Valentines on the Edge

by Carol Maloney Scott

  She pops the next batch of cookies in the oven and smiles. “Marcus is going to be so excited when he sees ‘your’ creations. Remember—don’t tell him I did this. It will be our little secret.”

  Unfortunately, I have a much bigger secret I am also hiding from Marcus. It’s not like we’re serious enough to be thinking about marriage or anything, so he doesn’t need to know about my finances, but we’ve been together for well over a year, and the pressure of keeping my debt from him is mounting every day, along with the money I owe.

  The uncle that Cecilia is referring to is actually my Great Uncle Mel, who is a retired cop, and lives three doors down in my apartment complex with his friend, Bob, also a retired cop. They didn’t get enough of each other when they worked together, so they continued the relationship after Bob’s wife passed away a few years ago. They could definitely own a home, or at least live in a better neighborhood, but they are cheap and like to keep a low profile.

  No, they’re not gay, just paranoid and suspicious. And I think a bit lonely. Uncle Mel never married (police work is my life, Princess), and Bob is still mourning his wife and not wanting to start over at his age. They moved into this neighborhood right after me, supposedly to keep an eye on me, but I know it’s because they perceive this area is going downhill fast, and they like to keep watch on potential crime. Our apartment complex is an area of the Richmond suburbs that used to be the ‘it’ location, but in the past ten years the wealth and fancy shopping have moved much further west down the road, and the Brighton Oaks apartment complex has become more diverse and lower income.

  Most of the residents are perfectly nice people, but the lower rent and profile have been attracting some seedier characters lately. Even Marcus wants me to move, but it makes me feel racist to relocate because all of my neighbors don’t look like me anymore. I stay because of Uncle Mel and Bob, and because I can’t afford to move anywhere more prestigious.

  I’m sure Marcus would like me to move in with him, but I keep telling him that I don’t believe in living together. What I really don’t believe in is admitting to the mess I have made of my finances.

  “Thanks for doing all of this, Cecilia. You’re a good friend. Do you have any plans tonight?”

  “Nope. Just snuggling up with my kitties. It’s very freeing, but you and Marcus will have a fantastic night. I’m sure he is going to shower you with Valentine’s Day love.”

  I manage a smile at the thought of sweet, handsome Marcus. He’s the nicest guy I’ve ever dated.

  Love is wonderful—hearts, roses…but unfortunately the shower I need is green, not red and pink.

  “Can I lower the payment at all?”

  I bite my lip and eye the front door. Marcus is due here any minute, and I foolishly answered my cell phone, thinking creditors wouldn’t call on a Sunday. I should know better.

  “Ms. Ferguson, that’s the best deal I can offer you to settle this debt. You’re too far behind on your payments to do anything else.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry but I can’t talk right now. I will call back on Monday.”

  I hang up before she can tell me to have a great day. Collectors are much nicer nowadays, since the economy went south and everyone was screwed, but I am waiting for them to become more menacing, now that the job market has improved.

  The door knock startles me. I peek out the window, although I don’t know why. I’m off the phone and no one can hear me outside. Shoot, the window is open a crack. Damn these unseasonably warm days!

  Whew, it’s not Marcus, but not much better. It’s Uncle Mel and Bob. Aww, they have flowers.

  I swing open the door to greet the two smiling old guys who are my only real family.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

  “Hey, Princess. Same to you!” Uncle Mel walks in and surveys the room in that ‘casing the joint’ way he has. I can’t imagine he expects to find a perp behind my chaise lounge.

  They both kiss me on the cheek and we exchange gifts. They brought me beautiful pink roses, and a big box of Godiva truffles.

  “And this is a little something extra.” Uncle Mel winks and elbows Bob, to ensure he’s paying attention to the gift opening.

  “Wow, that’s so pretty.” Delicate heart shaped, pink stones alternating with diamond studs adorn a white gold bracelet.

  “Just like the Princess.” Bob smiles until he stares at my front window. “Kid, what’s with the open window? You live in a ground floor apartment. Pretty, young girls like you need to be more careful.”

  “Bob, its broad daylight. And it’s so sunny—I just wanted to get some fresh air in here.”

  Bob starts to protest, but Uncle Mel stops him. “It’s okay. We’ll keep an eye out. It does smell awfully good in here.”

  I take this opportunity to present them with handmade cards and cookies. There is no way Marcus could eat all of Cecilia’s creations. He’s at the gym six days a week and has ridiculously low body fat.

  “So you got big plans with the boyfriend tonight?”

  Uncle Mel doesn’t dislike Marcus, but I know he would rather see me dating a white guy. I try to forgive him because I know he was raised that way, and all his years as a cop have made him very cynical and wary in general. When my parents died in my senior year of high school, he became even more overprotective. The irony is that the last serious white boyfriend I had cheated on me and did drugs. Marcus is an IT Manager at Bella Donna Press, and a Georgia Tech honors graduate. He doesn’t even drink or look at another girl.

  “Yeah, Marcus is coming over and taking me out. It’s a surprise.”

  “A surprise, huh? Okay, well just be careful.”

  “Uncle Mel, I have been dating him for a long time. He isn’t going to suddenly drag me into the woods and kill me.” I refrain from reminding him that most serial killers are white.

  Bob sighs and pushes my well-meaning, but misguided uncle to the door. “Mel, cut the crap. The guy’s alright. We checked him out.”

  My jaw drops, but I quickly recover. I should have known they would run a background investigation on any guy I date, and especially one a few shades darker than them. I am fuming, but saying anything isn’t going to do any good. I just need to make sure Marcus never knows how my only relative feels about our relationship.

  Uncle Mel kisses my cheek and puts his hand on the doorknob. “I know this guy has a good job and he’s on the up and up. But it can’t hurt to be cautious. You’re a naive little girl, Princess. You haven’t seen the things I’ve seen with…oh hey, Marcus…right?”

  Oh my goodness. Uncle Mel was finishing his final thoughts on Marcus as he was opening the front door…to find Marcus standing there with a vase full of red roses in one hand, and a big gift bag in the other.

  “Yes, Sir. Mr. Ferguson, right?”

  Marcus reaches out to shake my uncle’s hand. Bob jumps in and pushes Mel aside.

  “How are you, Marcus? I’m Bob Davenport. I used to be Mel’s partner on the police force. We’re both retired now, as you know. You’ve met before, haven’t you?”

  He points between the two most important men in my life. They’ve met, but I try to keep them apart as much as possible. Another ticking time bomb in my fairy tale life.

  “Pleased to meet you, Sir. So you were partners on the force, and now partners in life?”

  Marcus smirks and looks at me. He knows they aren’t gay, and now I’m wondering if he heard Uncle Mel’s less than sweet remarks about him.

  “Jesus, no! My ass isn’t gay!” Uncle Mel is not all that comfortable with diversity in any form. In his defense, most straight men don’t want to be labeled as gay, but my old-fashioned uncle is way touchier. Maybe he should stop living with a man if he’s so worried about it.

  Marcus clears his throat and looks down at the ground, presumably to compose himself. Looking up he says, “Sir, if you were gay, I think your whole body would be classified as homosexual, not just your ass.”

  Bob busts out laughing and slaps Marcu
s’ back. “This guy’s funny. Aw, Mel, lighten up. Listen, you two kids have a great time. Take good care of this little lady.”

  “I will. Happy Valentine’s Day, gentlemen.”

  Marcus smirks and Uncle Mel scowls as I close the door.

  I take that opportunity to slip back inside to silence the ringer on my phone, before Marcus comes inside. The creditors need some time off.

  “Are you going to say anything?”

  Marcus is awkwardly perched on one knee while holding a box containing a big problem.

  It shouldn’t be a problem. This should be the most joyous day of my life. I love Marcus and there is nothing more I want than to be Mrs. Johnson, but it’s all happening so fast. How can I say yes when he has no idea I owe all that money? And how can I ruin this moment by telling him now? And how mad will he be when he finds out he proposed without all the facts?

  All of these thoughts shoot through my head like a lightning bolt and all I can manage to squeak out is, “I don’t know.”

  His face drops and his smile fades. He pauses a moment and stands up, placing the ring on the coffee table. He sits down next to me and drops his head towards his lap, cradling it with both hands.

  “You don’t know? How could you not know? I thought you loved me. That we had something great together. How could I have misread all of that?”

  My heart pounds and I survey all the gifts I have already opened, before the big surprise. He has already done too much for me, and I don’t deserve this. He needs someone who is responsible and mature, not an airhead who can’t manage her money. I can’t become a burden to Marcus.

  “What I mean is, of course I want to marry you, but I think maybe we’re rushing a bit. I mean, it’s only been a little over a year, and we…barely even know each other’s families. That’s it, maybe we should just hold off on announcing an engagement until we’re more established.” I attempt to control my rapid eye movements so I don’t look like I’m having a seizure.

  Marcus leans back and grimaces. “Established. Amanda, we’re not college kids. We are established. I have a great job, and you’re doing fine on your own, but we could do better together. You wouldn’t even have to work when we have kids, or if you want to, that would also be fine. Whatever you want. And why can’t we just announce our engagement to our families…oh, I get it.”

  “What?” He couldn’t have heard me on the phone earlier. Bob and Uncle Mel were the ones who got here before…oh no.

  Marcus jumps up and says, “It’s that racist uncle of yours. It’s okay to date me, and keep me away from him, but marrying me is crossing the line.”

  I grab for his arm, but he’s already at the door. “I’m not taking the ring back, but you better think long and hard, Amanda.”

  “It’s not like that. Uncle Mel likes you. It’s just…”

  “What? It’s just what?”

  He stares at me and I’ve got nothing. No matter how many crime drama shows I’ve been watching lately, my brain doesn’t do devious. Where is Cecilia when I need her? Instead of cookies, I needed a good cover up plan, but who knew he was going to propose? My eyes prick with tears as I realize I didn’t even look at the ring. It’s probably amazing.

  “Yeah, you can’t lie, Amanda. That’s just one of the many things I love about you.” As he turns to leave he says, “You know it’s not safe to leave your window open in this neighborhood.”

  As he closes the door, my tears start flowing. I crumple onto my overpriced, hot pink chaise lounge (that I will be paying for until I retire), and my heart grows tighter as I put it all together.

  Marcus wasn’t late today. He was right on time, and heard it all.

  “So does Didier speak French in any of the editorial meetings?”

  Cecilia has been learning French ever since Pam, our CEO, hired a French Acquisitions Editor. One would think she had a crush on him, but really she is just obsessed with all things French.

  “What do you think about me wearing a beret?”

  I turn from the spreadsheet I’m working on and look up at my nutty friend leaning over my desk, posing with her invisible hat.

  “I think with your spiky hair it would look odd.” I try to smile, but it probably looks more like I am going to burst into tears.

  “Hey, you aren’t yourself today. Didn’t you and Marcus have a good time last night?”

  “Do you have a few minutes? Let’s take a walk outside.”

  After finding a spot away from the smokers, I tell Cecilia the whole ugly tale. From the various animated expressions on her face, the smokers must think I am telling her where I buried a body.

  Again, the violent imagery from those darn TV shows.

  “So that’s what happened. And now I haven’t heard from him and I’m afraid to call him, because I don’t have a good reason for stalling.”

  “Can’t you just tell him the truth? You’re going to have this same problem with any guy you date seriously.”

  The wind is whipping so hard now I can barely see Cecilia’s face, but her hair hasn’t moved. Unbelievable.

  I grab my own unruly mane into a makeshift pony tail as we stand up to go back inside. “Well, I was thinking about that. I’m not worthy of a relationship.”

  Cecilia grabs my arm and drags me back into the building. I shake out my tangled hair as she rests a hand on her tiny hip.

  “Amanda, that’s preposterous. Any guy would be lucky to have you. So you owe a lot of money and you have bad credit. It’s not like you have gambling debts and the mob is going to come and burn down your house. Or tie Marcus up and demand the number of his Swiss bank account. You’re just a young woman who fucked up. It happens.”

  I lean up against the wall in the hallway, near the glass doors.

  “I know, but last night I was looking online at all sorts of posts from people who say they would never date or marry someone with bad credit. We’re damaged goods. Marcus deserves a woman who can contribute to the household. I’m just a liability. And to make matters so much worse, he thinks I don’t want to marry a black man because my uncle is a racist jerk.”

  “Your uncle is where you need to start. He’ll help you. Even if you don’t want to ask him for money, I bet he can come up with a solution.” She puts her hand on my arm in a maternal gesture. “Marcus knows you lost your parents at a young age. Not many teenagers come home from spring break to find out their parents died in a boating accident. They didn’t have a lot of time to teach you about fiscal responsibility. You should give yourself credit for not being a drug addict or a hooker. And you know what? If Marcus gives you any crap when you finally tell him the truth, I am going to personally smack—”

  “Okay, settle down. People are staring.” I whisper to my overzealous co-worker to calm her down, while catching the eye of Didier, her favorite guy.

  “Hi, Didier. How is everything in Acquisitions? Cecilia, didn’t you have some questions from your French class? Maybe Didier has a minute to help you.”

  “But, of course. Mais oui, Mademoiselle.” He continues with a string of incomprehensible words. I never took a foreign language and it sounds like something made up on The Muppet Show to me. Like the Swedish Chef’s babbling.

  Satisfied that Cecilia is diverted from further hammering me about my dilemma, I scurry back to my desk.

  On the way, I pull my cell phone out of my skirt pocket. “Hey, Uncle Mel? Can I come over after work today? I need a little advice.”

  “You poor kid. At least you don’t have debts no honest man can pay.” Bob smiles and I don’t see how this is the least bit humorous.

  I look at Uncle Mel for guidance, and he says, “Bruce Springsteen. Atlantic City.” He searches my clueless expression, and continues. “Song lyrics, Princess. Anyway, Bob is just trying to lighten the mood.”

  Uncle Mel is pacing, and I can picture him doing this while interrogating a witness. Maybe he and Bob are going to do the good cop/bad cop thing with me. Although, I have already confessed.


  “So this guy wants to marry you?” Uncle Mel sits back down on the edge of his favorite recliner and shakes his head slightly.

  “Marcus is right. You are racist. I can’t believe you—”

  “Amanda Jane, I am not racist. I am just an old guy who has seen a lot of crap in my day, and it’s going to take me a little while to get used to it. I’m not an asshole…well, maybe a little. Shut up, Bob.”

  Bob looks around, as if to say ‘I didn’t say anything,’ however he almost made me laugh with his mocking imitation of my uncle’s assertion that he’s not racist.

  “Look. If you want to marry this guy, I will walk you down the aisle, and I will eat all the fried chicken you serve at the wedding.” He starts laughing when I jump up in protest. Covering his head, he says, “Amanda, I am joking. He’s a good guy, and if he makes you happy, I am on board. And if he did hear any of my jackass remarks, I will apologize and shake his hand. But, in the meantime you have a bigger problem. Sure, I could convince him that we’re not racist and you have my blessing. He’d probably go for that, and you could say yes and start planning your shindig.”

  “I like that plan.” But I know that plan B is going to be the one he is going to force me to implement.

  Bob chimes in, “Of course, but then you’re building a marriage on lies. And I don’t care if you’re marrying Gandhi. That ain’t gonna work. What happens when you go to buy a house and you can’t co-sign? You need to come clean now.”

  My heart rate is elevated again, and I curse Cecilia for putting me up to this. I need help covering up my story, not more people trying to force me to admit that I’m an irresponsible twit.

  “Let’s all sit down at the kitchen table and work out a financial plan for you. Bob, grab my calculator, would ya?”

  Uncle Mel places his reading glasses gently on his nose and peers at me. “It’s time to grow up, Princess.”

  Sitting in my bathtub, drinking a cup of steamy hot chocolate, I clutch my cell phone, ready to dial Marcus’ number. He has called me several times today, but I didn’t want to call back until I felt like I had some kind of a plan in place.