The Sunday Only Christian: Still Divas Series Book Three

by E. N. Joy

  Deborah now had everyone’s attention again, so she continued. “For those with kids, have you ever met someone who was really into you but not that into your kids?” Right off the bat Deborah heard some groans and murmuring. But she continued with the second part of her questions. “And for those of you without children, have you ever met someone who seemed to have all the qualities you were seeking but had something you weren’t—a kid?” There were more groans, murmuring, and now a few sour faces.

  “I thought I had met the perfect man,” a sister in the ministry called out. “He had all the right stuff.” She then poked her lips out and rolled her eyes. “But then I found out that he had the wrong stuff, which was two kids.” She held up two fingers and once again rolled her eyes with disgust. “Not just two kids, but two baby mommas to go along with them.”

  “But wait a minute, don’t you have three kids?” Deborah asked her.

  “Yes, but I still have the right not to date someone else with kids,” she replied.

  This time a brother spoke up. “Now that doesn’t seem fair. Why should he have to deal with you and your three kids and you not deal with him and his two?”

  “He doesn’t have to,” the woman replied. “That’s the thing. We all have a choice. Now if he chooses to date a woman with kids, it’s his right to do that or not to do that. Why shouldn’t I have that same right? Are you trying to say that if a person has kids, by default they have to be okay with getting involved with a person who has kids? That’s crazy,” she declared. “I know me. I know that I’m not the baby-momma-dealing kind of chick. I don’t do babies’ mommas. I don’t do raising someone else’s kids. If I know these things about me, then why should I subject him and his children to it? I think by me being truthful with myself and knowing I’m not built for that type of relationship, I’m being more fair to him and his children than I possibly could be.”

  “Preach, sister,” another female said with a triple snap of her fingers.

  The brother bowed out gracefully with, “I never looked at it that way, sister. You have a very valid point. Kudos to you for knowing your limits and sticking with them.”

  “Amen,” the woman said. “Because you don’t want to go forcing someone to have to deal with your kids if they’ve already made it clear that they ain’t cut out for that type of party. Because at the end of the day, you’ll know in your heart that you are with someone who, deep down inside, really ain’t feeling your kids. And for all you know they could snap off on ’em. That could turn out to be ugly for everybody. So not that I’d ever snap off on somebody’s kids or a baby’s momma, but why even put myself in that situation to be tried?”

  “I feel you, sister,” another man spoke up. “But . . .”

  By now, Deborah was still taking in all that the woman who’d just spoken had to say. She’d made so many valid points; points that only made it clear to Deborah what she had to do. She had to break things off with Lynox.

  Chapter Eleven

  Deborah stood and looked at herself in the mirror. She took a moment to thank God for her clear, smooth skin. She’d seen so many commercials for various acne products, she could only imagine how many people were out there struggling with the insecurities of being acne prone. It didn’t seem like much to be thankful for, but in Deborah’s eyes, it was.

  She fingered the silk handmade blouse she’d gotten from Chile. Elton had paid almost $500 for it. That’s what he did whenever he felt bad for not being able to see or talk to her for several days—sometimes weeks. When he finally did come around, he was bearing gifts. The thing was, he always expected some type of intimacy in return. Deborah went from feeling like the trifling mistress, to the kept woman, to the high-priced whore.

  Deborah molested the soft material, which was designed with bright-colored shapes of different sizes. “Harrumph,” she said out loud. “All he put me through; I was worth it.” And that comment had shut her conscience up before it could tell her that she needed to take that shirt off and put on something that didn’t remind her of her sins. But the blouse was just too cute for all that. Maybe how she’d come about the shirt had been a sin, but wearing it certainly wasn’t one. In Deborah’s opinion, it would have been a sin not to wear it.

  “I gotta go potty.”

  Deborah turned and looked to see her little guy standing in the doorway. He had been quietly in his room playing with his toys while Deborah got ready.

  “Mommy’s big boy has to go potty?” she asked.

  “Umm hmmm.” He nodded.

  Deborah walked over to her son and scooped him up in her arms. She placed him on her hip while she cupped her arm around his bottom to keep him in place. That’s when she realized he’d already gone potty—in his underwear. “Oh, no!” Deborah shouted once she felt the moisture soaking through the sleeve of her blouse. Following that was the big “D” word with the word “it” after it. Deborah’s angry outburst startled her son and he began to cry. “Oh, Mommy is sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She sat him back down. “Mommy didn’t mean to yell.” As she began to remove her son’s clothing she whispered, “God forgive me for cursing at my baby.”

  Once Deborah got her son’s clothing off of him, she scooped him back up. He was still crying and sniffling. “Mommy’s sorry, baby boy.” Deborah’s phone rang, so holding her child in one arm, she swooped the phone up with the other. She knew it was her mother telling her she was coming around the corner and to have her grandson ready.

  “Yes, Mother,” Deborah answered the phone without even looking at the caller ID.

  “I think I prefer to be called daddy,” Lynox joked with a deep voice.

  “Oh, Lynox?” Deborah was completely caught off guard as she balanced her twitching and whining son in one hand while trying to keep the phone to her ear with the other.

  Noticing the flustered tone of Deborah’s voice, Lynox asked, “Did I catch you at a bad time? You sound a little antsy.”

  “Oh, no, I’m just—” Deborah was cut off by the wail her son released.

  “Is that a kid?” Lynox asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

  Deborah looked at her son, closed her eyes, and bit her lip. She had to think fast. Once again, this was not how things were supposed to go down. Yes, she was going to tell Lynox about her son and then break things off with him, but she was going to do it face to face during dinner. But once again, Lynox had taken the lead and just messed up everything.

  “It’s a kid . . . on TV,” Deborah partially lied. She looked at her son and put her index finger over her mouth while her eyes pleaded with him to stop crying. Lucky for Deborah it worked.

  “Oh, well, I guess the televisions these day do more than just look like real life; they have a heck of a sound system, too. Anyway, I was just calling to tell you that I left my house a little early because I thought there might be traffic. But wouldn’t you know I’m making great time. So I just wanted to let you know that I might show up a little early, if that’s okay?”

  Deborah looked over at her clock. She then looked down at her son and repositioned him over her shoulder. “Uh, well, uh . . .” Think. Think. Think. Her mother was due to arrive to pick her son up, but what if Lynox got there before her? I knew I should have just dropped him off over at my mom’s and met Lynox out, Deborah scolded herself. She knew better than to have a man come pick her up at her house anyway. That was one of the first things she’d been taught in the singles ministry. It sounded good in the church classroom when she was hearing it. Now that she was at home out in the world, like she often found herself doing, she was playing by her own rules.

  “Umm, well uh . . .” Why did those seem to be the only words of choice Deborah could manage to come up with? “I guess it would . . .” Her words trailed off as she placed her son at her feet. She was going to tell him that she guessed it would be all right, but it wouldn’t have been.

  “Ohhhh, I get it, still getting beautiful for me, huh? Although I don’t think it is possible for you
to get any more beautiful than you already are,” he complimented her. “So, I’ll just kill some time stopping off at a bookstore or something. You know—do an author drive-by, go see how many of my books are on the shelf—blah, blah, blah.”

  Deborah exhaled a deep sigh of relief and said, with nervous laughter, “Yes, I know how it is. Plus, I do wanna look my best.”

  “No problem. I’ll see you at our scheduled time. And you better be lookin’ good.”

  “I will. I will,” Deborah replied and then ended the call. She wanted to pass out on the bed, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have time. She had to finish changing her son’s clothes, and unless she wanted to smell like “tinkle,” she had to change her clothes too. “Okay, fella, let’s go get you together,” she said to her son.

  Deborah took a step and then paused. She looked down at her $1,000 pair of shoes. Another “I’m sorry” gift, compliments of Elton. She was disgusted. She wasn’t disgusted at the shoes or the sexual act she performed with Elton after he had given her the shoes. At this moment, she was disgusted with what was under the shoes. “Please tell me you didn’t,” she said to her son, who offered her an “I’m sorry” smile. Like father like son.

  But her child didn’t have to say anything. When Deborah lifted her shoe, beneath it was a pile of brown, stinky, mushy stuff.

  “The baby boo-boo,” her son said in the third person.

  Before Deborah could even catch herself, the big “S” word shot from her mouth, causing her son to break out in tears again.

  Unbeknownst to Deborah, the “S” word was a perfect analogy of what she was about to find herself in . . . or already had found herself in—literally.

  Chapter Twelve

  “How’s your steak?” Lynox asked Deborah.

  Deborah was too busy off in la-la land. She had been operating under a spirit of rush for the last hour and just couldn’t manage to reel herself back in, calm down, relax, and get it together. She had rushed to get her son cleaned up and changed. She had rushed to get herself cleaned up and changed. She’d rushed to clean up the mess off the floor. Rushing was bad enough alone, her heart rate increasing the faster she tried to go. But add panic on top of that, and it’s a high blood pressure moment waiting to happen.

  As the clock had ticked and Deborah continued to rush, she realized her mother hadn’t arrived yet. She was obviously running a few minutes behind. That wouldn’t have been so bad if Lynox hadn’t been due to arrive in just a few minutes.

  Initially Deborah had felt safe in only allowing a half-hour window in between the time she’d asked her mother to pick up her son and the time she’d told Lynox to pick her up for dinner. Thirty minutes was plenty of time for her mother to pack up her son and be long gone before Lynox ever even pulled up. But she never banked in a million years on her mother, who was always prompt, being late.

  “Ma? Where are you?” Deborah had called and asked in a panic once she realized Lynox—who she learned not only liked to be on time, but early—was due to arrive at her house in ten minutes.

  “I’m sorry. I’m running a little late,” her mother apologized through the phone receiver. “Your Aunt Magnolia called me talking about nothing. But you know how hard it is to get that woman off the phone.” She laughed. Deborah didn’t. She just sat there looking stoic, tapping a nervous foot.

  “So are you en route?” Deborah asked, looking down at her watch.

  “Oh, yes. I’m just around the corner. I was about to call you as a matter of fact.”

  “Good!” Deborah exclaimed. Realizing she might have sounded overexcited to be getting rid of her son for the night, Deborah said more nonchalantly, “Because I know how you are about spending time with your grandson, so I don’t want you to miss a minute.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. You let my baby know that Ganny Ban Banny will be there in a minute.”

  “All right. Thanks, Mom.” Deborah exhaled. “Thank you so much.”

  “Now you know you don’t have to thank me. What kind of grandmother doesn’t love spending time with her grandkids?”

  “I don’t know, Ma, but she’s certainly not you. See you in a minute.” Deborah ended the call and smiled, feeling all warm inside for the love her mother had for her son. It was surprising to Deborah how good of a grandmother her mother was to her son. In Deborah’s opinion, her mother couldn’t have even been nominated for Mother of the Year, let alone hold the title.

  Deborah couldn’t remember, for the life of her, her mother ever being that excited to spend time with her when she was a little girl. Deborah had been on the high school drill team and not once had her mother ever even come out to a game to see her perform. She never sat down with her and did homework with her—even ask her if she had homework. And not once did Deborah ever recall her mother attending parent/ teacher conferences. What Deborah did remember, though, was her mother fussing, cussing, screaming, and hollering all the time.

  “Oh, that’s just how black folks raise they kids,” Deborah’s Aunt Magnolia used to tell her whenever Deborah was upset and would talk to her about it. “That’s how your grandmother raised us. Black people handle they kids; yell, whippings, whatever it takes. It’s them white folks that do all that time-out stuff. Yo’ momma’s mouth might get on your nerves now, but once you all grown up, you’ll understand why she had to raise you the way she did. It’ll make you strong. Can’t make it in this world being all soft.”

  No matter what explanation Aunt Magnolia told her niece, Deborah still hated living on pins and needles not knowing when her mother was going to go on one of her yelling and hollering tangents. Deborah had made a promise to herself that if she ever had kids, she would not yell and cuss at or around them the way her mother had. She had done pretty good up until tonight. Tonight, she had broken her promise to herself. Tonight, she had both yelled and cussed. With so much going on, it was like a dam had broken and Deborah had just erupted. In doing so, she’d created a tension in the atmosphere that her young child had easily picked up on.

  Instead of loving on him and coddling him the last few minutes she had with him before her mother came to pick him up, she sat there with him nervous and tense. He picked up on it, too, as he tried to stay clear of her, and played over on his blanket covered with toys. When the doorbell rang, both Deborah and her poor child jumped. She answered the door and couldn’t ship him off with her mother fast enough. She couldn’t even recall if she’d kissed him good-bye. And that was the very thing she now sat thinking about. Her mind was so into trying to remember if she had kissed her son good-bye that she hadn’t even heard Lynox ask her a question. So he repeated it.

  “How’s your steak?” This time Lynox reached over and patted Deborah on the hand.

  His touch, not his query, pulled her out of her daze. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

  Lynox pulled his hand away, sat back, and just stared at Deborah for a moment. Finally he said, “I know what’s going on here.”

  “You do?” Deborah immediately sat erect in a panic. Had he read right through her? Was it something she’d said or done that blew her cover for being a mother . . . for being part of the readymade family he so detested?

  “Sure I do. I’ve known all along. I was just waiting for you to tell me.”

  Deborah breathed out a huff of air. “You have?” Deborah felt so relieved that she knew her blood pressure had just dropped a few notches. She didn’t have a history of high blood pressure, but here, lately, she’d given it a lot of reasons to go up.

  “Sure I have,” Lynox said with a serious tone. “But how do I bring something like that up?” He shrugged. “I mean, I’m not a woman, so I have no idea what it’s like. Yeah, I have my personal opinion about the issue. Always told myself no way would I ever date a woman who has had one.”

  Deborah looked downward, figuring it was coming. That once again Lynox had taken the lead and now, instead of her being the one to tell him it was over between the two of them, he would be telling
her. For Deborah, though, at the end of the day, it didn’t matter who told who. The fact was . . . it was about to be over.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Who told you? How did you find that out?” Deborah nearly shouted.

  “Shhh.” Lynox put his index finger over his mouth, then looked around to see how many restaurant patrons were giving them dirty looks because of Deborah’s rude outburst. There were just a few. “Look. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything—not in here anyway. I’m going to have the waitress wrap up our food so we can go talk about it elsewhere.” And Lynox did just that; all the while Deborah sat in her chair steaming—smoke coming out of her ears and nose.

  Once Lynox paid the bill and the waitress returned with his credit card and their boxed food, he escorted Deborah out of the restaurant. “Let me put these in my car.” He held up the food. “As a matter of fact, let’s go sit in my car to talk.”

  Deborah didn’t speak. She just agreed by following Lynox.

  “It’s the gold Lexus over there.” He pointed to his second car. The Hummer was a gas guzzler so he didn’t drive it regularly. Not only that, but it was at the body shop having the door repaired.

  Lynox unlocked his car with the remote and then walked to the passenger side to let Deborah in. She didn’t even say thank you. She just slipped in and looked straight ahead—as if she couldn’t even look Lynox in the eyes.

  After walking around to the driver’s side, Lynox got in, still holding their food. He looked at the markings on the tops of the boxes and handed Deborah the one that belonged to her. “Here you go.”

  Deborah accepted it, knowing darn well she no longer had an appetite.

  “You calmed down any?” Lynox asked, looking over at Deborah.

  “I just want to know who told you. That was my business to be telling.”