by Xyla Turner
There was a beat of silence, and then Noah asked, “What’s holding you back?”
“Me, I think.” This idea of sounding unsure was not me.
“You think?” he clarified.
A heavy sigh escaped, and then I made a decision. Just bloody say it.
Out loud.
I told him about me and Sheryl hooking up, the miscarriage, my proposal, and everything. Like a good mate, he sat and listened to me until I finished. Then before he could start on the whole path that my mother had taken, I told him what she’d said. Then I was done.
Noah ran his hand across the luxury car’s dashboard and asked, “So what do you want?”
That was the million-dollar question. The fact that I’d come all the way over here to sit in the car and chat should have meant something, but I couldn’t see it, until I found myself spilling my guts out to my mate. This was not the type of shit we’d do. We’d talk shit, figure out ways to make money and more deals, we used to go out before he met Maxine and pick up women. Well, I mostly picked up the women, because Noah went through a stint of marriage to a shrew, then he was just lonely for some odd reason. Hell, I’m glad he met Maxine, even though their union was quite unusual.
Now it was me. I had other mates, but if I was going to divulge any information to anyone, it would be Noah.
The question still remained in the air, like a waiting drum beat of a popular song. You knew it was coming, but you always second-guessed yourself on how long it actually took before your favorite part came in.
“I don’t know,” I finally shared. “I, uh, find myself in a conundrum with a lot of emotions that clearly are clouding my judgment.”
“Your mum said that you were tying her down. Is that true?” Noah asked.
I thought before I answered and thought about what Sheryl would say, the questions we answered even in the beginning. The malarky I conjured up with how to handle it. Fuck me. She must have thought I was a world-class asshole.
Double fuck.
“Yeah, I wanted her to myself,” I finally admitted. “I wanted her, if I’m seeing this correctly.”
Silence engulfed the small space, reminding me of why I hadn’t wanted to go inside of my best mate’s new home where he and his wife had started their lives together. It was a reminder that I had no one. A stark memory that what was once happy was not. So much so that I’d moved out of the country to get away, never to return.
Bloody hell. I needed a therapist.
“I think I’ve mucked this up with Sheryl,” I said before I could even process it in my head.
Noah didn’t say anything in return, just continued to look down the long line of mansions in his gated community.
“Then un-muck it up, mate,” Noah finally shared. “If you mess this up with my wife’s best friend, I won’t hear the end of it. Understand? You already had to grow on her, as your reputation preceded you. Now she actually wants the two of you to be together. Un-muck it up!”
“That’s awfully selfish of you, mate.”
“Well, I mean, you practically said it yourself,” he added. “You’re bloody in love. Crickey. Give that lass a ring and go on a honeymoon so nosy Harvey and his wife aren’t ringing my phone asking about you courting Sheryl South.”
“Crikey is bloody right.” I shook my head at those two but let the other words he said linger as my entire body became like a live wire.
The words kept circulating in my head over and over, to the point that I blurted, “I need a bloody shrink.”
“Don’t we all,” Noah chuckled. “Maxine and I are going to see a marriage counselor next week.”
“Damn, you just got married.” I jerked my head back.
“Yeah, and we want to stay married,” he added. “We’re in this, but there’s nothing wrong with getting some help and guidance along the way.”
Ha.
“Noah. Mate.” I shook my head. “I think you might be on to something. Okay, thanks for letting me pop by. I got to go.”
Noah opened his door, then he sighed and said, “One more thing. I know you mentioned this idea came from Sheryl having a miscarriage, but have you dealt with that loss too. I was just reading an article about how men are often the forgotten grievers in miscarriages. Women usually show their emotions and even though Sheryl can be tough as nails, that shit can sting. However, you aren’t exempt from that grief too, mate.”
Bloody hell.
Why hadn’t I talked to him earlier?
Turning my head to look at the luxurious houses in front of me, the immaculate gardens and landscaping that I shook my head and sort of realized that all that I had done was to avoid the grief. I as a doer, but that did not take away from the emotion.
Loss.
“Thank you, Noah.” I nodded and turned my head so he could see. “Thank you for being a good mate.”
“Glad I could be of service,” he commented before getting out of my car. “Call me before you go back.”
“Yeah.”
One of my favorite spots in Philadelphia was the overlook near Penns Landing. It was a coveted place, and only a few cars went out there, but it was where I sat and begin to think, plan, and formulate a plan of action. That’s who I was. A doer. I made shit happen, and when I couldn’t do that is when my world became unfamiliar.
After a couple of hours, I decided to text Sheryl. The goal was to give her a choice and go against my base instinct, which was to go to her bloody job and make her see me.
Me: Sheryl, I’m at the waterfront and I’ve had some thoughts that I would like to discuss with you. Will you meet me here?
There was no response for almost fifteen minutes. My plan was to stay there for as long as possible. Until she agreed, really.
Old habits were hard to break.
Sheryl: ok
Thirty minutes later, a car pulled up next to my vehicle, and it was then that I saw Sheryl South pull up in her luxury truck and Phil was nowhere in sight.
“Why are you so hard-headed?” She started this conversation with a side-eye as she remained in her vehicle.
Giving her a nod, I replied, “We need to talk. There are some things I wanted to share with you.”
“Same here.” She cut off the truck and proceeded to get out.
With me leaning on my rental and her leaning on her car with one parking spot in between us, she waved for me to go first. Shaking my head, I said, “No, you go.”
“I have thought long and hard about this thing, and I don’t think I can do this with you,” she began, and I nodded my head in agreement. “It was a noble idea, but the reality of this is not going to work. It would be my counter proposal that if we do want to have a child, that we do one of two things. Go to a sperm bank and do it that way or…”
This was when I pushed off the car and began to move toward her. That move caused Sheryl to stop talking, and she held up her hand.
“No, stop, Jacquez.” She was shaking her head. “Let me finish before you start all of your alpha-madness.”
“Go on and finish.” I remained where I was and began to lower myself to the ground.
“What the hell are you doing?” she gasped, with big eyes and an open mouth.
“Go ahead and finish,” I urged her, but remained on one knee.
“You are fucking insane,” she scoffed. “What the hell?”
“Are you finished?” I asked.
“No, I’m not fucking finished,” She demanded. “Get up.”
“Can’t do that until you finish.”
“Fine, I’m finished.” Sheryl slammed her hands on her hips.
“I agree with you,” I began. “The way we had it going would not work. If I’m saying it right, I wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to have the cow to get the milk for free. I do want a child, as I’ve mentioned, but the other thing is – I want more. With you. It makes sense, and I’m not sure why I didn’t see it before. I want to give us a try. Well, we have been, this entire time, but my mind hadn’t
been wrapped around it. I’m down here because I want you to give us a try. A solid try. From the beginning I knew what I wanted, Sheryl. That was you before and after the baby.”
That look was back on her face. The one where her mouth was open and eyes wide. No words were spoken, though, as I continued to kneel on one knee.
“What are you asking me?” She finally spoke.
“Asking if you would give us a try,” I repeated.
“Why are you on bended knee?” she asked.
“Because it’s a proposal.” This time she folded her arms in front of her.
“A proposal of what?”
Here was the moment of truth. Did I risk losing her permanently or overplay my hand?
Fuck it.
“First for you to give me a chance. Then a proposal for you to accept my hand in marriage. Then for you to have our baby. Then for you to live happily ever after.”
This time she laughed as if I had said something funny. Did she find this humorous?
“I’m serious,” I confirmed to combat her jovial vibe.
“Oh, I know,” Sheryl was still laughing “I can’t keep up, Jacquez. One minute it’s this, another minute, it’s that. I don’t think you really know what you want. It sure as hell ain’t me. You want a baby, sure, but this…I mean, I feel like we are always wrong.”
Always wrong?
My mind began to go back to our first encounter, the sex, her leaving, the baby, the loss of the baby, the back and forth. Consistently and all the time. Hell, I was on one knee and she was still turning me down. Was it right?
What was I missing?
“Sheryl.” I sighed and for the first time, just took a moment to breathe. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“The right thing is not tying the both of us down, so you say.” She walked over to me and held out her hand. “The right thing, Jacquez, may be to just let it be. Hell, this is fucking stressful. Will you get up?”
Looking at the hand that she was extending to me, I scoffed, took it, and stood up. The two of us just stared at each other for what felt like eternity.
It was entirely too long, but it was as if we were stuck.
That notion of always wrong kept running through my head.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“I was just going to ask you the same question” was my reply.
Chapter Thirteen
Sheryl South
The process for getting a paternity test was so sterile. It was as if the person that was taking my blood did not know the significance of what she was doing. This was no ordinary blood test. This was my future in the hands of someone who seemed to be waiting on getting her lunch break.
“All done,” she announced as if I was in a rush.
I was not.
She gave me some orange slices and then labeled the vials and placed them in a plastic casing with more vials. My name, clearly written in bold Arial font. The deadbeat had actually agreed to take the test, probably to absolve himself of guilt. The man was never there, and he lived one county over from where I grew up. He knew my mother wasn’t well, and I guess he made a decision not to mess with her or us for that matter. It wasn’t like a one-night stand. He had three kids by her, so this was a relationship of sorts. Either way, I decided to take whatever was happening with a new lease on life.
Honestly, it was in thinking and the coordination of having a baby. One of the rules I had for business is to never make rush decisions. If it required me to make an instant decision, then I would pass over the offer. Why when Jacquez proposed his scenario had I jumped at the chance? Even through my doubts, I’d ignored all red flags and jumped at the opportunity to have a child. Maxine said it was emotional. Then she kept saying that if I wanted to have a child, then that was fine, but it didn’t need to be by Jacquez and it didn’t need to happen immediately.
I knew this was true, but the whole thing bothered me so much, I took a leave of absence at my job. First, I fired the two assholes who I’d let continue to talk shit. It was my own fault for sleeping with the one shithead, but he just wouldn’t let the shit go. Three different people said they were discussing it in the lounge. Like, get a fucking clue. I had played nice, by not retaliating and dealing with my own punishment, but at this point. It was slanderous and in my own place of business. They had to go. It was bad for morale.
My assistant told me that Jacquez had already set them straight, but somehow they knew he was out of the picture. Now I was out of the picture. I decided to call it a sabbatical of sorts. I had spent my entire life building up this company. Hell, several companies, and what did I have to show for it? Fancy buildings, penthouse suites, nice cars, and a bunch of shit that would wither away.
One day Maxine came out to visit me at my beach house, where I decided to spend some of my time. I had also spent some time traveling outside of the country, though I stayed far away from London.
She asked me if I was happy, and for the life of me, I don’t know why I started weeping, but the truth was that I was not. I wondered out loud if I’d gained the whole world and lost my soul. Just like my best friend would say, on cue, she said, “You need Jesus.”
Then she said, “You probably need a life coach too.”
If my face wasn’t wet and my heart feeling torn, I probably would have arrogantly said, “I’m a multimillionaire, I don’t need a fucking life coach.” However, I remembered Gabrielle Union talking to Jada at the Red Table Talk and how she had a life coach who got in her ass for being arrogant. It was intriguing, but also made me look at Maxine with a pug-like twist of my head.
“Yeah, I think I might need one.”
I asked around, and Maxine asked her network, and lo and behold it was Zora Black who referred Monroe Foster. Coach Monroe had been really helpful and caused me to reflect. To go back to my childhood, even confront my mother. Which was why I just gave blood to see if my father was my father. They said they’d know the results in less than two weeks, so I waited.
Coach Monroe had me reflecting on why I’d said yes to Jacquez. Why I broke my own cardinal rule, so this baby that I wanted with this man. She said it wasn’t bad and that I should not condemn myself, but she said that I must seek to understand myself.
The only conclusion that I could come up with was that I wanted a baby. So badly that I would have compromised my own integrity to get what I wanted. It seemed like such an unattainable thing. That the thought of a man like Jacquez who wanted the same things as me seemed impossible. What was the likelihood of finding a handsome man who wanted to have kids and the kit and caboodle: the house, dual citizenship and other things that I had previously scoffed at. Even my bestie, when she decided to get married. I knew Noah was a stand-up guy, but when it came to me, I knew when it came to men, I did not roll in those circles of good men. Not men that were looking for marriage. Hell, most of them were married and carried on like they were not. Men in similar positions as me, of course. I wasn’t into breaking or interfering in other people’s homes whether they were happy or not. Somewhere I knew that if I was to ever marry, I wouldn’t want my marriage to be interfered with by another person.
A few days seemed like an eternity to wait for the results. While I had the courage, I wanted to know right then. These things did not work like that, but I decided to take up pottery making. I watched a few YouTube videos and ordered a pottery wheel, clay, and a tool kit. There were many messed-up pieces I’d designed, but the more I did it, the better I got. Eventually I was able to make a magnificent bowl, which took nearly seven days. It was smooth and free of blemishes. As I admired my handiwork, I thought of my life. When I messed up the other bowls, I was able to have a do-over. There was no prior indication that the twenty bowls before the final one, the perfect one, had cracks. There was nothing to show but a perfect bowl. It made me wonder if that’s how we can be. Where we could make a mistake and get a do-over. This also reminded me of Jacquez and the words I’d spook to him, about getting it alway
s wrong.
We’d tried so many times, but there was always something. The damn man tried to propose to me, but damn – that was the ultimate wrong. We had the same interests, but marriage? So wrong.
Yet what did all of those imperfections lead to? Something perfect. The bowl experience was a fleeting moment, but it was only when I was sitting on beach, under the umbrella, living my beach life, that a mother and son walked past, and unlike the other times, when I thought about the miscarriage and my quest to have a baby and the need to let it go and not enter into fucking impossible relationships to have my way. I didn’t think about any of that. I thought about the perfect bowl and all of the times that I’d failed before creating it. Those failures led to perfection. A child, my child, would be perfection. In my spirit, I knew that he or she would be. Even if I adopted, which was something that my Life Coach and I discussed. Well, she didn’t really advise me. She had this thing about all the answers I needed in my life already being within me. I didn’t disagree, which is why I liked the result. I actually took a leave of absence. Never in my life did I think that was something I could do and I did. I was getting back to Sheryl. The me before the drive, ambition, and the fast-paced life. The little girl who felt different, and wanted to prove, if only to herself, that she would be somebody. That striving for something different. The hope, the dreamer, and the person to make it reality. Nobody could stop me, and if they doubted me, I always proved them wrong. This is what led me to this path. My coach kept challenging me to talk to the ten-year-old Sheryl. I already knew what she was going to say, but the conversation should still happen.
The tears fell from my eyes as the mirage of the mother and son disappeared as they were out of my sight. I wanted a child so bad, but …well, there wasn’t a but, just a not yet. When I felt whole enough to come off of sabbatical is when I would look into adoption. That was the agreement that I made with myself. There was nothing wrong with adopting a child. My life would change, but I was ready for it. Hell, I was on the beach at eleven in the morning. My life had already changed. I didn’t have to work another day in my life. That wasn’t bragging, but a reality. I enjoyed what I had built, but I didn’t have to keep managing it. For some reason, I’d had tunnel vision around that work and felt as though I needed to be there forever. I don’t and I won’t.