Maybe Next Time

by Christina C Jones

  I nodded, trying my best to hold back my tears.

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  Nine

  “Woooow, nigga. And you said marriage was making me soft,” Kingston cackled, taking my wife’s hand to examine the new ring on her finger. “How much you pay for this?”

  “Probably about half of what it cost to put that damn rock on your old lady,” I teased him back, pulling Asha–the not at all old lady in question–into a hug as she laughed. As soon as I let her go, she grabbed Kensa’s hand, pulling her away.

  “Come on, let’s eat while these dudes gossip,” Asha insisted.

  Kensa shot me a grin, obliging her cousin-in-law’s pregnancy-fueled request to hit the refreshment tables at the brunch again. This bi-monthly meal was a family thing–one Kensa and I hadn’t shown our faces at since the miscarriage.

  It felt good to be back now.

  “I’m guessing you got your shit all the way together now?” King asked, as we watched our women walk away. “Kensa seems… light.”

  I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral so I didn’t come off like a bitch, but… yeah.

  I had my shit all the way together now.

  “We went to marriage counseling,” I admitted. “As soon as we got back. Thanks for the hookup on the little getaway spot, by the way. We needed that.”

  King shrugged. “I told you man–anything you needed. And you were helping me anyway, I needed somebody to test the private offering at Escape. When can I expect your comment card?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “What, I’m just trying to be a responsible entrepreneur–did I not support your ass when you opened Plumes? I was the one who set the shit in motion for that TV show that was going to film there, remember?”

  I scoffed. “Yeah, which was how Sienna Sparks ended up in my face, which is a whole ass topic in counseling.”

  “Damn,” Kingston laughed. “You did get in trouble for pussy you didn’t even touch, didn’t you?”

  “Not funny.”

  “To you.”

  “Yeah, so cut the shit,” I said, trying not to laugh–because, it was a little funny. I hadn’t even realized Kensa was still seriously mad about that shit until it came up in that first counseling session.

  I’d eat it, though, because I was man enough to handle my wife telling me what she would and wouldn’t accept–especially when she didn’t flinch at giving me the same courtesy. My needs were simple as shit–never worrying about money, my family having all they needed, and peace at home.

  Which could’ve gone a bad way, considering that we were both on the “hot-headed” side of the personality spectrum.

  We made it work though. Usually, we’d be able to each say our piece and then handle any residual anger in the bedroom. With this, the addition of grief had added a whole new element to our dynamic, making it impossible for us to hit the right note without something extreme happening.

  Like somebody filing for divorce.

  “Hey,” Kingston spoke up, his tone suddenly shifting to something much more serious than a moment ago. “Are you two going to… you know… try again?”

  He wasn’t looking at me when he spoke–I followed his sight line to where Kensa, Asha, and Zoraya were standing with my Aunt Angela, laughing about something. I had no idea what prompted it, but Kensa put her hand to Asha’s swollen stomach and smiled.

  Genuinely.

  “In a year,” I said, nodding. “That was what we came to. So, we’ll be eating our leafy greens and all that, trying to get into some good habits. Make sure me and her are solid, so that if… if what happened before, happens again… it doesn’t destroy the unit or the individual.”

  “Good shit, man,” King said, with quick incline of his head. “But it’s not happening again, we’re not claiming that.”

  “Ay, make sure you send that one up for me,” I told him, dapping him as Kensa came strolling back in our direction.

  “Red says her feet are hurting and she misses KJ,” she told King, who wasted no time giving us a quick goodbye before heading over to check in with his wife, while I checked in with mine.

  “What about you? Your feet hurting, too?” I teased, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her against me where she belonged.

  “Nah, I went sensible today, remember?” she countered, gesturing at the four-inch heels of the boots she’d chosen for the occasion.

  “You right–I forgot, you’re a pro at the bad bitch vibes.”

  The height her shoes offered put her much closer to equal height with me–something I took full advantage of to capture her mouth in a quick, family-event appropriate kiss.

  “Love that you see the vision, but I’m lying through my teeth–these damn boots are giving me hell.”

  I chuckled, shaking my head. “Let’s get you home then, and out of them. And out of these clothes, too.”

  “Can’t keep your dick to yourself for a whole day, huh?” she purred, glancing around to see if anybody was watching before she pressed into me.

  “We already played face down, ass up this morning, remember?” I countered, with a wink. “So we can try that shit you’re talking tomorrow–that ass is mine for the rest of the day.”

  “Denver, don’t you leave here without taking this bottle of wine to Connie for me!” my Aunt Angela spoke, from much closer than I was expecting anybody to be. When I turned, she was holding a bottle in my direction, and looking knowingly between me and Kensa. “The two of you look like you’re ready to um… get somewhere private.”

  I cringed as I took the bottle. “Sorry Auntie, I—”

  “Don’t apologize to me,” she laughed. “I’m trying to get all these damn people out of my house so I can talk nasty to my husband, too. Daniel! Tell these kids to go home!” she continued, yelling to my uncle as she walked away.

  Kensa laughed, snaking her fingers through mine as we headed to say the rest of our goodbyes. Once we were done, I walked her out to the car with promises of what we were going to do at home, but to my surprise, she stopped me.

  “Maybe… we should go by Plumes,” she suggested, reaching across the console to run a hand through my beard. “You haven’t been really since we got back two weeks ago. I know you miss it.”

  I grinned. “And I know you hate it,” I said, shaking my head. “You’ve never been a fan of the smoke.”

  She shrugged. “Eh. I know I wasn’t at first, but… haven’t you seen I can change my mind about things? I kinda miss you coming home smelling like sweet smoke.”

  “You’ll have to get used to that sweetheart–I’m thinking about selling it.”

  Kensa’s eyes went big. “Selling it for what?”

  “Because… it’s not like I can come home with smoke on me once you’re pregnant–remember, I would shower and change last time, and that shit was a whole extra hassle. And then especially once we have a little mini. I need some shit off my plate, so I can be about my family, you know. And–I won’t lie–I’m expecting you to do the same. I know you’ve gotten used to certain long ass hours, but… you gotta figure out how to split your time. Boss bitch and trophy wife.”

  Kensa laughed at that, her grin lingering after the sound had faded, and she nodded. “I think that’s fair. If that’s what you need, I can do that.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  She leaned in for a kiss, then finally sat back to strap her seatbelt in. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Benoit,” she said, in a seductive purr that had me ready to get her ass back to the house. But then… “Okay, if you’re thinking about selling, that’s even more reason for us to slide through Plumes. Come on. Let’s do it.”

  Shit.

  I couldn’t pass up a chance like this, since Kensa never wanted to be at Plumes. Rejecting her obvious desire to do something for me wasn’t about to happen, so I pulled out of the driveway and headed straight there, hoping nothing stupid had popped off.

  Plumes was a nice place, but people were people, and once liquo
r and smoking and whatever the hell else got involved, sometimes shit happened.

  It wasn’t late yet though–in fact, it wasn’t even dark–so chances of that were much lower. I helped Kensa from the car, escorting her through the VIP entrance I typically used.

  I stopped dead in my tracks when I was met with some shit I wasn’t expecting though.

  “Ay!” I called, for any member of my staff who might hear it. “What the fuck is up with all these damn flowers?”

  Again, Plumes was a high-end place, but I drew the line at frilly. I hadn’t made any plans for new décor, so I wasn’t clear on why I was walking into my business to find it done up in flowers like somebody was getting… married.

  I looked to Kensa, who I finally realized was wearing a huge grin, just before Nessa appeared to take her by the arm.

  “What is this?” I asked, following as Nessa guided her away.

  Kensa stopped to smile at me, just before Trace walked up–presumably to take me in the other direction.

  “You asked me to be your wife again, right? Well… welcome to the wedding.” She winked, then turned, giggling to her sister before they rushed off.

  I looked to Trace, who clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You already knew she wouldn’t take being kidnapped on the chin, right?”

  I shook my head, chuckling as the gravity of it all–a surprise vow renewal–really hit me. “Yeah,” I agreed. “Thank God I’m on the positive side of her getting me back for that.”

  “You picked her,” Trace laughed, motioning for me to follow him. “Come on, we’ve got tux options for you choose from. Then you get to pick her again.”

  Ten

  The look on his face was well worth it.

  It could’ve been a disaster, planning a surprise for your partner when one of the biggest barriers in your marriage had been a lack of communication. But it was a chance I’d happily taken–with a little advice from our counselor, who thought our foundation was titanium–in order to do something for my husband.

  It was hard with a man like him.

  All of Denver’s needs and desires were set in the abstract. He dressed impeccably—liked his little hints of bling, liked nice cars, all that. But all that shit was just frosting on this life he’d built where the people he loved had everything they needed, and a lot they wanted. Likely by virtue of the… creative money-management he’d been doing before going legit, he had none of the usual cravings for impulse and drama that fueled people whose lives were mostly consumed by boredom. He’d lived with ambiguity and apprehension.

  Now, he just wanted peace, quiet, and my pussy.

  Everybody liked a nice surprise now and then though.

  And unlike everybody, I truly felt like Denver deserved this shit.

  Yeah, he was wrong for brushing me off when I finally did open my mouth, but the thing about that was… he wasn’t wrong in a vacuum. None of my justifications about my own feelings, however valid, made it any less selfish that I hadn’t stepped outside of myself to see what he was going through as well. Both of our asses were wrong, no matter how warranted our feelings or actions may have been.

  I was wrong first, though.

  Not even on any self-deprecation, or passing the buck, or hell… competition.

  The fact was that I’d been so clouded with grief that it was able to do all my inner talking, to the point that in my head, I turned my husband into someone he’d never been–someone I couldn’t talk to. I’d convinced myself he had to be mad at me about the loss of our baby because I was mad at myself.

  Grief was a raggedy bitch who lived for drama.

  I’d be better prepared if I ever met her again.

  For now though, I shifted focus to my reflection in the mirror, knowing Denver was going to love me in this dress. The off-shoulder neckline accentuated his favorite–publicly visible–part of my body. The pale blush color made my dark brown tone seem even richer, especially since the tulle construction hinted at my skin underneath.

  Obviously sexy, but not overt.

  He’d love it.

  “Who the hell are you so animated with on the phone over there?” I asked my sister. Her fingers were flying so fast she was making a steady tapping sound on the screen.

  She looked up, eyes wide. “Sorry. Marti says a bunch of bikers showed up at HLT, wanting to see the Ducatis. She’s nervous, so I’m trying to walk her through it.”

  “Just call her,” I insisted. “We’re not due to start for another few minutes.”

  “No.” Nessa shook her head. “She’s gotta leave the nest sometime. She can handle it, and security is there. It’s just…”

  I lifted an eyebrow when she didn’t answer at first. “Just… what? Do they look like they’ve got Ducati money? She knows we don’t rent anything above the Panigale, right?”

  “Yeah, she knows,” Nessa assured.

  “Okay… then…?”

  “It’s Blue.”

  Instantly, a smirk crept over my face, as embarrassment crept over Nessa’s.

  “Don’t be shamed,” I teased her, laughing. “Your biker-boi fantasies about that man aren’t anything new.”

  “I don’t fantasize about Blue Garret!” she denied–lying right to my damn face, pointlessly. “I mean… if I did though… he deserves. That motherfucker is beautiful.”

  “Mmmhmmm,” I agreed.

  Because he was, with his tats and his grill and his biceps and general lack of respect for authority. Honestly, he was much more my type than anything I would’ve expected for Nessa–she was not-so-straight-laced, but she liked men to be.

  She had a thing for corrupting them.

  Blue though… he was much further left than any other crush she’d had that I knew of–and he was also, notably, the only one she’d never pursued.

  “You know he probably showed up looking for you, right?”

  Nessa blushed, shaking her head as she stood to hand me my bouquet. “That man doesn’t even know who I am.”

  “Bullshit. A woman who looks like you, speeding around on a bike like yours? He knows.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re only saying that because I look like you.”

  “Fine recognizes fine, or however the saying goes,” I giggled, accepting the oversized bundle of flowers from her hands. A moment later, a knock sounded at the door, but before we could even answer, it opened for Trace and Desiree to peek in.

  “Okay Ms. Send That Nigga Papers Cause I Ain’t Playing With His Ass,” she teased. “You ready?”

  I sucked my teeth. “Stop bringing up old shit, Des, damn!”

  “Oh honey, I will never,” she laughed, stepping in. “After you insisted on bringing me back into lawyer shit when I don’t do that anymore? You’re gonna get these jokes.”

  “Fine, bitch–but only cause you’re my friend. Supposedly.”

  “You know you luh me,” Des said, putting an arm around me for a quick hug. “Seriously though, you look beautiful. And everything is in place. Connie was running a bit late, but she’s here now and ready to officiate.”

  I nodded. “Good. And… thank you. So much. For everything.”

  “Anything for you, my dear. Come on, Nessa,” she said, looping her arm through Nessa’s so they could get into place. I didn’t miss the way Trace’s gaze followed Des until she was gone, then lingered before he looked back to me with a grin.

  “You really do look beautiful, Kensa. I’m not even shamed to walk out there with you on my arm today.”

  “Oh shut up,” I laughed, accepting his arm. Our parents were both long gone, so it felt quite appropriate to have my brother walk me down the aisle. “You know… you really should just tell her.”

  His eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “Tell who what?”

  “Des. That you love her.”

  His frown deepened, so much that if I didn’t know my brother, I may have fallen for it.

  “What? Kenni, I don’t… it’s not like… Des is like family,” was what he settled on
, stumbling over the words, which was completely abnormal for my cool, collected brother.

  “Yeah,” I laughed. “Like my family, and like Nessa’s. You want to know what her pussy tastes like though, so… you probably shouldn’t say stuff like that. That’s nasty, bro.”

  “You’re supposed to be getting remarried right now–let’s focus on that,” he said, flustered, as he practically dragged me out of the office we’d used as my dressing room.

  I laughed, but let him steer me back out to the main doors, where the ceremony was being conducted. As we waited for our cue to step inside, Trace leaned in to speak.

  “Why did you even bring that shit up?”

  “Because it’s a wedding, duh. Love is in the air. What better time than now?”

  He was quiet again for a moment, then:

  “Are you saying she feels the same?”

  Before I could answer, the double doors opened, revealing the fully decorated space where my husband was waiting for me. I didn’t take a single step without smiling up at Trace first.

  “If you don’t just say something, you might never know.”

  And now, it was time for us to go.

  An overwhelming sense of rightness swelled in my chest as Songbird Dani struck up the first notes of what Denver and I agreed was our favorite song–the one I’d danced to and sang to him so horribly off-key in Grown Folks Music that day in the Heights, so long ago. With Logan Lewis accompanying her on the piano, she sang about lovers finding their way back together through several lifetimes.

  It took everything in me not to run to my husband.

  I managed to keep my cool, though.

  Partially because Trace had the good sense to keep a good grip on me, making me pace myself.

  Our first wedding had been beautiful, for sure, but I couldn’t think of a way this day could be any better. So much smaller, but there was a depth here that wouldn’t have even been possible back then, without the years we’d put into this thing now.

  When I finally reached the front of the large room where Denver was waiting, I let out a breath. He had Kingston, Trei, Braxton, and Lincoln on his side; I had Des, Zoraya, Asha and Nashira on mine. Mrs. Connie was there, full-blown beaming with happiness–she’d been so honored when I asked her to bring her experience as a former pastor, and Denver’s caregiver, into this event.