Destination Wedding

by Jacqueline J. Holness

  Jarena prayed to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit as she painted, pleading for the strength to stop seeing Barry. Since spending the night together the month before, they had seen each other twice more and it always ended the same way—wondering how it happened in Barry’s bed. She prayed her trinity of mistakes would be forgiven and that she could pry herself away from the love of her life.

  CHAPTER 15

  February

  Senalda

  I TOOK MYSELF OUT TO dinner after work on Valentine’s Day. Puerto Rican food was my favorite, but for some reason I was craving soul food. So I opted to head to Jackson’s in East Atlanta. I remembered from my date with my girls there last year that the food was very good, and the restaurant was upscale, not a shack like some soul food spots.

  I ordered everything I had been craving: fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, collard greens, sweet potato soufflé, corn bread, and pecan pie for dessert. I was thankful for my mom’s naturally slender genes. I would probably weigh two more pounds in the morning, but it would be worth it.

  I scrutinized the couples obviously out for Valentine’s dates. I could tell which couples were married and which ones were dating by what the women were wearing. The single ladies wore something short and tight while the married women were dressed more conservatively, if not bordering on frumpy. But at least they have men. I looked down at my brown pantsuit and black blouse. What is Dexter doing for Valentine’s Day?

  I was startled by the arrival of a chef at my table. “How are you tonight?” He smiled, but his nice smile was canceled out by his country accent. And he looked like a Pillsbury Dough Boy that had been deflated.

  “I’m well, thank you.” I reached in my purse to pull out a copy of Money magazine. Either he didn’t see the magazine or didn’t care that I was attempting to look busy, because he kept on talking.

  “I’m one of the chefs here. My name is Wendell.” He reached out his slightly powdery hand to shake mine, but I kept my hands on the table. He wiped his hand off on his uniform before reaching out to me again.

  “Wendell,” I said with a sarcastic smile. “The name fits you.”

  Neither my magazine, nor keeping my hand to myself, nor my sarcasm worked.

  “Oh really? Why? Because of my country accent? That’s alright. I know I’m a country boy, purrrty,” he said.

  I laughed. “Hey, I remember you. I saw you the last time I was here, a year ago.” I noticed that his skin was the color of a brown sugar crust, but then again, I was hungry.

  “So our food was so good you came back a year later?” he offered. “So you remember me from last year? What was I doing?”

  “You were breaking up a fight between two other chefs.”

  “Oh those chefs!” His stomach jiggled like custard when he laughed. As the waitress placed my food down, I hoped Wendell would leave me alone to pig out in peace.

  “So you haven’t told me your name,” Wendell said.

  “It’s Senalda, and since my food is now on the table, I want to eat.”

  “I don’t think you should be without a man on another Valentine’s Day, so here is my number,” he said placing a slip of paper on the table. As his hand passed my face, I smelled nutmeg. “I remember you from a year ago, too. You were with your girlfriends then. I will let you enjoy your food, but give me a call when you get a chance, purrrty,” he said with a wink.

  “Okay, I will call you,” I said, hoping that would get him to walk away.

  I considered complaining to the hostess later that a chef was badgering customers, but since it was Valentine’s Day, I decided to be tolerant. After devouring my meal, I picked up the paper. Obviously, he had written the information before he got to my table. And he obviously remembered me because he knew I was with my girls last year.

  A month earlier I had vowed to be open to whatever kind of love came to me, and on Valentine’s Day, a chef approached me. I will give this chef a call only because CC told me that I may not know what I want or need in a man. At the very least, I will be eating good.

  Destination Wedding Meeting #14

  Still surprised to be someone’s wife, Mimi appraised her new living room where she was hosting February’s meeting. She had mopped the hardwood floors and dusted earlier in the day. Ian wasn’t a big television fan so the living room didn’t have a TV. Admittedly, a television didn’t fit with the eclectic African-American art and furniture. But today, he had moved their bedroom TV into the living room so the women could watch a movie there. Ian, who seemed to be wearing married contentment as a garment, left for the hospital at noon. She hoped the garment would eventually be stretched large enough to clothe and protect her from her own destructive longings. Many times, she had to talk herself out of texting Jovan or calling his voice-mail just to hear his voice.

  Ian had kissed her lips as he walked out of their home. “Our life couldn’t be more perfect,” he said as his lips lingered on hers, “that is unless we had a baby.”

  Mimi flinched, flashing back to the day he spotted her across the street from the abortion clinic. At some point, she wanted to tell him about her abortion, but she hadn’t found the perfect time to do so. She relegated her thoughts to the back of her mind when she looked out of the window and saw Senalda stepping onto their porch. Mimi met her at the door.

  “Bossy, welcome to my new home!” she said while lifting her arm in the air with a flourish.

  “It’s beautiful,” Senalda said, surveying the refurbished nineteenth-century Eastlake Victorian home. “I can tell Ian put a lot of work in here or paid someone a lot to do it.”

  Within minutes, Jarena rang Mimi’s doorbell.

  “Great! All three of us are here!” Senalda said.

  “So what’s the game plan for today?” Jarena said after hugging her friends and finding a place on a couch. She felt something crumble beneath her.

  “What’s this?” she said, holding up a photograph.

  “Wait a minute,” Senalda said scrutinizing the image. “I remember that pic of you and Jovan at your condo. What is that doing here?”

  “Gimme dat,” Mimi said as she yanked it from Jarena. “I’ve been getting rid of stuff from my old place, and this must have dropped from one of my boxes.”

  “Yes, out with the old and in with the new,” Senalda agreed.

  Jarena wasn’t entirely convinced that was why the picture was there, but she didn’t say otherwise.

  “Anyway, to answer Jarena’s question, I thought it would be interesting to watch a movie about hopeless love,” Senalda said. “Except in the movies you’re always guaranteed a happy ending, and I need a happy ending more than ever.”

  “Amen and Hallelujah!” Jarena said. “So what’s the movie?”

  Just then, Mimi’s phone, which was nestled in the cushions of another couch, buzzed. She fished it out and peered at the phone. It was Richie.

  “Please call me when you get a chance,” he had texted. She made a mental note to return his call later.

  “I thought we should watch Something’s Gotta Give with Jack Nicholson,” Senalda said, holding up the DVD.

  “Ooh, I love that movie,” Jarena said, clapping her hands together.

  “Lemme see dat,” Mimi said, grabbing the DVD from Senalda and examining it. “Is dis a love story about old-ass fogies? It don’t matter anyway because I’ll be drunk in a minute.”

  She sprang up, heading to the kitchen. “Anyone else want some wine? It’s Moscato. And I got some Jamaican food too.”

  “I love when you cook! You’re so A-Town down I sometimes forget your father is Jamaican until you cook,” Jarena said. “Did you make the fried dumplings?”

  “You know I did,” Mimi replied.

  “Okay, so I want some,” Jarena said.

  The aroma of dumplings along with cocktail beef and vegetable patties and saltfish fritters surrounded Mimi as she arrayed the spread on the table. Senalda brought back the wine glasses and Moscato for herself and Mimi and bottled
water for Jarena before slipping in the DVD.

  From the moment Mimi realized that Jack Nicholson portrayed a playboy music executive, Harry, who didn’t realize that he mistakenly passed over the right woman, she was hooked. The right woman, Erica, who was played by Diane Keaton, didn’t stand for Harry’s playboy ways, however, and went on with her life. And she was glad the room was dark by the time Harry finally figured out that he was in love with Erica and came back to her, although Erica knew they were soul mates at the beginning of the film. Tears doused her face so she made her way to the bathroom to wash them off. While there, she texted Richie.

  “Hey program buddy, are you alright? The girls are over so I couldn’t respond earlier,” she texted.

  “I’m okay now,” Richie texted back. “Was thinking of watching porn but thinking about you and my recovery stopped me.”

  “Glad I cld help,” Mimi texted back.

  “Are you okay?” Richie texted.

  “Yeah,” she texted back. She was afraid to text anything else in fear that Richie would realize she wasn’t as over Jovan as she wanted to be.

  “So did you like the movie?” Jarena asked when Mimi reappeared.

  “Real love always wins,” Mimi said with a wistful smile.

  CHAPTER 16

  March

  Jarena

  IT WAS SATURDAY, AND Barry and I had been devouring basketball games all afternoon in his condo. Earlier, we had ordered in pizza for lunch and now it was time to order dinner.

  “I’m just going to do it,” Barry said, his eyes feasting on me. His head was in my lap, and I was playing with his golden-brown curls.

  “You’re going to do what?” I questioned, extending one curl as far as it would go. “You mean order dinner? What do you want to eat?” I wasn’t hungry, but being in love and eating more seemed to go together, something about the relaxing of all of your boundaries.

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” Barry stated, popping up, “I’m going to ask Naomi for a divorce.”

  “Come again?” I said. “What did you just say?”

  “Being with you for the last few months has shown me what was missing from my marriage,” he said. “I was unhappy even before we reconnected, but now that we’re together again, I see it was a mistake to get married in the first place. I was on the rebound after you.”

  “Barry, we are not together.” I shifted away from him on the couch. “We’ve been spending time together, but we are not together.”

  “Oh, we’re not together?” he said. He moved toward me like he was lion, pulling me down underneath him for a long kiss. I struggled until I surrendered, allowing myself to be swept up in the moment, like my mind wasn’t connected to my soul. To stop all thoughts capable of restoring reality, I closed my eyes and let waves of hope roll over me. I ventured to the place where nothing was capable of separating true love. “I don’t feel any of this with Naomi. She’s sweet. A very nice person. But we don’t have this.”

  He slammed his mouth on mine again. My face was so hot I felt like we would spontaneously combust.

  “I want a divorce,” he said, our lips still pressed together. “The next time I go home I’m going to tell her that.”

  The word “divorce” unceremoniously dislodged me from my emotional getaway. “Barry, you’re not making any sense.” I stood up and pushed him off of me. “You have a wife and kids and a whole life you’ve created without me. I love you, okay. I do. But I’ve created a life without you, too. I’m studying to be a minister now. It couldn’t work between us now even if we want it to!”

  “Do you want it to?” He stood up before me, clutched my hands in his and said, “Because I love you too.” In spite of myself, I suddenly envisioned what it would have been like if we were standing at an altar waiting for a minister to pronounce us husband and wife.

  “I don’t know what I want,” I said, my heart churning. That’s a lie. I released his hands, about to get something to drink when Barry maneuvered me back toward him.

  “I do,” Barry said. His lips dropped from my mouth, and it wasn’t much longer until we fell into bed. The next morning as I put on my clothes, I thought about telling my girls what was happening with me and Barry for the first time since he reappeared in my life. Hell, praying for strength wasn’t working. But my girls looked up to me as the godly one in the group and I didn’t want to let them down. Plus, my mother always told me that you cannot depend on others to fix your problems. You have to do that on your own.

  Senalda

  It took me two weeks to call Wendell. Every time I thought about it, I recalled my entire relationship with Dexter and chickened out. But I had to have something to report at the next Destination Wedding meeting, so I put my fear aside and called him one Saturday while I was at my office.

  “Talk to me,” a loud voice commanded.

  “Hi,” I said, uncertain I had the right person. “Is this Wendell?”

  “I am he. He is me.”

  “This is Senalda from Valentine’s Day.”

  “Hey purrrty,” he said even louder. “You sure took your time to call a brotha.”

  “I guess so,” I said with a laugh. “And you’re lucky I’m calling now.”

  “I love a woman with no filter,” he countered.

  “I don’t want to keep you from your work.” Food sizzled and pots and pans clanged in the background. “It sounds like you’re in the kitchen.”

  “I am, but I got a minute.” A moment later everything was quiet.

  “Your boss just let you walk out of the kitchen?”

  “Oh, he’s cool,” he said. “So when you gon let me take you out, purrrty?”

  “Wow, no build up?”

  “I told you I had a minute,” he said with laugh.

  “That you did.”

  “So I’m through with work at 11 tonight,” he said. “How ’bout a midnight movie? Do you stay up that late?”

  “How about we wait until you have a day off?”

  “Naw, you not getting away again,” he said. “What side of town do you live on?”

  “Near Camp Creek,” I said, hoping I wasn’t giving away too much information.

  “Do you mind meeting me at the movie theater at Atlantic Station?” he said. “I would come and pick you up after work but if I did that, I would still be in my chef uniform. But if I meet you there, I can go home and take a shower and get myself lookin’ good for you.”

  “Okay,” I said in spite of myself. I’m getting out of my comfort zone like CC suggested.

  • • •

  As I left my house at 11, I realized that I was dressed in all black everything. I hadn’t thought about it as I was getting dressed, but I noticed my reflection in the glass outer door that I locked. But when I did think about it, it made sense that I had chosen my outfit according to my state of mind.

  A year ago, I was hopeful when Dexter arrived at my home for our first date. And now, I was leaving my home at nearly midnight to meet a chef at a movie theater. I probably could have worn sweatpants and a T-shirt.

  I was glad to see Wendell standing outside in front of the theater. If I had to search for him, I would have probably just have turned around, gotten back into my car and sped home.

  “I wasn’t sure you would show up, purrrty,” he said as he strode up to me.

  “I’m here,” I said, shrugging.

  “And looking sexy in all that black, too,” he said with a laugh.

  I secretly sniffed him to see if he smelled like a restaurant kitchen as we made our way to the ticket booth. But he actually smelled good. And he was cute, too. In a country boy kind of way.

  “So what movie do you want to see tonight?” I said, looking up at the movie marquee.

  “How ’bout Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son?”

  I inwardly cringed but decided to just go with it.

  “You probably think you too classy for a movie like this, but you know Martin Lawrence is funny,” he said, as if he read my th
oughts.

  “Yeah, I used to love Martin and Gina back in the day,” I said with a weak smile. “Since you picked the movie, I can pay for our tickets.”

  “Why you tryin’ to punk me like that?” Wendell said with a laugh. “I know I’m just an average brotha, but I can pay for movies. But if you wanna hook a brotha up another time I’ll let you know.”

  I smiled but didn’t say anything.

  “So you do you want some popcorn or anything else?” He walked toward the concessions area and looked back at me.

  “No, I’m not hungry,” I said. Out of habit, I almost offered to pay for our food. “Are you hungry after working around food all day?”

  “I can always eat,” he said, rubbing his small potbelly like he was a Buddha.

  He ordered a tub of popcorn slathered with butter and a large Coke. I was impressed that he held the door open for me as we walked into the theater. After we settled in, Wendell began chomping on his popcorn and sipping on his Coke so loudly I had no choice except to stare at him.

  Wendell stopped chomping, looked at me and said, “I’m sorry. Do you want some? I don’t mind feeding you.” He held a piece of popcorn in front of my lips.

  “No, thank you,” I said, moving back from his fingers.

  “People pay me top dollar to feed them, so let me feed you, purrrty,” he said with a grin.

  How many dollars?

  “Okay, I guess so,” I muttered.

  He took the popcorn, maneuvering it like it was an airplane before directing it into my mouth.

  “Ummm good,” I said to appease him.

  “You want more?”

  “I’m good, thank you.” I covered my mouth.

  “Okay, purrrty.” He began chomping as carefree as he did before.