Tappin' On Thirty

by Candice Dow

  “Damn, y’all still fine.”

  “Y’all still the smartest, finest chicks I know.”

  “Look at the paid-ass attorneys.”

  “How y’all still in shape? Everyone else has blown up!”

  We walked into the foyer of the mansion and stood in an endless line to get name tags. My eyes scoped every inch of the room. When I glanced up the stairs in the middle of the foyer, he stepped down. Scooter. My heart thumped, and my nerves began to percolate. His black slacks fell neatly on the top of his shoes. I tugged Courtney’s arm. With my teeth clenched together, I mumbled, “Oh my God, Courtney. Do you see who I see?”

  She nodded nonchalantly. Her expression said, “I told you so.”

  I sucked my teeth and rolled my eyes, saying, “You make me sick.”

  She didn’t acknowledge my hysteria. My insides were flipped upside down. As if it would help, she mumbled, “Rule number one.”

  Before she could finish, I gasped. The last thing I could think about were a couple of childish rules.

  My heart sank deeper as he neared the bottom of the stairway. My head drooped lower and lower. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer.

  Finally, I lifted my head. His looks startled me. The cute boy was now a handsome man. His tall slim body had transformed into lean bulk. I gasped for air and quickly dropped my head again. I took a deep breath, inhaling a dose of courage. Then, I raised my head. Finally I was ready to face the love of my life. I looked left. I looked right. Scooter was gone.

  Courtney shook her head as if she was already disappointed in my actions. I huffed anxiously, hoping the line would hurry. Before I began biting my nails, I stepped out of line. Heck, whomever I wanted to see should know my damn name. Courtney called out for me, as I stormed away.

  When I rushed into the dining area, he stood there. I inhaled his presence. Detecting me in his peripheral vision, he turned and smiled. I smiled nervously. He smirked. His facial expression intimidated me. As the space between us disappeared, so did my words.

  I stood face-to-face with the only man I have loved in my twenty-eight years on this earth. He grabbed me and hugged me tightly. Momentarily the embrace settled the volcano erupting inside of me. He pulled back, held both of my arms out. He smiled and shook his head as if to grant his approval.

  “Taylor, Taylor, Taylor . . .”

  Still lost for words, I followed his lead. “Scooter, Scooter, Scooter . . .”

  “Tay-Bae.”

  “Scootie-Boo.”

  We burst into laughter as we reminisced on our teenage pet names. He complimented me, “Girl, I’m not surprised that you are still fine as hell.”

  Hoping he was flirting, I blushed. He quickly jumped into superficial conversation.

  “How’s the Bishop?”

  “He’s still the same.”

  “Your mom? Your sisters?”

  “Everyone’s good. Toni got married like six years ago. She has two kids.” I smirked, acknowledging that we all knew that she’d get married early. “And Turi is in Atlanta.”

  “We used to have fun in Zion Temple.”

  Not wanting to remember all the sins I committed in my daddy’s church, I smirked. “Shut up!”

  Trying to lead on that there has been no one of significance since our breakup, I said, “You know my daddy still asks about you . . .”

  He nodded. “Bishop was my man.”

  Hoping to keep him in a reminiscent mood, I added, “Yeah, he was definitely grooming you for the ministry.”

  He smiled proudly. “I ain’t mad. He wanted his girls to be with God-fearing men.”

  “I know. He’s funny. You know Toni’s husband is a minister.”

  “What?”

  “And Turi’s getting her Masters in Divinity at Emory and she’s dating a guy in the program.” I shrugged my shoulders. “So, chances are.”

  He smiled as if he were proud of my youngest sister’s accomplishments. “Yeah, I was watching your dad’s broadcast and he mentioned that Turi was going to Divinity School.”

  “You still watch daddy’s sermons?”

  “Whenever I can catch it, I definitely watch. He always has an inspirational word.”

  I smirked. “You’re right. Whenever I can catch it, I watch it too.”

  We both laughed. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Taylor, you don’t go to your father’s church anymore?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “On holidays.”

  “That’s a shame. I’m not surprised though. You’ve always been the rebel,” he said, laughing.

  Directing conversation away from the imperfect girl with the perfect family, I asked, “So, how are your parents?”

  “They’re good.”

  I paused, waiting for him to say they asked about me too, but he didn’t. He nodded. I nodded. We exchanged smiles. Neither of us said a word. The thoughts of his parents rewound us back to our last encounter.

  When I’d returned to school that fall after the breakup, I quickly learned that bad boys are called that for a reason. By December, I wanted the big crybaby back. I sent letters to no avail. Out of desperation, I showed up at his family’s home on Christmas Eve. His parents hosted an annual party, and I was certain they’d all be glad to see me.

  I rang the doorbell and his Aunt Cynthia was the first to greet me. She stuttered, “Hello, Taylor. How are you?”

  Her words were cold, but I didn’t think much of it. I invited myself in. Everyone in the room paused. Even the kids stopped running around. I waved. “Merry Christmas, family!”

  The realization that I was no longer a member of the family was immediately obvious when only a few people mumbled a response to my greeting. They looked at me as if I were an intruder. Scooter gave me a blank stare and walked into the kitchen. My eyes followed him, but the bodyguards sitting around the living room told me my feet better not bother.

  His mom sat propped on the edge of the couch, staring at me like I was a mistress who crashed her party. Her wrinkled fingers grasped tightly on a small goblet. She swirled her drink. Her dark lips turned upside down. Feeling the need to make a U-turn, I crossed one foot over the other. She cleared her throat, “Taylor, what are you doing here?” she asked.

  Six months prior I referred to this woman as Mommy. Now, she was glaring at me like I was a traitor. Suddenly, I questioned my own presence and began to back up. She stood. Her war stance affirmed that I was standing on enemy ground. My back leaned against the foggy glass door. Mrs. Evans forged toward me. I stumbled out of the door and she came out with me.

  In a disgusted tone, she said, “Taylor, you don’t belong here.”

  “I—”

  “My son did not deserve to be treated like that.”

  I flinched as she got closer.

  “Your parents raised you better than to have no remorse for people’s feelings.”

  I stuttered, “I’m sorry. I . . .”

  She pointed her finger. “When my baby went back to school, he couldn’t even concentrate. He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t sleeping. Depressed over your fast ass.” Sprinkles of spit smacked me in the face. “When I saw his midterm grades, this became personal.”

  She stepped closer to me and my eyes bugged out of my head. Her arm sprang up and I quickly ducked. When I didn’t feel the effect of the blow, I peeped up to find her posed as if she were pledging to God not to kill me. Seconds passed and the ready-to-fight rumble barked in my belly. Finally, she pumped the palm of her hand into the air and blew out some frustration before she continued. “I ain’t paying twenty-five thousand dollars a year for some floozy to break his heart and make him flunk out of school. I told him to stay as far away from you as possible.”

  I began to cry. “Mrs. Evans, I didn’t mean it. I—”

  “You don’t deserve my son’s friendship. He has been a loyal friend to you and you just stomped all over his poor little heart. You are evil.”

  Scooter never came out of the house to rescue me. She stormed back
in, leaving me out in the cold. That was the last time I’d seen Scooter, and that encounter has haunted me ever since.

  He interrupted my daze, “Yeah, they ask about you from time to time.”

  I wanted to jump up and down, hoping his mother didn’t still think I was some evil witch. “Really?”

  “Yeah, they always talk about how much I used to love Taylor Jabowski.”

  I took that opportunity to segue into my plan of action, “I loved you, too.”

  “Not as much as I loved you.”

  I laughed, saying, “What do you mean? I did love you.”

  “Man, you played me.”

  “I didn’t play you.”

  He laughed and gave me an I’ll-catch-you-later hug. “Yes, you did, but you made me the man that I am, and I still love you for it.”

  Just like that, he walked away. He didn’t give me a chance to spill my heart and ask him if he’d be willing to consider an intimate relationship. It was late in the third-quarter in the game of love and happiness. Thirty was coming fast and Scooter was one of the few good men standing. My bottom lip drooped as I watched the game clock time out.

  Courtney walked up behind me, “Girl, shake it off. You look stunned.”

  Didn’t I deserve more? Or were the five years from freshmen year of high school through freshmen year of college just that insignificant?

  Courtney grabbed my lifeless hand, “Let’s go to the bar and get a drink.”

  “Okay.”

  As we walked, Courtney whispered through clenched teeth, “Taylor, you have to chill. You look like you don’t even want to be here. We look too good for this.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Courtney, whatever.”

  The smell of old books distracted me momentarily as we wandered past a library. After playing bumper cars with our bodies to squeeze through a narrow passage, we arrived at the open bar. I sighed. Every second or so, Courtney would look up at me and chuckle. Finally a cocoa-colored bartender greeted me.

  “What do you need gorgeous?”

  Courtney chimed in, “Advice.”

  I smiled thinly and checked his name tag. “Magnus. I do not need advice.”

  She put her hand on her hip. “Magnus, yes she does.”

  Others hovered over our shoulders and shouted their desires. “Two Coronas.” “Remy.” “Patrón.”

  I huffed. “No, I don’t.”

  She giggled, “Don’t get all feisty with me. You know you need advice.”

  As we had our mini-spat, Magnus served others and ignored our call for help. I needed something strong to counter the effects of rejection.

  “Magnus, I need Grey Goose and lime juice. More goose and less juice.”

  We all laughed at my corny line. Courtney pushed her body into mine, trying to apologize for upsetting me. I pouted a little and added, “Hit her off with the same.” I smirked. “Maybe then she won’t be able to pay attention to what I’m doing.”

  Courtney said, “Actually, Magnus, since we’re celebrating our class reunion, I think I’ll have something with Crown Royal in it.”

  “Crown Royal?” I snapped.

  “Don’t act like we didn’t used to sneak my father’s Crown Royal and ginger ale.”

  “I guess you’re right, but that’s not exactly what I had in mind,” I said, half-heartedly.

  She slightly rocked side to side to the beat of the music. Her head nodded in unison as she said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m taking it back to the roots.”

  Magnus monitored our spat, and impatiently offered a solution. “I make a drink that I call the Royal Red Apple Martini.”

  Both of our necks snapped in his direction and he explained, “It’s Crown Royal, Sour Apple Schnapps, and Cranberry Juice.” His eyes shifted from me to Courtney and back again. “Does that sound like something you’d like?”

  I winked at Magnus. “You know what, maybe going back to my roots will help me out tonight. Hook me up.”

  Courtney shrugged in agreement and Magnus’ shoulders relaxed making him appear a little less agitated. Maybe he was just thankful that we’d come to a decision. Before we could change our minds, Magnus was mixing, shifting from hand to hand, shaking, and pouring. In a matter of seconds, he handed us our much-anticipated drinks in disposable martini glasses. I took a sip and looked at Courtney as she put it up to her lips. Our smiles became all-out grins as there was no doubt that we’d discovered our signature drink for the night. Courtney’s bob-haircut swung around as she shouted, “This is slammin!”

  I reached in my gold clutch purse and put five bucks in the tip jar. Magnus swirled the remainder in the shaker. Assuming that he was offering to put it in my glass, I gulped down enough to make room for more. He poured the rest and it nearly hit the rim. “Thanks Magnus,” I said.

  I raised my thumb at Magnus, deeming him my best friend for the evening. After a few more sips, I was convinced that the Royal Red Apple was clearly my new drink of choice. When it was gone, I turned to Magnus and told him to shake me up another one. Courtney said, “See, I told you Crown Royal is what we needed.”

  Magnus said, “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Well, I love Crown Royal. It’s my father’s drink. He swears that black people need to drink dark liquor, because white liquor makes you crazy,” Courtney said and Magnus’ eyes wandered aimlessly, as she continued to invite him in on my dilemma. “And I need her to be as sane as possible.”

  “Courtney, please leave Magnus alone so he can hurry up and make the drinks.”

  Courtney shook her head at me. She wasn’t feeling what I felt, and not to mention she was the designated driver, so I ignored her insinuation that I should slow down. My desperation for the drinks to soak up my emotions was successfully relayed, because this time Magnus handed me two glasses and I rewarded him with another five-dollar tip. My eyes toured the room to check if anyone else noticed my rapid consumption of alcohol. No one cared.

  We played the whole happy-to-see-you game with everyone that came to the bar. After standing around and noticing everyone else wearing rings and introducing their husbands, I peeped over and found Courtney slipping her band on. What happened to the damn single-and-satisfied attitude she instructed me to adopt? Maybe she was tired of the questions that I’d become tired of hearing?

  Married? Any kids? No and no. I ordered another drink and decided to keep count of how many times I was asked. Okay, I’m on number eighteen. Finally, I slapped my left hand on my forehead. Would that stop them from asking? Nope. Then, they began to ask, “Do you have a headache?”

  Even the single men brought dates. Did pairing up somehow mean you succeeded in life? Luckily, I had yet to see Scooter’s date as I observed him congregating with his friends. Hearty laughter escaped their circle. Were we the only two without a date? My neck turned back and forth scrutinizing my graduating class.

  People seemed sincerely happy to see me. Wishing I had more to talk about than my prestigious job, I made general statements about my life thus far. Although I didn’t mention it, they still asked. I was on number twenty-seven. Why do people ask stupid questions?

  As I contemplated how I could kidnap Scooter from his friends, in walks this tall brown-skinned woman. She had high cheekbones and small Asian-shaped eyes. Her hair was in a short, boy cut. I was immediately jealous. Maybe it was my intuition. She headed toward Scooter’s crew and she kissed my man directly on the mouth. As if my brain was no longer in control of my motor skills, I needed someone to pull the plug. My bottom lip hung loosely. My shoulders sagged. If not for pride, I would have stormed out of the reunion.

  I pinched Courtney, who was having a perfectly fulfilling conversation with an ugly duckling turned hunk.

  She screeched, “Ouch!”

  “Come on. We have to go in this room.”

  She frowned. “Why?” she asked.

  My eyes begged her. Reluctantly, she followed. “Did you see that?”

  “What?” She paused and put her hands
on her hips. “First of all, calm down.”

  “I think Scooter has a date.”

  Irritated at my naiveté, she huffed, “Did you think he wouldn’t?”

  “You’re right. I guess I got excited when it looked like he didn’t have one.”

  We stepped onto the dance floor and camouflaged my disappointment with our rendition of Salt ’n’ Pepa. The DJ was spinning all the high school hits. As we bobbed and weaved, did the cabbage patch and raised the roof, I almost forgot that I had no date. That is, until he mixed the slow jams. My head hung. Courtney laughed, “Whatever, remember we used to slow dance like this.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and turned her back to me. Her hands sensually touched her shoulders to simulate they belonged to her dance partner. I followed her lead. We giggled and slow danced solo. She gave doses of encouragement, saying, “Don’t feel bad about being here alone. Half of the married assholes are miserable. At least you’re happy.”

  “You got that right.”

  Mary J. Blige’s “I Never Wanna Live Without You” pumped through the speakers. Scooter tapped my shoulder, and asked, “Excuse me. Can I cut in?”

  I pouted. “Your girlfriend doesn’t mind?”

  “Well, she’s not here. And I won’t tell, if you won’t tell.”

  “Why are you lying? I just saw you kiss her.”

  “You just saw me kiss Phil’s wife. She went to medical school with me.”

  I unfolded my arm barrier. He laughed, and said, “You are so crazy.”

  When he wrapped his arm around me, he asked, “Where’s your date? I’m not trying to get into a scuffle.”

  “I didn’t bring a date,” I huffed.

  “You’re still a player.”

  No! I mean let me correct that. “I didn’t have anyone to bring,” I said.

  “You expect me to believe that.” I nodded, and he continued. “You probably didn’t have anyone you wanted to bring, but I’m sure someone would have loved to come with you.”