To Build a Vow

by Chencia C. Higgins

  She groaned. “Ugh! Fine! That vapid, ignorant, imbecilic—”

  “Okay, Ja’mya. I get it.” Stifling a chuckle, I shook my head and waved at the driver of a vehicle passing on the other side of the road. At my insistence, Ja’mya had been studying SAT words since she was seven years old because I never wanted any child of mine to have a limited vocabulary. However, because she was her father’s daughter, she liked to try to turn the tables on me when she was upset by throwing out as many words as she could. She was smart enough to only do it with me, never Lisa, but it was my best-kept secret that I found it hilarious.

  “That simple-minded cousin of mine said that I must be a boy because I’m taller than everyone in my grade and don’t have any boobs.”

  My hands tightened around the steering wheel. I wanted to turn my truck around and take my belt to Deon’s behind. She was an only child like Ja’mya but was being raised by a single parent instead of two. Deena was a charge nurse at Jefferson Regional and often had to leave Deon on her own or with other family members. It wasn’t uncommon, and the thirteen-year-old was never in any danger, but Deon took being a latch-key kid to mean that she was grown and therefore superior to her cousin. Her saving grace today was that I was raising an intelligent boss, and I had no doubt that Ja’mya lit into her cousin’s rude ass.

  “What did you say?”

  Ja’mya lifted her chin. “I told her that she was only lashing out at me because she was experiencing latent abandonment issues from when her real parents gave her up as a baby.”

  Daaaaaaamn!

  I extended my hand for a high five and waited for her to slap it before returning it to the steering wheel. I was proud of my little savage. She didn’t let her cousin’s attack get her spirit down. At 5’5”, my baby girl had already surpassed her mother’s height of 5’4” and was easily taller than every other fifth-grade student at the private school she attended. Her height, along with personal lessons from her professional basketball playing uncle, helped her to dominate on the basketball court. I fully expected her to hit six feet before she graduated high school, and her height, along with her talent and academics, would surely net her a few college scholarships.

  It was times like these that my gratitude for Lisa swelled. She did an amazing job of teaching our daughter how to value every part of herself and not let other peoples’ perception of her define who she was.

  “That’s my girl. What did she do when you said that?”

  Ja’mya folded her arms across her chest and sank back into her seat with a smirk on her face. “She started crying like the big baby she is and called Deena.”

  Who then turned around and called me.

  Ja’mya was supposed to hang out with Deon until it was time for us to pick Lisa up from the airport. Deon had obviously failed to give her mother the whole story because Deena told me that the girls had got in a fight over the T.V. and since Deon wouldn’t stop crying that maybe it was just best if Ja’mya went home early. I’m sure Deena knew that Deon was lying, but she was nine hours into a twelve-hour shift and probably didn’t have the energy to argue with the girl. I respected Deena for grinding it out for her family of two, but it was times like these when I saw how much she needed the support of a second parent in the house to back her up and get Deon in place. It didn’t take a scientist to recognize that much of Deon’s teasing of Ja’mya stemmed from jealousy that my daughter had something that Deon didn’t: a live-in father. From what Lisa had explained to me, Deon’s father was Deena’s best friend from high school, who had agreed to donate his sperm so Deena could have a baby, and now lived up in Fayetteville with his husband of five years.

  I had no idea if Deon knew the truth about who her father was, but I wasn’t going to let her use my daughter as a verbal punching bag just because she felt inadequate.

  So, now my daughter was riding to work with me at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning instead of lazing around, watching cartoons and eating cereal with her cousin. I pulled into the parking lot of the building that had been designed to look like a single-story brick house and saw two other vehicles in the lot. We climbed out of the truck and entered the building, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee hitting us in the face. Ja’mya took off toward the kitchen located in the back of the building and I deposited my briefcase in my office before joining her.

  I was unsurprised to see her sitting at the round table with a plate of donuts and a cup of orange juice in front of her. Shaking my head in amusement, I crossed the room to the refrigerator and pulled out two cups of yogurt and a bottle of water. Since I’d been at the house by myself, I didn’t bother cooking breakfast that morning. Lisa had left on Friday afternoon for a girl’s trip to Houston for the Creole Festival they held every year immediately following Mardi Gras, and I had dropped Ja’mya off at Deena’s on Saturday morning.

  My girls had abandoned me, and I could have headed up to Little Rock to kick it with some of my line brothers, but the only thing on my mind was my family. Before she left, Lisa had agreed to have another baby, and I was over the moon in anticipation of finally getting a son to complete our family. I’d spent Saturday night researching ways to increase my chances of shooting a male seed into Lisa and I couldn’t wait to get her home so I could put that research into practice.

  “Can I watch TV, Daddy?”

  I looked up from my yogurt to see that Ja’mya had finished her donuts, discarded her trash, and was staring up at me while waiting for an answer.

  I nodded. “Remember to keep it down.”

  She nodded and hopped up from the table to head into what was staged as a living room with a working flat-screen television.

  “And nothing rated R!” I added as an afterthought.

  “Yes, sir!” she called back and I waited in silence to see if I would need to tell her to turn it down before I headed to my office.

  The murmur was so low that it could have been mistaken as someone talking on the phone in another room. Satisfied, I tossed my empty containers into the trash can and left the kitchen. On the way back to the front of the building, I heard familiar laughter and made a detour to follow the sound. It brought me to the largest office in the building. It was shared by both of my parents and housed two full-sized desks. The door was wide open and I stepped inside to see my mama sitting at her desk with her cell phone to her ear. I knocked lightly on the door and she turned in my direction. A smile lit her face and she beckoned me to come in and have a seat at one of the chairs in front of her desk. I sat and waited for her to wrap up her conversation. I pulled out my phone and navigated to Facebook to see if any of Lisa’s friends had posted pictures from their trip.

  My mama giggled, diverting my attention from my lackluster timeline. I glanced at her just in time to see her duck her head and whisper something into her phone. I chuckled, shaking my head as I slid my phone back into my pocket. My parents had been married almost forty years and yet, here they were, no doubt talking nasty on the phone. It actually made me proud. James and Sabrina Hawkins were the blueprints when it came to what true love really was. My Pops was a romantic at heart, and I’d inherited that from him in spades. I saw, first hand, that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for my mama and, in return, she treated him like a king.

  I aspired to have what they did, and I could honestly say that, for the most part, Lisa and I were building that. We’d been together since I was twenty-one years old and sixteen years later, Lisa was my everything. She’d given me my mini-me and allowed me to spoil the both of them without complaint. I was almost the happiest man on earth. The only thing that was missing from the scenario in my head of a perfect family was marriage.

  I’m sure most people wouldn’t believe me, but Lisa refused to marry me.

  Over the course of our relationship, I’d asked her four times, and three of those times I was as serious as a heart attack. I’m talking down-on-one-knee-with-an-engagement-ring-in-my-hand serious. She said “No” each and every time, and I finally took th
e hint and buried my bruised feelings and the ring into my sock drawer, never to be seen again.

  The first time I asked her, we’d just made love for the first time, and I’d whispered it as I tried to catch my breath. In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the best time. We were both naked and my dick was still lodged inside of her as we came down from a spontaneous coupling after I walked her to her tiny on-campus apartment after our second date. We were a pile of tangled limbs lying on her cramped, extra-long twin bed and trying to be quiet because her roommate was studying in the adjacent bedroom.

  She had chuckled as if I’d told a joke and said, “No, thanks.”

  No, thanks.

  Like I’d asked if she wanted cream in her coffee.

  But I couldn’t be mad because we were both riding an orgasmic high, and she probably didn’t think I was being serious. I can’t exactly remember my mind frame from that day but I probably wasn’t.

  The second time I asked, we’d been an official couple for four months, and I had just graduated from UAPB. My parents had thrown me a graduation party with no less than 200 guests in attendance. Before the party, I drove across town to pick up Lisa from her apartment. The party was a formal affair, and I walked up to Lisa’s building, wearing a tuxedo with a velvet ring box in my pocket. Her roommate and best friend, Trisha, let me inside and went to get Lisa. She whistled when she saw me then gave me a quick kiss on the lips before turning to retrieve her purse and sweater from the couch.

  When she turned around, I was down on one knee with the opened ring box in my extended palm. Her eyes went wide and Trisha screeched and started jumping up and down. I took Trisha’s excitement as a good sign. As close as those two were, if she saw this as a good thing, I was sure Lisa did as well. Those hopes were dashed as regret filled Lisa’s eyes and she shook her head. My heart thumped but I asked her anyway. Her response was a sad smile as she tugged on my hand to pull me from my kneeling position.

  She held my face and kissed me sweetly and said that although she loved me, she couldn’t—in good conscious—marry me while there were so many marginalized people who couldn’t marry the ones they loved because of their sex or gender.

  My eyes had flickered over to Trisha, whose face twisted into shock. Her hands covered her mouth and she started crying and left the room. Immediately, I understood Lisa’s stance and although I was disappointed, I respected and loved her even more for how unselfish she was.

  When she told me that she was pregnant with my daughter, I asked Lisa for a third time. I thought the baby would make her reconsider but I thought wrong. She told me, in a firm tone, I might add, that there were worse things than being an unwed mother then she asked me if I was sure I wanted to be in my baby’s life. The anger I felt at her question overpowered the familiar taste of disappointment at her rejection. By that time, we had been together for over three years and she knew firsthand how important my family was to me. In her quest to shut down my proposal, she’d intentionally, and successfully, tried to hurt me.

  The fourth, and final, time that I proposed, before finally taking the hint, was in 2015, just after the Supreme Court ruled in favor of same-sex marriage. We were at dinner with Jereth, Trisha, and a few other friends to celebrate, when I casually slid that same velvet ring box in front of her without drawing the attention of our dinner companions. When her eyes flew up to mine, they were filled with surprise but not the excited kind. The smile I wore melted slowly as she continued to stare at me almost pleadingly.

  Without her having to say a word, I already knew her answer. Why would she be surprised when I was just following the rules she’d laid out for me? Her stipulations had been met and now, there was no reason we couldn’t get married. I huffed a mirthless chuckle and swiftly put the box back in my pocket. I realized then that she had no intentions of actually marrying me. Hell, she probably never expected the court to rule in favor of same-sex marriage and simply used it as a scapegoat. I pressed a kiss to her forehead and told her I’d see her at home, the home that I had purchased for her after she gave birth to my daughter. The one we’d been living in together, as a family, for over a decade.

  She returned home shortly after I did and joined me in bed where she stripped and proceeded to ride me like her life depended on it. And maybe it did because I was trying to figure out what was the purpose in tying my life to a woman who never wanted to be as completely mine as I was hers. I felt every apologetic word in every stroke even if the words never fell from her lips. The next morning she tried to explain that marriage was a social construct that had no real meaning and although I saw the irony in her fighting for her friend to have the right to participate in something she apparently didn’t believe in, I sat silently and didn’t respond to her attempts to get me to understand. There was nothing to understand. I just had to decide if how much this “construct” really meant to me.

  In the end, I had to let it go. I was a family man, and Lisa and Ja’mya were my entire heart. I couldn’t give them up just because I wanted to be more than a boyfriend.

  “Sorry about that, baby.”

  I looked up from my thoughts to see my mama take a seat at her desk.

  “It’s all good, Ma. Was that Pops?”

  She smiled and nodded. “Mmhmm. Now, tell me what brings you into the office this morning.”

  “I met with a new client on Friday. She wants to use Hawkins Realty to sell her house. The only problem is that it’s a home from a divorce.”

  Steepling her fingers under her chin, she said, “I don’t see how that’s a problem.”

  “It wouldn’t be, normally, but she said that her husband is having a hard time accepting the divorce, and she thinks he will try to sabotage the sale. I wanted to get your advice.”

  Ma was the OG in our family of realtors. She became an agent while in her last year at UAPB and shortly after, my father followed suit. They started a successful business that branched out across the state, with offices in Little Rock, Hot Springs and Fayetteville. They trained all three of their sons, and even though my baby brother, Jermaine, took to basketball and was eventually drafted by the NBA, all three of us are licensed to buy and sell real estate. Jereth was currently in Mexico managing several luxury rental properties that Jermaine owned, and Jermaine was in Houston, doing his thing, while I worked out of our hometown offices in southeast Arkansas.

  “Hmm.”

  I waited silently for my mama to respond.

  “I think you should go ahead with the listing of the property but move cautiously. Have Donny work with you to get it ready to list; he needs to get his feet wet, but if you think the ex-husband will be a problem, let your father know. He can get DB to put some people on it.”

  I nodded. Donny was the newest agent to join Hawkins Realty. He was from Little Rock but came down to the original office in PB to train. He was around my age and had taken up real estate after being laid off from a lucrative career in the oilfields. DB was my father’s best friend and the uncle we never had. He had his hands in any and everything and knowing him, he’d probably put some goons on the property to catch Sheila’s ex-husband and shake him up a bit.

  “Sounds good, Ma. I’ll contact Donny on Monday so we can start the process.”

  “Alright.” She eyed me and I smirked, already knowing what she was about to ask me next. “How’s Lisa?”

  I laughed. She always asked me that, even if she had just gotten off the phone with Lisa before talking to me. My mama loved Lisa and thought she was perfect for me. Her greatest disappointment was that Lisa and I weren’t married. I’d made the mistake of having my mama help me pick a ring for Lisa before I graduated. At the time, it made sense. I wanted it to be a surprise, and I wasn’t sure I could trust Trisha to keep it a secret, but I understood that I needed a woman’s perspective during the shopping process. I’d taken her with me, and we’d flown down to Houston to see a custom jeweler in the Galleria. The ring had cost four times the price of our plane tickets, but Lisa was wor
th every thousand that I’d saved from working at the Tyson chicken plant. I was sure that the tears my mama shed during the champagne toast at my graduation party were tears of sorrow from Lisa rejecting my proposal.

  “Lisa is in Houston, Ma.”

  “I know that, Jeremiah. I’m asking, how she is doing?”

  I laughed again. She wasn’t slick and she definitely wasn’t inquiring about Lisa’s health. “She’s fine, Ma. Having a good time with her girlfriends.” I smiled slyly, wondering how excited she would be with the news I was about to share. “You know, when she gets back, we are going to try for another baby. A son.”

  As I expected, her eyes lit up, but surprisingly they dulled just as quickly. “Another baby but no wedding, huh?”

  I groaned, dropping my head back to look at the ceiling. What was I thinking? Of course, she would come back to that. In retrospect, she’d never left it.

  “Come on, Ma. What do you want me to do? I can’t make her marry me.”

  She pursed her lips. “You could if you tried hard enough.”

  Now, she just sounded crazy. I tossed my hands up in defeat. “If getting her pregnant didn’t work, I don’t know what will.”

  At her horrified gasp, I realized how my words sounded. I sat up straight and attempted to correct my faux pas. “I didn’t intentionally get her pregnant, Ma! I wouldn’t do that. I’m just saying, if having a baby isn’t enough to push her to the altar, nothing is.”

  She exhaled with relief and I frowned.

  “Seriously, Ma? You think that little of me?”

  “Not at all; I know I raised you better than that. I simply reacted to how it sounded. And it sounded pretty bad.”

  I sighed. “It’s bad enough that she doesn’t want to get married. You aren’t making it any easy to accept by constantly bringing it up.”

  She slapped her hand on the desk. “You shouldn’t accept it! I’ve watched you give that girl everything you have and more; you deserve someone who will do the same for you!”