by Candice Dow
“It’s kind of hard to call you when, you know . . .”
I knew what he was saying, but I refused to accept it until he explicitly verbalized it. I huffed, “No. I don’t know.”
Without hesitation, he said, “When my girl is around.”
Again, my bottom lip dangled from my face. As all my blood shot to my head, my right foot was left without enough energy to press the gas pedal. Going about forty mph, cars zoomed past me. I crawled into the right lane. Maybe I should surrender. If a man claims his woman like that, nine times out of ten, he has no plans to leave her. I absorbed feelings of defeat. Then, I confidently asked what I was afraid to ask when we spent the night together, “So, it’s like that?”
“Like what?”
“I mean, are you two like always together?”
He seemed hesitant, but he said it, and I wanted to faint as I swerved off on the Ardmore/Ardwick Exit. “We live together.”
As I slowed to stop at the red light, I finally released the breath that I was unconsciously imprisoning in my lungs. What was Plan B? How could I move in on a chick that he slept with every night?
Despite all of those people praying for him to be my husband, I decided to throw in the towel. As Scooter went on to explain how tied at the hip he was with his girlfriend, my decision became much easier.
“Plus, she’s a resident at Yale, too.”
Not only did they live together, they worked together. It was clear that Operation Sneaky Devil was over. With disappointment dribbling from my lips, I pretended to sound friendly and unfazed. “Oh. That must be nice.”
“Not really.”
Though I was awfully tempted, I didn’t feed into his downplay of his obviously troubled relationship. “Yeah, I’m sure it could be stressful, but all relationships are stressful.” I quickly switched topics before he gave me an excuse to justify pursuing him.
“Guess what happened to Courtney today.”
As I pressed my garage door opener, he interrupted me before I got too into the details. “Tay-Bae.”
I paused to shake off the strong attraction tingling in me. Then, I said, “Yes?”
He laughed. “I used to hate when you said ‘yes’ like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like Mrs. Cleaver or something.” We both laughed and he proceeded to end our conversation. “I’m on the hospital phone. I’ll call you when I get home.”
“What about your girlfriend?”
“She’s working nights for the next two weeks. So I’ll call around nine. Is that okay?”
I wanted to say no, but my mouth spoke louder than my brain. “That’s cool. I’ll talk to you then.”
When I pressed END, I shouted loudly in the confines of my garage. “Damn!”
I’d already opened myself up to entertain a man with a live-in girlfriend. Shit! And I was already anticipating nine o’clock. I grabbed my cheap boxed wine from the shelf, rushed upstairs and poured a tall glass.
I flicked through the channels and Entertainment Tonight happened to be telling me what I wanted to hear. “Pictures of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt back in LA months after the birth of their daughter . . .”
As if it would make the television louder, I scooted closer to the screen. I was inspired. I found myself praising Angelina for having the skills to conquer such a happy home. Just a year ago I was angry as hell to hear about the Brad and Jen breakup. What kind of woman have I become? What could be the cause of my distorted state of mind?
I showered and got into my bed. My slight intoxication sedated me and I slipped into a light nap. The loud sound of my cordless blazed in my ear. My head sprung from the pillow and I rubbed my eyes. Who was calling me in the middle of the night? I cleared my throat and pretended to be awake as I answered. Simultaneously, I glanced at the clock. 10:12.
I quickly pressed TALK. “Hello.”
“Are you asleep?”
His soothing voice calmed my pounding heart. I took a deep breath and lied, “No, I’m up watching the news.”
“I remember you used to hate watching the news.”
I laughed. “I know, right?”
“That’s why you claimed you’d never do criminal law.”
He seemed to remember just about everything about me. Could it be that memories of us were as fresh in his mind as they were in mine? I said, “You got it. You know I hate crime. I ain’t trying to work those long hours and prosecute them for no money. And you know I could never defend them.”
He kidded. “You’re still bourgeois.”
“Call it what you will. I have to pay my loans off.”
We both laughed. He said, “Courtney looks like she’s doing okay.”
“See, Courtney was born to prosecute criminals. I was just born to make a lot of money and shop.”
“I love that you haven’t changed,” he said, laughing.
Was that a good thing or a bad thing? I smiled nervously. He snickered and repeated, “I love that.”
If he loved it, it couldn’t possibly be a bad thing. I was lost for words, but he saved me. He continued, “It’s really hard to find women who are focused, but still youthful.”
“What do you mean?”
He searched for the words to explain the term youthful. “Women.” He paused just as he realized he was attempting to lump us all into one category. “Most professional women are uptight.”
Needing the encouragement, I asked him to explain. “I know y’all think it’s hard for women to find men, but it’s just as hard for men to find women,” he said.
“Whatever.”
He laughed. “Trust me. You got the fun women who don’t have anything going for them. Then you got the women who are tight on paper but boring as hell. It’s not every day that you find women like you and Courtney. It seems like y’all handle your business and still have fun. It just doesn’t seem like you guys let age or responsibility get the best of you.”
Instead of taking the opportunity to gloat about how Courtney and I were “Ride or Die” chicks, I took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. “So which kind of woman is your girl?”
He laughed hard. “She’s the smart, boring chick.” His humor subsided. “All her friends are uptight, too.”
He’d left his front door wide open and I was ready to go in and clean house. “Are you serious?” I gasped.
“Yup.”
“I can’t imagine you with an uptight girl.”
As if he didn’t believe it himself, he grunted, “Yeah, I couldn’t either.”
“So how did y’all get together?”
“She was persistent.” As if he needed to correct it, he added, “And consistent.”
Men make the craziest decisions. I rolled my eyes. “And . . .”
“And she’s attractive.” My heart sank. I wasn’t sure if I could handle the rest. He continued, “She was someone I could learn from as well. You know, I was tired of dealing with the fine, dumb chick.”
“You used to mess with dumb chicks?” I grunted.
“Not like that Tay-Bae. I had a girl all through medical school, so I didn’t have to deal with dating. We tried to couple match,” he explained.
“Huh?”
“That’s when you and your significant other get into the same hospital for residency.”
“Oh, okay. Go ahead.”
“Anyway, we didn’t match together. She went to UCLA, I ended up here. We knew going in that we couldn’t make it work.” He sighed. “She was the fun, smart type.”
Good thing I wasn’t competing with her. I nodded as he continued with his relationship journey.
“When I got here, I realized fun and smart isn’t always a package deal. I had to choose. I either had to go with fun or smart. Like a dummy, I chose fun.” He chuckled again as if he explored his wild side. “I figured I would make enough money to compensate for her shortcomings.”
Damn. Was being fun that valuable? I looked at the receiver in disbelief.
“I
was just sowing my oats. The fun chick was cool for that, but not for raising my kids. When I got serious about settling down, I changed my thinking. My girl was right there all along watching me chase the dumb chicks and I knew that I’d rather marry smart and boring any day opposed to fun and dumb.”
Did he ever think about coming to find me? I’m not taken! I’m smart and fun. Trying to manipulate his psyche, I asked, “So besides being ready to settle down, what attracted you to your girl?”
Without a second’s hesitation, he responded, “She was tight, in all aspects of the word. We started out as friends. I respected her. She respected me. One day, we just hooked up and it’s been that way ever since.”
He sighed, as if he were feeling guilty for talking to me. Finally, he finished, “Plus, I knew she loved me for me.”
After I swallowed all of his endearing words, I cleared my throat. “As opposed to . . .”
As if he awaited my question, he quickly said, “As opposed to being interested in the American dream.”
I wanted to yell, “I loved you when you didn’t have a dream.” Becoming a physician was my dream for him. Instead, I said, “I understand.”
Moments of discomfort sat on the line with us. Finally, I said, “I guess she’s the one, huh?”
“I don’t even know.”
Hating on the love I heard in his voice, I sighed. “Whatever, Scooter.”
“For real, Tay-Bae.”
“Does she know that you aren’t sure?”
As if his uncertainty bothered him, he huffed. “Nope. She’s just waiting for the ring.”
Needing a little more evidence before I threw away my reunion possibilities, I asked, “What’s stopping you?”
“Number one, her family has issues with me.”
“Issues with you?” I asked.
“Akua’s from Ghana. She was raised traditionally.” He chuckled. I took a mental note of her name. “Her parents aren’t down for me like that.”
“Wow, that’s crazy. Is her family in the states?”
“Yeah, they came here when she was sixteen. They’ve been here about thirteen years.”
I nodded. “Does it bother her that they don’t like you?”
“She claims she doesn’t care and she can’t live for them, but I know she does.” He sighed. “I hate it. I feel like I’m forcing her to choose between me and them.”
I asked, “So, if you could get rid of Akika’s parents, would she be the one?”
He laughed and pronounced her name. “Ah-Coo-Ah. Akua.”
I envied how cute he said her name. In my mind, I made it my business to give her an insensitive nickname. I chuckled at the thought. From this moment on, she’ll be referred to as coo-coo, spelled Kuku. As if her name was insignificant, I said, “Whatever, would she be the one?”
“Ah, she’s very controlling. That’s one of our major issues. Sometimes a man needs someone who’ll let him lead.” He sighed. “Someone who’s sensitive and doesn’t have to always be right.” He huffed, “Shit, I know you’re smart. You don’t have to prove it to me.”
Take me. Pick me. I’m strong. I’m sensitive. I don’t need to prove that I’m smart. I asked, “Why is she so controlling?”
“She’s a female surgeon.” He snickered. “An orthopedic surgeon at that.”
Ignorant to the implications, I asked. “And that means what?”
“She’s a black woman in a white, male-dominated field. She had to be ten times tighter than everyone in her program to get in, but she still has to fight for respect.” He sighed. “Every day. So, she’s constantly on this power trip. Most surgeons are like that, though.” He paused. “I used to find it cute but as it gets closer to that time—”
I interrupted. “What time?”
“Time to buy the ring.” Awaiting a response, he paused. My lips were paralyzed. He continued, “I’m starting to wonder if I can deal with that forever.” He sighed. “I wish she could just flip the script at home, but her strong personality is what’s going to make her one of the best female surgeons. Is it fair for me to ask her to change who she is?”
“I guess not.” Then, I asked, “So what was it that attracted you to her again?”
“I don’t know. We used to butt heads when we first started our residency. Then, you know . . .”
“No actually, I don’t. So, what happened?”
“When you’re in the hospital eighty hours a week, all you get a chance to see are people in the hospital. We ran in the same circle. We were black and single. Other residents started suggesting things, and I think we both concluded why not.”
Innocently, I asked, “So, it wasn’t like you guys fell in love.”
“Yeah, I guess you can say that. I mean, I definitely feel like we make good partners.”
I wrinkled my forehead. “Meaning?”
“She’s smart and focused. She’ll be a great mother.” He chuckled. “We’ll make a shitload of money together.”
I promised not to harp on the ignorant money comment. In a sarcastic tone, I said, “So she sounds great.” I tilted my head. “So, what don’t you like about her again?”
He chuckled. Then, he sighed. “Her personality. Her family.”
Could this intelligent man actually know how stupid that sounded? “So, you really don’t like her.”
I frowned as he attempted to explain those issues were outside of her. “Scooter, those are what make her who she is,” I said.
He tried again. “I mean we get along, but . . .”
“She has no clue that you don’t like her personality. Does she?” I huffed.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said her personality. I like being with her. I just don’t like that she’s so bossy.”
“So, tell me. What is the biggest issue, her bossiness or her family?”
“Both.”
“So why have you stayed so long?”
“Probably because I’m comfortable and I thought she was the best thing going.”
Running water echoed through the phone. I asked, “Are you in the bathroom?”
“Yeah, I’m about to get in the shower.”
I visualized his Hershey-colored body, standing naked. I imagined his large endowment just hanging freely and before I realized it, my right hand was tucked between my tightly closed thighs. I grunted.
He laughed. “I wish you could get in here with me.”
My mind warned me not to entertain him, but my libido yelled obscene responses. I tucked my bottom lips in and snickered. “Whatever.”
Replaying him inside of me, I moaned. Satisfied that he’d aroused my interest, he laughed. “Have you been with anyone since I was there?”
I moaned, “No.”
“Be honest.”
“Honestly. I haven’t been with anyone. I’ve been working and—”
He cut me off. “And thinking about how good it felt with me inside of you.”
My vagina tingled and my eyes rolled into my head. Pressing my inner thighs tightly together, I coaxed myself to fight the feeling consuming my body. Again, I tried to finish my statement, “I haven’t had time to think about sex.”
He kidded. “I know ‘Ms. Gotta Have It’ has at least thought about it.”
I reminded him that he was referring to a horny little teenager whose parents didn’t allow her out of the house.
“Yeah, but women usually want sex more with age.”
Thinking of our early days, I moaned. To be young and explorative. I sighed.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“How we used to act like animals.”
He laughed. “And it’s still the best I ever had.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
He hesitated and then admitted, “I swear I wish I was just playing, but ever since I left Maryland, all I can think about is—”
I interrupted him. “Scooter, stop—”
“Every time I think about you, I get hard.”
Although I wan
ted to resist, I let my hand explore myself. “What about your girl?”
“You know our chemistry has always been strong.”
My panties were drenched, my senses blurred. I needed to hear more of how I made him feel. “It’s too late now.”
“I’m not married. It ain’t never too late.”
I sighed. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Why did you do this to me?”
My face frowned with suspicion. “What did I do to you?”
“Made me think about leaving my girl.”
Maybe all of my parents’ prayers had been answered.
I stuttered, “What?”
“When I settled down with Akua, I thought I’d done all I wanted to do. After the night I spent with you, I can’t shake it. I keep questioning my relationship.” He paused. “I want to see you.”
“Why did it take you so long to call?”
“I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to hurt her. Then, I realized that I have to be happy before I can make anyone else happy.”
I nodded. He added, “Right?”
“Yes.”
The busy signal came through my phone and startled me as it lay tucked between my ear and my pillow. I sat up and looked around. It was four o’clock in the morning. Did I fall asleep on Scooter? Trying to remember the last few things we discussed, I rubbed my eyes. He asked me to come see him this weekend.
Possibilities danced in my mind as I thought about what we talked about and how he repeated that I was his ideal mate. I sighed and tried to go back to sleep. I couldn’t recall when I actually fell asleep, but when the alarm clock went off at 7:00, it felt like I’d only slept for fifteen minutes. Cursing at the clock, I pounded on the snooze button. Finally, I peeled myself out of bed and prepared for work.
On my way to work, Courtney and I chatted on the phone about nothing. We agreed to meet for drinks later and got off the phone. I was surprised to find a text message when I hung up. I quickly opened it.
Scooter wrote: HAVE A GOOD DAY, BABY. WILL TALK 2 U LATER ABOUT THIS WEEKEND.
As I sat waiting for Courtney and her coworker, Rachael, to arrive at Red Tavern, Scooter called. I swirled my martini glass and simultaneously answered. My syllables rolled slowly off my tongue. “Hello.”