When Somebody Loves You Back

by Mary B. Morrison

  Fancy paced, hugging her stomach. Lying on the floor, she began her daily morning routine of doing five hundred sit-ups. Unlike the men from her past, including Desmond Brown, who was just a friend, and Byron Van Lee, who still wanted to be more than just a friend, Fancy promised herself, no matter what happened between Darius and her, she’d never leave Darius. He was undoubtedly her soul mate. Her decision might not have been rational, but unlike Ashlee Anderson, Fancy Taylor wasn’t stupid. Fancy walked to the nightstand, staring at the digital clock: 7:15 a.m. Darius hadn’t come home yet, nor had he called.

  How could Ashlee not know her phone number showed up on Darius’s caller ID? Or maybe Ashlee was dumb enough to hope that Fancy wouldn’t move in with Darius so the only person who’d answer the phone was Darius. Either way it didn’t matter. What did matter was that Fancy found out from either Darius or Ashlee what the hell was going on. Darius had better not have left her home alone to go and fuck Ashlee. What was so secretive between them that Darius refused to make love and Ashlee had called her a bitch, then hung up in her face?

  Briefly, Fancy reflected on when she’d phoned her ex Byron’s house, calling his sister a bitch, assuming Byron was married when he wasn’t. Whenever one woman called another woman a bitch, that made it clear that the woman doing the cursing wanted that man and was willing lie to break up the relationship. Fuck that. Ashlee needed to move on and find her own dick.

  Reaching toward the black base, Fancy picked up the cordless and walked onto the balcony overlooking the houses descending downhill and the mountains ascending in the background. She inhaled the fresh air in an attempt to alleviate the tightness in her lower abdomen. Maybe she’d cut back from five hundred to four hundred, but there was no way Fancy was prematurely losing her figure to a bulging belly. Before Fancy dialed the first digit to Ashlee’s number the phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, she saw SaVoy Edmonds.

  Fancy sighed long into the receiver, answering, “Hey, girl. What’s up?”

  “I should be asking you. What the heck happened yesterday? Everybody was at your wedding except you and Darius. What’s wrong with y’all?”

  “Look, it’s nothing we can’t handle. You and Tyronne all set to jump the broom?”

  “The question is,” SaVoy replied with a high pitch, “are you all set to be in Oakland as my maid of honor? I don’t want you faking on me like you did your guests.”

  Whatever. “Yeah, you know I’ma be there.”

  “My flight doesn’t leave L.A. until tonight. You wanna have lunch with us?”

  Hell no. The last thing Fancy wanted to do was sit across the table from SaVoy’s manipulative fiancé, Tyronne. “I’ve got a lot of things going on today, but I wouldn’t miss standing in your wedding, you know that, but I’ma pass on lunch. You’re my best friend. And you know I love you because I can’t stand your broke-ass from-the-hood fiancé.”

  “Well, at least my man is marrying me,” SaVoy snapped.

  “And Darius is out planning something special for me right now,” Fancy countered, wondering why Darius hadn’t called, then confessed, “I’m trippin’ out, SaVoy…having doubts if Darius is really going to marry me before I have our baby.” Fancy rubbed her stomach. “Ashlee called our house all upset and stuff, and, well, I don’t want Darius to get comfortable with us living together. He—”

  “Living what? Having who? What’s wrong with you? You can’t live in sin. You’ve got two houses of your own virtually sitting empty except for the Merry Maids that clean ’em every week. You don’t need to live with Darius. And you can’t move in when Ashlee just moved out. Better yet, got kicked out. But you know how I feel, it’s best you don’t marry Darius, because you and everybody else including God and Ashlee knows that Darius is a straight-up dog, he’s a ho. Lord forgive me, but it’s true. He’s lying about marrying you, and now that he’s signed that megamillion-dollar contract with Atlanta, get ready because you’ll be spending a lot of nights alone. You’re kidding yourself if you think he’s going to be faithful to you with all the women waiting for an opportunity to lick and ride Slugger, as you say he calls his manhood, and then you go and get pregnant before he marries you. Don’t you know that’s so he can keep you at home while he’s out dippin’ his thing in only God knows who? I thought you were smarter than that, girlfriend. That’s a sin and you ought to be ashamed…and—”

  “And that’s enough! Damn it, SaVoy! Can’t you learn to listen sometimes and stop judging me! Your phony-Christian ass is not perfect! Good-bye!” Fancy yelled, hanging up the phone, continuing, “What is this? Fuck-with-Fancy day?”

  Fancy walked inside, placing the handset on the base. Glancing at the digital clock, she said, “Oh, shit! I’m late for my eight o’clock client.”

  She shouldn’t have scheduled an appointment the day after her wedding, but this was the only day her out-of-state client was available to do the final walk-through at his five-million-dollar home before closing. Fancy retrieved the handset and dialed his number.

  After waiting several seconds for the phone to ring, Fancy glanced at the caller ID, knowing she’d dialed the right numbers, but why in hell were Ashlee’s name and number on the display?

  Annoyed, Fancy answered, “What?”

  “Yeah, bitch,” Ashlee’s voice echoed in a weird white-trying-to-sound-black, too-black kinda way.

  “What the fuck is it?” Fancy faintly yelled back.

  “You need to stop seeing my man,” Ashlee yelled louder, “that’s what the fuck!”

  Fancy gasped, breathing deeply, “Ashlee? What the hell are you trying to prove?”

  “You heard me, bitch. You need to stop seeing my man.”

  “Reality check. Earth to Ashlee. Darius is not your man. He’s your brother.”

  “Stepbrother and mind you he’s not biologically related to me, so our relationship is no different from yours, and I had his baby.”

  “That’s right. Had.” Fancy paused, then said, “Well, I’m having his baby. And I don’t have time to entertain your childish bullshit. Grow the hell up!”

  “No, not had. Ha—”

  Click! Fancy hung up the phone, showered, dressed, then dialed Darius’s cell number.

  “Hey, Ladycat. Good morning, baby.”

  “Don’t good morning me. Darius, where are you?”

  “My mom’s. I didn’t tell you?”

  “No, you didn’t. And if you’re at your mom’s, why didn’t you answer my calls or phone me back?”

  “I was asleep. You woke me up.”

  Fancy heard knocking or rocking or something in the background.

  “What’s that?”

  “Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ll be home in a few hours,” Darius said, then hung up.

  A few hours. Yeah, right. Fancy redialed Darius’s number. Immediately she heard, “You know who you’ve reached, don’t leave a speech. Speak.” Beep.

  She knew who to call next. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven presses of the buttons on the phone. Fancy waited.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Tanner. May I speak to Darius please?”

  “Fancy, Darius isn’t here. Try him on his cell phone.”

  “Thanks,” Fancy said, ending the call. “Lying bastard.”

  Pressing her middle fingers into her temples, Fancy reentered the bathroom, glancing at the red and white bottle on the counter.

  “Stop trippin’ on all that crap SaVoy said to you earlier. Darius will explain when he gets home.”

  She redialed her client. When he answered, she asked, “Can we push your appointment back to this afternoon?” Fancy could’ve added, “I’m pregnant and I’m suffering from morning sickness,” but businessmen discounted all female-related illnesses—menstrual cramps, PMS, kids—as excuses.

  “Actually this afternoon works out fine. Say around two.”

  “I’ll see you then. Thanks.” Pausing, Fancy knew she was forgetting to do something. “Oh yeah.”

  Fancy phoned
information. “Yes, I’d like the number to Child Protective Services.” Jotting down the number, she dialed the agency. “Yes, I’d like to report a child abandonment.” She reported all that she knew, the car, the 9-1-1 call, and the policeman’s arrival, and the woman on the other and thanked her.

  Ending her call, Fancy wanted to stop trippin’ but couldn’t. Her head pounded with all kinds of crazy visuals of Darius fucking Ashlee or some other woman. SaVoy was right. Darius was a pathological liar and it was time for Fancy to admit that he couldn’t be trusted before they got married. Unsnapping the top, Fancy shook two tablets in her palm, went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and said, “Damn! What happened to all the juice? Just like a bachelor to drink out of the container, then put it back empty. That’s going to change.”

  Clenching the tablets in her hand, Fancy went into the storage area inside the garage and saw Darius’s next-door neighbor, Michael, standing in the driveway.

  “Well, good morning,” Michael said, smiling wide. “You really shouldn’t leave your garage door open all night. There’s all sorts of wild animals lurking in the dark.” Still smiling, Michael winked at her.

  Although Michael was largely responsible for making her a millionaire, Fancy wasn’t interested in flirting with him. “Thanks, I didn’t realize it was open. I just came to get something to drink,” she said, picking up a gallon of cranberry juice. On her way inside, she hit a button and the garage door lowered.

  Fancy filled an empty goblet with ice cubes and juice. Shifting the pills to her fingertips, she tilted her head backward. The pain was so excruciating she closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jada

  Life. What was the purpose? Her purpose?

  She’d lived, not a perfect, but a passionate life. She didn’t sleepwalk, or half-ass do things. She didn’t make excuses, or take the people she loved for granted. She didn’t belittle anyone, or put herself down. The one thing she didn’t do enough was put herself first. Fulfill her needs. Her desires. Her dreams. She was too busy for herself.

  One of her dreams was to have a daughter. Grateful she regained her figure after having Darius, Jada wanted to adopt a little girl. What good was being a millionaire if she didn’t give back to someone less fortunate? Give another female an opportunity to excel in life. One day, but not today.

  Stop. Now that her life was closer to death, she was sure she wouldn’t live as many years as she’d lived. She wished she would’ve put herself first more often. Twenty years she dedicated to her son. Another twenty-plus to her husband. Too many to count to her company, Black Diamonds.

  If she could roll back the hands of time, what would’ve been different? She knew without hesitation. The lie. She wouldn’t have lied to her son, her son’s father, her husband, or herself. She didn’t have yesterday and she wasn’t guaranteed tomorrow, so from this day forth, Jada Diamond Tanner promised herself she would live in the moment.

  If she couldn’t keep a commitment to herself, then who could she be honest with? Each moment she’d stand in her truth. No more lying to herself in order to spare others’ feelings.

  Why was it so hard to make decisions about remaining in her marriage and easy to make decisions about work? Why did Jada feel it was her responsibility to save everyone around her except herself? When was the last time she’d meditated? Pampered herself? Exercised?

  Jada nestled into the arms of her husband as they lay across the sofa like dominos, one on top of the other, in front of the wood-burning fireplace. Wellington hugged her shoulders. The back of her head rested against his chest, her back on top of his stomach, her butt curved below his pelvis.

  The past weekend was overwhelming. Neither Darius nor Fancy showed up for their own wedding. Both acted as though nothing went wrong. Jada was livid, having apologized to almost a thousand guests, wasting more than five hundred thousand dollars on caterers, florists, wedding planners, and as a courtesy, she insisted on reimbursing their guests, many of whom flew in from Atlanta, for travel expenses.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the flames reflected in Wellington’s weary eyes. Wellington had postponed his surgery for the wedding but declined attending Darius’s wedding. He refused to be admitted without her by his side. Wellington’s I-told-you-sos weren’t welcome and Jada demanded that he keep his comments to himself. Any reason would’ve sufficed for Wellington to put off his surgery, but this was his last day home before checking into the hospital.

  Wellington squirmed. “Ba, I’m starting to get uncomfortable. I hate to ask you to move but…”

  Cautiously, Jada sat up.

  “No, don’t get up. Just move down a little.”

  Jada scooted an inch or two and said, “Is this okay?”

  “Yeah. That’s better.”

  “You’ve been awfully quiet. What are you thinking?” Jada asked, leaning back, resuming her new position. She pressed the back of her head below Wellington’s salt-and-pepper hairy chest.

  Wellington whispered, “About life. About how grateful I am to have spent”—he sniffled, then continued—“most of my life in love with you. You know, ba, some folk spend all their lives searching. Searching for happiness. Searching for love or someone to love. Praying that the person they love loves them too. Searching for what’s right in front of their faces. Or worse, taking the people who do love them for granted.”

  Wellington cupped Jada’s breasts, squeezing gently.

  This time it was okay for her husband to affectionately touch her breasts. He wasn’t attempting to arouse her, and she realized he sought comfort feeling her body.

  “Oh, Wellington,” Jada said, interlocking her fingers atop his hand. “Remember the night we met?”

  Why couldn’t they have spent more moments like this before Wellington got sick? Cuddling. Caressing. Enjoying and appreciating one another. A simple caring touch of the human hand provided so much healing. Healing that no doctor could prescribe, nor medicine could cure.

  Their jobs consumed them Monday through Friday from seven in the morning to well past nine at night. Almost every weekend was occupied by Wellington’s son, Wellington the Second, running around while Wellington the Second’s mother, Simone Smith, jet-setted all over the world with her single girlfriends.

  Passionately squeezing her nipples, Wellington replied, “How could I ever forget? You were the hottest, sexiest, most sophisticated woman at Cityscape. Ba, you stood out in that crowded room the moment you stepped off that elevator with that leopard dress wearing you. The moon was full that night. The view from the forty-second floor was spectacular. But not nearly as spectacular as that dress or the woman in it. And I still love these.” Wellington squeezed again.

  The tingling sensation made Jada smile. Since Wellington couldn’t make love to her, she didn’t want to get overly excited. “Yeah, that dress was hot. Split from my ankles up to my privates in the front. A dip,” she said, tossing her head to the side, “all the way down my back to my ass. But what I remember most are the yellow roses and the one red rose too. You sent me a rose every—”

  “They were all red, and one yellow,” Wellington corrected, then continued, “every fifteen minutes until I asked you to dance with me. Thought I was gonna have to take a rain check the way Darryl tried to run interference.”

  Darryl did have bad timing, but Jada refused to dwell on Darryl during their beautiful moment of reflection. Darryl had his own agenda, then and now. Since his wife had recently become his ex-wife, Darryl had already convinced Darius to let him run Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top. Now that Wellington was sick, Darryl was trying to find his way back into Jada’s life.

  “Yeah, Rachelle Farrell’s ‘Nothing Has Ever Felt like This’ was the last song and our first dance and you continued sending me roses every week for over ten years, even after I married Lawrence.” Jada smiled. She could’ve questioned Wellington about why he’d stopped sending her roses, but she appreciated the many years that her husband was a true gentleman.
Wellington was good to her.

  “I love you more than I could ever have imagined loving a woman. But you know what the best part is?”

  “Tell me,” Jada said, rubbing Wellington’s thighs, knowing her loving touch helped lessen his pain.

  “The best part is…no matter how bad I screwed up, you never stopped loving me.” Wellington sniffled again, then continued, “Ba, I have to ask a question. Tell me the truth. Don’t say what you think I want to hear. Now that I’m not the man you married, are you still in love with me?”

  Looking over her shoulder again, Jada asked, “Are you serious? Why would you ask a stupid question like that?”

  “I need to hear you say it. Like I said, I know I’ve done some dumb things lately. Things you didn’t deserve. And I need to know you’ve forgiven me. Before I enter that operating room, in case I don’t come out, I want to go knowing, not guessing, whether or not my soul mate is in love with me.”

  “Move, Wellington.” Jada waited until Wellington sat up, and then she sat on the sofa beside him, laying his bald head onto the pillow in her lap. Tracing his eyebrows with her fingertip, Jada explained, “Wellington Jones, how could I ever repay you for raising Darius, being there for us, for me, even after you found out he wasn’t your child? If anyone is guessing who loves whom, it should be me.”

  “True love never requires restitution. But it’s beautiful when the person shows they appreciate you. As far as Darius is concerned, he resents me now that he knows his real father. That hurts like hell. I’ve always loved that boy like he was my own son. Still would do anything for him. I was hard on him because he needed, make that needs, to grow up, ba. You were too easy on him. That boy doesn’t know nothing ’bout an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. Or how to respect women. Now he has Darryl as a role model. That’s a joke, and Darius is foolish to let Darryl run his film company. The apple don’t fall far from the tree. Think about Darryl’s boys. What do I know? No one asked my opinion. But, ba, you…ya didn’t answer my question.”