by Bobby Love
“I just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he said at my door. And then he kissed me on my cheek and went home to Harlem.
The next day at work, I was sure everyone was going to be able to tell that Bobby and I had gone out on a date. Unlike Bobby, I wasn’t trying to be the center of attention, and I certainly didn’t want my co-workers to know my business. As far as I was concerned, my romantic life was not something anyone should know about at work. So I didn’t say anything to my friends at work about the date, and Bobby didn’t either.
But we continued to see each other.
I enjoyed our time together and felt like I was always learning something new with him. Bobby seemed to know something about everything. He read the newspaper every day, and I started to do the same thing so I would have something to say about the day’s events which he always had an opinion on. We went to the movies and concerts, and sometimes we just walked around the city, checking out different neighborhoods and shopping at all of the little boutiques. Bobby loved looking good and he had a real eye for fashion. He liked to buy me clothes and jewelry as gifts. At first I was surprised that a man could pick out women’s clothes so well, but everything he bought me—a leather skirt, a pair of earrings—was perfect.
The only thing that bothered me about Bobby was that he never wanted to spend time at his place in Harlem. He told me it was because he was embarrassed about the little room he rented from another guy, and he barely had any furniture due to the fact that he’d been robbed when he lived up in the Bronx.
Even though Bobby had given me no reason to believe he was lying—I had seen his place once or twice and it was kind of sparse—I kept thinking maybe he was keeping another girl up there and he just didn’t want me to know. I was still cautious after my previous experience with Deon.
So one Sunday afternoon I just showed up at his apartment without telling him I was coming. Rather than catching him in the act of I don’t know what, all I found was Bobby ironing his uniforms for work the next day. It was exactly what he’d told me he’d be doing.
I felt so ashamed for not believing Bobby, but I also felt relieved that I hadn’t found what I dreaded. After that, I really let myself start falling in love with him. I realized that Bobby Love didn’t lie and that was everything to me. If he said he was going to do something, he was going to do it. I knew I could trust him. He even came down from Harlem one Sunday morning and went to church with Daddy, my brothers, and me. Afterwards, he treated my whole family to dinner. Although Daddy was worried at first because Bobby was so much older than me, after that he gave our relationship his stamp of approval.
Bobby and I had been dating for only a few months when I realized I was pregnant. I was angry with myself for allowing this to happen again. Considering this was the second time I’d been in this situation, I was afraid to tell my father. And even though Bobby and I were definitely together, I didn’t know what he would do when I told him a baby was coming. My expectation was that he would dump me and I’d be on my own taking care of the child. It wasn’t what I’d hoped or planned for, but I’d seen enough girls in the Pink Houses raising their children alone. I already had a job, so I knew I’d be able to handle things. And even though I knew my father would be so disappointed in me, I also knew he’d never kick me out of the apartment. I’d always have a place to live.
Still, the fear I felt on the day I decided to tell Bobby the news was so heavy on my heart, I almost couldn’t bear it. But I couldn’t delay things another moment. I waited until there were few people around the kitchen that day at work, and I asked Bobby if we could talk in private. We slipped down to the break room, and I started to cry before I could even get one word out.
“What’s wrong, Cheryl?” Bobby said, his voice laced with concern.
“Bobby, I’m pregnant,” I said through my tears.
Bobby didn’t say anything. and I was afraid to look up to see what emotion I might read on his face.
“Why are you crying?” Bobby said quietly.
“Because this wasn’t supposed to happen,” I said. “But if you want to break up, just say it now. I’ll be okay.” I tried to put on a brave face, even though the tears continued to fall. But I meant what I said. I would figure out how to take care of this baby with or without Bobby.
“Cheryl,” Bobby said, lifting my chin so I would look him in the eye. “I’m not going to break up with you.”
“You’re not?” I said.
“No,” he said. “We’ll figure something out. Together.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yeah, really,” he said. “Now clean yourself up or else everybody’s going to know something’s going on between us. And with you boo-hooing like this, they’re going to think I did something to you.”
I laughed at that, because he was absolutely right. I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.
I looked in the mirror and tried to give myself another pep talk.
“You’re going to be okay, Cheryl. You’re going to be okay.”
BOBBY
When Cheryl told me she was pregnant, I was surprised but not shocked. I knew how babies were made. Still, it wasn’t something I was prepared for. I really liked Cheryl and I could tell she was the type of woman who I’d want to be with long-term. She was kind and sweet and she took good care of her family. I liked the fact that she went to church, and obviously she had a strong moral character. She was really different from the girls I was used to hanging out with from the clubs. Cheryl knew how to go out and have fun, but she wasn’t getting drunk, smoking, or popping pills like a lot of other women I saw. She seemed pure to me, and everything in my soul told me I should be trying to protect this woman and keep her safe.
When I went home that night after she told me, I took stock of my situation. According to my own life plan, I was a few years late on my married-by-thirty goal. Even though I hadn’t officially announced to anyone that I was off the market, since I’d been seeing Cheryl, I hadn’t been with anyone else and hadn’t wanted to be either. I knew what I felt in my heart, but I wasn’t sure if I could trust those feelings. I really wanted to talk this over with someone I trusted, and the first person who came to mind was my sister Jean.
I had waited nearly four years after escaping from prison before I called Jean and let her know that I was okay. I was too afraid that her phones might be tapped or that the cops would be monitoring her home. I was afraid I might mess up and say something that would give away that I was living in New York.
When I finally did call, she was so relieved to hear my voice, I felt bad for causing her so much grief. But she didn’t yell at me. Her main concern was that I was safe. I kept the call short because I was still nervous, but Jean told me that nobody had called her or asked about me since 1978. “Nobody around here is thinking about you, Buddy,” she told me in a way that only a big sister could. After talking to Jean, I called my brother Raymond. He too wanted to make sure I was safe and that I wasn’t doing anything that would get me in trouble. “I’m good, Raymond,” I told him. “I’m doing good.”
As time passed, I’d call Jean on a semi-regular basis just to check in. But now I decided to call her because I needed her to tell me what to do about Cheryl.
“Jean, my girlfriend is going to have a baby,” I told her after we said our hellos.
“Are you sure it’s your baby?” Jean asked.
“Damn, Jean,” I said. “Of course I’m sure. Cheryl’s not like that.”
“Calm down, Buddy,” Jean said. “I don’t know what kind of girl you’ve found up there in New York. Where did you meet her?”
Jean was suspicious of anything and everything in New York. She firmly believed that nothing good could ever prosper in a city as crowded and dirty as New York. Apparently that included the people.
“Cheryl is good people,” I assured my sister. “We work together at the hospital. She works in the kitchen as a dietary aide.”
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�So what are you going to do?” Jean asked me.
“That’s what I’m calling you for,” I said, getting exasperated. “I want to know what you think.”
“Buddy,” Jean said, sighing. “You’ve always done whatever you’ve wanted to do no matter what anybody tells you. So I don’t know why you’re asking me what you should do.”
“I just wanted to hear what you had to say,” I said.
“Look, Buddy, all I’m going to tell you is that if the child is yours, you have to do the right thing and take care of it. Whatever happens between you and the girl is your business, but that child is already family.”
After I hung up with Jean, I started to think about what she’d said. “That child is already family.” It was my responsibility to take care of my family. Of my child. Just thinking about it that way actually made me excited. I loved kids and always wanted my own. Even when I was back in junior high school in Greensboro, I’d take my niece and nephew into town for ice cream and tell everyone they were my children.
Considering my current situation, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen between Cheryl and me, but I knew I was going to be the best father I could to my child.
The next day after work, I went over to Cheryl’s apartment and told her that she shouldn’t worry about a thing, that I was going to provide for her and the baby. And that the two of us would make it work. Cheryl looked so relieved. She smiled at me and showed me those dimples and I just knew I was doing the right thing.
After that, I started acting like a man who was going to have a family. I officially told all the girls I used to hang with that I was off the market. And I began looking for an apartment where Cheryl and I could live together. Instead of going to concerts and movies, we shopped for baby furniture and apartments, and I would go with Cheryl to doctor appointments as well. I think that’s when I truly started to realize that Cheryl was the woman I wanted to spend my life with. It was easy being with her. It was easy talking to her. She just had a way of making me feel good about myself, and she did the same thing for anyone she was around. She just made people smile.
One day after work, Cheryl told me I should come over to her house for dinner, so after I changed out of my uniform, I went over to the Pink Houses. I used to avoid the Pink Houses when I’d walk to work because I’d heard so many rumors about drug deals and shootings in New York City’s housing projects, but now I associated the Pink Houses with Cheryl and her family. I knew some bad stuff went on there, but I knew there were good people living there too.
Cheryl met me at the door with a sweet kiss and the smell of spaghetti and sausages wafting in the air behind her. She was just barely showing then, and I put my hand on her belly and said, “Hi, baby.” I really hoped it was a boy, but I knew I would be happy as long as the child was healthy.
Cheryl opened the door wide and told me to come and make myself comfortable. Unlike most times I came over after work, Cheryl’s father was seated in the living room watching TV. Cheryl scampered back to the kitchen because she had to finish dinner.
“Hello, Mr. Williams,” I said, as I sat down in the chair next to the couch.
“Hello, Bobby,” he said, without pulling his eyes from the TV.
“Are Don and Scott here?” I asked, trying to make friendly conversation.
“No, they’re out with their friends,” he said, still not looking at me.
Then he finally stopped looking at the television and turned toward me and said, “So, what are y’all going to do?”
“What do you mean, sir?” I asked.
“I mean what are you going to do about the baby,” he said tersely.
“We’re going to take care of the baby,” I said. “Maybe we’ll get married . . . ,” I started, but Cheryl’s father interrupted me.
“What do you mean ‘maybe’ you’ll get married?” he said. “Y’all done messed around and made a baby, y’all should be together to take care of the baby and raise the baby right.”
I knew Mr. Williams had every right to be angry with me, but I was a grown man and did not like being told what to do. Because Cheryl was in the next room cooking, and because I didn’t want to cause a scene, I simply nodded my head and said, “Yes, sir.”
Seemingly satisfied, Mr. Williams went back to watching TV and I went in the kitchen to see if Cheryl needed any help. I didn’t tell her what her father had said to me.
A few weeks later, I came to my own decision about marriage. I told Cheryl to wear something fancy because I was taking her to a restaurant in Greenwich Village. It was an Italian restaurant that I had read about in the New York Daily News. They had given it a good review for the food, plus they commented on the romantic atmosphere, so I figured it would be a nice place to do the deed. I waited until we were halfway through our meals—Cheryl had ordered the spaghetti with Bolognese sauce and I ordered a steak—and I said calmly, “Cheryl, I love you, I love our baby, and I’d like you to marry me.”
“Shouldn’t you be on your knees or something?” Cheryl teased, but she was smiling. I knew she was happy.
“There’s not enough space for me in here to get on my knees,” I said, “but I still want to know if you’ll marry me.”
“Yes,” Cheryl squealed. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
I didn’t realize it, but I’d been holding my breath, waiting for Cheryl to answer me. And now that she had, everything felt right. No, we hadn’t planned on having a baby like this, and things were happening fast and out of order, but I was falling in love with Cheryl more every day. I felt really lucky that after everything I had done in my life, God saw fit to bring a radiant light like Cheryl into my world. The more time I spent with her, the better I felt. And I missed her when I was away from her. I knew this was real love.
I didn’t have an engagement ring for Cheryl, but I promised her she would have a wedding ring when the time came.
“I don’t care about all that,” she said. “I’m just so excited we’re getting married.”
“Where do you want to do it?” I asked.
For a moment a cloud passed over Cheryl’s face. She looked at me and said, “We can’t get married at our church because I’m pregnant and they don’t allow girls who get pregnant out of wedlock to get married there.”
I sucked my teeth and shook my head. I had some words for those self-righteous church folks who acted like they never sinned. But I kept my thoughts to myself because I knew Cheryl’s father was a deacon at the church, and if they didn’t have a problem with those rules, who was I to judge? Instead I offered another alternative.
“Let’s get married in Jamaica,” I said, thinking how nice it would be to get married on a tropical island surrounded by Black people. I also wouldn’t have to explain why none of my family was in attendance if we got married on an island in the Caribbean. I could just say they couldn’t afford the plane fare.
But Cheryl nixed that idea right away.
“I’m not getting married in Jamaica,” she said, frowning. “I want all my friends and family to be at our wedding, Bobby, so I can’t be going somewhere where half the people wouldn’t be able to get to.”
“Okay, Cheryl,” I said, knowing it had really only been a fantasy. “We’ll do it your way.”
As it turned out, we got married in the community room of the Pink Houses. Cheryl’s godmother and godsisters decorated the place with fresh flowers and white linen on the tables and it all looked beautiful.
Besides the fact that a man’s wedding day is one of the most emotional days of his life, I had extra things to worry about because I had invited Jean and Raymond to come to the celebration. I knew I wanted them there to be a part of my wedding day, but I also worried about having them become a part of my new life. Speaking to them on the phone, I was able to keep Walter Miller and Bobby Love separate. But I was building a new family, and I wanted my old family to be a part of it. I didn’t want to choose one family over the other. Somehow I had to figure out how to merge the two.<
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When I called Jean and told her that Cheryl and I were getting married, I asked her if she would come to the wedding, but I also warned her that she would have to keep my secret. “I could get you a hotel and you could stay here for a couple of days in New York,” I suggested. “But you have to remember to only call me Buddy or Bobby.”
“You know I’m not staying in New York,” Jean said, refusing my offer of a hotel. “And I’m not going to call you Bobby. I’ll call you Buddy, just like I have for the last thirty years.” Jean said she would call Raymond to see if she could ride up to New York for the wedding with him and his wife, Marie. I thought that was a great idea. I hadn’t been in contact with my other brothers and sisters for so many years that I didn’t think it was appropriate to reach out now and invite them to my wedding. I asked Jean what she thought, and she agreed. “When they come by the house, I’ll tell them you got married,” Jean assured me.
Even though I would have liked Jean and Raymond to stick around for a few days, the fact that they were going to zip in and out of New York for the wedding meant I wouldn’t have to spend a lot of time worrying that they might slip and say something to Cheryl or one of her family members about my past. I couldn’t afford to let that happen when all my dreams were finally coming true.
On the day of the wedding, when Scott ran up to tell me my family had arrived and they were waiting for me down in the community room, my heart started racing. Before I went down to see them, I looked at myself in the mirror and asked God, “How do I look?” I laughed at my own nerves and decided I looked good enough to get married.
Even though it was just Jean, Raymond, and Marie, I was so excited to see my family after all these years. I had been down to Washington, DC, once in 1982 and had seen Raymond briefly then, but I hadn’t seen Jean since I was an inmate in prison.
“You look good, Buddy,” Raymond said after he hugged me.
I spun around so he could admire my tuxedo and my two-tone patent leather shoes.
