“Speaking of ramen, I want to try this North Cackalacky soul food,” I said.
“Oh, so you finally can admit that you like a good piece of fatback,” Barry shot back. “You’re not hiding your love of soul food anymore, huh? Ms. Vidalia, born and bred.”
“Uh excuse me, I was born in Vidalia but raised in the progressive city of Atlanta.”
“Aww, whatever Jay, let’s eat,” he said while leading me to a table. One of my flats refused to budge, like it was my guilty conscience made tangible, and I nearly tripped over it, I was so nervous. But I steadied myself before he noticed.
A skinny white waitress with a pockmarked face and stringy blond hair wandered over to take our orders after we sat down. I wanted to try the ribs, but since I was notorious for spilling food on myself, I got the pulled pork with macaroni and cheese bowl instead.
“You’ve really changed,” Barry said as he chose the barbecue steak. “You’re even ordering swine!”
“Now that I’m older, I guess I don’t care as much what people think about me.”
“And I love your new hair too,” he said with a smile.
“So how did you meet your wife? When you called to tell me you were getting married, you didn’t tell me how y’all met.”
I immediately wished I could eat my words. I hadn’t intended on asking the question I wanted answered the most without any buildup, but he didn’t seem to be fazed.
“I met Naomi in Nashville. You know I went to Vanderbilt for my MBA, and Naomi was at Tennessee State. We met in an Applebee’s in downtown Nashville, and we’ve been together ever since.”
“How sweet,” I said before quickly grabbing my glass to take a prolonged sip of water. My face suddenly felt like it was on fire when I realized I had said his wife’s maiden name. I silently prayed he wouldn’t realize I knew her maiden name.
“That’s funny you said that because her maiden name is Sweet, and that is why I fell in love with her. She was so sweet and easygoing. You hurt my heart so bad after you turned down my marriage proposal, I needed someone sweet,” he said with a laugh.
“Wow, what am I supposed to say after that?” I said with relief. “But I guess it was meant to be. Y’all are happily married with two children.”
Barry drank from his glass of Coke.
“Yes, little Barry and Amber make everything worth it. Barry just turned seven years old, and Amber is five. Do you want to see pictures of them? I have some on my phone,” he said as he pulled out his phone.
I wondered if they were photos from his Facebook page. I had looked at them so much over the past few months I probably memorized them. I moved my chair closer to his to look at his phone. He did take me to his Facebook page to show me some of the photos of his children—opening Christmas gifts, at the grocery store, outside their home, and finally, a family portrait they had just taken that he hadn’t had a chance to post yet.
I started to feel hollow. Barry was a great guy who wanted to do all of that for me years ago. And it was July, and I wasn’t any closer to accomplishing my goal to meet another great guy, get engaged and marry, all by the end of the year.
“Barry, you have achieved the American dream—a beautiful wife and children, a nice home in the burbs, and a successful career,” I concluded, trying to sound chipper.
“I guess I have,” he said as if it just occurred to him. “So are you still breaking hearts? Who are you seeing, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Just my career,” I said with a laugh that ended up being caught in my throat. I gulped down more water to stop myself from choking.
“Are you okay?” Barry said.
“Yeah, I guess the spices are getting to me.”
“Jay, you’re a beautiful woman,” he said. “I bet there is someone in your life who is checking you out right now but you’re so driven, you don’t notice. When you’re really ready to get married, it will just happen.”
“I’m really ready now,” I said, looking at him directly in his sky-blue eyes. “I’ve been really ready for a while, and nothing is happening. I’m just in this world alone. My mother is dead. My grandmother is dead. My father could be dead, but I wouldn’t know since I’ve never met him. I don’t have any brothers or sisters that I know of. And no man.”
I didn’t mean to blurt out all of that, but as I said it, I realized then I had been wanting to tell my old friend that for months. Thankfully, just as Barry opened his mouth to say something that I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear, the waitress laid the check on the table, interrupting the moment. I changed the subject and started chattering about my famous clients while Barry paid for our meal. As we hugged before we left the restaurant, Barry said, “You’re not alone in this world. You’ve got me, friend.”
That night in my hotel room, as I was reading my Bible, I realized that I really didn’t have faith that getting married would “just happen” for me, at least not anymore. My grandfather died before I was born, and my grandmother never remarried. My mother was obviously involved with my father at some point, but I never met him. And she never married or was involved with anyone else as far I could tell. Barry had asked to marry me, but I turned him down. And since then, every “involvement” I had just disintegrated like it never existed. I was starting to think that Barry was my one and only chance to get married, and I had blown it years ago.
Destination Wedding Meeting #7
Mimi and Jarena arrived at Senalda’s home at the same time, and she opened her door to welcome her friends.
“I’m so glad we’re getting together today,” Jarena said as she went inside.
“Is everything okay?” Senalda asked, leading them to her living room where they positioned themselves on her couches.
“I guess I’m just sad that I haven’t met anyone,” Jarena admitted. She thought about telling her friends about Barry, but that would only lead to questions she couldn’t answer for herself, much less for anyone else.
“At least yo man didn’t kick you to da curb and cost you yo job,” Mimi countered.
“She’s got you there,” Senalda said.
“I guess so,” Jarena agreed. “How are you doing, Mimi?”
“Chillin’ I guess,” Mimi said. “In my counseling, I’ve been learning a lot about myself, and it’s helping me figure out my relationship with Jovan.”
“So do you still want to get married by the end of the year?” Jarena asked.
“Yeah,” Mimi said before pausing. “But I’m focusing on me rat now, and I’m not accepting Jovan’s calls either.”
“Jovan still calls you?” Jarena said.
“A couple of times,” Mimi answered.
“He’s crazy,” Senalda said.
“Yeah, I think you need to leave him alone, even if he is contacting you,” Jarena advised. “Y’all are not good together.”
Mimi didn’t say anything at first.
“I know its crazy y’all, but I still think it can work between us,” Mimi finally said. “I know I can’t make y’all understand. I love Jovan, and I know he loves me. I know he’s always been scared of commitment. Shit, I’ve always been scared of commitment too. But I’m ready now. And he just needs some time to get ready too. That chick—I refuse to say her name—is just hangin’ around, hopin’ that he’ll be with her, but he still tryin’ to get with me. Y’all gon see.”
“You’re right. You can’t make us understand,” Jarena said. “I’ve told you time and time again, he is not your man and you refuse to listen—”
Mimi put her hand in Jarena’s face to stop her from continuing. “I do refuse to listen. I shoulda never said anythang, but I’m done now.”
Senalda parted her lips to speak, but Jarena spoke first as she moved away from Mimi’s hand. “So is Whitney coming over today?” she asked, choosing to defuse the situation by changing the subject.
“No, the marrieds have plans today, so it’s just the three of us,” Senalda said.
“So what are we doing today?” J
arena said.
“Oooh okay, after I ran the Peachtree Road Race with Dexter earlier this month, I Googled ‘how to make a man marry you research,’ and I found this great book,” Senalda said as she held up a small blue-and-white book.
“What?” Mimi said.
“Okay, so I spent the whole day with Dexter, and I was trying to figure out how to get him to tell me where our relationship was going, and by the end of the day, zilch, nada, he said nothing. So I since I’m a numbers person, I decided to see if I could come up with some research-based advice or statistical data, and voilà! Check out it!” Senalda said, still holding the book in the air.
Jarena took the book and read the title and author’s name out loud. “Why Men Marry Some Women and Not Others: The Fascinating Research That Can Land You the Husband of Your Dreams by John T. Molloy. Have you read it yet?”
“Of course,” Senalda said as she disappeared into her office. “And I have created handouts for each of you, based on the research in the book.” She returned to the living room with sheets of paper and gave them to Mimi and Jarena.
“Girl, with you on our team, we just ought to be married by the end of the year,” Jarena said.
“Fa real dough!” Mimi agreed.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m very serious about Destination Wedding,” Senalda said, shaking her head. “One of the researchers in the book said the main reason why she didn’t get married before she started the research was that she did not insist on being married. If Dexter doesn’t propose by October 1, I’m moving on.”
“Are you fa real?” Mimi said. “You gon let that good man go because he don’t meet a deadline?”
“Yes and won’t look back,” Senalda said. “If Dexter asks me to marry him by October, we still have two months to get married before the end of the year. The second key point in the research is that women who want to get married don’t stay in relationships that aren’t going anywhere. You should think about that, Mimi. As for me, I’m not playing anymore. I deserve to be happily married.”
“Can’t argue with that!” Jarena said, waving her hand over her head.
Jarena and Mimi moved from the furniture to the floor, spreading out the handouts to read them. As the three women dissected and discussed the research, each one secretly pictured what happily ever after looked like. For Senalda, the perfect marriage was the interplay of position and pleasure and prowess and passion. Commitment, no matter how crazy or calm she was or could be, was what Mimi wanted most of all. Whether she lived up to her heavenly ideals or made her bed in hell, a haven huge enough for both was Jarena’s hope.
CHAPTER 9
August
Whitney
EVER SINCE MY HUSBAND started attending Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous meetings, I wasn’t seeing him very much. So when I did, I tried to make every second count.
“Hey, sweetiekins.” I grabbed him from behind as he put on his shirt and tie in his bathroom. I attempted to wrap my right leg around his pants, but it slid down on the soft material until my foot touched the floor. “I can’t believe it’s Monday already. Now that we have the twins, our weekends go by so fast. Do you want me to get your jacket for you?”
“Nah, not wearing my jacket today,” Richie replied while staring in the mirror and straightening his tie. He flexed his muscles underneath his shirt and zeroed in on his eyes as if he was trying to seduce himself. “I always have to take it off when I put on my lab coat.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, stepping back and admiring my conceited husband in the mirror. “What time will you be home tonight?”
“I have a meeting to go to after work so probably about 8:30 or so.”
“You and these meetings!” I said in a sigh as I put my hand on my forehead.
“I explained to you that my sponsor said I had to attend ninety meetings in ninety days,” Richie said, turning to me. “I’m almost done. Actually, I’m getting my three-month chip on Saturday, and I want you to come.”
“I don’t want to be around a bunch of weirdo addicts,” I said. “I keep thinking you’re hanging out with serial rapists and child molesters. Are you sure that no one at Grady knows you’re going to these meetings?”
“We’re supposed to be anonymous, remember? No one tells on anybody. So are you going to come?”
“Okay, okay, I guess I will, but I will not talk to anybody, and you can’t make me, either,” I said with laugh.
• • •
After the twins were settled with Gwenaëlle, I walked to the front of our home and looked out of our bay window. Richie was waiting for me in his Range Rover in the circular driveway. Ordinarily, I was either dressed in a sexy suit for work or a sexy but more casual outfit when I was out and about. I reasoned that women only had a small window to show off their figures, and I had a couple or so more years before I would be forced to transition into a more mature wardrobe.
However, tonight I did not want to be recognized, so I attempted to be as plain as I could. I had pulled my hair into a ponytail and slipped on some raggedy blue jeans and a T-shirt. Although I never wore flip-flops, I had a pair that I put on after I got pedicures at the nail salon. I didn’t really need makeup, but I usually made myself up before leaving my home. Today, I was makeup free with only lip gloss on to moisturize my lips. My ponytail bounced against the back of my neck as I strode to his SUV.
“You look really pretty tonight,” Richie said with a smile while pushing the passenger door open for me.
“I do?” I activated the passenger mirror to see if he saw something I had not seen. “I look like a slob! What are you talking about, Richie?”
“Not to me,” he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek.
As he drove to DeKalb County, I thought about our marriage. The counseling had certainly helped. It wasn’t like it was before we became parents, but things had improved. I hadn’t noticed Richie going to the basement as much, and we made love about once a week; still not as often as before, but an improvement. But I also noticed that Richie seemed happier—actually the happiest I had ever known him to be.
“We’ll be there in a few more minutes,” he said before he started to hum.
“Are we on Memorial Drive?” I looked from side to side and pulled off my shades, eyeing the street that was nothing but check-cashing locations, fast-food restaurants, abandoned shopping centers, and MARTA bus stops. “We are in the hood. Where are we going, anyway? Are we going to be safe?”
“Yes, we meet in the basement of this historic church in the neighborhood.”
“Is historic a code word for decrepit?” I asked. “Because if I don’t feel safe, you’re going to have to take me home.”
“Whit, chill,” he said, swinging into the parking lot of Sacred Heart Catholic Church. Once Richie parked and checked his appearance in the rearview mirror, an old white man who resembled Wolf Blitzer came over to the car next to us. He waved to Richie before getting a book from the car and turning back to walk into the church.
“Who was that?”
“Oh, that was Paul,” Richie said.
“I mean. I thought this was an anonymous program?” I said. “Do I have to tell everyone my name?”
“We only know each by our first names, but you don’t have to say anything because you’re a visitor. Relax Whit, it will be okay. Really.”
I found it ironic that although the church was a stunning work of Gothic architecture, these people were meeting in a tiny room with fluorescent lighting in the church’s basement, like they were banished there. At the front was a large circle of metal folding chairs, and a 1980s coffee machine was brewing coffee on a chipped folding table in the back of the hovel. The silver-framed sayings on the walls like “Easy Does It,” “First Things First,” and “Live and Let Live” did soften the space. I was surprised by the diversity of the thirty or so people cramped in the room. I saw old people and younger people. Black people. White people. Chubby people. Slim people. And one very attractive, bald-headed, musc
ular, light-skinned man who apparently knew my husband.
“Richie, hey. What’s up, man?” the light-skinned man said loudly as he bounded over to us and gave Richie the black-man hug when one man pulls the other man into his chest by holding the other man’s hand with his hand. I could tell he came from New York because he had that aggressive, urban tone that reminded me of Senalda’s voice, which I found distasteful until I got to know her. “By the time you leave this room tonight, you’re going to have your ninety-day chip! You went to ninety meetings in ninety days! How does it feel, man?”
“I’m just thankful to my Higher Power and to you that I’m recovering,” Richie answered.
Higher Power?
“Hey Victor, this is my wife Whitney,” Richie said gesturing to me. “She’s kind of nervous about being here, but she wanted to watch me get my ninety-day chip.”
I almost snickered, but I chose to smile instead before speaking. “Nice to meet you, Victor,” I said, extending my hand.
“I understand, ma,” he said, taking my hand in his and covering it with the other instead of shaking it. “No need to worry. We don’t bite. Can I get you anything? Some water or coffee?”
I shook my head and sat down in the chair closest to the door as Richie and Victor moved away from me to discuss something. Minutes later, the meeting started. Even though I was actually sitting among these people, I started to feel like I was watching a movie. I almost wished I had popcorn. Every person who spoke in the meeting had a crazy story to tell. They called it “sharing” but it seemed more like confessing, which was kind of funny since we were in a Catholic church.
Growing up, my family went to mass about once a month, but when I moved out and lived on my own in Atlanta, it seemed easier and easier to sleep in on Sunday. Richie’s parents were Baptist, but he didn’t make a big deal of going to church either, so we didn’t include religion in our lives. And now we were in a Catholic church’s basement, and he was literally sharing the most intimate details of our lives. I pasted a smile on my face as Richie finally stood up at the end of the meeting and received a coin the people called a chip from Victor, who was apparently his sponsor. Everyone cheered and clapped when Richie received his chip, but I wanted to disappear. I would be mortified if anyone found out that we were here.
Destination Wedding Page 13
