Choose Me

by Xenia Ruiz

  Just then, we heard a whoop. Startled, I looked over at the couple. I had forgotten all about them.

  “Hey, my girl said ‘yes’!” the man screamed in our direction and then turned toward the glass. “Hey, God, did you hear? She said ‘yes’! Whoo!”

  “Congratulations,” Adam told them, smiling.

  “Do you know them?” I asked.

  “I’ve seen them around, talked to them a couple of times, but I don’t really know them. She has a rare brain cancer.”

  I felt like crying. “That’s so sad. They’re getting married and she’s going to die.”

  “Who said she was going to die?” Puzzled, he looked at me as he stood up, still holding my hand. “Listen, I got to get ready to roll.”

  “I’ll call you,” I promised.

  “Don’t say you’re going to call me and then not call,” he said.

  “When I say ‘I’ll call,’ I’ll call.”

  “I heard that before,” he said sourly, curling his lip, but then he slipped into a tight smile. He finally released my hand as he started walking away. I couldn’t help thinking he was walking away from me for good. That he was giving up, finally. Something told me to call him back. Don’t go, I thought.

  “What’d you say?” he asked, turning around.

  I didn’t realize I had vocalized the words. I cleared my throat. “I said, ‘don’t go.’”

  He strolled back and stood in front of me, his hands pressed together with his fingers spread like a starfish. “You want to talk now?” he asked.

  “I do, but I can’t,” I said, looking at my watch with regret.

  “That’s right. Eli.”

  “No, it’s not that. He’ll be tied up for another hour and a half. I was supposed to meet Simone and Maya for lunch fifteen minutes ago.” I could have rescheduled, but I had already done so twice, and they were giving me grief. “Want to join us?”

  “Nah. I’ll leave you females to your little hen party.”

  I reached out to punch him in jest, but at the last minute decided against it and stood up. “I’ll ride down with you.”

  We descended in silence, though it was a more comfortable silence, laced with quiet smiles and coy glances as other patrons entered and exited, impeding any privacy. It seemed as if we reached the second floor too soon, which was connected to the hospital parking garage by a enclosed bridge. As he exited, he held the doors, much to the chagrin of two young women who remained on the elevator.

  “I’ll call you when I get home,” I assured him.

  “You remember the number?”

  I rattled off his phone number quickly, trying to ignore the sharp looks from the women. One of them sucked her teeth. Adam didn’t seem to care that they were getting impatient, refusing to release the doors. “Say hi to Maya and Simone,” he said.

  “I will.”

  “And King.”

  The elevator started buzzing and I admonished him with my eyes. “Let go,” I mouthed.

  He finally released the doors, and just before they closed, he mouthed, “God bless you,” leaving me with my mouth hanging open and his memorable smile fixed in my mind.

  Simone and Maya were already at Café Centrál, a Puerto Rican restaurant we referred to as “our restaurant.” However, because of our conflicting schedules, we hadn’t eaten there in months. As I anticipated, they pre-ordered my usual jibarito, a steak sandwich made with two slices of fried plantains instead of bread.

  “Tell her,” Maya urged Simone, as I sat down next to Simone.

  “What happened?” I asked, not really wanting to hear any bad news.

  “I’m going back to school to finish my degree,” Simone announced. “I’ve decided I’m not going to be the only one without a degree.”

  I leaned over and hugged her around the neck. “I’m so proud of you, chica.”

  “Yeah, I figured you’d be. I’ve wasted so much time already.”

  “It’s amazing how your head clears when men are out of the picture,” Maya teased.

  “Well, they’re not totally out of the picture.” We looked at her with reproach as she smiled demurely. “We-e-ell, I still work with Ian. I see him every day. But we are abstaining. It’s actually very exciting.”

  Maya and I looked at each other with resignation.

  “Don’t look at each other with that ‘she just doesn’t get it’ look,” Simone said. “Anyway, he’s really helping me with school. Specifically, tuition.”

  The waitress arrived with our orders and I said grace. Maya and I listened as Simone talked about her new plans for her life: getting her business degree, then opening up her own spa and salon. She sounded genuinely determined and I prayed she would stick to her plan.

  “Adam says ‘hi,’” I mentioned when there was a lull in the conversation. They both looked at me questionably. “I ran into him at the hospital.”

  “What? When?” Maya asked excitedly.

  “On the elevator just a little while ago. He’s finished with chemo. Oh, and he’s saved.”

  “He’s saved?” Maya nodded knowingly. “I told you—you and he are not a coincidence.” She turned toward Simone. “Didn’t I tell you this was her man?”

  “Don’t start,” I begged her.

  “No, she’s right,” Simone said excitedly. “I thought she was loca too—”

  “Hey,” Maya protested.

  “Sorry. But seriously, what are the chances that he would be on the same elevator at the same time as you? It’s got to be fate.”

  I ate my sandwich as if I hadn’t eaten a good meal in ages, then asked for another 7 UP without acknowledging their statements.

  “It’s time you loved yourself, do something, do someone, for yourself,” Simone insisted. “You’ve neglected your needs long enough. Stop the madness already, girl.”

  “Why does everything have to be about sex with you?” I snapped.

  “’Cause everything is about sex.”

  “‘It is better to marry than to burn,’” Maya reminded me.

  “I can’t think about Adam right now. I made a vow to God—”

  “Not to let a man come before Him, I know,” Maya interrupted. “And as long as God is first and foremost in your life, a man can’t interfere with that.”

  “What was it Paul said? ‘The unmarried are concerned with the Lord’s affairs, but the married are concerned with pleasing each other and the world.’”

  “Who is this Paul?” Simone asked, irritated. “And what does he have to do with this?”

  Maya almost choked on her empanada and my 7 UP went down the wrong way as we both burst out laughing.

  “Ha-ha, funny,” Simone said. “I’m assuming he’s one of your biblical characters.”

  “No, you didn’t call Paul a biblical character,” Maya said with disbelief. She shook her head at Simone. “I’ll get to you later.” She turned back to me. “Eva, I don’t understand you. Didn’t you pray for a man of God? A righteous man? When you first met him, he wasn’t one. Now you run into him and he is. I don’t care how independent you are or how wonderful you think your life is. You don’t want to be old and alone any more than any other woman, or man for that matter. You want this man. You need him. I can see it in your face; I can hear it in your voice.”

  This was where I usually blew up at her, told them both to stay out of my life. A year ago, I would have snapped, defended my independence and my wonderful life, and debated the need for a man. As always, they saw through me. Still, I felt I had to put up a brave front.

  “‘Need’ is such a needy word,” I said weakly.

  “If you want to have a relationship with Adam, join the couples’ ministry. It’s not just for married couples.”

  “We’re not a couple,” I protested.

  “But you want to be,” Maya insisted. “You might as well ask the man to marry you.” As I started to protest, she lifted a hand to stop me. “Why don’t you pray on it? If it’s meant to be, it will be.”

  �
�Yeah, pray on it, girl,” Simone insisted, then shrugged when we looked at her skeptically. “I mean, what can it hurt?”

  “You told me once, you have to know what you want before you ask for it,” Maya continued. “Do you know what you want?”

  I picked at the cold rice and beans on my plate, turning her question over and over in my head. Did I know what I want? Did I want Adam? Did I? The question was, did Adam want me?

  CHAPTER 26

  ADAM

  SEEING EVA AGAIN was like getting my last dose of chemo—relief and elation rolled up in one. As promised, she called me the day we ran into each other, then I called her; other times we e-mailed. Sometimes we met in the hospital sunroom during Eli’s appointments, or at Coffee Will Make You Black. Sometimes Eli would join us. It was hard to explain our new relationship. I guess the best description was one of an old friendship, something that felt familiar and true, like what I had with Luciano but without the testosterone. Even without the expectation of sex, or even a kiss, the attraction was still there, but of course, because we didn’t act on it, couldn’t act on it for more reasons than not, the atmosphere was less tense, less tempting.

  Whenever we met, we’d bring each other gifts, little things that didn’t carry any hidden meaning. Sometimes she would bring me a hat: a crocheted Muslim khufi, a Civil War cap, and a doo-rag to name a few, the latter I liked best because it made me look tough when I didn’t particularly feel it. I in turn would give her a jazz or classical CD or a self-published book of poetry. Other times, she brought flowers from her garden, which I had always associated as a gift for women, but they brightened my apartment. Every once in a while, she’d bring plates of food, but she was quick to add that I shouldn’t get too comfortable because she still didn’t enjoy cooking. When we weren’t able to get together, we would exchange long, intimate e-mails about our deepest thoughts and fears. There were still so many things we didn’t know about each other. She would always preface her messages with a biblical verse or famous quote in the subject line. One of the first messages she sent was currently running across my laptop screensaver marquee, Psalm 144:1: Blessed be the Lord my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle. It encouraged me figuratively to keep writing about the cancer in a journal, and metaphorically to fight the disease with my mind.

  During Easter dinner my sister announced that she and Akil were getting married. In an effort to fatten me up, Mama had temporarily suspended her cooking strike and prepared one of her infamous New Orleans meals: honey-glazed salmon steaks, red beans and rice, seafood gumbo, and my favorite, pecan pie á la mode. Mama was beside herself with happiness, glad that Jade would no longer be a statistic and a stigma. She was even more thrilled when Jade announced that she had accepted the Lord, though she wasn’t too pleased that Jade had joined Akil’s church and not our family church. She already felt that I had turned my back on “her” church by joining TCCC. “All these years I tried to get you to join my church and here comes this woman out of the blue and you just up and join her church,” Mama criticized. I tried to tell her it was more a matter of convenience than anything, but she was convinced that Eva was the culprit. I couldn’t very well tell her I preferred Pastor Zeke’s mellowness to her old-fashioned hollering preacher.

  Jade and Akil’s wedding was planned for late June, a year after her divorce. I thought it was too soon, even if Akil was a God-fearing nice guy.

  “You’ve known him less than a year,” I pointed out as I drove her and the kids to their suburban home.

  “What can I say?” Jade said happily. “When you know, you know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That he’s the one.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he shows me, rather than tells me, that he loves me, you know. And I love the fact that we haven’t made love, at least not physically, but we’ve made love spiritually. You know what I’m saying?”

  “TMI, TMI,” I interjected, using Justin’s abbreviation for “too much info.”

  She laughed. “You know what he said?”

  “What?” I asked, rolling my eyes theatrically.

  “He said the first time he saw me, he told his friend, ‘I’m going to marry that girl someday’”

  I pretended to stick my finger down my throat and made a gagging noise. She jabbed me in the side.

  “Alright, now,” I warned her, pushing her away. “You’re going to make me have an accident.”

  “Mommy, stop. You’re gonna make Unc-Adam have a accident,” Kia cried, reprimanding her mother.

  “See, you’re scaring the kids,” I said.

  Jade turned around. “Okay, Mommy’s going to stop.”

  “So, without giving too many details, how does he ‘show’ you he loves you?” I asked Jade.

  “In a lot of ways. He respects me, he speaks to me with respect, he listens when I talk. He brings me flowers just because. Everything just feels right when I’m with him.”

  “But don’t we all do everything right in the beginning? It’s all part of the game in getting the girl, or the guy.”

  “When I was younger, and dating, yeah. But with Akil, it’s genuine. You know how sometimes you see red flags, but you ignore them? They were flapping all over the place when I was with Brandon, but not with Akil.”

  I glanced over at her as she laid back against the headrest, speaking whimsically about her future husband. Over the past couple of months, I had witnessed a dramatic change in Jade. Gone were the short, tight outfits and her nose ring. She had also stopped asking me to babysit, because Akil didn’t mind having the kids around.

  “Speaking of red flags, have you told Brandon?”

  “Of course not. I’ll send him an invitation.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She laughed. “Of course I am. I was planning to tell him next time I drop off the kids for the weekend.”

  “You want me to be there? In case he goes off?”

  “He’ll be alright. He’s got a girlfriend now, he doesn’t care.”

  “What about the kids?”

  “Akil loves my kids. They love him. And Brandon will always be their father.”

  “Looks like you’ve got everything figured out.”

  “I want you to give me away.”

  “What, again?”

  “Yes,” she said laughing. “Uncle Casey can’t come. Uncle Ruben is sick. I could ask Uncle Corey, but you know we’ve never been close. Besides, who better to give me away than the first man who walked me down the aisle?” I recalled the day very clearly. She had been twenty-three, too young to get married, I thought. Now, I felt it was too soon after her divorce.

  “Will it be for good this time?”

  She punched me and then leaned against my arm. “Are you going to be recovered by June thirtieth?”

  “Let me see. After the surgery, I’ll be in bed for about two weeks, then I’ll have this huge scar running down my chest so I’ll be kind of sore for a while. Then I have to have the staples out. Hmmm, I don’t know, I’ll make a note in my PDA,” I said sarcastically.

  “When’s your surgery?” she asked, ignoring my cynicism.

  “May sixteenth.” I hadn’t thought much about the upcoming surgery, leaving that burden in the hands of the Almighty. When I first got the news, I couldn’t stop worrying, unable to sleep. Ultimately, I had no choice but to put my faith in God to pull me through the rest of the way, because I knew doctors were humans—fallible mortals with God complexes who made mistakes all the time. I had to believe the only way I was going to live was through my renewed belief in God. In the days since visiting my father’s grave, my faith had made me stronger, braver, and gave me the determination to keep fighting.

  “Do you think Eva would want to be a bridesmaid?”

  “I’ll ask,” I said, touched that she would think of Eva in that capacity.

  “You know what the best part is?” Jade asked. “He reminds me of you.”

  �
�Hold on, I’ve got to throw up.”

  “What?” she asked, alarmed, pulling away to look at me. “Are you feeling sick?”

  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” I pulled her back to me and hugged her, maneuvering the car carefully.

  She pinched my side, hard, several times. “Ooh, I hate you sometimes. Don’t play like that.”

  I jerked back, away from her, causing the car to swerve slightly.

  “Mommy!” Kia yelled.

  Just then, flashing blue lights appeared in the rearview mirror. Jade looked chagrined as I glanced accusingly at her.

  “Ooh, it’s the pah-lice,” Daelen said.

  “You’re in big trou-ouble,” Kia said. “We’re gonna go to jail.”

  “Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to jail,” I assured them. “He’s probably just going to give me a ticket. Everybody got their seat belts on?”

  I pulled over and before the cop reached my window, I had my license and insurance card out of the wallet.

  “Everything alright?” the cop asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered briefly. I had learned from years of experience that you don’t volunteer more information than necessary when being questioned by cops, particularly suburban cops. Whatever he said I did, I wouldn’t argue with him; I’d just take the ticket and leave. A few months ago, I might have argued just on the matter of principle, but now, DWB stops didn’t faze me.

  “You were weaving a bit back there,” the cop pointed out.

  “My hand kind of slipped off the wheel, that’s all.”

  He bent down to look into the passenger side and then into the back. Through the rearview mirror, I could see the kids looked scared. Undoubtedly, they remembered the visits made by the police to their home when their father was around.

  The cop smiled and waved at them. “Hey, kiddies.” Then he turned to me. “Have you been drinking, sir?”

  “No.”

  “My brother doesn’t drink. He has cancer,” Jade said curtly.

  I looked over at her slowly and gave her a dirty look, but she looked back at me defiantly. She knew I never used cancer as a crutch. I didn’t want nor did I expect any special treatment because of it. When I turned back toward the cop, he was skeptically eyeing my head underneath the crocheted skullcap as if he were trying to decide whether to believe Jade or if I was just another bald-headed Black dude. I almost wished I had worn my doo-rag, then I really would’ve fit the profile.