Fool and Her Honey (9781622860791)

by Matthews, Kimberly T.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” Candis remarked.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” Dina said, throwing her keys and phone into her purse before she took a seat. “I’m having an emotional day.”

  “On a Sunday? That’s not like you,” I commented.

  Dina let out a sigh, then responded, “Did you two order yet?”

  “Just an appetizer and drinks,” Candis stated.

  “I wish I knew how to drink. I’d be throwing one back right now,” Dina confessed.

  I didn’t know what Dina could possibly be going through to make her want to drink, but I was sure it didn’t compare to the drama I had going on in my own life. Seemed like when your money wasn’t right, everything else was out of whack right along with it, including your love life.

  I pushed Equanto out of my mind and tried to enjoy my friends.

  “So why the long face?” Candis asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  Both Candis and I stared at Dina for a few seconds to make sure that silence was her final answer. When she looked at both of us with a weak smile and a mini shrug, we moved on.

  “Well, I’ve got some news,” Candis announced, lifting a chicken finger from the platter and plopping it onto an appetizer plate.

  “What? You’re pregnant?” I asked. It was my standard response whenever either of them stated they had news to share.

  “Gotta be having sex to get pregnant.” Candis rolled her eyes.

  Dina and I cut our eyes at her, because we both knew good and damn well that Candis was not practicing celibacy.

  “Since when did you become a virgin all over again?” I asked before sipping my drink, which was so delicious, it made me flutter my feet under the table. “Mmm!”

  “Okay, you’re not pregnant, so what’s up?” Dina asked between bites of a mozzarella stick.

  “I met someone new.”

  “Who?” I quizzed.

  Candis paused, then took a deep breath. She was about to answer, but our server interrupted her.

  “You ladies ready to order?”

  “I’m good. I’m just gonna snack on this,” I rushed to say, motioning with my head to the platter on the table.

  Both Candis and Dina ordered something that I thought I might just take a nibble of if they let me.

  “So who’s the new boyfriend?” I asked.

  “First of all, he’s not my boyfriend. Secondly, the both of you have to promise not to judge me.”

  “He must be married,” Dina said and guffawed.

  “No!” Candis exclaimed, immediately denying it with crinkled brows. “Who wants a married man unless he’s your married man? Been there, done that, and once was enough.”

  “Whose husband were you sleeping with?” Dina said with a gasp. That was news to me too, and Candis and I had been friends for years.

  “I don’t even want to think about it. That was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” she answered, shaking her head. “Anyway, he’s not really new. I’ve kind of told y’all about him already.”

  “Who is it? That SeanMichael dude?” Dina asked.

  Candis bounced her eyes between us before she answered, “Yeah.”

  Dina shrugged. “What’s the big deal about that? You’ve been talking to him for what? Like two or three months now?”

  “Yeah, but that’s not the part I need to tell you about.”

  “Then what is it?” I sipped more of my drink, starting to enjoy a buzz.

  “We met online.”

  “Like on one of those matchmaking sites?” Dina asked.

  Candis shook her head. “Not exactly.”

  Dina and I didn’t say another word, waiting for her to spill it.

  “We met on Facebook.”

  “Facebook? What are you? Sixteen?” I laughed, not taking her seriously.

  “I said, ‘Don’t judge me,’” Candis reminded us, pointing at us with the tines of her fork. I stuffed more food in my mouth to keep myself from saying anything more, but my lifted eyebrows let her know that I was indeed judging.

  “Are you serious?” Dina asked, looking for some sign of a joke.

  “Yep.” Candis didn’t crack a smile. In fact, her pursed lips and slightly raised brows signaled her honesty.

  “Humph.” I commented. “You must not watch Lifetime. What was that movie that they showed not too long ago? The murderer from Craigslist or something?”

  “The Craigslist Killer,” Dina corrected.

  I nodded. “Yeah, that.”

  “Cut it out,” Candis begged. “You two are the only ones I can share this with.”

  “So what do you know about him?” I asked after a bit of a pause, which meant we’d try not to give our opinions on how dangerous an online-sparked romance could be.

  “What are his statistics?” Dina threw in, looking at Candis dead on.

  “He’s thirty-two, no kids, likes music, kinda looks like Brian McKnight.” Candis blushed as she stirred her drink with a straw, watching the ripples it made in her glass with a dreamy stare.

  “Where does he live? You’ve been to his house already?” I shot back.

  “No.” Her grin faded into a more apprehensive expression. “Promise y’all won’t trip when I tell you where he lives.”

  “Just the fact that you are telling us not to trip automatically means we’re gonna trip. You do realize that, right?” I responded with raised brows.

  “Oh, Lawd, he’s in jail!” Dina blurted out, assuming the worst.

  “He is not!”

  “The halfway house?” Dina asked, guessing again.

  Candis shook her head. “No. Inmates don’t have Facebook privileges.”

  “Then it must be with his momma,” I concluded before sipping my drink.

  “No. He lives in Maryland,” Candis revealed.

  Both Dina and I stared at Candis stoically, waiting for her to tell us more.

  “Maryland?” Dina asked to confirm.

  “Yes.”

  “Maryland, like the state? Over on the East Coast, near Washington, D.C.?” I asked. “Where the president of the United States runs the country from?”

  Candis nodded. “Yes, the state.”

  “Girl, I thought you’d met somebody.” I dismissed her notion with an indifferent wave. “Quit playing.”

  “I’m serious. I mean, we haven’t met physically, but we are talking.” She paused for a few seconds. “Well, actually, we’re officially a couple.”

  Dina didn’t respond. She was busy checking in with Bertrand via text for the third time since we’d been there.

  “That’s like dating a ghost, Candis,” I said, rolling my eyes to the ceiling.

  “It’s not like dating a ghost. It’s called a long-distance relationship,” she said, trying to defend herself.

  “Most long-distance relationships start when the two people at least see each other face-to-face first and then one of them moves away,” I retorted. “You ain’t never seen this man. That ain’t no long-distance relationship. That’s a hot mess waiting to happen.”

  “Is it different than the hot mess you have happening in your home?” she shot at me, but those bullets bounced right off, as if I were made of rubber.

  “A hot mess is a hot mess, and just because I got one, don’t mean you have to get one too. My last name ain’t Jones. You don’t have to keep up with me.”

  Candis fell silent, and I nudged her under the table to look at Dina, whose facial expression had switched from one that indicated she was having a good time with her girls to one that said Bertrand was getting on her last nerve.

  “What’s wrong with you, Dina?” I asked.

  She turned her lips down and shook her head from side to side. “Nothing. I’ll be right back.” She slid out of the booth and stayed gone for fifteen minutes, and when she came back, it looked like she’d been crying.

  Bertrand was taking her ass through hell. What kind of hell, it was hard to say, but I lived in hell e
very day at my house, and I knew full well what it looked like.

  Chapter 12

  Dina

  Bertrand had been crazy upset the day before, when I’d texted him from the restaurant to let him know I was having lunch with Candis and Celeste, instead of spending the afternoon with him. I couldn’t even half get into the conversation about Candis and this new cross-country boyfriend due to him blowing my phone up with a thousand questions and complaints. At one point I had to get up and leave the table to call him.

  “So why didn’t I get invited to lunch?” he’d grumbled into the phone.

  “Because it’s our girls’ luncheon, babe,” I’d said calmly, standing in front of the restaurant.

  “So you’re out, going to places where your man can’t come.”

  “Bertrand, it’s me, Candis, and Celeste. It’s not that you can’t come. It’s just our girlfriend time together. You are not one of our girlfriends. Why would you want to come?” He hated for me to spend time with other people, and I hated that he hated that.

  “To be with you,” he stated in a tone that suggested I should have been able to draw that conclusion on my own.

  “To be with me or to keep tabs on me?” I challenged, becoming angry.

  “Well, how do I know that you are where you say you are?”

  “Why would you think I was lying?” I practically screamed.

  “I just ain’t never seen someone having a problem with their man wanting to spend time with them. Most women gotta beg for time from their man. Something just don’t sound right. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Well, you’re just going to have to learn to trust me, Bertrand. I’m going back to lunch.”

  I didn’t mention it to Dina and Celeste, but I’d actually seen Bertrand drive through the restaurant’s parking lot yesterday, while we ate and talked. It made my stomach turn. I couldn’t help but keep looking around to see if he was going to pop up at our table. He never did. I guess seeing my car in the lot was proof enough. Or maybe he peeked around the corner to see who I was with, and I just didn’t see him. When I got home, I was still steamed, but he seemed to be content, like nothing had ever happened.

  I’d just pulled some grilled teriyaki wings from the oven, whipped up some homemade mashed potatoes, and made bacon-wrapped asparagus when Bertrand walked in the door from work.

  “Look at you! You got it smelling all good in here!” he commented, walking over to the stove and pulling me into his arms as he grinned at the cooked food. “You gonna mess around and make me marry you.” Our lips met in a standard kiss, but it evolved into one that promised that after dinner, there’d be flesh-flavored dessert. He tightened his arms around me in a hug that emanated love. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered. “This feels good.”

  “What does?”

  “Coming home to someone waiting for me. Coming home to a beautiful”—he stopped to peck my lips between each of his next words—“gorgeous, sexy, smart, incredible, amazing future wife.” With one arm wrapped around my waist, he took my right hand into his left and started swaying to some inaudible music. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispered.

  We hadn’t talked any more about moving forward with the wedding in the past two months, even though I’d comfortably moved into his home. It was our very own elephant that lurked around, peeking around corners when it felt like it, like it had just done. I hadn’t changed my mind about wanting that extra line added to the so-called prenup, and he wasn’t acting like he planned to add it, so it looked like, for all intents and purposes, the wedding was on hold.

  Ignoring the elephant, like we’d done for eight straight weeks now, I returned his sentiment with, “I can’t wait to marry you, either, babe.” In some place in my heart, I meant it. Bertrand was good to me. We didn’t always agree on everything, but he loved me and I knew that. “So what’s taking you so long?” I added.

  “I’m waiting on you,” he mumbled. By that, he probably meant he was waiting on me to sign my name on that paper.

  “I’m ready right now,” I teased.

  “Let’s go then.”

  We kissed and broke our embrace, both knowing we weren’t going to go anywhere but to bed and our conversation on tying the knot would be put on the shelf until next time.

  “Sit down and let me serve you.” I pushed Bertrand toward the table.

  “Let me just wash my hands first.”

  I piled food on our plates, sat them on the table, then poured two glasses of sparkling lemonade, took a seat, and waited for Bertrand to return. It seemed to be taking him forever.

  “Babe!” I yelled from the kitchen.

  “Yeah?” he called back.

  “What are you doing? Your food is getting cold.” And I was ready to eat.

  “I’m coming. Wait a minute.”

  Curious, I got up from the table and trekked toward the bedroom but found him sitting at his desk in his home office. “What are you doing?” I asked a second time, wondering what had his attention.

  “Just balancing my checkbook.”

  “You have to do that now? I thought we were going to have dinner.”

  “We are, babe. Just give me a few minutes to get this done,” he said, keeping his focus on his physical checkbook and his computer monitor, which displayed his online checking account.

  “All right.” I turned and went back to the table, but when Bertrand still hadn’t made it back after ten minutes, I started getting frustrated. “Babe, come eat!” I yelled down the hallway.

  “I’m coming!” he called, his voice echoing.

  I was trying not to be petty, but I went through the effort of trying to have a hot meal on the table for him, and now it was stone cold. The food being cold didn’t bother me as much as the fact that he seemed not to care about it. I didn’t know a man that didn’t make his way to the table to eat once the dinner bell was rung. After another ten minutes went by, I was done waiting. Shoving my plate in the microwave, I brought my food back up to an acceptable temperature, then took it in the den, plopped on the couch, and ate in front of the TV, just like I would have done if I were still in my apartment. I was halfway done eating when Bertrand finally came back.

  “You couldn’t wait for me?” he asked, his tone suggesting surprise and annoyance.

  “Tried to,” I answered without looking up.

  “I told you I was coming.”

  “You were taking too long.” I shrugged. “Your food’s been on the table for thirty, thirty-five minutes now.”

  “I thought we were going to eat together,” he stated, sounding a bit irritated.

  “So did I. You refused to come to the table.” I was just as irritated as he was.

  He stood silent, watching me as I forked more food in my mouth, then shook his head and walked out. I thought he was headed to the kitchen to warm his plate and join me in the den, but instead he walked out the front door.

  I sat my almost finished plate on the coffee table, quickly washed my hands, and rushed to the door to see where he was headed. Surprisingly, he hadn’t gone far. He was sitting on the front porch, looking pensive and upset.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” he uttered.

  “Why are you sitting outside?”

  “Just needed some air.”

  I stared at him the same way he’d been staring at me just a few minutes before. He couldn’t be trippin’ because I ate without him.

  “Your food is on the table,” I reminded him. “It’s good too!”

  “I’ll get it later.”

  “You’re mad at me?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think mad is the word.”

  “You’re upset?”

  “I guess I’m just a little disappointed,” he answered, turning his head toward me.

  “Disappointed in what?”

  “I just thought that you would wait for me.”

  “How long was I supposed to wait, Bertrand? Until you felt like co
ming?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “And I thought that you would appreciate me cooking so much that you would sit down and eat, so I guess I’m disappointed too, but it’s no big deal.” This was silly. “Your food is still in there, and I’m still here”—I shrugged—“so what’s the problem?”

  Bertrand remained silent and looked out into the yard. After a few seconds, he shook his head. “There’s no problem.”

  Rolling my eyes and turning on my heels, I bounced back in the house, finished my food, and washed the dishes. I was cleaning off the stove and countertops when Bertrand came back inside. Without saying a word, he grabbed some plastic wrap from the pantry closet, covered his plate with the clear film, sat it in the refrigerator, and headed to the bedroom. By the time I finished the kitchen and did some general straightening up in the other rooms, Bertrand had showered and turned in for bed, and when I tried to nestle up to him, naked and ready, he stiff-armed me.

  Chapter 13

  Dina

  All I was doing was putting away the laundry. I’d not had any appointments for the past three days, and I couldn’t just sit around the house, doing nothing. Since I was all set up to be Bertrand’s wife, it wasn’t crazy that I’d be doing stuff that a housewife would do . . . like cooking meals and washing clothes. So honestly, that was what I was doing. Okay. I was snooping. Well, I was doing a little bit of both. But Bertrand didn’t have to know that.

  I opened his drawer to put away a stack of T-shirts. Usually, I just folded the laundry and let Bertrand put his own things away, but not this day. I called it doing a little extra, which included looking through the entire drawer. And that was when I found them. A pair of baby blue French-cut panties that didn’t belong to me, nicely folded and wedged between two T-shirts. I stared at them for two minutes, wondering what the hell they were doing there. Who did these panties belong to? How long had they been there? Was this man cheating on me? And now what was I going to do? If I asked him about it and he was seeing someone else, he would only lie about it. And if he wasn’t seeing anyone, I didn’t know that I would believe him.

  I did go through every single drawer, looking for whatever else was there. I didn’t find anything else that looked suspicious, but that one pair of panties was enough. But what was it enough for? Enough to make me leave him? Enough to ruin our relationship? That all depended on how he reacted when I confronted him.