Destination Wedding

by Jacqueline J. Holness

  “You are organized about everything, Bossy,” Jarena said, taking the one with her name on it from her.

  “Yes, I am,” Senalda said, handing Mimi’s binder to her. “I have decided to call our project ‘Destination Wedding.’” Her friends nodded their approval as they perused the contents of their binders. On that first page was a sheet entitled “One-Year Plan.” The page had several categories, including Immediate Steps to Reach My Goals, Personal Development Objectives to Meet My Goals, Personal Development Objectives That May Hinder My Goals, What Are My Current Skills, Abilities, and Training? What Are Some Educational Activities That Will Help Me Reach My Goals? What Are My Development Areas and My Plan to Address These Areas?

  “I’ve adapted this from my five-year plan sheet to meet my career objectives,” Senalda explained. “What do you think, guys?”

  “She’s bossy,” Jarena said.

  Mimi laughed. “You aine neva lied. Seriously, dough, I like the sheet.”

  “Great,” Senalda said. “Our immediate steps are our meetings each month, and I have some activities in mind for our future meetings, but it’s all flexible. And I’m open to any ideas that you guys have.”

  “Because you’re the project manager?” Jarena said with a laugh.

  “You’ve got a problem with that?” Senalda retorted.

  “I guess not,” Jarena declared. Despite her overall dismal dating history, she felt strangely excited. “For better or worse, Destination Wedding, here we come.”

  She lifted her glass of water and touched the rim to the rims of the wine glasses of her friends.

  “To Destination Wedding,” the three women toasted.

  CHAPTER 3

  February

  Whitney

  ALTHOUGH BLANE AND BLYTHE were only barely five months old, I had a hard time imagining my life before my twin bundles of joy and poop arrived. Staring at them asleep in their cribs, I fought the urge to pick them up and bury my nose in the sandy curls they inherited from Richie. Their hair always smelled like pink baby lotion. But I couldn’t wake my noisy cherubs up, as I had spent the better part of the previous hour trying to get them to sleep.

  I had tried to rock them both at once, but I couldn’t manage it because they kept squirming. So I put Blane in his bouncy seat on the floor and nudged it with my foot while I rocked Blythe over my shoulder in my wooden rocking chair. When Blythe fell asleep, I laid her down in her crib, but then Blane started whimpering. And then Blythe started whimpering after hearing her brother. So I had to start over. And then I realized that Blane pooped in his diaper. No, I couldn’t risk them waking up again, so I inched out of their nursery and to my bedroom. Although my maternity leave had been over for a couple of months, I was able to spend time at home with them due to my law firm’s flextime program.

  As I sank into the pillows on our bed, luxuriating in my favorite gray cashmere robe from Nordstrom, I felt the weight that had accumulated around my midsection while I was pregnant. My twins were a double gift, but it was twice as hard to lose my baby weight. I had been back at the gym since December but my stomach was still paunchy. I thought about the letters Richie and I exchanged the night before our wedding six years ago. In my letter to him, I promised that I would always be his “girl” and “never ever look like a housewife.” He promised that he would be my “knight in shining armor” and love me the way I “deserved to be loved.”

  We had kept our vows and our promises to one another. I kept my black hair long and straight like he liked. I tried not to wear scarves at night, opting to use silk pillowcases to keep my hair moisturized and manageable. I exfoliated my café-au-lait-with-crème-colored skin regularly, although my face still looked blotchy after I gave birth, and I used cocoa butter to soften my stretch marks. There was not an ounce of frump in my wardrobe—so much so that I was known as “Sexy Suit” at Brock & Johnson, where I worked as an employment and labor attorney. My firm was one of the most prestigious law firms in the city. Not that I was ever dressed inappropriately. But I did like to emphasize my femininity. Richie was an awesome provider, and we went on vacations, either domestic or international, every year. And he also made time to listen to me. My girls said we were the perfect couple.

  But since the twins were born, I began to feel my husband slipping away. Not physically. He was there almost every day after work, helping me feed and bathe the babies alongside our au pair. We took turns on overnight diaper duty. He posted photos of us smiling with the twins on Facebook, bragging about his growing family. But he didn’t initiate sex very much. I was thankful at first. But after I fully healed from my Cesarean, I was looking forward to making love to my husband again. We used to make love about three times a week until I was about eight months pregnant, but now we hadn’t had in sex in two months or so and I had to work to get him in the mood the last time we did!

  I thought about discussing what was going on with my girls, but my girls were still single. What did they know about marriage? Plus, I wasn’t sure what was going on anyway. I noticed that he was leaving our bed almost every night and wouldn’t come back for a while. I decided tonight I was going to get some answers.

  I fell asleep around 9 p.m., but I looked at my phone when he came to bed. 11:12 p.m. I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I did nod off for a while but when I felt him rustling beside me, I awoke again but stayed still. I was able to see my phone. 3:47 a.m. He padded to the bedroom door and was gone. Thankfully, the twins were sleeping for longer periods of time, so they wouldn’t reveal nor interrupt my detective work.

  About twenty minutes later, I rose from the bed and slipped down the hall. All seemed to be silent in our au pair Gwenaëlle’s room, which wasn’t too far from the twins’ bedroom. I checked our two other bedrooms, but I didn’t see anyone. With each empty room, I got more and more anxious.

  Finally, I traveled down the stairs to the main level of our three-story home. I checked the living room, dining room, kitchen, den, my office and even the two main-level bathrooms. Richie had to be in the basement, where his office and darkroom were located.

  Richie was an OB-GYN but also an amateur photographer. I thought it was a stupid hobby, but as long as he kept his priorities in order, I said nothing about it. I carefully stepped down the basement stairs. A sliver of light glowed from the half-opened door. I peered in.

  There was Richie, hunched over his desk like a fiend, mesmerized by his computer screen. I turned my gaze to the screen and nearly gasped. There were two naked women having sex with a man. They were tangled, heaving like wild animals.

  I followed him down to the basement for a few more nights. Every night, same spectacle.

  On Saturday, I was supposed to be meeting my friends to be a marriage consultant on their Destination Wedding project. What was I going to tell them about marriage?

  Destination Wedding Meeting #2

  Mimi, Senalda, and Jarena met at Jackson’s for lunch for their second meeting, on Valentine’s Day Eve. They each had reserved Valentine’s Day in the last-minute hope that a real date would come through. None of them really believed that would happen this late in the game, but they wanted to give their new project the far-fetched optimism it deserved. Plus, Valentine’s Day Eve was also convenient for their married-with-kids friend to meet them at the East Atlanta upscale soul food restaurant.

  As Jarena entered the small restaurant, Senalda waved her hand, beckoning her toward their table.

  “Hey, Bossy.”

  She spotted a bottle of champagne on the table next to a nearly full flute. Senalda’s chintz lipstick was around the brim.

  “Celebrating already, are we?” Jarena deduced.

  “Yes dahling,” Senalda confirmed with a laugh. “Just because we’re ‘manless’ doesn’t mean we have to be gloomy!”

  “Is ‘manless’ even a word?” Jarena said, her Afro shaking as if to punctuate the incredulity.

  Whitney, wearing oversized black shades with black leggings and a large, baggy
pewter sweater exposing one shoulder, her hair twisted in a messy yet stylish chignon, approached, directed by the hostess.

  “Hey, Whitney!” Jarena said. “Girl, how have you been? It’s been so long since we’ve seen you.”

  “I know, I know,” Whitney replied in a breath, carefully settling herself into a chair. “And I’ve missed y’all too. Alright, Senalda, pour a glass for me. I’ve got about two hours before I have to get back to the twins. Richie is alone with them, and I don’t want him to drop them or anything. Gwenaëlle is off today.”

  “Drop them?” Senalda said, filling a flute.

  “Yes, Bossy,” Whitney said. “One baby is an adjustment but two, I mean, are a balancing act.”

  “Richie will be alright for two hours,” Senalda stated, handing her the flute.

  Whitney sipped for a minute, quietly.

  “Dang lady, you alright?” Jarena said with a laugh. “You’re guzzling over there. And can you even drink if you’re breastfeeding?”

  “I’m not,” Whitney said in between sips. She drank again until the champagne was gone. “I tried, but they won’t drink my milk. But enough about babies. Bring me back into the adult world. What’s going on with y’all?

  “Have you heard of La Leche?” Jarena offered. “One of my sorority sisters had the same issue, and she said the group helped her to find a solution.”

  Whitney took off her shades, laying them on the table before replying. “Is there nothing that you don’t know something about?” Whitney asked. “Sweetie, I was trying to change the subject, but I guess that went over your sweet head. For your information, the time frame for breastfeeding has already lapsed. So let’s try this again. What are y’all doing for Valentine’s Day?”

  Totally unfazed, Jarena quickly replied. “Absolutely nothing. This makes three years in a row that I haven’t had a date for Valentine’s Day.”

  “You work around all of those artists and you haven’t met some hot and rich music executive yet? He doesn’t even have to be hot if he’s rich!” Whitney said, loose tendrils of hair moving about her face.

  “I don’t want to date anyone in the business.”

  “See, you need to get out of your own way!” Whitney said. “Lesson #1: If you meet a man who is rich and is hot, what else do you need? Why wouldn’t you date the men that you work with? I mean, how are you going to meet men outside of the music business if you are always working anyway?”

  “I tried dating a man in the business ten years ago, and as they say, you don’t need to defecate where you eat,” Jarena said.

  “Really? I think the phrase is ‘Don’t shit where you eat,’” Senalda chimed in. “Damn, you were already a know-it-all. Don’t tell me you’re a no-drinking and no-cursing know-it-all now? If that’s the case, you’re in the wrong business.”

  “One man! Honey chile, please! You may think you want a man, but you’re not acting like it. Senalda, what’s going on with you, honey bun? Tell me more about this Destination Wedding project.”

  Before Senalda was able to respond, they spotted Mimi. Tall and slender with ebony locs nearly to her waist, Mimi was always noticed in any room. And today, she was wearing a black scarf that covered the roots of her locs, black leather pants, and a cutoff black turtleneck sweater that exposed the sliver of her white-chocolate skin between the top of her abdominal muscles and the start of her breasts.

  “Have you committed a black-on-black crime?” Whitney quipped with a laugh. “Who are you hiding from?”

  “Hey bitches to y’all too,” Mimi said. She moved her locs to one shoulder and sat down.

  They all cackled with the resplendent joy of being in the company of all of your best friends at once: a precious rarity as an adult. Mimi and Jarena were friends since their Banneker High School days, Senalda and Whitney since Spelman College, and the four since their early twenties. They’d clicked on their first meeting and hung together as a foursome ever since.

  “Well, this is our second Destination Wedding meeting but the first with the old married lady here,” Senalda said to Jarena and Mimi. “I’m just kidding. You know you can crash our meetings whenever you want to, Whitney.”

  “Old married lady?” Whitney repeated. “I’m a certified MILF. Y’all want to get where I am. Married with twins and sneaking out to drink with my girls! Seriously though, what’s going on with you, Senalda?”

  “Well, I did run into Dexter Bailey a couple of weeks ago,” Senalda revealed.

  “Dexter Bailey from Morehouse, the Alpha?” Whitney said. “What’s going on with him? I haven’t seen him since we graduated with his cute self.”

  “He was living in Miami, but his company transferred him to Atlanta last month. He’s a VP with UPS.”

  “All of those initials I like! So is he married? Divorced? Does he have any kids?” Whitney said, in a flurry as she picked up a menu. “And let’s order too.”

  “He almost got married a couple of years or so ago, but he’s very single now with no kids as far as I know,” Senalda said, “so we exchanged numbers. I called him, and he texted me the next day, but he hasn’t called me back yet.”

  “And he probably won’t call you back now until after Valentine’s Day,” Whitney concluded with a laugh. “You know how men are. Valentine’s Day is too serious of a day for a first date. He will probably call you in a week or so.”

  “I hope so,” Senalda said. “He looked good too. Just like I like a man. His suit was still crisp although it was after work. His hairline was still intact AND I noticed that he got into a BMW as everyone was leaving.”

  Senalda and Whitney clapped their hands together in a resolute high-five over the table.

  “Y’all are too much,” Jarena said with a laugh. “I’m not gon lie. I don’t want a broke man, but he doesn’t have to be rich to get my attention.”

  A pan crashed on the floor in the kitchen behind them and they all whipped around. The door was ajar, revealing two chefs bickering. Another chef jumped between them.

  “What’s going on there?” Jarena called to their waiter who rushed over to them.

  “I apologize for the commotion,” he said.

  “Are those guys about to fight?” Senalda said.

  “They argue all of the time,” he said in sigh. “They’re brothers and very temperamental. If you like, we can move you to another table so you won’t be nearby the kitchen.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Senalda said to the waiter before turning back to her friends. “They must be good at what they do because their asses would have been fired a long time ago if they worked for me.”

  The waiter walked back toward the kitchen as the chef who had separated the feuding chefs came over to them.

  “Scuse me ladies, my name is Chef Wendell Robinson,” the rounded burly man said. “I want to apologize for what y’all just witnessed. I would be happy to provide free desserts for y’all to make up for interrupting you purrrty ladies. After y’all eat your meal, of course.”

  “Awww, that’s so sweet,” Whitney said with a smile. “Do y’all have bread pudding? That’s my favorite dessert!”

  “Unfortunately, we don’t ma’am, but there are many other delicious desserts to choose from.” He handed a dessert menu to each of them. “My favorite is our fried fruit pie. Just tell the waiter what you want when you’re ready, and I will make sure he doesn’t charge you. I wish you were on the menu, purrrty,” he said, ogling Senalda without apology. “How can I get some of you?”

  The three women raised their eyebrows and smiled at Senalda without uttering a word.

  “Well, aren’t you the aggressive one?” Senalda said with unflappable poise.

  “I didn’t mean to make you squirm,” Wendell said.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I just wanted to tell you that you are the purrrtiest lady here, and I hope you have someone in your life that knows that.”

  “Thank you—Chef Wendell, isn’t it?” Senalda said. “I appreciate the compliment, b
ut I would like to get back to lunch with my friends.”

  “Got it purrrty,” he said, with a smile and a salute. “Have a good lunch, ladies. My apologies again for the ruckus.”

  “I don even like big ole men, but dude got me squirming over here, gurl,” Mimi said to Senalda. “Bossy, you betta get his number!”

  “Hold up, Mimi,” Jarena said, raising her hand in the hair. “He’s a chef. He doesn’t meet her criteria.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Senalda said firmly, signaling that she was done discussing the flirtatious chef.

  “Okay, there is something I’ve been wanting to tell y’all, but I wanted to wait until I had a good buzz going first,” Whitney said, as she polished off her second flute.

  “Are you pregnant again?” Senalda said. “Is that even possible so soon after giving birth?”

  “Uh no,” Whitney said. “I mean… we are done having children.” She hesitated before continuing. “Well, there is no way to really say it without just saying it.”

  She filled in her girls on what she had observed in her basement. When she finished, the table was silent.

  “Is that all?” Senalda finally said. “What man doesn’t watch porn from time to time?”

  “He has watched pornography every night this week. And we haven’t made love in two months.”

  “I stand corrected,” Senalda said. “I haven’t had a steady man in years, but I have to admit this sounds like a problem. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Whitney said. “We’ve been married for six years, and I don’t think he has ever cheated on me, but I wonder if that is next. Or what if he already has?”

  Jarena opened her mouth to say something, anything that could reassure her friend, but Senalda quickly shook her head and mouthed, “No.”

  Although the restaurant din had disturbed the women just a few minutes earlier, they now were grateful for the noise. None of them knew what to say next.