A Sister's Secret

by Cydney Rax

  “B, are you sure he’s not going to be a waste of my fucking time?”

  “Alita, dang, girl, you won’t know till you try.”

  “That’s what I don’t want. I can’t afford to take another risk. I’m getting too damned old for this shit.”

  “You’re not old. Some women get remarried at fifty, sixty, and even seventy years old.”

  “They’re fools. Shit, Oprah has been with Stedman forever. You don’t see her chasing him down trying to sing, ‘Put a ring on it.’ ”

  Burgundy couldn’t help but laugh. “You, girl, are going to have to calm down and take things a step at a time.” She paused. “If you end up finding love again, Sis, it’ll be worth it. There’s nothing like being in love and having someone who is your rock, your lover, and the father of your kids.”

  “What?” Alita said. “Who said anything about having more kids?”

  “Calm down . . . I was just—”

  “You’re just doing way too much trying to run your big sister’s life. You better hope I don‘t regret meeting this man.”

  “You,” Burgundy replied in all seriousness, “had better hope I don’t regret you meeting him either.”

  Within minutes they arrived at their destination, Morning Glory.

  “Shade Wilkins, meet my oldest sister, Alita Washington.” Burgundy beamed at her sister with immense pride. Alita was wearing a slim fitting sleeveless black dress and wore a knitted shawl that Burgundy had carefully arranged over her shoulders.

  “Hello, Ms. Washington.”

  Alita slid the shawl off and extended her hand. “I hate this damn thing, it’s so pointless. Anyway, hi, Shade. Good to meet you. But I go by Alita. Not Washington. Just Alita.”

  “Kind of like Ciara?” Shade asked. He curved his top lip into an amazing, beautiful smile that made Alita feel warm all over.

  “What about her?” Alita asked.

  Shade continued. “Ciara likes to go by one name, but now that she’s married, maybe all of that has changed.”

  “Hmm,” Alita replied. “I wish I was as great as that woman. She really lucked out after going through hell with all of her exes, especially that awful baby daddy of hers. Thank God he’s in Ciara’s past, which is where all badass men should stay . . . forever.”

  “Shhh,” Burgundy pleaded. “Let’s not start all that wasting energy on people we don’t even know and probably will never meet face to face. We’re here to celebrate my sister, Alita. She’s turning thirty-seven tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, ain’t that special?” Alita said.

  “Happy pre-birthday to you Ms. Alita.” Shade’s lip curved into that beautiful grin once more. He grabbed her hand and pumped it several times.

  “Mmm hmm,” she remarked. “Happy damned birthday.”

  Shade was cordial and skillfully ignored her comment. “Say, ladies. Why don’t we go sit down at the booth over that way?” he suggested, then invited them to walk ahead of him. They formed a single file as they strolled through the restaurant. When they had nearly reached their destination, Shade hurried past them. He waited next to the booth and gestured at Alita to be seated.

  Alita stared. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m very serious.”

  “A man with class. All righty then.” She sat down and watched him welcome Burgundy into their booth as well.

  They took a seat in a corner of the restaurant where the atmosphere was more intimate, light slightly dimmer, ambience very relaxing.

  “Shade, dear, I’ve been wanting to get you two together for the longest, and I’ve already told you a couple of things about my sister, but I felt it was important for you to meet her and form your own opinion.”

  “May I ask something?” Alita blurted to her date.

  “Feel free to ask whatever you want,” he replied.

  “Is Shade your real name or is that some type of fake-ass name ’cause you got something to hide? You a felon?”

  Burgundy burst out laughing. “Whoa. She’s started already. I think that’s my cue to leave.”

  “Noooo, B,” Alita begged. “Stay with us. Please.”

  “Of course I will,” Burgundy promised.

  “I mean,” Alita explained to Shade, “I never heard of anybody with that name before.”

  “I’ve never heard of the name Alita before . . . until I met you.”

  “Look. I get it all right? We both have unusual names. But I didn’t know if your mama named you that, or if that’s your street moniker or what.”

  “None of the above,” he laughed good-naturedly. “Not at all. And yes, Shade Wilkins is my government name courtesy of my maternal grandmother; it was her father’s name, Ms. Washington.”

  “Ugh,” she complained. “If we’re going to be around each other, and I’ll let you know once this date is over, you need to call me Alita. I thought I already told you that.”

  “You’re right, I forgot.” He laughed. “Alita.”

  Shade was acting with such decency toward her that she began to feel won over. Not knowing what else to do, Alita took a sip of the ice water that had been placed on their table. She allowed herself a moment to look deeply into his eyes. The eyes spoke volumes. Alita noticed that his twinkled when he smiled. They appeared kind, open, and welcoming.

  “I must admit, the last time I had a blind date . . .” he continued. “I swore I’d never go on one again.”

  “Oh, really?” Burgundy said, intrigued. “Was it that bad? What happened?”

  “Her name was Jennifer. We met for dinner and a movie. I quickly determined that she and I had nothing in common. The conversation felt cold . . . like a struggle. Usually I can bond with just about anybody, but that woman, woo, she was steadily looking at the exit door . . . staring at her phone, not really giving me eye contact. Very disconnected.”

  “Whoa,” Burgundy said. “Makes you wonder why she’d even agree to go out with you if her body language suggested she wasn’t interested. Just say you aren’t feeling the man and move keep it moving.”

  “Right,” Shade agreed with a sigh. “That’s why today, I was hesitant—”

  “You don’t have to hesitant with me,” Alita snapped, unknowingly mispronouncing the word. “We could cut out right now, and I’ll call it a day.”

  “Alita, would you stop embarrassing the hell out of me?” Burgundy had just about had it. “You will sit here and be as sweet and friendly as I know you can be. Now. Chill out and stop stressing so much like you’re a teenager. You deserve to relax and be in the company of a good man,” she insisted.

  Alita knew she needed to be more adult about this with her almost thirty-seven-year-old self. “Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry, Shade. I’m flipping out.”

  “No problem, I understand,” Shade assured her and acted like what she’d previously said did not bother him.

  “I wasn’t directing anything at you, Alita,” he explained. “I was just saying that this is about my third time going on a blind date and . . . well, I guess I shouldn’t be going into the past just yet. Let’s focus on right now.”

  “Thanks for saying that, Shade,” Burgundy said. “Brand-new day for both of you.”

  Alita wished she could relax and just be able to chitchat and not feel so uptight as if she were at an important job interview. But in spite of his encouragement, it felt like a ton of weights were in her stomach. Since Alita’s divorce several years ago, she had not been on one authentic date. Falling in love felt scary. And she’d rather get attacked by a Rottweiler than face rejection or be hurt again.

  Shade handed Alita the menu. “Take a look at what you might want to order.” Then he apologized. “Oops,” he laughed. “I guess I’m as nervous as you, since I’m sure you’ve probably memorized it.”

  “I know about it but trust me, I sure haven’t eaten all of it.”

  They both laughed easily and placed their orders for a breakfast special.

  Shade seemed very down-to-earth and he made her feel so good that she wante
d to give him a chance. His admiring glances eased her anxiety.

  Alita’s hair was swept up (something Burgundy had insisted on) and she wore an Afrocentric scarf around her head that bore a dozen striking colors. Outwardly she looked elegant, but on the inside she felt ratchet and as wild as a rattlesnake.

  “Well,” Shade said to her, “I must say you’re looking mighty fine this afternoon. You’re not wearing any makeup, are you?”

  “Nope. No foundation.”

  “A natural beauty.”

  “My sister is a beauty, isn’t she?” Burgundy remarked. “I always told Alita she could have been a model. She definitely has the height.” Alita had long, slender legs, but her wide, sensual hips kept her from being considered model thin. Her hairless arms were smooth and pretty. And she was blessed to never have to wear tons of eye shadow, blush, or things like fake eyelashes. Her natural lashes were so lengthy there was no need to buy any.

  “I guess being a model wasn’t in my future.”

  “Well, hopefully, if I’m a lucky guy, I will be that future.”

  Alita froze. “Look, wait a second, man. Why would you say that when I only met you five minutes ago? See, that’s why I didn’t even want to go on this funky date. I hate when some men tell women the shit they think we wanna hear. Just bullshit promises that lead to nothing.”

  “Alita, would you please show some respect?” Burgundy said in disbelief. “This man goes to my church.”

  “Oh, and now I’m supposed to change the way I am to please this man that goes to church? Hell, the churchgoing bastards be some of the worst devils out here. So noooo.” She pronounced the word as if she was saying “Noah.”

  “I won’t act any different with him than anybody else. I guess since he reads the Bible his ass don’t stank and he’s perfect like you pretend to be? I don’t think so.”

  “Alita, please—” Burgundy prayed that the humiliation would soon end. “I’m sorry, Shade. I warned you she’s a little outspoken.”

  “Burgundy, look. What she’s saying doesn’t bother me at all. I love it when a woman speaks her mind. It’s important to know where I stand.” Shade turned to Alita. “You don’t have to act fake around me. If you like to cuss, cuss on. I wasn’t born baptized. And it’s not like I’ve never used profanity when the right occasion came up. If you read the New Testament, even Peter cussed, and Jesus was cool with him.”

  “All righty then,” Alita replied. “Call me the female Peter, ’cause I like to cuss.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he replied. “We now have that understanding. You are a cussing saint, and there’s a lot of ’em out here these days.”

  Alita calmed down and actually felt embarrassed. She knew she was no saint. She fiddled with her hands and couldn’t even look Shade in the face. She wasn’t sure if he was just messing with her or if he was serious. But his eyes twinkled as he grinned at Alita. His eyes felt safe, even though she may have not deserved it.

  Shade lifted her chin and forced eye contact. “Alita, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m not trying to run game. I honestly want to take time and get to know you better. The real you. That’s my thing. I love people.”

  “It’s true, Lita,” Burgundy replied.

  “Oh, okay,” Alita said, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry for going off. I could use a stiff drink right now.”

  “Girl, you know Morning Glory doesn’t serve anything stronger than ginger ale and root beer.”

  “Well, y’all need to change the menu.” Alita was partially joking. She inhaled. Exhaled. As she sat there she realized that Shade Wilkins had an intoxicating masculine scent, fresh and clean. As the minutes passed, they locked eyes a couple of times. He intensely watched her as she unabashedly eyed him. A tiny butterfly flapped its delicate wings in her belly.

  By then their plates had arrived: scrambled eggs, fried wings, a large golden brown waffle, and various beverages.

  “I, um, I guess I’ll have to stick with drinking this lemon water. It’s better for my skin anyway,” Alita muttered.

  “And you do have some lovely flawless skin,” Shade told her. “You don’t look your age at all. Black ain’t cracking on you whatsoever. And no, I’m not running game because you already know you’re a good looking woman.”

  She let his sweet words sink in, let the sweetness of his compliments ease her troubled soul.

  As Shade began to devour his meal, he discreetly watched Alita with compassion. He appreciated what he saw: an attractive and desirable woman who, in her past, had been inappropriately handled, perhaps rough enough to get bruised, but who still held tenderness inside her broken heart. He plainly saw the beauty underneath the tough façade.

  “Alita,” he continued, “I am not trying to rush you and or put pressure on you. But I am the type who knows what I want from jump and I’m not afraid to admit it. If I have a hunch I’m feeling you and I turn out to be right, cool. If I’m wrong, I can deal with that too.”

  “Nothing wrong with that . . . I can give it a fair chance,” Alita said. Her voice was a humble whisper.

  “Excellent. Let’s get to know each other. I’ll start first. I’m from Louisiana.”

  “Which part?” Alita asked.

  “New Orleans.”

  “Why don’t you have a Cajun accent?”

  “I was born there, but we came to Houston when I was three.”

  “And he’s now thirty-three. He’s been here a few decades. So officially that means Shade’s a Texan, and he’s not a saint,” Burgundy said teasingly.

  “Yes. I claim Texas. I haven’t liked the Saints since Reggie Bush defected. So I’ve lived here, and worked for Shell Oil Company ever since I graduated with a BBA . . . from Rice University.”

  “Rice?” Alita remarked. She’d never known anyone to graduate from Rice, and she knew it was one of the best colleges in the nation. Why would a man like Shade be interested in her? They seemed complete opposites.

  Educated. Refined. Sophisticated. Professional job.

  Her confidence threatening to crumble, something compelled Alita to stay and listen.

  “Now that you’ve learned a little bit about me,” he said, “what about you?”

  Alita gave Burgundy an incredulous look as if to say, “Why’d you bring me here to meet him?”

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Shade scolded her when he saw Alita give Burgundy “the look.”

  “What I’ve shared with you are my credentials on paper. But if you want to know about the real me,” he explained, “I’ve gotten a few speeding tickets, I’ve been arrested for walking in civil rights protests, and um, I cheat at Monopoly.”

  Alita frowned. “That’s it? That’s your faults? Hell, the shit that I’ve done and been through is like Armageddon compared to your little confessions.”

  “We still have time to get to know the dirtier sides of my life.” Shade turned serious. “Alita, sweetheart. Everybody has issues. Your family, your co-workers, your neighbors. White folks, black folks, Asians. All of us have good and bad . . .”

  “But there is way more goodness inside of you than bad, right, Shade Wilkins?” Burgundy shamelessly asked. She hoped she hadn’t pumped this man up just to find out he’d been hiding an evil side. “You don’t sleep with little boys or anything like that, do you?”

  “No,” he laughed. “Nothing like that. But I just want Alita . . . excuse me, I want you to know, sweet lady, that it’s okay to be who you are regardless of who or what I am. I’m not here to judge you. And guess what? I don’t need you to judge me either.”

  “That’s fair,” Alita replied, for she had nothing else to say. She concentrated on eating her meal.

  “Again,” Shade continued. “What’s your background? What do you like? What do you hate? If you could write your own ticket to the type of life you’d want, what would it be?”

  Now this was something no one had ever asked Alita before.

  “Okay,” Alita said and laid down her fork. “I have had one failed marriag
e, and I’m sure you know all the dirt about that. I have a kid, a very handsome, talented teenage boy that we call Leno. I love him to death. He’s my heart and soul, and I’m doing my best to raise him right. Um, I, shit, what else can I tell you about me? I love family . . . yeah, that’s it. Family keeps me sane when I want to go crazy. And about that ticket that I could write? I’d want what any other woman would want . . . a damned good relationship with the right man without the drama, the bullshit, the lies, the excuses, and the man’s fascination for hooking up with the next chick even when he’s still with you. Oh, yeah, another thing, in addition to being a mother, I hold down three part-time jobs. My main job is to stock the shelves at a grocery store. And my other gigs don’t have regular hours, but I get to work when I can. One job has to do with harassing people to pay their bills. Yeah, me, Alita Washington, the one who struggles to pay her bills, is a bill collector. That means straight commission, and if I don’t convince folk to pay up, it’s like I’ve worked for nothing. But my third gig is more normal. Another telephone job, but this time I take catalog orders from people that want to buy clothes and stuff but they can’t stand the internet. So in other words, I get paid to run my mouth. Between taking care of Leno and going to these funky-ass jobs, a sister stays tired. And one of my dreams is to come into lots of money so I never have to work a day in my life. I’d want to be in great health; I never want to have health issues like my sister Coco. And I hate looking at the news, because it’s always something crazy going down like terrorists losing they damn minds, or the police losing they damn minds, so yeah, my dream is just to be safe from the evils of the world, and just to not be bothered with the bullshit that I see out here. That’s about it. Those are my dreams. Now tell me something, Shade. Are you going to give them to me?”

  “Welp,” Burgundy said, round-eyed at her sister’s big revelations. “I think she’s covered just about everything, don’t you think, because she sure talked without taking one breath.”

  “I enjoyed listening to every word,” Shade admitted aloud. “She’s something else, and I like her already. Crazy-ass woman.”