Grown Folks Business

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  “You’re getting married?” her eighteen-year-old brother had asked incredulously. “Why? Are you pregnant?”

  The rolling of her eyes was her only answer, but she’d wanted to shout to everyone that she hadn’t done a darn thing to get pregnant, although that had not been her will. It had been God’s…and Quentin’s.

  “We should wait until we’re married,” Quentin had said the very first time their passion took them to the brink. “That’s God’s plan.”

  God and His plan occupied no part of Sheridan’s mind when Quentin pressed his lips (and other parts of his body) against her. But no matter what she said, no matter what she did, Quentin never wavered.

  “This is God’s plan,” he said, as if he’d been born with a triple dosage of willpower.

  Sheridan had never understood Quentin. Most of her girlfriends had been having sex since high school. Although she hadn’t been ready then, now, she was a nineteen-, almost twenty-year-old college student.

  She was ready, but Quentin was not willing.

  So when Quentin had taken her to breakfast for what she thought was a normal date and asked her to marry him, she’d wanted to grab his hand and sprint to City Hall. She loved him and couldn’t wait to make love to him. She had no doubt they were made to be married to each other. No doubt at all—until everyone else voiced theirs.

  But no one’s spoken fears had stopped them, and on that day seventeen years ago, Sheridan and Quentin had taken the step to prove the world wrong.

  By the end of their first year of marriage, it was clear that they’d known best. Although the two struggled to juggle school schedules and part-time jobs, and to pay bills that at times were overwhelming, still, they were delirious with happiness and much better together than apart. Five years into their marriage, Quentin was a licensed doctor and Sheridan was thrilled to be his wife and the stay-at-home mother of four-year-old Christopher.

  “We were meant to be, Quentin,” Sheridan whispered, as she watched the rain. “What happened?”

  “Hey, girl,” Kamora said, bolting into the office.

  Sheridan wiped away the tears she hadn’t, until that moment, realized were there. By the time she turned to Kamora, a plastic smile spread across her face.

  Kamora hugged her friend. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “I’m glad to see you too.”

  Kamora stepped back, stared at Sheridan, then waved her hand in the air. “Stop lying.”

  Sheridan chuckled. “No, really. I’m glad you talked me into having lunch with you.” She lifted her purse as Kamora slipped into her orange leather jacket.

  “Who said we were having lunch?” Kamora gathered her hair into a ponytail and wrapped a band around it. “I never mentioned food.” She hooked her arm through Sheridan’s and led her across the floor of her spacious office. “We’re going to have a lot more fun than just throwing down some catfish and greens. We’re going shopping.”

  Sheridan groaned. “Kamora, I’m not in the mood. It’s raining.”

  “So? We’re going to take one of my cars.”

  “I don’t like to shop,” Sheridan whined, thinking of all the times her friend had dragged her through stores looking for that perfect outfit for that perfect date with that perfect man.

  “And you think I care about what you like?” Kamora joked.

  “I think you’re being a bit insensitive considering what I’m going through.”

  “That’s exactly why we’re going. Think about it. There are a lot of ways to get back at Quentin—”

  Sheridan’s mind rushed back to last night. “I have to give this a chance,” was what Quentin had said.

  Kamora continued, “—and we’ll think about all the ways to really give it to him later. But for now, we’re going to spend your husband’s money.”

  “I never exposed you to anything, Sheridan.”

  Kamora said, “Think about it. Those designer clothes waiting with your name on them. And then imagine the look on Quentin’s face when he gets the bill.” Kamora giggled.

  “The things that happened between me and Jett…”

  “Where are we going?”

  “That’s my girl.” They stepped into the elevator. “I was thinking about Rodeo Drive. Only the best for Dr. Hart’s wife. After all, that’s where he shops.”

  When they exited the elevator, one of the sleek black town cars from Kamora’s limousine company, Ride and Shine, was waiting for them. Before they took two steps toward the car, the driver’s door opened and a Shemar Moore look-alike jumped out. Sheridan’s eyebrows rose at the way the young man grinned at his boss and the way her friend beamed back.

  “Good morning, Ms. Johnson.” Then the driver glanced at Sheridan. “Ma’am.” He tipped the hat Kamora had all of her drivers wear and then pulled the door open.

  “When did you get the new guy?” Sheridan whispered, glad to have something to take her mind away from Quentin.

  Kamora’s smile was still wide. “Jackson?” She said his name as if it were a synonym for heaven. “I hired him a week ago.” She sighed. “But there’s been a small problem.” Kamora pressed the button to close the privacy window. Still she whispered, “No matter what I do, I haven’t been able to get him to dip his pen in my inkwell.”

  Sheridan slapped Kamora’s leg, but she couldn’t hold back her giggles. At least for a few moments, she could live in Kamora’s world.

  Sheridan said, “I thought you had stopped dating your employees. You said it was trouble.”

  Kamora nodded. “But then along came Jackson.” She peered through the glass. “Look at him; even you have to admit that Jackson could make your temperature rise a degree or two.”

  Sheridan pursed her lips. “Excuse me if I don’t share your enthusiasm for men right now.”

  Kamora took Sheridan’s hand, her playful tone gone. “Girl, I really want you to be okay.”

  Memories returned. Of the good and the bad.

  Sheridan nodded because she knew she couldn’t utter a word without crying. She had never been filled with such anger, but still, sadness lingered.

  Kamora asked, “How did it go this morning?”

  Sheridan pulled back the image and shivered as she remembered the way Dr. Hong had smiled and politely not asked why she wanted an AIDS test. As the technician drew blood from her left arm, Dr. Hong had stood on the right and chatted about the weather. Three tubes of her life’s liquid were drained, then a cotton swab was placed in the crook of her elbow before she was told the results would be available on Monday. And then she was dismissed. She was in and out, just like the receptionist had promised.

  She shrugged, bringing herself back to the present. “It was just a blood test.” She paused. “But I don’t want to talk about this. Let’s go shopping.” It was happiness that she drew on her face, but only sorrow was sketched on her heart.

  Sheridan leaned back into the soft leather seat of Kamora’s limousine. She stayed that way, even when Kamora took her hand and squeezed it, wordlessly telling her that she loved her and that life would be all right.

  Sheridan wanted to believe that, but first, she had to live through the AIDS test results. And she wouldn’t know that outcome until Monday.

  Sheridan stared at the clothes laid out on her bed: the white satin blouses, the pearl silk pants, the ecru linen suit, the eggshell knit dress, the cream suede ankle-length coat. She sank into the chair, and her glance moved to the bags torn open and tossed across the floor: Versace, Prada, Chanel. It looked like the back room of a Paris show during Fashion Week. What have I done? she wondered as she kept her eyes away from the receipts stacked on the nightstand. She couldn’t bring herself to add up all she’d spent.

  I’m going to take this stuff back, she thought. She’d had her fun, running rampant through the stores with the platinum card she hardly ever used.

  The slam of the front door interrupted her guilty thoughts, and she jumped up. She looked at the clock—only a bit after five. Neither of t
he children were supposed to be home yet. And she had not heard the normal shouts that announced her children’s arrival.

  She rushed into the hallway and called out. When no one answered, she frowned. She tiptoed down the stairs, her heart pounding with each step. She moved slowly until she stood at the bottom. “Hello.” No answer. But then she thought, How stupid is this? Greeting an intruder.

  She continued toward the front door.

  “Mom.”

  She whipped around, her hand over her chest. “Chris, didn’t you hear me call you?”

  His eyes bored into her. “I told everyone in school today to call me Christopher. The teachers said that was okay.”

  His words reminded her of his demand this morning, and his sorrow made her forget the terror she’d felt. But even though hours had passed, she still didn’t have words to comfort him.

  Sheridan hugged her son, the way she always did when he came home. But she kept silent, not posing the question she asked every day. She already knew how his day was. She could tell by the way he stood in place, stiff, with his leather backpack still hanging from his shoulder and his hands stuffed inside his pockets.

  “Christopher,” she said his name slowly. “We need to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. Dad decided it for us.”

  “But I want you to understand this has nothing to do with you.”

  “How you can say that, Mom? He’s leaving me and Tori and you.” When Christopher saw the look on his mother’s face, his tone softened. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I’ve accepted the fact that I don’t have a father anymore.”

  So much of her wanted to agree with her son. But it was only what she wanted for Christopher that made her say, “Your father loves you.”

  “How can he love me and a man at the same time?”

  Sheridan pressed her lips together and wondered how many times she’d asked the same question.

  “Anyway, Mom, I’m real sure about the way I feel. But you don’t have to worry.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “If Dad doesn’t want to be the man of the house, then I’ll take over.”

  She wanted to tell him he was a man, but a young man. There was no need for him to take on responsibility he wasn’t ready to carry. She would handle their home. She would handle him. But all that came from her lips was “Christopher…,” before he turned and barged up the stairs.

  “Mom, I really don’t feel like talking about this anymore.”

  “Christopher.”

  “I have a lot of homework,” he yelled from the top landing.

  Then he was out of her sight. And she was left standing in the middle of the hallway with more to say but without a son to listen. She had learned long ago that there was nothing inside of her that could force a teenage boy to communicate when he didn’t want to.

  She sighed. Lord, you said you would never leave me, she began the prayer in her mind. And if there was ever a time that I needed to believe this, it’s now. Please help me. Give me the words to say to these children. To comfort them and to help them find peace.

  She stepped into the kitchen. Within an hour Tori would be home from dance practice.

  As Sheridan pulled pans from the cabinet and then chicken from the refrigerator, she knew one thing she had to do. She had to call Quentin and tell him his son knew. Knew that his father was leaving for a man.

  She didn’t understand the way she smiled—just a little—inside. The small bit of joy came from her mind—from the way she imagined Quentin would feel once he heard this news. And then maybe tonight, when he laid his head on his pillow, he’d have an inkling of some of the pain she’d been carrying for more hours than she cared to count.

  He answered his cell phone on the first ring. As if he’d been waiting for her call.

  “Sheridan.”

  She paused and wondered how she should tell Quentin this news. She could drag this out. Or plunge the knife into his chest quickly. She couldn’t decide as she paced inside the room she still thought of as their bedroom. Then she looked at the clothes piled on her bed. She had to finish packing all of the bags to make her round of returns tomorrow. She didn’t have time to drag this out.

  “Quentin, are you alone?”

  There was a moment of silence. “Yes, why?”

  “I have to tell you something about our family and I don’t want anyone else involved.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  How can you ask me that? I spent my morning handling your children and taking an AIDS test. “Chris found out. He knows why you left us.”

  He paused, then said, “You told him everything?” In his whisper, she could feel his panic.

  Fury still raged inside her, but her shoulders sagged from the burden she carried for her children. No matter what she felt about Quentin, she wanted the absolute best for Christopher and Tori. No matter how much anger she harbored in her heart, she’d have to find a common ground where she and Quentin could come together for the sake of their children. “I didn’t tell Chris anything, Quentin,” she said, sucking the anger from her voice. “He must have overheard us last night.” Or he overheard me and Kamora, Sheridan thought, her guilt building.

  “I can’t believe you, Sheridan. I thought you said you wanted to wait to tell the children.”

  She reared back at his tone. “Wait a minute—”

  “I should have been the one to tell my son. I’m the only one who could make him understand.”

  “Don’t fool yourself, Quentin,” she said, squaring her shoulders and ridding herself of just a bit of the guilt. “You’d never be able to make any sixteen-year-old boy understand this.”

  Quentin sighed. “Well, what did he say?”

  “I believe his exact words were”—she paused—“ ‘Call me Christopher because Chris could be a girl’s name and I am nowhere near gay.’ ”

  “You told him I was gay?”

  Sheridan didn’t know what upset her more—his rage or his surprise.

  “No, he overheard us,” she repeated slowly.

  “Well, what did you say? Did you tell him that’s not true?”

  “How was I supposed to tell him that? You want me to lie to him the way you’ve lied to me?”

  Several silent moments passed before he said, “How did Christopher take it? Was he angry?”

  Sheridan sighed and wondered if this was the same man she loved last week. “How do you think he took it?”

  “So he was angry.”

  Duh. “Yes.” Just like I am.

  “Oh, God. This is not what I wanted. I’ve got to talk to Chris and make him understand. Maybe I should come over.”

  I don’t want you anywhere near me and my children.

  Sheridan glanced at the clock. “It’s too late now.”

  “Then tomorrow. I want to talk to my son.”

  No. “Fine. You can call him after dinner.”

  “Okay.” He paused. “I bet you’re happy, Sheridan. Christopher probably hates me.”

  Sheridan pounded her fist into her leg, imagining how it would feel to punch him again. She had defended him, told Christopher that his father loved him.

  Quentin sighed. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  She punched her leg harder. “Don’t put this on me, Quentin,” she said, her rage rising. “You left us. This is your problem, now you figure out how to fix it.” She clicked the phone off.

  I cannot believe that man, she thought as she stomped through the room and wondered who was this new man Quentin had become. He was not the man who she craved would come home. This man—she wondered how she had ever loved him.

  She tossed the phone onto the bed, and when the handset bounced on top of the clothes, she paused. She stared at the items for a moment before she lifted the Chanel garment bag.

  “I can’t believe you, Sheridan.”

  She remembered Quentin’s words as she removed the knit dress. She held it in front of her as she glanced at her reflec
tion. She had to agree with Kamora; this dress was a knockout. It’ll look great on me this Sunday. She glanced at the price tag. When she’d done that earlier, it had made her cringe. Now it didn’t faze her.

  In her closet, she hung up the dress, then picked up the pants suit.

  “I can’t believe you did this, Sheridan.”

  She held the pants suit in front of her. This raw silk two-piece would be perfect for her sorority’s prayer breakfast. Again, she peeked at the price before she hung the suit in the closet. Almost an hour passed before her bed was clear, and her closet was full of designer labels.

  She lifted the receipts from the nightstand and tossed them into the trash can along with any lingering remnants of the guilt she’d felt earlier. What she’d spent this afternoon was not her concern. It was Quentin’s problem. And the way she calculated, his concerns were just beginning to add up.

  Chapter Eight

  The starkness of the white felt harsh.

  Everything in the waiting area was white: the walls, the chairs, the floor. Sheridan wondered if the room felt sorrowful on purpose, to prepare family members. She wondered if one day soon, her parents and children would find themselves sitting in this room, waiting to see her one last time.

  She jumped up from her seat.

  “Mom, let’s go out. There’s a Starbucks across the street.”

  Beatrice shook her head and motioned for Sheridan to sit next to her. “No. I want to be here in case Cameron needs me.”

  Sheridan knew Beatrice would be inside the radiation room if it had been allowed. This was as far away from Cameron as Beatrice was going to be.

  Beatrice sighed, and Sheridan took her hand. From the moment she’d arrived at her parents’ home this morning, Sheridan had waited to see any signs of concern. But her parents were normal—lighthearted, full of jokes, as if they’d forgotten they were on their way to the hospital for Cameron’s first treatment to battle his body’s invader.

  But now as they sat, her mother’s slight sigh was the first sign of a chip in the sturdy armor of strength and faith that Beatrice wore.

  “You doing okay?” Sheridan whispered.