by Deidre Berry
I care for Nelson a great deal, but it was getting to the point where I was at my wits’ end with this situation.
One day he is loving and sweet, the next day he’s keeping me at arm’s length. He wants to move forward, I can feel that. But for some reason he just will not give himself permission.
And that is why I decided it was time to pay Fatima a visit.
I needed to get information on how to effectively deal with Nelson being a still-grieving widower and all.
The relationship was progressing.
Nelson and I now had the keys to each other’s condo, but I was troubled that Kara’s voice was still on his answering machine, her toothbrush was still in the bathroom, and her BMW was still down in the parking garage in the same exact spot where she left it two years ago.
In fact, all of Kara’s things were just as she left them. Her clothes and shoes were still in the closet, and even her underwear drawer was still intact.
The second I got home from the museum, I called Simone and asked her to set up an emergency meeting with Fatima for me. “Okay, I’ll call her then call you right back,” Simone said, sounding excited that I was finally going to get some “help.”
A few minutes later, Simone called back and said, “Fatima normally doesn’t work on Sundays, but since it’s you, she’s willing to make the exception.”
Simone gave me Fatima’s address and phone number too, just in case I got lost. There was no chance of that though, because I have a trusty GPS system I nicknamed Becky Sue, and she hasn’t steered me wrong yet.
“Make ya mama and daddy proud and POP dat boo-tee! POP dat boo-tee! POP dat boo-tee!” was the first thing I heard when I turned on the ignition in my truck.
It seems like E-Money’s career took off the second I refused to take him on as a client. Not only does he have a hit song tearing up the radio airwaves, but the video is also in heavy rotation on both BET and MTV. The album is expected to debut at number one on the Billboard charts.
Personally, I’m baffled by the success of “Pop Dat Boo-tee.” Now, the beat is crazy. I love the beat. But the lyrics are so juvenile, any fourth grader could have written them.
Oh well.
I turned the radio off in order to concentrate on my driving. It took almost half an hour for Becky Sue’s voice to lead me to Gardner, a new subdivision in a Kansas suburb. Nice area, but all the houses are identical, and just too damn close together for my liking.
I parked in the driveway, and by the time I made it to the front door, Fatima was there welcoming me with a smile, and outstretched arms.
“Fatima, nice to see you again,” I said.
“My sister!” she said, hugging me as if I were truly a long lost relative.
A pretty and petite brown-skinned woman in her late thirties, Fatima has long, sandy-brown dreadlocks that were pulled back into a ponytail. She had on a turquoise and white muumuu, and bejeweled Indian sandals. Thankfully, she had bothered to get a pedicure this time.
Fatima led the way inside, and said, “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Humble my ass! Apparently, life coaching pays very well these days. I walked inside to marble floors and extremely high ceilings. For some reason, I was expecting Fatima’s home to resemble an African art museum, with kente cloth, masks, hand-woven baskets, and statues everywhere, but there were only a few such items on display in her modern, tastefully decorated home.
I could smell the calming scent of lavender incense floating in the air.
Fatima took my hand and guided me out to a large sun porch, filled with what had to be every plant known to man, including several bonsai trees that were almost as tall as I am. Wind chimes tinkled somewhere in the distance, and there was a caged parrot in a far corner of the room whose favorite word was apparently “nirvana.”
“Have a seat,” Fatima said, offering a small floral sofa that was so comfortable when I sank down into it, that it automatically induced a state of serenity.
Fatima sat across from me in a chair that matched the sofa, and said, “So, I hear you’re having man trouble.”
Over jasmine-flavored green tea and banana-nut muffins, I told Fatima all about my dealings with Nelson, from day one up until right now.
“How do I compete with the memory of a dead woman still very much beloved by her grieving husband?” I asked. “Every time I turn around its ‘Kara, Kara, Kara.’ And I can’t even tell you how sick I am of hearing that woman’s name.”
“Well that is your first mistake, right there,” Fatima advised. “Stop looking at Kara as an enemy when in fact you owe her a debt of gratitude for helping to shape Nelson into the good man he is today. Now, she probably wasn’t quite the saint he depicts her to be, but that’s not your place to point that out. Be mature and secure within yourself, because at the end of the day, you are there in Nelson’s bed—not Kara.”
“And that’s another thing,” I said. “How can I tell how much of his passion during sex is him desiring me, versus him just using me as a stand-in for his deceased wife?”
“That’s easy. You can tell by the way he treats you outside of the bedroom. Is he kind and thoughtful towards you? Does he still want you around even after you’ve made love?”
“Yes, to all of those questions. Nelson is respectful, thoughtful, attentive to my needs, incredibly sweet and eager to please.”
“So there’s your answer.” Fatima nodded. “Now, it was definitely way too soon to have sex when you first did, but seeing as how he later approached you for a friendship means a lot. So apparently he does care for you, and the guilt he must be feeling because of his feelings for you could be complicating his grieving process even more.”
“Yeah, I definitely think Nelson feels some guilt about being with someone other than Kara. I mean, they were college sweethearts, after all.”
“Why is it that you feel threatened by the love he still has for Kara?” Fatima asked.
“I don’t know if threatened is the right word, but I don’t see how he can really move forward to the future while he’s still clinging to the past.”
I told Fatima about Kara’s parents and how they seem to not want Nelson to move on. How they still throw birthday parties in their daughter’s honor, and insist on getting together for a vigil on the anniversary of her death. In my opinion, the Murphys make Nelson feel guilty about the prospect of being happy with a woman other than Kara. They act as if he’s cheating on their daughter, and disrespecting her memory in some way.
“It is natural,” Fatima said. “The Murphys view Nelson’s moving on as disrespectful because Kara will always be their daughter, and their loyalty is to her, first. Deep down they may be jealous that Nelson even has the option of moving on because he can get another wife. Unfortunately, the Murphys cannot get another daughter. Essentially what Kara’s parents are doing is bullying Nelson into staying locked in a cycle of grief.”
Oh! The light bulb went off in my head and not only did I finally understand the entire situation, but I also felt more sympathetic and compassionate towards the Murphys.
“Also,” Fatima continued, “Kara is what linked them all together, and the parents may feel that if Nelson moves on to another happy relationship, he will forget about them and then they will lose him, too. Nelson needs to set boundaries. He also needs to stand up to them with the knowledge that he will probably never have their blessing when it comes to moving on.”
“Should I tell him all of this?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t. At this point, all you can do is wait patiently for him to discover these things on his own. Dating a widower is not hopeless, but you do need a certain level of patience and understanding,” Fatima said with a smile. “In the meantime, though, if the situation is really uncomfortable and stagnant, then you have to put a time limit on how long you are willing to be there while he mourns his loss. Months? Weeks? Years? It’s all up to you.”
I left Fatima’s house feeling enlightened, and glad to have finally give
n her a chance.
I like her. It turns out that she is not the scam artist I viewed her as, after all this time. She’s comforting, and has a nurturing spirit about her. If I should have to go through a crisis that requires therapy, God forbid, I wouldn’t hesitate to pay Fatima another visit.
As for Nelson, I’m willing to give him six more months.
If he doesn’t have this whole Kara thing in check by then, I will seriously start considering moving on.
40
“Would you believe that bastard gave me chlamydia?” Simone raged, over chicken fingers and apple martinis at the Epicurean’s happy hour.
Yvette, Nadia, and I all inhaled sharply.
Regardless of his flirting ways, Rasheed cheating on Simone and giving her a sex disease is news none of us ever thought we would hear.
“No!” I cried out, sorely disappointed. Aside from Will and Jada, and my parents, Simone and Rasheed were my role models when it comes to long lasting, loving relationships. The epitome of what a strong black couple looks like. Rasheed may have been a tad too touchy-feely at times, but the point is, he and Simone managed to hold it together for nine years. That’s rare these days.
“Oh girl, yes!” Simone said. “I had this weird discharge, and was itching like crazy down there. So I went and had it checked out, right? Sure enough, Rasheed’s been creeping around behind my back with some disease-infested skank.”
“Ah man,” Yvette said, almost in tears. “Rasheed was my boy! I never thought he would go out like that.”
“Well, the proof is in the panties,” Simone said. “Which is exactly why I kicked his poetry-spouting, no-job-having ass out of my house.”
“Do you know the heifer he’s messing around with, or was it just some random chick?” Nadia asked.
“It was that sneaky, snaky bitch, Delilah,” Simone said, turning to me. “You know that heavyset girl who’s always at our poetry meetings wearing flowers in her afro?”
“The one who insists on boring everybody with those tired-ass poems?” I asked.
“That’s the one!” said Simone. “And Tori, I really should have took you more seriously when you warned me she was trying to push up on Rasheed.”
“See,” I said. “It’s always those fake, trying to act like they’re your friend, heifers. Smiling in your face and all the while, steadily trying to steal your man right out from under you.”
“Um, hmm,” Yvette said. “And those are the same sluts who need their asses whooped because they know damn well that he has a woman at home.”
“Well, it looks like everybody really does play the fool sometime,” Nadia said.
“Church!” Yvette said, raising her martini glass in a toast. “Dirty bastards!”
Today, we all had big news.
Nadia is going ahead with the breast implants so Terrell can finally stop bugging her about it. And not surprisingly, the girls were all supportive and encouraging when I told them about the status of Tori Carter Creations, and that I am an inch closer to being completely in love with Nelson.
I have not seen much of Yvette since the open-mike night debacle, but apparently she’s over it, and has since given up her dreams of superstardom.
Instead of fame, Yvette is focusing on her first semester of college, as well as her promising relationship with a white guy named Daniel who she said is a sweetie pie, and has this Robert De Niro thing going on where he genuinely adores black women.
Good for her. Yvette deserves some happiness in the romance department, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that Daniel will turn out to be husband number two.
41
I was right in the middle of cleaning my refrigerator, when Nelson called and asked me to come across the hall to his place. I had no idea what was going on, but I took off those yellow plastic gloves, powdered my face, and reported for duty as requested.
“What in the world is all this?” I asked, walking into Nelson’s condo, which was in such disarray it looked like a cyclone had swept through it. Every cabinet and drawer was open. Heaps of clothing, boxes of shoes, and other miscellaneous items were piled high on the pool table and in the middle of the living room floor.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m doing a little purging,” Nelson said, coming out of the bedroom carrying a black, men’s suit. “Stuff like this, I should have gotten rid of a long time ago.”
“Why?” I asked, watching him toss the suit on the top of the heap.
“It’s the suit that I wore to Kara’s funeral,” Nelson said, and I noticed that he looked drained. His eyes were red, and I couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or from crying.
“Do you need some help?” I asked, giving him a hug.
“No, the Murphys are on their way over to get what they want of Kara’s stuff,” he said. “And the Salvation Army is coming to pick up the rest of it.”
What? This was huge. This was the pivotal moment Fatima assured me would come. Now that it was here, I felt like an intruder into an intensely personal and private matter.
He should be alone at a time like this.
“Look, um, I’m gonna go,” I said.
“Thanks for understanding,” Nelson said, kissing me on the forehead. “It’s actually not as hard as I thought it would be, but it’s still pretty rough.”
“I’ll be at home if you need me, okay?”
Nelson walked me to the door, and I was not at all pleased to see Kara’s parents.
“Hello, son,” Mr. Murphy said to Nelson. Once again, he and his wife looked right through me, as if I weren’t even standing there.
Their rudeness was not lost on Nelson.
“Frank and Margaret, you’ve met Tori,” Nelson reminded them.
“Ah, yes,” Margaret said, looking down her nose at me. “The neighbor, right?”
“Well, actually she’s more than a neighbor,” Nelson said, his voice wavering just a tiny bit. “Tori and I are dating, and it’s getting serious.”
Say what?
I was just as surprised as Frank and Margaret to hear Nelson make that declaration.
There was so much tension, I knew the best thing to do was to quickly remove myself from the situation. Before I left though, I felt compelled to give the Murphys a piece of my mind.
“Listen, you two need to give Nelson a break. He loved your daughter dearly, and no one can take away what the two of them shared,” I said. “But at the same time, he deserves another chance to love again. From what I knew of Kara, I think she would have wanted that for him.”
“Don’t you dare presume to speak for my daughter,” Mrs. Murphy snapped, wagging a manicured finger in my face.
My first instinct was to snatch Margaret baldheaded, but she is a grieving mother, and for that, she deserves a degree of empathy and respect.
“Don’t do this, Margaret,” said Mr. Murphy, leading his wife away from me.
“Well, it was nice to see you both again!” I called out to the Murphys, who had walked past me and were looking over Kara’s things.
Nelson gave me a grateful smile for maintaining my composure. “I think we should go out on the town to celebrate,” he said. “How about you?”
“Alright,” I smiled. “But take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
“The play was pretty good, don’t you think?” I asked Nelson, as we claimed one of the private draped beds up on the rooftop terrace of East, a bar and restaurant popular for its unique fusion of Asian, Indian, and Middle Eastern cultures.
“Yeah, I was pleasantly surprised,” he said. “Who knew that a play with just two men in it could be so interesting and entertaining?”
The two of us had just come from Crown Center, where we watched Tuesdays with Morrie at the Heartland Theatre. It was late afternoon when Kara’s parents left Nelson’s place with a bunch of her things, plus the keys to her BMW.
To celebrate our new couple status, Nelson and I started the evening with dinner at Stix Chinese Restaurant, and had come to East
to cap off the night with cocktails and dessert.
A server approached our bed looking like she had come straight out of I Dream of Jeannie. She wore a sheer bejeweled sarong, matching midriff-baring top, and gold thong sandals.
“Good evening, my name is Magda,” she said. “Would you folks like hookah service tonight?”
“Yes,” Nelson said. “And we’d also like a Pineapple Upside-Down Cake Martini for the lady, and I’ll have a bottle of Budweiser Select.”
I propped myself up on one of the bed’s many large, fluffy pillows, and Nelson lay on his back with his head in my lap. I ran my fingers over the deep wave pattern in his hair, and looked up at the clear night sky, dotted with what looked to be a zillion stars.
A server walked by with a platter of Caribbean lobster tails, and the air around us was an intoxicating blend of anise, cinnamon, and sage.
Magda came back and set up the Moroccan hookah for us. After she left, I gently pulled on the mouthpiece, taking in coconut and strawberry flavored tobacco, made smooth by the water bubbling at the bottom of the pipe. Since I am not a smoker, all I needed were a couple of puffs and I was as relaxed and giddy as I needed to be in public.
Nelson took a few pulls, and then moved closer to me on the bed, rubbing his hands over the roundness of my behind.
“You have any big plans for this weekend?” he asked, kissing the base of my throat just the way I like it.
I am not usually the one for such extreme public displays of affection, but I didn’t stop Nelson from doing what he was doing because none of the other couples on the terrace seemed to be paying us any mind.
“Nothing concrete yet,” I said. “But wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”
Nelson gave me that smile of his that lets me know that I have made him happy. “I have an assignment coming up and I want you to go with me on a road trip,” he said.
“Okay, where are we going?”
“Not far, just a few hours away to a winery and a nearby bed-and-breakfast.”