Jaded (The Butterfly Memoirs)

by Kane, M. J.

“Four hours? Damn, what happened?”

  Yasmine straightened in the booth; her hands settled in her lap. “I discovered my fiancé was a rapist.”

  I felt my mouth drop open. A cheating boyfriend or an unknown baby’s momma were what I expected. A rapist fiancé? “You’re kidding.”

  When her eyes met mine again, they were hard as steel.

  “No, I’m not making this up. He was the roommate of the man my best friend dated. Her boyfriend left town for a few months for work. My friend went to his house to get something she’d left behind, and my son-of-a-bitch fiancé raped her. It happened months before he proposed. The bastard lied to his roommate and me to cover his ass. In the end, we both believed her. The revelation happened after he proposed…,” her voice faltered.

  My fist tightened. “How long ago?”

  “Over three months.”

  “That mother—,” I cut myself off before the rest of the word slipped.

  She smiled slowly. “Why Zachariah, who knew you had such a dirty mouth. And all this time I thought it was just me.”

  I ignored her comment. “Please tell me the bastard is in jail,” I said, my teeth clenched.

  “He served some time, but in the end, got away with it because there was no evidence. It happened months before, and all evidence had been destroyed. He did, however, lose his job and left California.” She sat up and glanced around. “Didn’t we order some wine? I could seriously use a drink.”

  “Me, too.” I spied our server, waved him over, and inquired about our order.

  A few minutes later, we sat with two freshly poured glasses of wine. I told the server to leave the bottle.

  Yasmine held her glass high. “I propose a toast.”

  “Okay,” I mirrored her action.

  “To our bastard and bitch exes. I hope wherever they are, they realize they fucked up when they screwed us over.” Firm resolve echoed the steel of her eyes.

  “Interesting choice of words; I second that.”

  We clinked glasses and watched each other as we drank. Neither of us sipped.

  I swallowed hard. “You are an interesting woman, Yasmine Phillips,” I poured a second round for the both of us the moment her glass touched the table.

  “Really?” she smirked.

  I nodded. “You are beautiful, smart, have a body that’s hot, and the mouth of a sailor.”

  Yasmine froze mid sip; laughter burst from her.

  “Sorry, it’s my mom’s Irish side of the family.”

  “Irish? You have black family members from Ireland?”

  She smiled. “No. The Irish comes from my mother’s side; she’s white. My father is black.” The expression on her face at the explanation of her heritage seemed apprehensive.

  “That explains a few things.”

  Her head tilted to the side. “Like what?”

  “Like where you get those grey eyes. I thought you wore contacts. It also explains the beautiful color of your skin.”

  Her cheeks flushed under the low lights. “Thank you.”

  She avoided my gaze. I had never been this forward when sharing my thoughts with women I found attractive. For some reason, talking to Yasmine was as easy as breathing. “I’m sure you were told that a lot while growing up.”

  She ran a finger along the rim of her glass. “Not really. Most comments were negative. Believe me I’ve heard them all. ‘Oh, that’s why you’ve got such light skin’ or ‘didn’t your parents know not to reproduce?’” She shrugged.

  I shook my head in disgust. People could be so ignorant.

  “The majority of my white family disowned my mother for marrying a black man. We rarely spent time with them. The black side welcomed us. I’ve spent more time trying to decide which side of the family I could identify with most.” She held up a hand and studied her skin in the low light. “I don’t favor any particular side. Honestly, I had a harder time than my brother did. He looks more like a black man than a white one. Me? I guess I’m just…me.”

  I waited until her gaze met mine again. “Your parents did an amazing job when they made you.”

  Yasmine stared at me, a sense of appreciation on her face. I could feel something change in the air between us. We connected on another level. It was comforting and nerve-racking at the same time.

  “You’re the only one besides my best friends who know I was ever engaged.” Her eyebrows scrunched as if she couldn’t believe the secret she’d shared.

  “You never told your parents?”

  “No, they weren’t aware I was seeing anyone. Not even my brother knows.”

  “Are you close to your family?”

  Yasmine laughed lightly. “We’re close, and they are aware I date, make that, dated in past tense. I have a bad history with men. It could be a curse,” she muttered. “The relationship between Javan and me was...” She inclined her head in what seemed to be embarrassment. “We weren’t officially dating at the time. We were more like…cut buddies.”

  “Oh, friends who have sex, huh?”

  “Yes, it’s what I chose. The first man who wanted to marry me felt he needed to be with more than one woman. My experiences taught me men do what they want with anybody they want. Why can’t I do the same? Don’t misunderstand. I don’t sleep with just anybody. I have standards. I think it’s unfair that I am considered a ‘ho’ because I like sex with more than one partner.”

  I couldn’t help it; both eyebrows rose in surprise.

  Yasmine rolled her eyes. “Not at the same time…what I mean is men have a little black book, so do I,” she shrugged and sipped her wine again. Defiance mixed with pain shown on her face.

  Oh yes, Yasmine Phillips was definitely in a league all by herself. Normally I would have taken what she said and looked at her differently. However, with her hurt past…I could understand her reasoning.

  “That’s where we differ,” I said. This time her eyebrows rose. “I’m old fashioned. I believe in monogamy. If I’m with you then I expect the same. If I’m not happy with the relationship, I’d be honest and end it.”

  “Good for you,” she smirked. “You think I’m wrong for feeling this way, don’t you.”

  Her reply was more of a statement than a question.

  I mused before responding. “Yasmine, we make decisions based on what is best for us. You were unable to find what you were searching for and decided not to let it deter you from finding some happiness. You protect yourself, physically and emotionally. I can respect that.” I chuckled. “It sounds like way more fun than self-imposed celibacy.” I drained my glass.

  “Wait, did you say you are celibate?” she didn’t hide her laugh.

  “Yeah, got a problem with that?” I laughed, too. Guess it did sound unbelievable.

  “No…,” she rested her elbows on the table, lowered her head in both hands, and tried her best to keep her laughter contained. “Zack, how crazy is this? Here we are, two attractive people whose hearts have been ripped out, eating dinner in one of the most romantic places in town. Neither of us has had sex in…for me it’s been over three months. How about you?”

  This conversation got weirder and weirder. “I stopped counting after the twelfth month.”

  Her head rested on the table as my admission broke her dam. Talk about embarrassing. I confessed to a sexy woman I was in a sexless period of my life. It felt like I admitted impotency, which was not the case. My ego should have been hurt, but instead, I was seriously aroused. Go figure.

  “Zack,” she paused to catch her breath. “You see what the problem is, right?”

  “I should be the one with the three month set back and you should be the celibate one?”

  Yasmine nodded and tilted her head back, hand across her mouth. All attempts to quit laughing ceased. “Oh, Zack, we’re pathetic.”

  I poured another glass of wine and raised it in a new toast. “To single people who have no intention of sleeping together.”

  Where did that come from?

  We clinked
our glasses and sipped our wine, all the while contemplating each other.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Yasmine’s eyes went to her glass.

  “Why not, we’re putting everything out on the table tonight.”

  She smiled and ran her finger over the glass rim. “Remember the best friend I told you about?”

  I nodded.

  “They’re getting married in a week. I don’t want to go alone. Would you mind—”

  “I’d be honored to be your date for the evening.”

  Yasmine looked up and smiled softly. I didn’t miss her relieved expression. “Thank you, Zack.”

  “For you, it’s my pleasure.”

  Chapter 9

  The sound of Zack and Yasmine talking outside woke me. How long did I sleep on the couch? I cut off the television and peeked out the window. Zachariah walked Yasmine to her car, opened the door, and closed it after she got in. He watched her back out of the driveway, and waved in response when she honked the horn. After a moment, he took his cell phone from his pocket. Seconds later, my house phone rang.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  Zachariah’s chuckle sounded like his father’s. “Were you spying on me?”

  “No, I heard voices and glanced out the window.”

  “Uh huh, I bet you stayed up to see what time we got back.”

  I checked the locks on the front door while watching my son get into his car. When he backed out of the driveway, I shut off all the lights and made my way along the hallway towards my bedroom.

  “No, I fell asleep on the sofa while watching T.V.” I paused at the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water before heading to the bathroom.

  “Did you eat?” he asked.

  “No. It’s a good thing you went out.” I ignored his sigh. “So, what did you think?”

  “About what?” Exasperation was in his voice.

  I could tell he wanted to question my diet, but I refused to have that conversation. After all, I was the parent.

  “About her.” I reached the bathroom and grabbed the medication on the counter.

  “She’s a different kind of woman, Mom.”

  I could hear the interest in his voice. “Different is what you need.” I swallowed the required allotment of pills and followed it with water. Unable to avoid the metallic taste in my mouth, I spread toothpaste on my toothbrush.

  “Why do you keep trying to set me up? It’s not going to work. Neither of us are looking for a relationship.”

  I shook my head. Young people. “So you say. I’m getting ready for bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Zachariah.”

  “Okay, get some rest. I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too.” I hung up the phone, brushed my teeth, swishing and scrubbing my way to a metallic free mouth. It didn’t helped much, but it was better than not brushing at all.

  After rinsing, I leaned on the counter and waited for the wave of nausea to pass. I hated this feeling. When the world stopped spinning, I went to my room, slipped into my pajamas, climbed into bed, and shut off the light.

  Yasmine and Zachariah.

  They didn’t know it, but the two of them needed each other. After spending three weeks with Yasmine, it was obvious she had a good heart. After all, what type of woman would take the time to check on me? Spend time with me? See me as a mentor? She didn’t know either one of us. Yet, she continued visiting several times a week.

  It amazed me how much we had in common. Her drive and determination reminded me of what it was like to be her age. She had a strong head on her shoulders and didn’t take crap from anyone, a quality I admired.

  Qualities like those were exactly what my son needed in his life. Melissa was a good person, despite the fact she turned tail and ran away at the first sign of a problem. I’m glad it happened before vows were exchanged. Zachariah was loyal to a fault. Even if their marriage made him unhappy, he’d never walk away. The last thing my son needed was to be stuck with a woman who took him for everything and left him when he needed her most.

  Marriage was a support system. My husband, Charles, and I taught Zachariah how to treat a woman. Always be a gentleman, put your wife’s needs before your own, and she would take care of you. When Charles was alive, we were proof of how to make a marriage work. Was it perfect? Of course not. No relationship, no matter how strong, was perfect.

  I ran my finger over the diamond studded gold band my husband gave me the day we were married. Even after his death, twenty-two years ago, I’d never taken it off. My goal before leaving this earth would be giving our rings to my son and the woman he loved.

  Our love ended in tragedy, but it was strong and true. I wanted the blessings we experienced to pass on to Zachariah and his bride. Knowing they wore our rings long after our deaths would be like an invisible blanket protecting and blessing their marriage.

  That would never have happened if he’d married Melissa.

  Yasmine on the other hand…

  During our time together, I ascertained there was a history of bad experiences in her life, and all of them dealt with men. Just as Zachariah needed a strong woman in his life, Yasmine needed a good listener, provider, lover, and a man who could show her the support and respect she deserved.

  They needed to stop ignoring the obvious attraction between them and accept the fact they needed each other. For richer or poorer, through sickness and health. Until death did they part.

  That would be my prayer tonight.

  Chapter 10

  I adjusted my necktie, yet again. Tuxedos were not my regular style. I preferred slacks and button up shirts. But for Yasmine, I’d do anything.

  I joined the line of people walking up the front steps of the hotel. The place had taken on a completely different life.

  Love and romance smacked me in the face the moment I entered the front doors. Smiling couples, happy faces, and fathers bouncing babies on their knees were everywhere.

  Happiness and family, things I should have in my thirties, but were sorely lacking.

  An usher directed me to the room serving as a chapel. Unsure of what side to sit on, I grabbed the first available chair near the back, an aisle seat where she would see me.

  The last time we spoke, the bridal party was decorating what I assumed to be this room before attending the infamous bachelorette party. They’d done a great job; Yasmine had a talent for pulling things together. The amount of work put into making this day memorable for her friends would pay off.

  ‘It’s my gift to make up for all the pain they’ve gone through,’ she’d said.

  I studied my surroundings. Tiny lights trailed the length of the room. Chairs, decorated with white cloth, boasted bunches of flowers tied to the sides and were placed along walls.

  There was plenty of white fluffy stuff…tulle. How did I know that? Oh, yeah…Melissa. She kept me in the loop about the amount of money spent on our special day.

  Money that was wasted. After spending weeks watching my mother vomit and suffer, I arrived home to find her carrying a box out the front door with her girlfriends in tow. Why didn’t she inform me of her decision to call off the wedding before moving?

  I inhaled the smell of freshly cut flowers, and forced the memory away.

  My attention went to the candelabras serving as centerpieces of the room; the place where the couple would exchange their vows.

  More useless knowledge.

  I spoke cordially to people who nodded their heads in my direction. The attendees were a mix of all races, making it impossible to tell who supported the bride or groom.

  “Excuse me, sir, are those seats taken?” one of the ushers asked.

  I glanced at the empty chairs next to me. “They’re available.”

  He smiled his thanks before waving over an elderly couple. I stood, giving up my aisle seat, and settled in the next seat available. They nodded in appreciation.

  The room grew silent when music played. Everyone turned to observe the parade of parents and grandparent
s escorted to their seats. Next came two men walking side by side; the groom and his best man. The blond haired man must be the groom. He appeared on edge. I laughed silently. If I ever got married, jittery was not how I would feel.

  A man should hold his own on his wedding day. After all, wasn’t he the one who brought up the idea of marriage? He provided the ring, made plans for the household. He should stand before his family, friends, and God without shaking like a leaf in a breeze.

  The bridesmaids were next. First up was a Caucasian. The flower girl and ring bearer, also Caucasian, followed. Yasmine’s best friend must be white. After all, she was bi-racial.

  The next woman who entered the room left me speechless. Yasmine was beyond beautiful.

  Striking. Lovely. Elegant.

  Exquisite.

  None of these words adequately described the woman I beheld. I cursed myself for giving up the aisle seat.

  The milk chocolate fabric of her dress displayed every seductive curve. Since meeting her, Yasmine’s body had become the subject of midnight fantasies and erotic daydreams. The blue stone necklace, lying flush against her slender throat, brought out the grey color of her eyes.

  She glided gracefully in time to the music, her head held high and shoulders arched. Beauty adorned the surface, but it wasn’t how she felt. She’d confided that planning this wedding ate her up inside.

  Yasmine focused on her destination and didn’t see me when she passed.

  Another bridesmaid entered, this one was black. Her dress appeared different from the others. The maid of honor? Wasn’t that in the wedding handbook? As soon as she found her place at the altar, the music changed. The wedding march played while everyone stood for the bride’s entrance. My eyebrows shot up; she was black. I glanced at the groom, the nerves he’d wore on his sleeve stilled the moment he focused on his love. A woman with her beauty was an obvious catch for any man, no matter what race.

  My attention went back to Yasmine who watched the processional with tears in her eyes. I should have found a seat near the front. I focused, willing her attention in my direction. Our eyes met as if she heard my silent call. She squinted and then smiled.