by Nikki Harmon
“Looking for Candace?” she exclaims. “Why, Dee darling, after all these years would you go looking for her?” she asks.
Sigh. “Viv, now don’t laugh again, but I was just thinking … a lot of things have been happening lately and I…. You know I never loved anybody like I loved her, and I just want to know.” I struggle to get it out.
“Dee, I know how much you loved her, but we were just kids then. Your first love will always mean a lot to you, but it doesn’t mean you can go back there. You’re just being nostalgic. What? Did you just have a break-up or something?” she asks.
“Well, yes,” I reply, “but that doesn’t really have anything to do with it. I realized that I was just not in love with Pepper….”
“Pepper!” she hollered. “You were dating a stripper?” She laughs.
“Funny. No, that was…is just her name. Whatever! Anyway, I realized that I wasn’t in love with her, and I was thinking and I couldn’t really honestly say that I’ve been with anybody who I was totally in love with … except Candace,” I say.
“So what? Are you finally looking to settle down or something? Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet,” she argues.
“Maybe the right person was Candace, but we were just too young back then,” I insist.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dee! Are you serious?” she asks.
“Serious as a heart attack,” I reply. She sighs and I can imagine her rolling her eyes.
“OK, well, this should be interesting. How can I help you?” she relents.
“Well, I tried but her family still will not talk to me. Neither will her friend, Shari, remember her? She knows where she is but won’t tell me. Don’t you have a cousin that went down to Morehouse the same time we graduated? I think I remember that he, Brian, I think, and Candace were friends. Maybe they stayed friends or maybe he knows somebody who knows her. Can you ask him? For me? Please?” I say.
“OK,” Viv says, “but for the record, I think you are setting yourself up for disappointment.”
“Duly noted, but thank you!” I say.
“It might take me a while, I haven’t talked to Brian in years,” she says.
“That’s OK, any help would be great. I hate to ask a favor and run, but I’ve got to get to a patient,” I say.
“No problem. I’ll let you know when I talk to Brian,” she says.
“Thanks Viv. I owe you one,” I say.
“Oh, you owe me several, and one day you’ll pay up, just you wait!” she exclaims.
We hang up. I look at the clock and run out the door praying for no traffic.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I manage to stay out of trouble all weekend, but when I walk into work on Monday morning, trouble is there waiting for me … Pepper. Stepping out of her car, right outside my job, where I work. Pepper is looking angry. Pepper is looking upset. Pepper is looking like trouble way too early on a Monday morning.
I sneak a peek at my watch. My first patient, a new patient, does not come for another 45 minutes. I hope I can get through this by then. I walk over to her calmly.
“Hi, Pepper. What’s up?” I ask casually but firmly. I want to stay in control of this situation.
“What’s up?” She repeats. “That’s what you have to say to me? What’s up? Like we’re just friends, like you don’t know how much you’ve hurt me?” Uh-oh. I look around.
“Would you like to go somewhere and talk? I don’t really want to talk here outside my office, OK?” I suggest.
“I’m not moving anywhere.” She plants her hands on her hips and lays into me, right there in the middle of the street. “I’m gonna say what I have to say and then I am done. A month has gone by and I have been stupidly waiting for you to realize what an asinine mistake you’ve made. I’ve been waiting for a phone call, a visit, an email, something, anything that would make me think that you ever cared about me at all. But nothing.”
“Pepper,” I say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I ...” She holds up her hand for silence. I close my mouth.
Pepper continues loudly, “We were together for six months, six good months, at least I thought so until you broke up with me for some bullshit reason. I just want to know, for me, for my sanity, did I ever mean anything to you?”
I hesitate. I don’t know what to say. Honestly, I have not thought about her much since we broke up. Did she mean anything to me?
“Pepper, I don’t have to tell you this, but you are a good person – smart, caring, and at times, quite a force to be reckoned with. I loved the time we spent together, but I never planned on it being anything serious. And I just felt we had reached our peak and it was time to move on. It’s nothing personal against you, it was just time for me. I’m sorry you are hurt. I really am … that was never my intention.” I hold my ground. I had spoken the truth. She knew it.
“OK, Dee, thank you. Now I know that it wasn’t me, it was you. You’re the asshole. Thanks.” She sniffs and gets back into her car. Her eyes well up with tears and she drives away. I stand there wondering if I should have lied or mentioned Candace, but I think not. Maybe I am an asshole, an unfeeling, self-centered asshole. At least I’m an honest asshole, I reason, but I doubt that’ll be any consolation for her.
I watch her drive off, and then I turn and walk into the office. Tracy Ann discreetly greets me as if she hadn’t been watching and listening to the whole thing.
“Here are your messages and here’s your schedule for the day,” she says brightly. “Your first appointment should be here any minute.” I get the hint and rush back to my office to prepare.
I spend the rest of the week immersed in work. I meet two new patients, prepare Amanda and Josh as they enter their third trimester, deliver a beautiful baby girl, attend an all-day CNM professional development workshop and we have our monthly administrative meeting.
Friday morning, after my last patient of the day leaves, I check my voice messages. I have one from Bernie’s little sister.
“Hey, Dee! It’s Beverly! Just wanted to let you know that we are going to have a fitting for the bridesmaids’ gowns next Friday, around 6 p.m. I’ll text you the shop. Also, the wedding itself will be the first weekend in October, so plan for the bachelorette party to be Labor Day weekend. I’ll let you know about the bridal shower, but it’ll be sometime in the summer, OK? Can’t wait to see you. Toodles!”
Furiously writing all the dates down I think, ugh, I have totally forgotten about Bernie’s wedding! Bridesmaid gown. Oh lawd, but do I hate those two words! I call Vivian but just get her voicemail; I leave her a message but am not feeling optimistic. Viv can be flaky.
Friday night, I try another internet search to find Candace, but I can’t find anything new. I don’t even know what kind of career she could have. In high school she talked about being a lawyer, but a lot of people did. She might have a married name. I hadn’t thought about that before. I open a bottle of shiraz, pull out a book, and try not to feel too lonely.
Sunday night, I finally hear back from Viv. I’m just getting home from dinner with my parents and ever so judgmental sister when my cell rings. It’s a warm night so I sit on my balcony to talk.
“Viv! I’ve been waiting for you to call.” I cringe. I sound like Pepper the other day.
“Hey, girl! Sorry, but I had a super busy week and then the wife was acting up and then the cat got sick, you know how it is. Stupid cat cost me $175 at the vet. It’s not even my cat!” complains Viv.
“Sorry about your cat, Viv. So … did you get a chance to talk to your cousin?” I ask anxiously. I’m trying not to be impatient but I’m impatient!!!
“Oh, Brian! Yes, I talked to him on Tuesday. He does remember Candace from college.”
“Tuesday!!! Why didn’t you call me on Tuesday?” I ask, exasperated.
“I said I was having wife and cat issues. That trumps your finding lost love issue any day,” she replies.
Sighing, I ask, “OK, so does he have any ideas about how to
find her? Or where she might have gone? Maybe she’s still in Atlanta,” I offer hopefully.
“Well, good news and bad news, or it could be good news depending on how you look at it.”
“Spit it out, Viv!” I say.
“OK, well, for most of their time down there, Brian remembers Candace having a boyfriend named Kevin. He said it had to be for at least three years. He said they were always together. Now, he has no idea what happened to Candace, but he’s certain that Kevin still lives in Atlanta. He took over his father’s bar. That’s the good news.”
“That’s your idea of good news? That she had a boyfriend for three years?” I ask.
“Yes,” she replies. “The bad news is that this guy is somewhat of a recluse. He runs his bar but is hard to get a hold of. Brian thinks if we want to talk to him, we’ll have to go down there and speak to him in person.”
“Fly down to Atlanta just to ask someone a question? What’s good about that?” I ask.
She laughs and roars, “ROADTRIP!!!”
~~~
The end of May, with its beautiful weather, has finally shown up like a fairy godmother, bestowing blessings of warmth and flowers and smiles and goodwill. The rest of the week is busy. I’m on the phone with Viv about dates and times and airplane tickets and hotels. We finally settle on going the following weekend. I’m excited. It’s been a year since I’ve gone anywhere and even longer since I spent time with my long lost friend. And of course, I might find Candace.
On Thursday morning, Laurie and Leslie come in for their fifth month appointment. Laurie gives me a big squeeze hello so I get a good feel of that baby inside her rounding her out, making her cheeks even rosier, her dimples even deeper. Leslie comes in wearing a black tank top and cargo pants. I try my best to keep focused on Laurie, but Leslie keeps talking to me. Finally she asks me the question that must have been on her mind since she walked in the door.
“So, have you contacted Noema, yet?” she asks casually, her face looking anything but indifferent.
“Oh no, not yet. I meant to give her a call. I just got busy here at work and with some other things, you know.” I try to be breezy about it.
“Oh sure, I bet it can get real busy here. Well, she did ask me to tell you hello when we saw you today. We almost brought her with us, but she had a meeting with a gallery owner. She’s going to be the baby’s godmother, you know,” Leslie says.
All of a sudden it’s clear to me what this fantasy is about. Hooking up their baby’s midwife and their baby’s godmother would be like creating a trifecta of love and positive energy surrounding their little family. Oh brother. Still, that Noema had something about her and I’m really curious about that tattoo.
“I’ll give her a call, soon. I promise,” I say. “Now Laurie, could you open up a little bit wider? This is going to be a little chilly….”
~~~
Friday at 5 p.m. I get the text about the bridal shop. I try to get myself psyched up, but I don’t know many of Bernie’s other friends and her sister will definitely wear me out. I drive out to the Main Line and get there just a little bit late. The shop is fairly large with three separate lounge areas for different bridal parties. I’m pleasantly surprised. Its not super expensive Main Line upper crusty, but it’s classy and stylish, modern with some cool. Six women are milling about a small table with wine and crudités. Bernie is among them, but she looks stressed.
“Hey, Dee. Glad you could make it.” She’s wringing her hands.
“Sure! What’s the matter, Bernie? You look a wreck.” I hug her.
“My sister and mother are trying to sabotage my wedding, that’s what!” she whispers, handing me a glass of wine. “Every time I tell them what I want, they arrange for the opposite. Every time I try to have some input, they blow me off. I had to fight to use this bridal store. They wanted something even more traditional! I’m about to lose my mind, but wait until you see my dress. It’s perfect!”
“I’m sure everything will work out. Just stick to your guns. It’s your big day. Right?” I try to reassure her, but I’m sure those two witches are riding her hard. She’s always been the golden girl of the family and everyone has hitched their wagon to her star. As she starts to introduce me around, her mom and sister blow in the door like dual tornadoes of demands and bossiness.
Her mother starts in first. “Bernadette! You are not in your dress yet?? What are you waiting for a personal invitation? For God’s sake, that’s what we are all here for!” she cries.
Beverly has already taken the store attendant aside and is scolding her about the wine selection and the tardiness of the dress selections. It’s going to be a long night. I look at Bernadette, her lips are tightly pressed together as she holds her tongue, but it’s just a matter of time before this situation blows up.
Her other bridesmaids include her best friend from high school, a mentor from medical school, Darryl’s two sisters, and one of the other doctors in her practice. They all seem nice and we look at and discuss the bridesmaids’ selection. We agree to a hot little cocktail wrap dress with a pale unassuming print. We all look good in it and could possibly wear it again, which is fortunate since it costs $300.
After admiring ourselves in the various mirrors, we are instantly humbled when Bernie steps out of the dressing room. Like some kind of African goddess, her locks are piled high and spilling down her open back. The dress is off-white, but long and slim with a slight train. No worries, we are definitely the back-up singers in this scenario. I don’t remember her ever looking so gorgeous and regal. I suppress the urge to bow.
“Bernie, I’m in awe. Truly, you look spectacular,” I say sincerely.
“Thanks, I hope Darryl thinks so, too. He deserves the best and I aim to give him just that.” Looking at me, she adds, “I know it’s not your thing, but I hope you fall in love one day, Dee. It might just be really good for you, you never know. In any event, please bring a date, OK?”
I open my mouth to reply, but her mother comes rushing over to fuss and fret over the low cut back. I close my mouth. ‘Not my thing?’ Is that what she really thinks? Why would she think that? But I don’t get a chance to ask her. Beverly is on a schedule and we need to get measured and put down our deposits. I do what’s required, but feel unsettled the rest of the night.
The weekend passes quickly. One of my patients goes into labor early Saturday morning and delivers a healthy baby boy late Sunday night. It’s a challenging delivery, so I stay at the birth center the whole weekend. By Monday afternoon, I am exhausted and finally head home for a decent shower and some sleep. The rest of the week is a blur as I try to squeeze in all my appointments and hand off my third trimester patients’ information to Meadow and Soledad. I want to go to Hotlanta without worrying about their care.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Friday morning, I finish packing my five outfits – two just in case we find Candace and I have to look good, one a more formal look, the other, casual and cute, one traveling comfy outfit, one going to the club outfit, and one basic look that I could get away with anywhere. I throw on some Jill Scott as I drive up the NJ Turnpike to the Newark airport. She always calms my nerves.
It’s only when I started driving that I began to imagine what it will be like to see Candace again. What if this guy gives us her address? Will we just show up at her door? What if he gives us her phone number? Am I just going to call her? Maybe he will arrange a meeting at some random place? That seems so unlikely. The more I speculate, the more unsure I feel about the whole thing. I wonder what she looks like now. I check my face in the rearview mirror. I hope I haven’t aged too much.
After parking, check-in and security, I head up to the gate. I see Vivian before she sees me. She still looks fabulous, of course. She’s wearing tight jeans and a simple white t-shirt with some kind of blingy design on the front. She’s standing in red open-toe short boots with heels. Her hair is shorter than it used to be, its kind of a bob – casual but chic. Of course, she’s wearin
g sunglasses, and I can see the glint of her glossy plum lipstick from here.
I look down wishing I had on something more impressive than my Georgetown University hoodie and black sweatpants. I like to be comfortable when I travel, but I quickly surmise that I will be mistaken for Viv’s personal assistant if I don’t up my game. I contemplate running into the restroom to at least throw on some make-up, but Viv turns and sees me. She laughs her ‘Viv laugh’ and strides on over to me, arms thrown wide. She has to bend down to hug me because of those ridiculous heels.
“ Deeeeeeeee!!! I’ve missed you so much!” she cries, laughing heartily and giving me a bear hug.
“Viv! You look great—it’s so good to see you!!!” I reply, squeezing her back. “Thanks for coming with me, Viv. And thanks for helping me find her.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” she laughs.
I grab my bag and we walk straight to Cinnabon. It’s an old habit of ours. In high school, we’d hit the Cinnabon in the mall when we took road trips to New York City or DC. In our twenties, we stopped at the rest stops just for the Cinnabon, and the one time we flew together to LA, we visited Cinnabon at every layover. We had just gotten our buns when our flight was called. It was going to be perfect for the short flight. We stowed our bags and sat down. I take the window seat—I love watching the clouds. Viv takes the aisle, better for her long legs and better to be seen. We chat about small things, the weather, traffic, the length of the flight, the hotel where we are staying. Then the plane taxis and my favorite part of flying begins – take-off.
We speed down the runway, faster and faster, my heart keeping time, and then we pull up against gravity, pull up away from earth and strain towards the sky. The rumble of the engines, the roar of the wind against the plane, a demonstration of power, proving that we humans can get away if we want to, can leave the constraints of what we know and what we have to do and our daily lives to fly in the sky above the clouds, above the birds and across the land and oceans. I love takeoff. It’s short but it makes me feel free.
