Nappily in Bloom

by Trisha R. Thomas

  “Okay, so I’ll call you in about an hour.” I smiled into the phone. “Yes, yes, absolutely, whatever you say. I will call you back, okay. Maybe we can work something out for later this evening.” We hung up.

  “Your ex-husband, I presume.” He crossed his leg and draped his arms over the sides of the chair.

  I took a sip and did my best not to keep going. I held up my glass and drank until the ice tumbled into my face. An instant buzz floated around my head. I took a deep breath and relaxed. “My ex, but not as in husband. I was engaged to be married when I got pregnant, but then we broke up.” In one fell swoop, I’d painted myself as a slut. “I mean . . . engaged to him and pregnant by him, but then we broke up.” I stared at the empty glass on the table and scolded myself. Let that be a lesson, boys and girls, don’t drink wine on an empty stomach—even if someone calls it punch.

  Feeling increasingly ridiculous for telling a stranger more about my life in thirty seconds than I had to anyone in the past year, I put a hand to my head.

  “You all right? Is there anything I can do for you?”

  It sounded like a high-pitch whistle that only dogs can hear. Code language. When a man says, Is there anything I can do for you? he’s usually referring to only one thing.

  “No, I’m fine. Just needed to take it slow.”

  He reached over and touched my knee. “You sure?”

  “Yes, my ex is just giving me a hard time.” Aughh, there I went again. The act of spilling one’s guts is messy at first; then suddenly there’s this veil lifted and you really don’t care what anyone thinks. Releasing the burden of information is too good to pass up. “Only this past year Airic became interested in being a part of Mya’s life. It’s taken some time to get used to for me and my husband.”

  “I’ve heard of your husband, the hip-hop musician.”

  “What? Yes.” I narrowed my eyes. “What have you heard?”

  The creases around his mouth deepened. He laughed. “You’re funny. It’s part of the climate these days. Have to know who your friends are. Jory might want to run for president. Next thing you know, they’ll say his best friend was a daughter of a terrorist.”

  “My husband?”

  “No, I’m just saying I know who both of you are. Just routine . . .” He scratched his head. “Hey, you want to hear something? I just got this amazing sound system. I got hip-hop, rhythm and blues, jazz—you name it.”

  “Nice. So you listen to hip-hop?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said with a slight head tilt. “I bet you’d be surprised at my playlist.”

  “I bet I would, too.”

  “What’s your preference?” he asked, and I suddenly felt a hot swirl from my head to my stomach. He was good-looking, no doubt about that. I’d been around the block and up the street a few times and I was in no mood to be seduced by a handsome, sweet-talking, worldly senator, regardless of my light-headed buzz. “Music, your music preference?”

  Oh right, music.

  I sat starry-eyed. “Um, old school R and B right up to all the new hits out now.” Wine on an empty stomach plus my panic attack from being chased by henchmen had left me slightly off kilter. I would use that for an excuse later.

  Meanwhile he stuck out his hand. “But you’re definitely a rhythm and blues kind of lady, huh? Nice. C’mon.” I grabbed it for a lift up from the couch and followed diligently.

  I had a theory about life: Whatever you might be thinking and feeling, someone else was also thinking and feeling at the exact same time, possibly in the exact same situation. It helped to know this. To know you weren’t alone, you weren’t the only person doing the stupidest thing.

  “Listen to this.” We sat in the darkness of the garage. He turned the ignition so the lights of the dash came on. The music was like gliding on air. “I have over ten thousand songs loaded. I bet if you name a song, I’ve got it,” he yelled over the mellow jazz.

  I really couldn’t think of anything. “Earth, Wind and Fire,” I mumbled. My body fell into the feather-soft leather seats. I closed my eyes and was ten seconds from falling asleep. If I could hide there for a couple of weeks, I’d be good.

  “Reasons” started playing.

  For whatever reason, I laughed. He laughed, too.

  My phone started vibrating against my body, where I held my purse. I could guess that it was still Airic not giving up without a fight. I was so sick of being in the middle between him and Jake. I didn’t know how long I could honor my husband’s wish for Airic not to pick up Mya. My phone continued to ring in my purse.

  Robert Stanton leaned back and started singing the words to the Earth, Wind & Fire song. “This is a good one,” he said when it ended six minutes later. “Songs were long back then. Now, we were lucky to get three minutes of solid music.”

  I was hardly listening. The garage was dark except for the light coming off the stereo display.

  “It’s Sunday,” he said, still making conversation. “Too bad we only get one a week. Saturdays are all right, but seem to have a honey-do requirement. Sundays are the best. You can just sit back and relax.”

  With that, for whatever reason, I welled up underneath my closed lids. He stuck his finger to my cheek and gathered the tear. Which meant his eyes weren’t closed, and he’d been staring at me the entire time.

  “Why are you sad?”

  “I’m not. I swear. This is the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I’m tired. You can get tired and still be happy.”

  “Yeah, I guess you can.”

  “Thank you, for the minute of peace. It was nice.” I pushed myself up from the incline of the seat.

  “If you ever want to just talk, or relax, you know where to find me.”

  “Yep, I sure do.” I said, grabbing for the door handle, which seemed to have disappeared. He reached over me, and I swear I nearly swooned. I inhaled the soft scent of expensive colonge. His cheek conveniently brushed against my chest, and my body jolted. He felt it, too—I saw the satisfaction on his face. I should’ve been flattered as well, but I knew he was only testing me. I’d failed miserably. He pushed the door open, and I staggered to my feet.

  The bass and guitar of the current song sailed up and out of the car right along with the mood.

  “There you are.” Holly Stanton had removed her one roller. She was made up. Her eyes were visible now, with thick mascara and smoky brown liner. We were coming out of the garage, looking like the cats who’d ate the one damn canary. Equally guilty, though nothing concrete had happened. In a court of law, we’d both be found innocent. “I need you to fill the last of the balloons,” she said. Then peeked at me close behind her husband. “You’re still here.”

  “But leaving.” I held up a hand to say good-bye.

  “I thought we paid good money for balloons. You need more?” He didn’t move, standing between us.

  She folded her arms across her too-perfect chest. “Yes, you can never have too many balloons.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “And there you go—a Sunday becomes a Saturday, just like that.” He turned around in my direction, as if we shared a private joke. “I’ll walk you out,” he said with too much determination.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine.” I wanted to run as fast as my feet would allow. If there was one person I didn’t need on my bad side, it was Holly Stanton. The woman oozed vengeance.

  Her long legs began to lead the way. “I’ll walk her out. You handle the balloons.”

  “Ay, ay, Captain.” He was going to get us both in trouble.

  She escorted me like a prison guard, marching with purpose. “You should take advantage of this beautiful day. The kids are playing. They’ll be fine with Greta watching them.”

  “You’re right. You know, I really haven’t had a day all to myself in so long, I forgot what it was like. So around four is good?” I said, peeking out the long rectangular window next to the door, checking to see if there were any strange car-fellows.

  “I expect this house to be clear
ed by five. I’m actually hosting a dinner party later this evening for a visiting senator, so please be on time.”

  “My, my, you’re a busy girl.”

  She opened the door for me. “All right, then, four o’clock sharp.”

  I paused in the doorway and thought about telling Mya I was leaving. But I knew she was in good, solid hands. Greta, the nanny, didn’t take any mess. She wouldn’t let anything happen to my baby. “See you then.” I held up four fingers. “At four.” I rushed down the pathway, feeling her still watching—as if I planned to circle back and steal all her worldly goods, including her husband.

  No thank you. I had one of my own, and they were far too much work. I certainly didn’t need hers, too.

  A Toast to the Bride

  When I was a little girl, I believed in fairy tales. Snow White, Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel—they were all saved by the prince, or the gallant father who loved them more than anything in the world. He would swoop down and slay whoever attempted harm. I believed in those fairy tales even after I’d been lied to, cheated on, bullied, and even physically hurt, all at the hands of the man who was supposed to save me. Yet I still believed.

  My throat was closing. I hadn’t anything to drink since the preceremony toast with the wedding party. Regardless of how I felt about the people involved, it had turned out wonderfully. I remember looking across the room at my daughter and seeing her dancing with her father and feeling overwhelming love. How many times in life do we feel the assured truth of love? I wanted her always to know that feeling. I wanted her to believe in fairy tales. I wished for her never to know shame, or doubt. So no matter what happened in the story, the ending would be happily ever after. All I’d wanted was to protect her from hurt. A chill swept through me. What if he’d taken my daughter, too? Ohmigod, my baby . . .

  “Attention, everyone, I’d like to make a toast.” Gray stood up with his glass of champagne. His eyes scanned the room. “I want to thank you, all of you, for being so gracious in helping us pull off one of the fastest weddings, planned in record time. I wish I could say it was a shotgun wedding, because I can’t wait to have a baby with this woman.” Keisha cast her eyes down and shook her head, mocking embarrassment.

  I, on the other hand, started to choke on the full gulp of carbonated apple juice I’d requested instead of champagne. I dabbed at my mouth and eyes where involuntary moisture appeared. No one had bothered to ask if I was all right. I spot-dried the spittle drops on my chest and the wet blemishes on my blouse with the napkin, then turned my attention back to the lying scoundrel making the toast.

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Delma beaming her evil eye into me, as if I were making a scene on purpose. On the other side of Gray was Keisha, also looking at me. Her eyes gently begging for me not to ruin everything. Please, Trevelle, don’t make a scene. That’s what she called me, no matter how many times I’d asked her to call me Mother.

  I cleared my throat one last time, or at least I’d hoped. Gray continued, “Keisha is the woman of my dreams. I want to thank her for loving me as much as I love her. I want to thank you all for loving her, because without family, we are mere lost vessels floating in a huge ocean with no destination. To family.”

  He held up his glass while everyone else did the same, then in chorus repeated, “To family.” Everyone seemed to be drinking the Kool-Aid of lies.

  “I’d like to make a toast.” I stood up. I could see Delma’s I told you so expression with her lopsided frown. Hadn’t the woman learned not to make those kinds of faces? One word: Restylane. I knew of a good dermatologist who could make the great Betty Ford look twenty-five again. Surely Delma wouldn’t be so hard to fix. I gave her a half smile before beginning.

  “I’d like to say a quick toast. Most of you know me as the famous Trevelle Doval. But you don’t know why I’m here. Keisha, you are a wonderful young woman, and I am proud to call you my daughter. I gave birth to you twenty-seven years ago.” This time it was Delma who did the choking. She coughed and gagged, making exaggerated efforts to clear her throat. The only one louder than Delma was Gray’s grandma Edna. She squinted and clucked every few seconds in between her story of how she’d spanked Gray almost every day for some mischief or other. She was hard of hearing, so hadn’t realized she was interrupting.

  “I’ve never really had a family until now, and I am so grateful to be a part of this beautiful union. May God bless them and turn their hearts toward one another for the duration of their lives.”

  “Attention, everyone, I’d like to make a toast.” Delma stood up. She had the nerve to adjust her floral bow on a dress she’d probably owned before Keisha was even born.

  “Sweetie, I think there’ve been enough toasts,” her husband interjected. He stood up a foot taller than she, attempting to take the champagne glass out of her hand. She leaned away from his grasp. “First of all, I am Keisha’s mother . . . the only one she’s ever had from the day she was born. I may not have given her life, but I damn well saved her life from the likes of a junkie, prostitute, no-account teenage mama who was going to do nothing but bring her misery and pain.”

  “Well, damn,” someone called out, followed by soft chuckles. “This is better than The Young and the Restless.”

  “All right, that’s enough.” Keisha stood and wrung her hands. Gray touched her shoulder to say he was handling things. “No.” She refused his offer. “How dare they embarrass me this way. Both of them.”

  Delma called out, “I’m embarrassing you? She’s the one coming in here talking about, I’m Keisha’s mother. How dare you defend her?”

  “She doesn’t need to defend me. I have God on my side.”

  “Oh, stuff it—you have John, Dick, Harry, and Larry on your side, too. Don’t forget I know who you really are. I know everything about that night. Don’t you forget that,” Delma growled.

  “That makes two of us. Baby thief!” I yelled back.

  Keisha shoved her chair back and snatched her purse. She was storming out of the restaurant.

  “Darling, wait.”

  Gray caught up with Keisha before she was out the door and wrapped a comforting arm around her. With the other hand, he put out a warning. “Don’t come any closer. I think what’s best here is pretty obvious. Keisha doesn’t deserve this. It’s tearing her apart.”

  “How would you know what she deserves. You’ve known her, what, three months? Don’t tell me what my child deserves. Someone better than you, I can say that much.”

  “Trevelle, you really don’t want to go down this road.”

  “Oh, really, is that a threat?”

  Gray continued, unfazed. “Guess what, Trevelle, I don’t need to make threats. You’re doing all the work yourself. You’re sabotaging what little strides you’ve made in this relationship all on your own. As a matter of fact, you know what I think—?”

  “No, let me say it,” Keisha interrupted.

  I crossed my dolman sleeves over my chest, bracing myself for what she was about to say. As God is my witness, I wasn’t about to be nixed from my baby’s life. Not over the likes of Gray Hillman or Delma Hawkins. “Don’t make any rash decisions you will regret, sweetheart. We’ve come too far.”

  Keisha’s pained expression said it all. “I don’t want to be torn between the two of you. But I swear, there is no contest. I love my mother with all my heart. And I want to be in both your lives. But for this day, for this one moment, if this is any example of how you’re going to act, I’m going to have to regretfully ask you to leave the wedding.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I just can’t do it. I just want to get married. That’s all. I can’t be on pins and needles. Please, try to understand.”

  “I understand. But you are making the biggest mistake of your life—”

  “No, I think this is the best decision for everyone.”

  Gray’s eyes narrowed. He knew exactly what I had planned to say. “Now is not the time or place.
Maybe we can all talk later. Come on, everyone, I’m sorry. We’re going to be leaving. Please try to enjoy the rest of your meal.”

  “No, wait a minute.” I followed closely on their heels. Gray escorted Keisha like she was some invalid. He helped her into his car, and then quickly moved to the driver’s side. “This is your fault.” I followed him around and scooted between him and the door. “You better fix this.”

  Gray lifted both his hands. “You were warned.”

  “You’re the one whose been warned. Fix it, or I swear—”

  “To God . . . I thought that was a no-no.” He got into his car and turned a half smile into a sneer.

  I watched as the car backed out then pulled away. Keisha didn’t bother to meet my eyes, keeping her head down. She should be ashamed. Her behavior was unspeakable.

  “Well, that was interesting.” The accented voice came from a few feet away. Nikki clutched her bag in front of her. “And a little scary. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Are you okay?”

  “No, but it’s not about falling down; it’s about how long it takes to get back up. Gray Hillman has underestimated me for the last time.”

  Nikki touched my shoulder. “Let’s go back inside. You sound like you need an ear. We can go somewhere and have a decent meal.”

  I hunched and jarred her hands off me. I had never gotten over feeling uncomfortable when touched unexpectedly. “Thank you, but I’m going home. You can do me a huge favor and grab my purse then drop me off to my car.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Nikki waddled off in her high heels, too happy to oblige. She was Gray’s little lapdog. I made a mental note to trust her only as far as I could throw her, which wasn’t an inch.

  Shattered Luck

  “Hey, baby, where are you?”

  “Better question is where are you? I’ve been calling all day.”