by Nikki Rashan
The night before, while Asia and I dined at Evelyn’s with my dad, I learned that she, just like my mom, was a woman devoted to her kitchen. Only days after Christmas with a refrigerator filled with a variety of tightly sealed containers of leftovers, Evelyn still insisted upon whipping up a fresh feast for her soon-to-be daughter-in-law and new girlfriend.
When Asia and I offered to wash dishes and clean, she politely declined, stating the kitchen was her home within her home. My dad chuckled at her words, and winced just slightly when he caught sight of the sly, but curious smile across my lips.
Fit and fabulous in her fifties, Evelyn was another version of Gladyce. So if that’s what he wanted, why part from my mother in the first place? Yet, Evelyn was the one sporting the new diamond engagement ring from my dad, instead of my mom wearing a thirty-year anniversary band.
In addition to her homemaking talents, Evelyn was warm, kind, and gracious toward both Asia and me. What I especially appreciated was not once did the topic of sexuality arise. She simply talked to us as human beings, not as some science experiment that needed solving, or sinners that needed repentance. She spoke with sincere interest, wanting to know what Asia did for a living, how I enjoyed being a “big sister,” if Asia knew a relative of hers in Dallas, and where I bought the designer jeans I was wearing. She showed us pictures of her sons and grandchildren and informed us that one of her sons was considering a move to Atlanta. She also said she may have to call upon us for information about places to visit and things to do in the city.
The interaction between Evelyn and my dad was sweet and affectionate. She fixed his plate for him; he held out her chair before she sat at the table. He poured her glasses of wine, while she made sure he had continuous warm servings on his plate.
Over dinner they shared the story of how they’d met through a girlfriend of Evelyn’s that met my dad at an annual charitable golf outing. The friend asked my father for his business card and promptly delivered it to Evelyn, stating she must call him, that he would be perfect to end her dry dating spell. Old-school and not one to pursue, Evelyn declined.
In response, the friend called my dad and asked if he could meet her for lunch to discuss my dad sitting on the board of the charity organization for which the golf outing was held. When my dad went through the interview process to join the board, he met Evelyn, the board’s vice president.
After the interview, Evelyn called her friend and thanked her for the referral, saying that the man she interviewed was so handsome. The friend, also the board secretary, informed Evelyn that the handsome man was the one from the golf outing that she wanted her to meet. Evelyn stated that she felt it would be inappropriate as board vice president to entertain its newest member, although it wasn’t specifically forbidden by the board’s guidelines.
Evelyn stepped outside her comfort zone and when she called my dad for another meeting to discuss his membership, she told him about her friend’s previous suggestion that they connect for a date. My dad, who found Evelyn attractive as well, was in agreement.
“What do you think about that?” my dad had asked smoothly.
“Well, had I met you before the interview, I would have said yes,” Evelyn had responded to him. “However, if you become a board member, I’m afraid I’d have to decline.”
“Let’s fix that. I withdraw my application,” my dad told her, and they went out for dinner the following evening.
At the end of sharing their story, they kissed lightly on the lips and smiled at one another. Asia and I grinned. I felt happy that my dad had found such a complementary companion.
It was ten a.m., and Asia and I were dangerously close to a tardy arrival for the 11:30 ceremony. Who in the hell gets married that early in the day? Oh, right, they do. I wondered if Jeff had to lecture the members of his family about being on time for the nuptials.
Laughing out loud, I pictured a stream of “CP Time” folks lined up outside the closed sanctuary doors, putting up a fuss about not being able to get inside to see their nephew, cousin, or friend get married. One thing I knew for sure, I didn’t want to be one of them.
Inside the room I clicked the flat iron on for Asia and the curling iron for myself. Asia, who wasn’t exactly the neatest person to room with, stripped out of her clothes, wrapped her hair, covered her head with a hotel shower cap, and jumped into the shower.
I picked up her clothes that had been left on the floor right where she stepped out of them. After I folded and put the jeans and sweatshirt in their proper places, a piece of paper slid from the unzipped top compartment onto the floor just as I was closing her suitcase. A familiar name written in Asia’s loopy handwriting was jotted on the yellow Post-it note. Nictoria Townsend, with her address and phone number scribbled beneath it.
Tori? What in the hell did Asia want with Tori? Had they been talking? What about? ME? Asia knew how heartbroken I was at the end of the lifelong relationship with my childhood friend. Why would she go behind my back to talk to her?
I began to crumple the paper in my hand when the sound of water against the tub basin slowed and silenced. Quickly I smoothed the crinkles and placed the paper back where it had sailed from. A mounting wave of nausea rose from my stomach to my throat. Had we moved too quickly? Did I not know her as well as I thought I did?
“What’s wrong, babe?” Asia asked as she entered the room, her skin sparkling from water droplets clinging to her body. Asia didn’t believe in towel-drying. Instead, she opted to lay her naked body on the towel and allow air to cool her freshly bathed skin.
The sight of her sprawled across my bed, drips of water disappearing into her skin, nearly brought me to my knees the first time I witnessed the event. “Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
“No, I um, I thought I broke a nail, that’s all,” I lied. I thought I had left my lying days behind? But she was obviously lying to me or, at least, not telling me something.
Asia hesitated a moment before deciding she approved of my explanation. Sighing, she spread the white hotel towel on the bed and lay down. I thought for sure she peeked at her suitcase at the exact compartment where Tori’s number was placed, but it could’ve been my paranoia that had me hallucinating.
“You better go shower,” she urged.
Silently, I removed my clothes and entered the damp stall. Of all days, why did I have to find Asia untrustworthy on this one? Angrily I scrubbed my skin, hoping to temporarily wash away the combination of hurt and irritation I was feeling. Trying to figure out why Asia had Tori’s number was like trying to figure out why the country was at war. There could be no justifiable, satisfying explanation. Whatever the reason, it had a high probability of fucking up my day, so I resolved to tuck the issue into the pending folder of my brain and address it later.
“Kyla,” Asia said, tapping softly against the door.
I turned the water off and wrapped myself in a towel. “Yes.” I cracked the door.
“I need to start on my hair,” she responded, a concerned look in her eyes.
“Oh, right.” I opened the door, allowing the steam to perform its disappearing act as it drifted above our heads.
With a firm hand against my belly and another at my waist, Asia halted my exit through the door. “You sure you’re all right?”
An intimidating squint of her eyes had me taken aback. I gazed into her smoky, China doll eyes and nearly crumpled at their intensity. Mixed with a desire to confront her and a wish to avoid her, I chose the wimpy route. “Is there anything I need to know?”
Asia’s eyebrows furrowed, her halo floating away with the steam. “What is it? I don’t want to play a guessing game.”
I removed her hand as I eased past her and sat on the bed. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Talk about what later? You won’t even tell me what it is.”
I ignored her while I put lotion on my body.
Risking a run in her silky black pantyhose, Asia kneeled in front of m
e and took my hand in hers. “Kyla, sweetheart, why do you hold it all in? Don’t you trust yourself with your own feelings? Whatever is bothering you, you’d rather pen it up all day and be upset? I don’t understand that. Remember what I asked you that night at the Waffle House? I asked if you were ready for a relationship, and you said yes. Are you sure about that? I can’t be with someone who won’t be honest with me about how they feel and would rather keep their feelings bottled up instead of trusting me with what’s going on in their mind. We’ve had a beautiful time here with your family, and now I feel like the progress we’re making is all for nothing. This is silly, Kyla. It’s obvious you’re upset. So what is it?”
Shamefaced, I lowered my head. She was right. As usual, someone else was always right about my behavior. What sense did it make to keep all day what I had found hidden? Would I really be able to forget Tori’s number in her suitcase? Would I be able to smile and share her as the love of my life, with a nagging concern of why my ex-best friend’s address was stored in her luggage? What kind of woman was I if I couldn’t confront my own concerns?
“Asia,” I said slowly, lifting my head to meet her eyes, “why is Tori’s number in your suitcase?”
Heavy silence loomed above us, distracted only by the murmur of air blowing through the heat vents. The frustrated grimace on Asia’s face spoke volumes, and my mind was immediately filled with visions of late-night phone calls between the two of them, conspiring against me, pitchforks in hand, horns growing from their heads, as they laughed devious roars at me while my spirit weakened and melted away into the muddy soil of the hellhole they lived in.
“Kyla,” Asia said, snapping me out of my frightening daydream, “do you honestly think I’d have her number in an effort to hurt you?”
My lack of a response revealed the embarrassing haste with which my trust in her had disappeared.
“This is fuckin’ crazy,” she murmured.
“What? You’re mad now?”
Asia stared at the ceiling. “I understand why you’re upset. I really do. But damn! What I don’t understand is how little you think of me that you don’t trust and respect me enough to even ask what’s going on. That’s bullshit, Kyla,” she yelled.
“What am I supposed to think? You have my ex-best friend’s number and address written down in your suitcase. You haven’t told me you talked to her. You know what happened between us, and you expect me to be okay with you hiding this from me?”
Asia stood in front of me, hands on both hips, her stomach heaving underneath her control-top pantyhose. “Hell no, I don’t expect you to be okay with the number. What I do expect is you not to think the worst of me. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“I’m sorry, Asia. You haven’t given me a reason not to trust you. I just got scared, that’s all.”
“Okay, I understand that too, but that shit is going to get tired with me real quick, Kyla. You’re always hiding behind fear. You think you’re the only one who gets scared? You have to stand up to it and stop using it as your crutch. Especially if you expect to be with me. I can’t have someone thinking negative shit about me. What have I done to make you think I don’t have your best intentions at heart?”
Not a damn thing. Was I doomed to fuck up every good relationship I had?
I stood up and took her clenched jaw between the palms of my hands. “I do want this, Asia. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Please forgive me for not believing in you.”
“You have to trust me.”
“I will.”
She brushed a light kiss against my lips and started for the bathroom to smooth her hair.
“Asia.”
“Yes?”
“Um, aren’t you forgetting something?”
A sly grin fluttered about the corners of her mouth. “What’s that?” she asked, realizing I wasn’t going to let her slide.
“You never answered the question.”
“Damn, Kyla! Didn’t I just say you have to trust me?” she asked sternly, but on the verge of laughter.
“Come on, Asia.”
“Trust me, love,” she sang and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door so I couldn’t ask another question.
Worry over the reason she had Tori’s number slowly diminished as I allowed myself to abandon my insecurities and fully yield to my love for her. At the same time, I knew she’d better have an exceptional explanation for this shit.
The hole in my back and burning in my ears made me feel like my body temperature had risen ten degrees. My heart rate seemed to have doubled. Asia’s clasp of my hand at my side caused my bodily organs to malfunction, as my stomach threatened to release violent waves of nausea on the oak wood pew. GET IT TOGETHER KYLA! DAMN! I screamed to myself the moment the congregation rose to celebrate the union of Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey Terrence Oldham.
Were we being disrespectful or inappropriate in our hand-holding? Were Jeff ‘s parents cursing my mere presence and naked affection for a woman? Were the penetrating stares and inconspicuous whispers by Jeff ‘s cousins, aunts, and uncles deriving from shock, disgust, confusion, marvel, or admiration? Was Asia’s intense grasp of my hand a proud proclamation of her role as the new love of my life, or the result of her own discomfort?
I felt as if I had been kicked in the stomach when the newly anointed couple strolled down the aisle and Jeff and I caught eyes for the first time in nearly three years. I could almost feel the tightening grip of his hand around Julie’s in the same manner I nearly strangled Asia’s palm, cutting off all circulation to her fingers.
A genuine look of surprise briefly cut through his still perfect smile and clouded his face. In a flash, his smile resumed, and he reclaimed his composed stance.
The walk to the rear of the church felt miles long. Shit. Why did he look surprised to see me? Was I not supposed to actually show up? Was my invitation to his wedding an act of retribution to show me that he found lasting love? Damn, didn’t they receive my RSVP?
The heat waves from his family’s side of the church were unbearable. Gradually, confused gawks turned into stares of recognition, timid waves of the hand, and nervous smiles.
Jeff’s cousin, Coretta, whom I had spent a great amount of time chatting with at his holiday gatherings, was the first to break the ice and speak my name as Asia and I passed by the pew where she stood waiting her turn to greet the bride and groom.
Her excited eyes lingered on the grip I had of Asia’s hand. She stepped forward. “How are you?” she asked after a brief embrace.
“Fine. Just fine,” I squeaked. I cleared my throat to get rid of the anxiety my voice had so clearly revealed.
Coretta looked at Asia and then back at me.
“This here is, uh, Asia,” I said.
In her easygoing, poised nature, Asia took hold of Coretta’s hand with her free hand and shook it firmly. “Nice to meet you . . .” she said as a question, signaling that I hadn’t mentioned Coretta’s name.
“Coretta.” Coretta looked to the floor.
Another one cast under Asia’s spell. Line thrown, hooked, and reeled in, just from an introduction.
“See you both at the reception?”
“Yes,” I responded.
“Good.” She smiled. “We can talk more then.”
As I approached the receiving line, I clutched my purse so tightly, I was sure to leave permanent fingerprints in the smooth leather.
Seven bouncy bridesmaids in burgundy dresses stood aligned, anxiously greeting each guest with an enthusiastic “Hello.” They must have had a hell of a wedding coordinator and coach, all of them mimicking the same “Nice to meet you,” as we shook hands down the line.
Fortunately, none of the faces was familiar, except for Kendra, the mother of Jeff’s nephew, who, judging by the rock on her finger, had gone ahead and married his brother, Kent, despite their previous protest to such an occasion. Temporarily losing the Miss America stature each bridesmaid so graciously mastered, Kendra’s face
scrunched into a furious frown.
Damn, did Jeff tell anybody I was coming?
“H-hey, Kyla,” she stammered, her eyes searching to meet Kent’s farther down the row. Her struggle was apparent. Be kind to the lesbian ex-girlfriend of her husband’s brother, or snub her for having the audacity to actually show her face at the joyous event?
Through her intense eyebrows, gentleness showed. Still, apprehensive and unsure what to do, she performed like most women do, suddenly pretending like something—anything—was more important than my presence in front of her.
I moved along after she began to concentrate on the ribbon around her bouquet, testing its durability by tightening the bow. Once I moved past, she politely greeted Asia.
A flowing veil adorned Julie’s perfectly curled locks that hung well past her shoulders. Her flawless cream-colored skin glowed with tinted bronzer, and her blue-green eyes sparkled with glee with every greeting of “Congratulations.” Puckered lips kissed the air when she embraced those who reached for her, an exaggerated “Mwah!” coming from her mouth.
Surely her fourth finger would break from the enormous diamond, which was at least twice the size of the diamond Jeff had offered me. No time for petty comparisons, Kyla, I thought, preparing myself for the introduction of my exfiancé’s new bride.
“Congratulations,” I said to her ecstatic smile. Baby-soft skin cupped my fingers delicately when I held out my hand.
“Thank you,” she responded courteously.
After hurriedly cutting short his greeting with the talkative woman ahead of me, Jeff interjected in our conversation before it had hardly begun.
“Jules, this is Kyla,” he said in the deep voice that used to coo sweet nothings in my ear.
I was stuck on “Jules.” Jules? That was so . . . so My Best Friend’s Wedding.
“Oh, Kyla,” she said, literally taking a small step backward to give me a once-over.
Clearly feeling superior in this situation, with the ring, the dress, and the man, Jules leaned into the chest of her husband and clung for dear life. “We’re so happy you could make it to OUR wedding.”