As he released me, he looked me up and down and said, “Beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly, all of a sudden feeling shy.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Barry said, pulling out my chair for me. “I heard about Atlanta rush-hour traffic, but now I know for myself. I’ve been on Peachtree Street the whole time. It’s crazy!”
“As an ‘ATLien,’ I will fill a brotha in on the back streets to get everywhere!”
“Cool. Well, I hope they have man-sized portions here,” Barry said, surveying the small coffeehouse’s décor. “You never know with these Europeantype places.”
As we ordered and ate, I noticed Dr. Ian eating alone on the other side of the restaurant. I tried to catch his eye to wave but never could, and when I looked at his table again, he was gone.
“So, you have anything to do tonight?” Barry asked after paying for our dinner.
“Not really,” I replied. “I will probably just watch some reality TV before I go to sleep.”
“Y’all women and that garbage!” he said. “You know, you can watch TV at my condo. I guess I can watch the ‘Real Housewives of Atlanta’ or whatever comes on Wednesday night for a few hours.”
Sensing my trepidation, Barry kept on talking.
“Just for a little while,” he coaxed. “I’m in Atlanta all by myself, so I could use the company.”
“I guess you’re pretty lonely without your family, huh?”
“During the day, I’m cool, but at night, it’s so quiet.”
So I followed him in my car down Peachtree, silently praying that everything would be alright. After we got into his condo, Barry left the living room and came up back wearing a T-shirt and basketball shorts. For a second, I was transported back to his college apartment.
“Why don’t you take off your shoes?” He dropped himself on the other end of the couch where I sat. “You look so tense. I won’t bite. I’ve already had dinner.”
I smiled at him, pretending I didn’t hear his flirty words.
“If I get too comfortable, I’ll get sleepy, and I still have to drive home.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” he said, heading toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna get a beer.”
“Some water would be cool.”
I turned on his television, flipping through channels. Then I remembered that none of my shows were on tonight. I saw the rapper Juvenile and stopped channel surfing. “Back That Thang Up” filled the room. In spite of myself, I got up and starting gyrating my backside. I wanted to get it in quick before Barry came back with our drinks, but he caught me.
“You still know how to back that thang up?” he said, putting our drinks on the table.
He came up behind me and started dancing. For the rest of the video, we danced and laughed.
“For obvious reasons, I used to love that song,” he said with a sly smile. “I think I even broke a sweat. I haven’t watched videos in forever.”
“Me either,” I said as we sat down on the couch. For the next hour, we watched old school rap videos and hopped up and danced if we felt like it. During our impromptu dance party, I couldn’t help but think being single was starting to feel like a ruthless game of musical chairs. Except it wasn’t just that the chairs were disappearing. The music was getting younger too, and I didn’t want to be the oldest woman without a chair. We collapsed after the show’s final video. Almost like it was choreographed, Barry leaned over and pecked me on my mouth. It happened so quickly, I didn’t even taste his lips.
“Lips just as sweet as they used to be,” he said, grinning.
“What are you doing?” I sat straight up and moved away from him in one fluid motion.
“Since we were watching old school rap videos,” he said, still leaning against the couch, “I thought it would be okay to kiss my old school girlfriend…That didn’t come out right.”
He was quiet then. “I apologize if I offended you.”
“I probably need to go now.” I looked around for my purse and shoes.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said as he grabbed my face and closed the space between us. I said nothing else as he anointed my face with wet kisses. I tried to silently ask God for help, but the truth was I hoped He wasn’t listening.
Mimi
“Damn, damn, damn,” I cussed while balancing my checkbook on my bed. I was proud of myself for stretching my savings for so long, but with what I had left in my bank account, I didn’t have enough for my December mortgage payment. My cell phone rang.
“Ian,” I said with a grateful smile. He had been the best distraction since we started going out three weeks ago. He came along at just the right time to help me forget Jovan, his man-stealing hoe of a wife Chula, and the baby we could have had. I thought of all three of them the most when I was alone at night, but that hadn’t been very much lately since Ian practically declared himself my man on our second date.
“I want you to go to this medical conference with me,” he said. “The one in Vegas I told you about.”
“But I won’t distract you from erethang?”
“Not at all,” he said. “I’m going to have to be around doctors all day, but I want to be around you all night and maybe during the day if I can sneak away.”
I had to admit, his answer make me kinda hot. I will balance my checkbook when I get back from Vegas!
“So do you want me to come over tonight?” I said, thinking ’bout what clothes I could pack.
“You know I do,” he replied. A tingle went through my chest. Within an hour I had packed and driven over to the West End where he lived. As soon as I pulled into his driveway, Ian opened his door. And by the time I turned off my car, he was on the other side of my door and opened it for me. It was nice to have a dude feelin’ me like that.
“You’re going to have to live with me because I want to see you every day, baby,” he said, pressing his body up on me before kissing me on the lips.
“I haven’t been to Vegas in years,” I said. “Where are we staying?”
“The Hilton where the convention is, but we can find the more exciting hotels to go to after my classes are over,” he said as he got my suitcase from the back seat.
“Fa sho,” I replied.
That night as Ian went through his conference materials, I entertained myself by watching television in his bedroom. I was dozing most of the time until I saw Jovan on the screen with Chula. They were being interviewed about being a couple in business and in their personal life. The interviewer was saying they were the next Beyoncé and Jay Z! I turned up the volume, hoping Ian couldn’t hear in his office. After the interview was over, I strolled over to Ian’s office, swaying my hips like the dime that I am.
“I’m so glad we going to Vegas tomorrow,” I said, sliding my tongue up and down his ear as he faced the computer.
“Me too, baby,” he said, lifting me from the floor and putting me on his lap.
• • •
On the flight, the visual of Jovan and Chula being interviewed kept popping up in my head. But the closer we got to our destination, the better I was able to distract myself. We got there ’bout noon. While Ian took a nap to counteract jet lag, I went down to the lobby to make program calls.
“Hey Victor.”
“Mimi, are you on the way to tonight’s meeting?”
“I’m in Vegas!” I yelled.
“With your new boyfriend?”
“Yup,” I said.
“What’s going on there?”
“A conference for doctors,” I said.
“And you decided to tag along.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not going give you my opinion this time, but if you can, try to get to a meeting out there.”
“You aine neva sugarcoated anything else, so why start now?” I said. “What you thinkin’?”
“I already told you, ma, but I will tell you again since you asked. You living real dangerously. Using one man to get over another.”
“I care a lot about Ian.”
“But he’s in love with you,” Victor said. “You in love with him?”
“I’m getting there.”
“Like I said, if you can, get to a meeting out there, okay?” he said.
“Okay, Victor,” I said. “Alright, I’m gonna get somethin’ to eat. I’ll call you back.”
I wasn’t hungry. I just wanted to get off of the phone. I thought about calling Richie, but he had been acting all weird with me for the last few weeks. I knew he had some issues going on with Whitney so I forgave him for being moody, but I aine want to deal with dat on the phone. So I wandered down the strip for a while. Vegas was my kind of city. Spontaneous, over-the-top, and teeming with money. After a few hours, though, all the neon blinking lights made it seem like I was supposed to be happy when I wasn’t. I was so lonesome I headed back to our hotel room and chilled for the rest of the day while Ian was in the conference opening session.
• • •
Ian woke me up early, since he had to get to the conference by 7. Once he left, I lollygagged in the room till around noon. It was a warm winter day in Vegas, and after seeing people splashing in the hotel swimming pool from the window, I figured that would be fun. I bought a swimsuit in the hotel gift shop and headed to the pool. The last time I had been in a hotel pool was almost two years ago when I was in Miami with Jovan. Although we hadn’t come there together, it was a music convention and we both knew we would be there so we hooked up. After hours one night, we skinny-dipped in the dark pool. But that wasn’t all we did. We were in that pool for a long, long time.
As I swam in this hotel’s pool, I let all of the sadness I had been feeling for months flood over me. The pool water hid my tears. An hour later, I decided to put my tears and loneliness behind me once and for all. When Ian walked back in the room at 7, I was wearing a sequined black dress and sitting on the bed, waiting for him.
“Hey baby,” Ian said. “I won some tickets for the Ultimate Fighter Finale mixed martial arts event at the conference. It’s going to be held at the Palm Casino Resort. Do you want to go?”
“You know I’m down for just ’bout anythang!”
“Give me a half hour and I will be ready to hit the strip,” he said while he hugged me. “All the other women are going to be jealous of you tonight.”
While he showered, I watched videos. I couldn’t believe what I saw. There was Chula singing and Jovan was behind her, standing there like he was Diddy to her Cassie. I couldn’t get away from them. I turned off the television and waited for Ian to finish getting ready.
I had never seen a mixed martial arts competition before and neither had Ian. While the fans were getting crunk around us before the fight started, I leaned over and yelled, “Since we in Vegas, let’s make a bet. I bet you I will marry you here in Vegas if that Gomez guy wins tonight.”
“Are you serious?” Ian pushed his glasses on his nose and looked at me.
“Dead,” I said turning back to the action in front of us. “Get it Gomez!”
As we watched the fight, I snuck a look at him. He even looked like a nicer guy than Jovan with his squinty-eyed self. Ian’s bigger, wide-set eyes seemed kind. Plus I liked the way I looked in them. My mama told me that when you’re ready to settle down, pick a man who loves you more than you love him. I didn’t know what she meant then, but now it made sense. Shit, that’s probably where the phrase ‘settle down’ came from! If you gon settle down, you may as well be the one on top.
I wasn’t surprised when Gomez won, since he was a bigger dude and had a bunch of tats.
“So I guess I gotta marry you, huh?” I said with a big grin.
“There’s nothing I want more, but why don’t you think about it tonight and let me know how you feel tomorrow?”
After the fight, we hit the Bellagio and gambled. We hotel-hopped until about 5 a.m. before taking a cab back to the hotel Sunday morning. We didn’t get up till noon. When I woke up, Ian was spooning me. I had never felt so loved.
“So will you marry me today?” I wasn’t sure if he heard me since my mouth was in his hair.
With his eyes still closed, he said, “Yes.”
“What?” I squawked, jumping up in the bed. “Did you hear what I said?’”
“Yes and yes,” he said groggily.
“You really want to do it?” I said.
“Yes, I will marry you.”
If Jovan can elope in Puerto Rico after he knocked me up, I can get married because of a bet in Vegas.
An hour later, we bought souvenir rings in the gift shop, planning to buy the real rings in Atlanta. We printed a marriage license application from the Clark County Marriage Bureau’s website and took a cab over to the bureau to fill it out. I bought a white dress at the mall, and we were married at a chapel by 5 p.m. and back at the airport by 9 p.m. for a red-eye flight. The next day, after I left Ian’s house to go home and get some things, my check-book was the first thing I noticed on my bed. Instead of worrying about paying the mortgage, I had to figure out how to sell my condo because I was moving in with Ian!
Whitney
It was Christmas morning, and I was a little sad because it would just be Richie, the twins and me celebrating the holiday together. Gwenaëlle had the holiday off. My parents were in California visiting my sister and her husband, and Richie’s family was traveling overseas. Richie was in the living room taking pictures of the twins in their Christmas outfits. Blane was dressed in a black-and-white tuxedo with a red velvet bow tie, while Blythe wore a red velvet dress with a white baby-doll collar and black buttons down the front. They were taking turns yelling, “Da da” and laughing hysterically like they were telling each other jokes. I peeked in on them periodically and scolded myself for feeling sad. I have a beautiful family.
And then I got annoyed when I saw Richie fiddling with those snakes on his head. He was always twisting or patting them or scratching his scalp. Gross. I could see why the Jamaican people called them dreadlocks. They looked dreadful. And since Richie’s hair was so soft, his looked messy. I couldn’t figure it out. We were too young for a midlife crisis. Still, I made a conscious decision to focus on the holiday instead of his hair.
“Richie, do you want to open up our gifts?” I asked, surveying our magnificent, twelve-foot Christmas tree. I had painstakingly decorated it with white balls and silver tinsel with twinkling white lights. Most of the gifts were for the twins even if they couldn’t fully appreciate them, but it had been a joy to shop for them.
We attempted to show the twins how to open their gifts but they just tossed them to one another and laughed as Richie took pictures. We couldn’t tell if the twins were more excited by the gifts or our exaggerated responses to them.
We saved our gifts for each other until last. This year’s big Christmas gift for him was a crisp black suit I had custom-made from Ozwald Boateng’s store in London. I also gave him cuff links engraved with his initials. I wasn’t sure how his new suit and monogrammed cuff links would look alongside his unkempt hair, but I hoped the gift would remind him that he looked good dressed up. It had been a few months since I had seen him willingly dress in a suit. Lately, he was reluctant to go anywhere that required one. He complained the whole night about going to the Mayor’s Masked Ball just a few days ago.
“Remind me why this is necessary again,” he said while assembling his bow tie in the mirror.
“It is necessary because you may as well be black royalty in Atlanta,” I said to his reflection. “Everyone is expecting us to be there, and they will wonder what’s going on if we don’t show up. Your father, your stepmother, your colleagues, my colleagues.”
“I don’t even like most of the people at these types of things,” Richie complained. “I bet I can find more genuine people at a twelve-step meeting than at this ball tonight.”
I was annoyed again, thinking about it. I realized then I had bought him the perfect Christmas present. I had to remind him who he is, who we are. He is D
r. Richard Bradley Brannon III, the grandson of the first black doctor at Grady Hospital and the son of the chief of staff at Grady Hospital. And I am the youngest daughter of the first black district attorney in the Orleans parish of Louisiana. A power couple descended from powerful people.
“Thank you,” Richie said, holding out the suit in front of him before putting it down on the couch. He walked over to the Christmas tree, where he picked up a large gift box, beautifully wrapped in red gift-wrapping paper with a gold bow, and handed it to me. I tore off the gift-wrap. It was a large leather mounted photo album. The whole album was pictures of me that Richie had taken when we were in college. A picture of me in front of the Cosby Center on Spelman’s campus, at a Morehouse football game, at the Sun Dial, in Piedmont Park. The last was a picture of me the night we got engaged. I kissed him without saying anything at first.
“Richie, this is so beautiful,” I said. “Your gift beat mine this year.”
“It’s not a competition,” he said while hugging me. “I just wanted to show you how beautiful you are to me. And there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now.”
“What, sweetiekins?” I said, looking into his eyes.
“I know you’re probably not going to approve, but I want to start a photography business.”
“I don’t have a problem with that. You obviously take beautiful photographs when you are inspired.” I smiled at him while pointing at myself. “All of this beauty would inspire anyone. But with all of the hours you work at the hospital, are you sure that your photography doesn’t need to be a hobby and not a business?”
“Well, that’s just it,” Richie said, “I don’t think I can practice medicine and be a photographer at the same time and be good at both. And I don’t want to, anyway.”
“What are you saying?”
“We have money in the bank. I want to quit Grady and work on my photography business full-time.”
“Have you lost your mind, Richie? You spend almost a decade in school and you want to turn your back on that? And we have children now! Who does that?”
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