Don't Ask My Neighbor

by Kristofer Clarke

  “I wanted to get outta there fast before she changed her mind,” I said, taking a quick glance at Priscilla and smiling.

  “Looks like you and lady luck are back on good terms.”

  “No offense, but I doubt luck is a lady.”

  Priscilla didn’t respond to my subtle dismissal. Instead, she said, “Speaking of luck and lady, not that I think she epitomizes either, what’s the latest with your girl, Samantha?”

  “You and I both know she’s not my girl. More like the bane of my freaking existence.” I laughed. “I haven’t paid too much attention to her since my little visit.”

  “And does that mean you’re done with your plan?”

  “Am I supposed to laugh at your absurdity?” I asked in jest. “I won’t be done until I’m dancing on her grave, and it doesn’t look like I have too much longer to wait. I gave her a simple task, but I already know she hasn’t yet crossed that off her to-do list.”

  “Do you think she will?”

  “Oh, I know she won’t. She’ll wait to see how I play my hand, as if this is a damn poker game. And she’s going to wear the face to match, as if she’s not at all fazed by my revelation. I know she’s been sleeping with one eye open, if she’s sleeping at all. As much as she’s pretending, I bet she’s shaking in her boots. She’s probably spending her nights trying to figure out what Jelani knows.”

  I didn’t think Samantha would go quietly into the night, or back to the hole she crawled from with her deceitful plan to win my best friend’s heart and destroy my life in the process. She’s just not that type of person. Everything about her was shrewd. She was filled with hatred, which she directed toward anyone, especially if they appeared to be an obstruction to whomever she set her mind to concur. I was curious where her repugnance came from, but even after marriage, I avoided that discussion because I didn’t think she would be forthcoming. What the hell am I talking about? I knew she wouldn’t oblige. I supposed I had some doubts then, still I set the few that I did have and went boldly into building a life with her. Even conversations with Samantha’s mother, Joyce Garrett, yielded nothing that could help me understand the origin of her hate. I wouldn’t have given much credit to anything she divulged anyway. She was Samantha’s mother, and which mother’s first instinct isn’t to protect their child?

  “Are we grabbing lunch before heading back?” I asked Priscilla.

  The coffee and croissant I had before leaving home for the nine o’clock hearing had long been digested, and hunger had settled in the pit of my stomach again. The emptiness I felt inside was overwhelming. I kept my head forward, but caught Priscilla’s face in my peripheral. She looked at her cellphone and held a permanent smile.

  “Oh, hell,” I said, laughing quietly.

  I was too familiar with this behavior. Cellphone in hand, smiling the way she was, only meant one thing when it came to Priscilla.

  “What?”

  “You got that new-man smile again,” I said, jokingly.

  Priscilla didn’t respond, but I knew I was right. Hell, she deserved it. I loved Priscilla like she was my sister. She was a great lawyer, too, a faithful friend, and would even make the man she marries a very happy husband, but she usually missed the mark when it came to picking the right man to give her attention, among other things.

  Trent Whitaker, Vander Mayes, and Wes Osgood were disasters from the beginning. Ford Tolliver, the worst of all, could’ve used a class in Dating 101, or should’ve read the little yellow book, Dating for Dummies, since all he did, even when I was around, was talk about himself, his impending divorce, or a mother-in-law who never thought he was good enough for her daughter, even though she wanted to bone him, too. That man had an ego the size of Hoover Dam. I praised Priscilla for being optimistic when it came to these men. With each one of them, she thought the more she drank, the more interesting they would become. A glass away from a Saturday morning hangover and nothing about a date with them ever got better, except she was near drunk and had the best steak. I think she drank to forget the mistake each of those men were.

  “So, what’s this bastards name?” I asked, flashing another mischievous smile, cause she picked her men as if she were selecting them from a line-up of criminals; no one of them was better than the others.

  “E.J. Marshall,” she said bashfully.

  “And let me guess. You don’t know what his initials stand for, do you?” I asked out of concern.

  “Considering we just met, it’s ok that I don’t.”

  “I’ll take that as no. You had that conversation with yourself again, didn’t you?”

  “What conversation?”

  “The one where you tell yourself this year was going to be different. That’s what you always tell yourself to make it through. Hopefully this man won’t have you sitting on your couch, or mine, with me or a glass of wine keeping you company, waiting for your private promises to ring true. I don’t want you giving too much too soon, only to end up disappointed again.”

  “But, Ryle,” she interrupted.

  “And before you get too deep, no second chances,” I continued, not even acknowledging her interruption. “He won’t do to you what Wes did. He won’t have the opportunity to come back into your life, and then leave, just like he did three years before that, giving you no reasons or explanations, just the phone call you waited for that never came. Remember, he left you wondering why he sought you out after all that time. Even more so, you wondered why you thought his second time was going to be different.”

  “Wow. You’re already talking about my end with E.J., when we haven’t even experienced our beginning,” Priscilla said, folding her hands across her chest. This was the stance she usually assumed whenever she got upset with me.

  “That’s not it. I just don’t want to see you hurt,” I pleaded.

  Without Priscilla’s input, I had selected a place for lunch, settling on Rasika, an Indian restaurant in the Penn Quarter section of D.C. It was one of the best places I could think of to celebrate this easy victory. Indian cuisine was also my favorite, and despite our discussion—’cause we never called them arguments—I was with one of my favorite persons. Jelani and I used to go there, too. Priscilla and I sat in the car in front of the restaurant, waiting for the Valet.

  “He’s not like them, Ryle,” she said with confidence, and she believed it. Hell, why go into a relationship with reservations?

  “And that doesn’t sound familiar to you?” I asked, finally looking at her. I knew what this conversation was doing to her, but I wanted my friend to be prepared for what has been a constant possibility with the men she gave her heart to in the past. “You said the same thing about Vander, and the man before him, and the one after him, and not one of them turned out to be all that different. It’s as if the heartache that breaking up with the last one caused, and your plans to never fall for one more false promise or trick were pushed to the back of your mind as soon as you allowed his love to take over.”

  It was just like Priscilla to fall for the ones who didn’t deserve her, and they were too foolish to recognize a good woman had just fallen into their grasp. Maybe it was her five foot ten inch, slender frame that challenged them. It was, perchance, her Cornell education that left them feeling inferior, unable to hold their own. Or perhaps it was that AKA flair, that unquestionable beauty, or that perfectly placed confidence that made men query their own ability to keep a woman like her. I often wished she treated them like how I saw them: a stepping stone to an awaiting possibility, an eventual past soon to be forgotten when the future that awaited her finally arrived.

  "You still believe a fool for love, is a fool for the pain love always caused, so you're still running," Priscilla said, shifting in her seat.

  "And you're still allowing yourself to get caught by the same impostors, only to feel that identical, well-known hurt,” I shot back. “Look, Priscilla, this isn’t about me.”

  “And I’ll prefer it if you don’t make this about me, either,” she
requested. “Anyway, why are you talking to me as if you really care?”

  “I don’t just care.”

  “What?” She whipped her head in my direction.

  “I don’t just care, Priscilla,” I repeated, although I knew she heard me. “I love you.”

  She looked at me with surprise, and I wondered if I said something wrong. It’s not like I’ve never said those words to her before. Priscilla has had her bad streak, and I had been there when she was happy to be starting over, and in the end, I was still there, loving the fragmented woman they left behind, making promises things would be all right; promises she believed only when the next man made his presence felt. Hopefully her meeting this E.J. guy will do more than just add to her already tainted record. Hopefully this time he wanted it all, and not just the parts of her she would allow him into. Hopefully this one wanted more than just one night of love, or maybe he wouldn’t run when she was in too deep.

  Priscilla kept her stare until the valet opened her door.

  “We’re here,” I said, grabbing my suit jacket from the back seat. I stepped from the car, leaving the key in the ignition like I knew they would request. I walked around to the back of the car and joined Priscilla on the other side.

  “Who told you I wanted Indian?” she asked, walking through the doors to Rasika.

  “When was the last time I even cared about what you wanted for lunch?” I asked, laughing at her.

  “Welcome back.”

  “What?”

  “That ass I know you can be.” She laughed, and pushed me playfully in my shoulder.

  I asked myself sometimes where would Priscilla and I be if it weren’t for Samantha. Priscilla blew my mind every time she opened her mouth. I was very pleased to meet her, and if nothing else, I value the friendship we developed. She spoke in a faded southern accent, which she often tried to disguise. It never worked, but I guess you can’t blame a girl for trying. What if meeting Priscilla was GOD’s plan all along, and I had disrupted it by enacting one of my own. I’m not even sure any man could cause disorder in how GOD worked in our lives, but Samantha managed to do exactly that.

  Priscilla and I ordered Tandoori Lamb Chops and Black Cod before we were comfortable seated at a small table in the back center of the restaurant. Even in the afternoon, we were more than content with the ambiance created by the quiet and the gold, rectangular lamps that hung from the ceiling and on the walls. Original contemporary Indian art embellished the room and its decisive design. A bottle of Pinot Noir complimented our meals, and was used to toast DeVince’s victory.

  “You know if I leave this place feeling like I’ve just spent a Friday evening at happy hour, I’m blaming you,” Priscilla said, finishing her second glass.

  “We don’t have to worry about that. That feeling is encouraged after a hard-fought victory.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it hard-fought,” she corrected, refilling her glass.

  “Hell, they don’t know that.” I laughed.

  I pushed my empty glass across the table and waited for Priscilla to fill it. The waitress returned to the table to give an update on our lunch. The storm that was brewing in my stomach had been settled both by the first glass of wine and by her announcement that I wouldn’t have to wait too much longer to satisfy my craving. Priscilla can pretend if she wants to, but she was in a hurry to feed her hunger, too.

  “I do want to ask you something?”

  “This isn’t about E.J. is it, cause I thought we left that conversation in the car?”

  “No, this isn’t about him.” I leaned into the table. “What are you doing next Friday?”

  “Right now, I don’t have anything planned. I’m not sure if,” she answered quickly.

  “Good,” I interrupted. “You’re coming with me to play spoiler on Friday. It’s time to pay Ms. Samantha Wells another visit. Oh, it’s a dress to impress affair, something I know you do very well.”

  After my invitation, lunch with Priscilla was enjoyed mostly in silence, especially when our Cod and Lamb arrived. I gave a silent praise to the chef, since the fish was good enough to lick my fingers after each bite, except I had the appropriate utensil in hand. Priscilla gave her compliment to the chef, too. After a few bites, and a few more sips of wine, she excused herself briefly to entertain a caller. When she returned with that same smile she displayed as she read the text message in the car, I assumed it was from E.J. Marshall, the new man I still had not met. I was happy for Priscilla, but I was just hoping, praying actually, this wouldn’t be another whirlwind romance where she had no problem giving, and he had no problem taking all she gave without giving anything back. Maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt. She was usually complaining to me about them by now, so that I heard no mention of him until that day after the hearing was proof she had actually picked a good apple from the bunch. I wouldn’t be seeing Priscilla again until after I got back from spending Thanksgiving with my mother. She was looking forward to seeing me this year, especially since I missed the last three years breaking bread with the family.

  All that transpired after court that day was somewhat deliberate, except the conversation that transpired with Priscilla about her new love. I knew lunch would get us closer to the end of the day since it was Thanksgiving eve and the day would end at 2:30 p.m. At the office, I grabbed an almost empty briefcase, since I had no intention of focusing on my next case until after this short break. I still had to go home and pack for an early morning flight.

  Twenty-Eight

  _________

  You Make My Heart Go

  Kennalyn

  IF YOU HAD TOLD PARKER CHANDLER one day he would find himself alone, again, he would have stared you down with his penetrating eyes and told you how much you lied. Nigel meant everything to him, and when he held their son in his arms for the first time, he knew the best thing had just happened to him.

  For most of his life, Parker had been sacrificing the things he thought he wanted for the things he knew he absolutely needed. He had dreams, and he knew of only one way to make those dreams his reality. He still wanted to make his mother proud, even though she wasn’t around to tell him how proud of him she was already. He didn’t think much about pleasing a father who had already made it known he was already disappointed in what he was doing with his life. Parker already knew there was only one thing about him that disappointed his father, but he stopped caring about that after he told his mother the truth about himself. After his revelation, she whispered, “I love you”, and then took her last breath.

  Parker lived in a four-bedroom, two and a half bathroom brick front colonial in a quaint and quiet neighborhood in northern Virginia, a stone’s throw away from the NW Washington D.C. area. The pleasant memories of living in his childhood home had been tainted by his mother’s death. Still moving out was the last thing he would think to do. He loved to tell stories about his mother, especially on Thanksgiving. He said it made him feel like she was right there with him.

  Parker was in the middle of one of his stories. He sat in one of the sand-colored counter stools, downing Mimosas. That was the first thing he requested when I asked him to come have Thanksgiving dinner at my house with the kids and me, and he was there before the sun rose, finishing his sleep in the upstairs guest room at the end of hall, closer to Cody’s room. My original plans to take Cody and Alexis to my mother’s had been aborted, thanks to my father’s decision to surprise her with a cruise. Even though she needed it, his perfect timing could’ve waited until Christmas or her next birthday, ‘cause I was looking forward to spending some time with my mother.

  “So this is what it feels like to have a man in the house,” I said, smiling at Parker.

  “What are you talking about? Cody is here.”

  “Don’t go making my boy a man before I’m ready. His father already tried that.”

  When I came downstairs that morning, Parker had breakfast ready. Beef cubes and potatoes were removed from the oven and sat on one of the
stove burners. Eggs had been scrambled and covered in a saucepan. We sat at the dining room table laughing and joking. I could tell Parker missed that sometimes. The life he thought he would live with Nigel and Keaton was being lived, once again, by himself. Before he met Nigel, Parker was almost certain the worst thing that could have been done to him had already happened when his mother died, but Nigel leaving and taking Keaton with him almost matched the pain he felt and the emptiness in his heart.

  After breakfast, Cody and Alexis went back upstairs and left Parker and me in the kitchen, praying we wouldn’t be slaving all day to put dinner on the table. With turkey in the oven, the greens on the stove, and the cornbread already finished, the kitchen smelled like one in a five-star restaurant. I walked in the living room and then back into the kitchen carrying a small envelope. I placed it on the counter in front of Parker.

  “What’s this?” he asked, opening the envelope and removing the small card. “It’s an invitation to Samantha’s Awards Gala next Friday.”

  “Yeah. Did you get yours?”

  “Oh, I got mine. Everyone in the firm is expected to be there. The question is, who would invite you to an event to honor someone like Samantha?”

  “Someone who thinks I needed to be there?”

  “Felicia?” Parker asked, looking at me with questioning eyes.

  “Look, Parks. Maybe Samantha finally found where I live, or she knew all along, and sent it herself. Maybe she wanted to rub this accomplishment in my face, if you want to call it that, just like she did when she was able to get my husband to fall for her.”

  “Ex-husband,” he corrected. “Gage is your ex-husband. But after all these years of you not bothering her, why would she want to add fuel to a dying fire? What are you not telling me, Kenna?”

  I contemplated telling Parker the truth, but I only had a little more than a week to keep up the charade. It’s not that I didn’t trust Parker, I just wanted to make sure everything worked out, and the less he knew about Felicia the better. “Nothing,” I said, but Parker didn’t respond. He stared off into the distance with glossy eyes. “Are you still here?” I asked after Parker’s silence became deafening.