserve my Derrick?”
Jayla sighed. Another loaded question. Like mother, like son. “Ms. Lewis,” she said, her words slow with sincerity, “I love Derrick. I really do. I’ve loved only one other man in my life, and that was many years ago.” She thought of Jackie’s husband and sighed. Of course, she would always have a spe
cial place in her heart for Quentin. “Since then,” she continued, “I didn’t think I could love again, honestly. So when Derrick came into my life, I have to admit, at first, I resisted. But he makes me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. Does that make sense at all?”
Gloria pursed her lips. “I understand, dear. But the question bears repeating. I’m happy you love him. I’m happy he loves you. But do you deserve him?”
Jayla remained quiet.
Gloria shook her head at the affirmation. “Exactly my point,” she said.
Jayla watched Gloria study her face, as if seeing her for the first time. Then Gloria glanced away. “I think I know you, dear,” she said, and Jayla shut her eyes.
“Do you?”
“Patricia. Patricia is your mother, right?”
What to do? What to do? Maybe she could play off the dementia, make this woman second-guess her own memory. Maybe she could tell the truth and pray the conversation didn’t go any further.
“I think I met you,” Gloria went on. “It’s been a while, and you have to forgive me, child, but my mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be. What is it that you said you do again?”
It was obvious she was fishing, despite the innocent look on her face. Jayla swallowed the lump in her throat.
“I’m a marketing consultant.”
“For who?”
“I work for myself.”
Gloria’s response was a doubtful grunt. “Yes, Patricia is a lovely woman. Absolutely lovely. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her . . . ,” she said, her voice almost intimate as she uttered the simple statement. What the hell was going on? Was Gloria a client? Hell, was she a Heartbreaker herself?
“Patricia isn’t my biological mother,” Jayla said, hoping some of the truth would shed a more positive light on the chaos. She toggled so much between the truth and lies, the line differentiating the two was blurry. “She’s more of a friend. She used to be my professor in college, and when my real mother died, I started to look up to her as a mother figure.”
Gloria’s face widened in what appeared to be genuine surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t know.”
Jayla nodded. She would lay it on thick. “Patricia convinced me to finish school, get my life together, start my marketing business. I will always love her for that.”
“So, you’re not a Heartbreaker?”
Jayla struggled to answer quickly, but not too quickly, where it would seem like an obvious lie. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” she answered, her face displaying mock confusion.
Gloria just stared, and Jayla couldn’t be sure if the woman believed her. The last thing she needed was Gloria to know the truth or, worse, reveal it to Derrick. The shit would most definitely hit the fan.
“You don’t know what I’m talking about,” she echoed, as if she were trying to translate from a foreign language. She paused a moment. “I can’t read you, Jayla,” she admitted. “I don’t know if you’re being serious with me, dear. And when I’m not sure about a person, I can’t trust them.”
Jayla frowned. Dementia, my ass. This bitch was sharp. She opened her mouth and shut it once more. How was she supposed to respond to that?
“So, let me ask you again.” Gloria leaned forward, her eyes piercing. “Do you deserve my Derrick?”
“Yes,” Jayla said, the pain of the lie stinging her throat. “I deserve Derrick.” Then, in an effort to divert attention away from herself, she said, “Do you deserve your husband?”
The question clearly caught her off guard. Gloria’s lips dropped in surprise, and her eyes widened in sheer shock. Jayla couldn’t be sure, but she could’ve sworn the woman paled a few shades as well.
Gloria cleared her throat and pursed her lips. “Why do you ask anything about my husband?”
Jayla lifted a shoulder, the shrug meant to seem careless. “I’m just asking,” she said. “I haven’t heard you mention him.”
Gloria frowned. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“It’s not? You sure were in my business a moment ago.” Jayla’s voice sliced the air with renewed confidence. Good. Let her squirm a little. “You asked me about Patricia and her line of work, remember?” Gloria remained silent, and Jayla pressed on. “That must mean you know what Patricia does for a living, and considering you were over at her house, I hardly think that was a social call.”
Another pause and Gloria’s lips turned up in what appeared to be a sneer. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, right,” Jayla responded. She was glad her voice held strong, despite the continuing discomfort she felt. She hated this. All of this. But, damn it, this woman wasn’t about to jeopardize what she’d worked for. “Listen, I’m not trying to blackmail you or anything,” Jayla went on. “I don’t care that you hired Patricia to sleep with your husband. But the way I see it, we both need to stay out of each other’s business. I won’t tell if you won’t.” She waited, watched Gloria’s eyes glaze over for a moment.
Gloria pulled out a cigarette, took her time lighting it, and finally put the stick to her lips. She blew out a stream of thick smoke, eyeing Jayla through the haze. Her eyes seemed to be dancing as she shook her head.
“Like I said.” Gloria took another heavy drag on the cigarette and exhaled another puff of smoke between them. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I wouldn’t waste one damn dime on hiring anybody to sleep with my husband. He could keel over dead right now, and I still wouldn’t give a damn. You young girls think you’re so smart, but you don’t know a damn thing. Shame.” She tapped the edge of the cigarette, sprinkling a few ashes on the carpet.
Jayla watched the woman stare her down through the cloud of smoke. “So, what were you over there for?” she asked. But then confusion had her feeling like an idiot. And certainly so when Gloria chuckled to herself and didn’t respond. Jayla remembered Patricia’s lingerie, the dinner she had interrupted, the wine . . . all for what she thought was an assignment. Jayla’s lips turned down from shock and disgust as the realization crystalized. “You’re sleeping with Patricia?” Her voice was nearly a whisper.
Gloria licked her lips moist, as if she were reliving the sexual moment. “Don’t underestimate me, child,” she responded with a grin. “I know all the ins and outs of Patricia. You would be surprised what I know about you.”
Damn. It was the truth, she knew. Jayla lowered her eyes as she recalled that visit with Patricia, heard herself spilling everything to Patricia that day. She heard Derrick coming back downstairs, and she took a heavy breath. The tension in the room was about as thick as Gloria’s cigarette smoke. She was nearly trembling, pissed that Gloria had laid her shit bare.
Derrick coughed and fanned the air. “Mama, I thought I asked you not to smoke in my house?” he said, rushing to open the windows. “You know Jayla is pregnant.”
Gloria’s eyes slithered over to Jayla’s flat tummy before she met her eyes again. Smiling, as if to prove her knowledge, she took another pull on her cigarette before blowing the smoke in Jayla’s direction. Then she stood to her feet and headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll make dinner,” she offered. “If you want, you can watch, so you can learn a thing or two, Jayla.”
* * *
“She hates me.” Jayla bit off each word with a pout as she began taking off her jewelry. She met Derrick’s eyes in the mirror.
“She does not hate you,” he said. “My mother can be somewhat difficult. But she wants me to be happy all the same.”
“I know she does.” Jayla turned and sat her hands on her hips. “But she doesn’t think I deserve you.”
Derrick rounded the bed, and after taking one of Jayla’s hands, he pulled her into his embrace. “Yes, you do,” he assured her. “Don’t you deserve to be happy?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t I make you happy?”
“Yes.”
“There you go. We deserve each other.” He k
issed her and popped her on her ass.
Jayla frowned. For some reason, that didn’t do anything to soothe the uneasiness she felt. Especially because she didn’t know what Gloria was going to do with the information she had on her.
“Another thing, I wanted to mention,” she said, watching as Derrick shrugged into his basketball shorts and T-shirt. “What was all that earlier about me cooking?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your mom was going on and on about me not cooking for you, and you said it wasn’t a priority.”
Derrick shrugged. “It’s not.”
“But you know I don’t mind cooking for you.”
Derrick laughed. “I know, sexy. And I appreciate it.”
“I just . . .” Jayla sighed. The conversation with Gloria had her so frustrated. “I don’t want you to not expect those things of me. I want . . .” She rolled her eyes at her own confusion. “Nothing. Never mind.” She wanted to ask Derrick about his father, about his mother and her affair with Patricia, but then, she would have to tell him everything.
Derrick sat on the bed and patted the empty space beside him. “Come here.”
Obediently, Jayla lowered herself to the mattress and allowed his arms to pull her to his chest.
“Is the wedding stressing you out, babe?” he asked, concern creasing his forehead. “Do we need to put it off? Especially after what happened to Jocelyn. You got a lot on your mind right now, and I don’t mind waiting.”
Jayla sighed. Of course, she hadn’t told him about the falling-out with Jackie. Yeah, her guilt over Jocelyn’s suicide was weighing on her extra heavy. And to date, she still wasn’t pregnant. As far as he was concerned, she was just getting those bridal jitters. “No,” she said. “No, we don’t need to push it off. I guess I was just sort of disappointed when your mom didn’t like me. I really wanted to impress her. Now I feel like that may affect your feelings about me.” She felt his lips press against her temple.
“Of course not, beautiful,” he said. “I love my mom. I believe she has my best interest at heart. But I can’t live by my mom’s feelings. And remember, my mother has early dementia. Half the time, she doesn’t even know what she’s saying. So please don’t let that stress you, babe. I just know I need my Jayla.”
The Appraisal Page 21
