“You just got back from a two-week vacation last month,” I’d told her. “Are you sure they’re going to let you take more time off?”
She held my hand in hers. “I left a voice message for my director and told her that I had a family emergency. If she can’t deal, then she can kiss my ass.”
That was my best friend. She made decisions on a whim, consequences to the wind. But truthfully, I wished I was more like her in that regard—having an air of daring and unpredictability. Samantha was fearless and bold, and I loved that about her.
“I’ve gotta check into the office this Monday,” Samantha said. “But I’ll try to make it back here again next weekend. I know by then you’ll be ready to get up out of here, ’cause, girl, my mother is a damn trip!”
“Oh, Samantha, don’t say that,” I said softly. Samantha’s mother was a very touchy subject.
“Hmph, it’s the truth,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Hey, I have a better idea. Instead of me coming back here, why don’t you join me in New York next Friday? We can have a girls’ weekend out on the town!”
Part of me wanted to urge Samantha to come home and spend time with her precious little boy, or better yet, take him back to New York with her instead of planning a weekend of partying with me. But truthfully, CJ was better off with the arrangement here.
Samantha lived in a tiny but fabulous apartment in Manhattan, and CJ lived here in this big, beautiful home with his grandparents. Samantha said it was because the city was no place to raise a child, but I knew that wasn’t really it. I loved Samantha to death, but honestly, she was about as equipped to raise a child as Lil’ Kim was to sing in a gospel choir—she’d even admit to that. And Carl . . . oh my goodness! I wouldn’t trust him to raise a pack of wolves for fear he might corrupt them. Samantha referred to him as her “baby daddy” just to get on her mother’s nerves.
She and Carl were constantly involved in what her mother reviled as uncivilized ghetto drama. Regretfully, I had to agree. And even though Samantha was moving back here next month, she had no plans for CJ to live with her.
“I think I’ll pass,” I said. “I’m not really up for painting the Big Apple a new shade of red.”
“Come on, Emily.You need to have a little fun.”
“Exploring the city and hanging out with CJ and Ms. Gerti is all the fun I need.”
“You call that fun?” Samantha said, shaking her head like I was pathetic. Then her eyes began to glow with mischief. “Take a look inside your gift basket.”
I appreciated my best friend’s thoughtfulness. “Samantha, this was so sweet of you.” I smiled as I examined the goodies inside. She had gotten me two books by my favorite authors, a box of herbal tea, my favorite body-care products, snack bars, and fruit. As I dug deeper into the basket I discovered what had been at the root of her devilish grin. I held up a large vibrator. “Good Lord!” I gasped. The thing had to be twelve inches long and three inches in width. It looked like a weapon!
Samantha laughed. “That should tide you over for a while. And when you’re ready, I know some fine brothers I can introduce you to.”
I put the foot-long monster back inside the basket, letting it reclaim its place among the flavored condoms, nipple clips, and Ben Wa balls she’d included as part of my gift. “Samantha,” I sighed, “at least let me unpack before you start trying to hook me up.”
“Girl, don’t front, ’cause I know your coochie is suffering from a serious drought.” She laughed.
I had to laugh right along with her because she was right. “That may be true, but I’m not bringing men into your parents’ home. Especially since they’re being gracious enough to let me stay here until my place is ready.”
“How long will it be before you can move in?”
“Well, my contractor should’ve finished last month. When I talked to him two weeks ago, he said it would take another month or so. Now he’s not returning my phone calls,” I said with mild frustration. “I’m going by my house first thing Monday morning to inspect the progress for myself.”
Samantha shook her head. “These shady-ass contractors will tell you anything. As much as you’re paying him, you should already be in there by now.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I know what you can do to speed things up.”
“What’s that?” I asked, eager to hear any suggestion that might help.
“Take Daddy with you and tell the contractor that your attorney wants to see if they’re doing the work according to the timeline in your contract. That’ll get his attention.”
The thought made me so uncomfortable I began to sweat. “Excuse me for a minute,” I said. I got up and made my way over to the bathroom on the other side of the room. I picked up a face cloth from the chrome towel bar by the sink, ran it under cold water, and patted my face with it. The cool dampness felt good against my warm skin. A minute later I walked out, feeling like I could breathe again.
At that moment, I realized just how difficult this was going to be. In the past, I could get away with my secret desires because I knew I’d never be in a situation that would test me on a daily basis. But now the safe rules I’d lived by for so long were about to change.
Samantha looked at me with concern. “How’re you doing? I mean, how’re you holding up? I know you still miss your mom.”
“I’m okay. I have my moments, though. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, panicking because I think I’ve forgotten to give her her medicine, but then I remember that she’s gone.”
Samantha leaned over and gave me a long, comforting hug. “It’s gonna be all right. It’ll take time, but everything’s gonna be all right.”
I hugged her back tightly, praying that her words would ring true.
Dinner was outstanding. Brenda briefly breezed through as we finished up our small feast. She gave me two impeccable air-kisses and raved about my hair. “Emily, this look is so much more becoming on you. You were long overdue to let your real beauty shine,” she told me as she ran her hand over my head as though I were a show pony. She gave CJ an apple-shaped eraser that she’d picked up from the museum and then chatted with us for ten minutes before heading off to her sorority’s board meeting. Ed was still at the office, or as Brenda had said, and I quote, “Out doing only God knows what.” I wondered about the meaning behind her comment.
After we ate, I gave CJ a bath, read him a bedtime story, and had him tucked in by eight-thirty. I turned out his light and then headed back downstairs to join Samantha and Ms. Gerti.The three of us sat around the kitchen table. They drank coffee and I sipped tea as we reminisced about the good old days. We were in mid-laughter when the doorbell rang.
“Who could that be?” Ms. Gerti asked, looking at her watch.
Samantha rushed off to the door to see who it was. When we heard a deep voice and the sound of huffing and bickering, Ms. Gerti looked at me and rolled her eyes. A minute later Samantha came back into the kitchen with Carl in tow.
Ms. Gerti didn’t crack her mouth to speak. She simply stood up, walked over to the sink, and started washing out her coffee cup. Samantha and Carl looked mismatched standing next to each other. She was elegant in her yellow linen sundress and gorgeous designer sandals, while he was thugged out in his oversized Lakers jersey and sagging jeans that were in danger of falling to the floor at any minute. I knew that as hot as it was outside, his feet were probably roasting in his loosely laced Timberlands.
“Hello, Carl,” I said, trying to sound pleasant.
“What up, ma?” He nodded in my direction.
Ms. Gerti sucked her teeth loudly and continued to rinse her cup. She and Carl didn’t even try to pretend to be cordial to one another. I attempted to counter the tension. “How’ve you been?” I asked him.
“A brothah’s just tryin’ to hold on . . . nahmean? Just tryin’ to hold on.”
It amazed me that Carl had the nerve to say some of the things that came out of his mouth.The victims of natural d
isasters around the world were just trying to hold on. Our soldiers deployed in foreign lands and the families they’d left behind were just trying to hold on. Families who’d lost their homes due to layoffs and the economic downturn were just trying to hold on. Carl, on the other hand, was just trying to stay one step ahead of the law!
“Carl and I are going to step out for a minute,” Samantha said, trepidation lacing her voice. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
They turned to walk away, but then Carl stopped and looked back at me, stuck his hands deep into his pockets, and said, “Yo, Emily. I’m sorry to hear ’bout yo moms.”
His condolence was short and simple, but I could tell it was genuinely sincere. “Thanks, Carl.” I was touched . . . a little.
They’d barely gotten out of earshot before Ms. Gerti started speaking her mind. “Now see, they’re supposed to be broken up. At least that’s what she claimed last month. I don’t know why that child is always messing with men who ain’t no damn good. She was raised better than that.” She sighed. “That boy can’t even keep his pants up around his damn waist. And he don’t work a lick, but he drives a fancy car and wears more jewelry than you and me put together. Now how the hell you figure that?”
Ms. Gerti brought up a point that was a bone of contention and embarrassment for Samantha’s parents—Carl’s questionable career. He claimed he was a rapper, excuse me, a musical artist. But we all knew the truth. His real line of work was selling drugs.
“Ms. Gerti, you know as well as I do what that’s all about,” I said.
“Yeah, child, I know. And it burns me up.The only good thing that Carl can claim in his sorry-ass life is that precious little angel sleeping upstairs.” She sighed again.
“Samantha doesn’t talk much about it, but has Carl been spending time with CJ?”
“No, thank God,” she said, raising her hands in the air as if in praise. “The only time he comes slithering around here is when Sam blows into town on the weekends every other month. I think he can smell her drawers as soon as she hits the city limits.” She frowned. “Plus, you know he’s not too welcome around here anyway. Ed made that clear years ago, and Brenda, shoot, she nearly shits in her britches when you mention his name.”
“Well, at least CJ’s got his grandparents, and you.”
“And you, too.” Ms. Gerti smiled. “CJ loves the ground you walk on.You’re the only real mother that child’s ever known, taking him in and raising him like your own. You’re a good friend, Emily. Not many people would do that,” she said as she put her hand on her hip. “So when’re you gonna get married and have some babies of your own?”
I shrugged. “It’s hard to find a good man, Ms. Gerti.”
“Yeah, but you’re a beautiful girl. You’re smart, educated, and just as sweet as you can be.With all that going for you, you should be married by now. Didn’t you leave a boyfriend behind in Atlanta?”
“Um, yes, I did.” I blinked as I thought about my failed relationship with Bradley. “He just wasn’t the right one for me.”
I dreaded when people asked me that question. My mother, God rest her soul, used to ask me all the time. “Emily, when are you going to settle down and get married? I don’t want you to end up alone,” she’d said more times than I cared to remember.
I’d dated quite a few men, most of whom had been very nice and intelligent, and treated me well. But none of them had ever ignited a spark in me, and that was because the flame had been lit eleven years ago and had never gone out. Over the years I tried desperately to make my relationships work. The last man I dated, Bradley Johnson, had been a really sweet guy. He was an architect with a large firm in downtown Atlanta.We were together for a year and a half, my longest relationship to date. He was handsome and kind, and we even had a decent sex life.
My mother loved Bradley and had visions of wedding cake and baby booties in our future. Samantha thought I had temporarily lost my mind when I broke up with him. “That man is fine, and he’s paid. Don’t fuck it up,” she’d said in her classic, no-frills wisdom. Bradley had been ready to propose, but I couldn’t let that happen. I knew it wouldn’t have been fair to him because my heart rested in a place he would never be able to reach.
Ms. Gerti looked squarely at me. “I hope you’re not waiting for a perfect man, ’cause, sugar, there ain’t no such thing.”
“I know. I just want someone who . . . who moves me.”
“Moves you?” She chuckled, shaking her head. “You young girls kill me with all that crazy talk. Just get you a man who respects you, pays the bills, and gives you what you’re looking for under the sheets and you’ll be all right.”
“That’ll work, too,” I said, joining her for a laugh.
We chatted a little longer before Ms. Gerti’s eyelids started to flutter. She walked over to the coffeemaker. “You still an early riser?”
“Like the sun.”
“Want a cup of coffee in the morning?”
“No thanks. I’ve cut out coffee. I’m drinking tea these days.” I smiled, raising my cup of lukewarm green tea that I’d made from the basket Samantha gave me.
Ms. Gerti reached into the cabinet above her head, pulled out a box of Earl Grey, and sat it by the sink. “If you ask me, nothing beats a strong cup of joe in the morning.” She nodded, scooping out a precise measure of gourmet coffee from a bag she’d taken out of the refrigerator. She pushed a few buttons to program the machine and then opened the breadbox and split a bagel down the middle, placing it in the toaster. I could see that this was a nightly routine that no doubt helped her to prepare for the next day.
“Good night, sugar.” Ms. Gerti smiled. She gave me a hug and then headed out the back door.
I wondered how she liked living so close to the people she worked for. I loved teaching, but when I left school in the afternoon it took an all-points bulletin for anyone on staff to find me. But it was different for Ms. Gerti.The Baldwins were like her family. Even though Samantha frustrated her no end, Ms. Gerti felt like she was her own child. She had raised Samantha and her brother Jeffery with the same love she now showered on CJ. It didn’t seem fair that a woman full of so much goodness had never had a husband and children of her own. I wondered if I’d end up like her some day.
I was sitting in the den watching the local news, waiting up for Samantha, even though I knew it was pointless. Brenda returned from her board meeting and chatted me up for a few minutes. “I’m so glad you’re staying with us in the comfort of our home,” she said before gliding upstairs to her bedroom.
As I flipped between MSNBC and the local news, I thought about the fact that the only attractive features of living in the Baldwin home for the next couple of weeks were going to be Ms. Gerti’s cooking, and spending time with CJ. These walls didn’t hold the comfort for me that Brenda thought. And if she knew how I felt about her husband, I was sure she’d tell me to vacate the premises.
I walked over to the mantel above the fireplace and looked at the display of family pictures. Birthdays, Christmases, and family vacations, all captured by electronic photos and the miracle of God. I couldn’t wait to put my family photos up in my new house. We didn’t have exciting vacations to Hawaii or the south of France like the Baldwins. Ours had been more like Busch Gardens and Six Flags, but they’d been filled with love and happy memories.
I looked closely at a picture of the Baldwin clan on vacation circa the mid-1990s. Samantha and Jeffery had the look of defiant teenagers plastered on their faces, Brenda looked like a mother who was tired of dealing with defiant teenagers, and Ed . . . Ed had the look of clear water, and springtime, and shooting stars, and all of life’s other wonders. I was temporarily drawn back to reality when I heard a familiar voice fill the room . . . the real reason I had waited up.
“I see you made it,” he said.
I turned around and there he was, Edward Curtis Baldwin. My best friend’s father. My Sweet Pea’s Papa. And my heart’s one true desire. I had loved this man for the
better part of my adult life.
I remember the first day I met him, standing in my dorm room my freshman year at Spelman. My vivacious new roommate ushered her truckload of Louis Vuitton luggage and her enchanting father into my life, changing me forever. I was instantly struck by his gentle nature, handsome face, and indelible smile. At eighteen years old, I had fallen in love. A warm sensation flooded my body that day, but it was like giving birth to a stillborn infant—knowing I’d always carry the love in my heart, but that the precious life which could’ve been would never be realized because it was dead before ever having a chance to breathe. So I tucked those feelings away and buried them in a shallow grave next to the loss I felt for my father.
Over the years I was always polite, but distant. Courteous, but never engaging. Kind, but never overly so. I couldn’t afford to be. I didn’t want him to discover my true feelings. So I kept my distance, measured my words, and hoped that my love for him would dissipate over time. Sadly, it never has.
“Welcome to DC,” he said, smiling at me in a way that made me feel warm inside.
“Thanks,” I replied softly.
He held his jacket in one hand, his briefcase in the other. His impeccable silk tie was loose at the neck and his crisp white shirt sleeves were rolled up, giving him a casual air. At a little over six feet tall, with deep brown eyes, curly black hair sprinkled with a faint touch of salt, and skin the color of creamy caramel, he was the only man who’d ever made me lose my breath. I had to remind myself to exhale before I spoke again. “Thanks for letting me stay with you and Brenda. I’m not sure when my place will be ready, but . . .”
“Take your time,” he interjected. “There’s no rush here, unless you don’t think you’ll be able to stand us after a few days.” He laughed.
“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant at all. I just don’t want to be a bother.”
Playing the Hand You're Dealt Page 3
