Destination Wedding

by Jacqueline J. Holness

  I clicked on the message.

  Dear Jarena Johnson,

  I am writing to you to confirm that you are the granddaughter of Minnie Jean Johnson of Vidalia. If you are, I have something very important to discuss with you. Please call me at (555) 912-1234 at your earliest convenience.

  Sincerely,

  Rev. Dr. David P. Baker

  I remembered then that Dr. Baker was the pastor of my grandmother’s church in Vidalia. I wonder why he’s contacting me. Since it was in the middle of the day, I called him back right then. My heart thumped as I dialed the number.

  “Hello,” an elderly male voice said.

  “Hi,” I said. “This is Jarena Johnson. May I speak with Rev. Dr. David P. Baker?”

  “Oh Jarena,” the voice said with excitement. “This is he. I’m so glad you called. And you are the granddaughter of Minnie Jean Johnson of Vidalia?”

  “There was only one Minnie Jean Johnson, at least in Vidalia, as far as I know,” I replied with a nervous laugh.

  “Well, you are my daughter then,” Dr. Baker said without any prelude or warning.

  “Say what?” I said as I stood up.

  “I’m sorry to tell you such news over the telephone, but this information has been kept from you long enough.”

  “You knew my mother, Priscilla Johnson?” I asked.

  “Yes, I knew your mother very well,” he said forcefully. “I haven’t seen you since you were twelve years old and asking me what it is like to speak to people, but I would like to see you again and explain everything in person. I would drive up to Atlanta to meet you, but I’ve been sick lately so I don’t travel as much. Can we meet in Vidalia?”

  “I really need some time to think this through,” I said, my thoughts jumbling in confusion. “I will have to call you back another time.”

  “I hope to hear from you before too long,” he said.

  “You’ve waited thirty-four years. A little while longer shouldn’t be too difficult,” I said before hanging up.

  Senalda

  Although I had just seen CC in July, I needed to see her again—this time one on one.

  “Senalda, thank you for inviting me to your meeting last month. Your girlfriends are a hoot! How is your friend—is it Jackie?—doing?”

  “Oh, Jarena,” I said, shaking my head as I sat on my favorite couch in her office. “I guess she’s okay. I haven’t heard from her since then. I’ve called her a few times, but she hasn’t called me back. I’ll have to ask Mimi if she has spoken with her.”

  “So what can I do for you today, dear?” CC asked while flipping through a notepad on her knees.

  “I think my boyfriend is going to ask to marry me very soon.”

  “Isn’t that good thing, dear?” She stopped flipping and looked at me like she was confused.

  “It is, but I’m unsure about a few things,” I admitted, looking down and then back up at her. “I just don’t know if I will be happy long-term with a guy who makes significantly less than I do.”

  “Have you asked him how much he makes?”

  “Not directly,” I explained. “Normally I would have by now, you best believe… But I was trying to back off of my m.o. after Dexter. But he has a Honda Accord. His apartment is tiny. We’ve never been anywhere very expensive.”

  “Are you paying for your dates?”

  “No, he has paid for everything,” I said.

  “Maybe he is frugal? At any rate, you need to stop making assumptions and have a serious talk about money before you marry him, if you choose to do so. Also, having money does not ensure that you will have a happy life together. There are countless examples of that. So what are the other things?”

  “Baby mama drama,” I said with a laugh. “Wendell has a three-year-old daughter, and of course, his daughter has a mother that he co-parents with.”

  “And they are causing problems for you, dear?”

  “No. His daughter is very well behaved, and her mother doesn’t seem to have a problem with me. It’s just the idea of having to share Wendell. I have two older step-brothers from my father’s first marriage, and I know what that is like.”

  “So what is it like?”

  “I don’t know anything different, but I guess I just wanted something different for me. I wanted to be the mother of my husband’s first child. If I decide to have children, that is.”

  “I can understand that, but you may end up alone if you insist on having everything you want instead of focusing on what you need. Sometimes what we need isn’t handed to us on a perfect platter, but over time, we see that it is perfect for us.”

  “Funny that you put it like that, a perfect platter,” I said with a smile. “My mother says that too.”

  “And your mother is in a happy marriage?”

  “She is,” I admitted. “It’s not necessarily what I want for myself, but they are happy.”

  “Your marriage doesn’t have to be like your parents’ marriage, but marriage is always about two imperfect people coming together to create what is perfect for them. Does that make sense, dear?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Considering what you have told me, Wendell may be a good match for you,” she said, taking off her glasses. “But don’t marry him if you are sure it will make you miserable. You have a lot to think about, but I know you will make the decision that is best for you.”

  Destination Wedding Meeting #20

  Unable to get in touch with Jarena, and with Mimi unavailable for their August meeting, Senalda had the perfect opportunity to discuss marriage with Whitney. Especially since Whitney and Richie’s marriage was the one she wanted for herself. She knew her friends were going through some struggles, but every long-term married couple she had ever known had struggles at some point. They were the quintessential SpelHouse power couple with their achievements in their respective careers and respectable pedigrees. She wanted to know if being a power couple was all it seemed to be from the outside looking in, particularly since Wendell was not the one she expected to fall in love with.

  They met at No Más! Cantina and Hacienda in Castleberry Hills for lunch.

  “Hey, Bossy!” Whitney said cheerfully as she hugged Senalda. “Look at your hair! You’re wearing it curly! I could never do that! Necesito margarita pronto! Isn’t that how you say, ‘I need a margarita immediately?’”

  “Más o menos! Muy bueño!” Senalda said with a laugh.

  The hostess approached them then and showed the ladies to a table.

  “I can’t see the menu,” Whitney remarked while removing her oversized black shades. “It’s too dark in here.”

  Senalda silently observed that Whitney’s eyes were surrounded in puffiness and that her skin had a sallow look. She chalked it up to Whitney’s long work hours. After ordering, the two relaxed in their chairs, exchanging what had been going on their lives since they had last seen each other.

  Finally, Senalda asked, “What is it like to be married? I really want to be married, but is it worth it to merge your life with another human being’s? Is that even possible?”

  Whitney took a long sip through the straw in her margarita. It was so long, Senalda wondered if she even intended to answer.

  “In the beginning,” Whitney started, her eyes brightening to Senalda’s relief, “it’s wonderful and hard at the same time. When Richie and I first got married, every day I would wake up surprised that this gorgeous and great guy wanted to wake up to me every morning. I’m gorgeous and great too, but you know what I mean. I felt like I would never have to be alone ever again.

  “And then it’s hard because you have to consider someone else’s feelings when you make a decision, and I wasn’t so good with that in the beginning. And Richie is having issues with that now.”

  “So what is it like to be a power couple?” Senalda continued to probe. “It must be wonderful to have the same outlook on life, the same drive to achieve, the same education, the same or similar income.”

  Whitn
ey’s initial joyful reminiscence gave way to an unsmiling muteness. Senalda scrambled inwardly for something to say, but before she could, Whitney spoke.

  “I’ve threatened to divorce Richie because he is totally disregarding my feelings.” She carefully wiped tomatillo salsa from around her mouth with her napkin before plunging a tortilla chip into more salsa. “And all he said was if I couldn’t accept him for who he truly is, then whatever I needed to do was okay with him.”

  “Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me it had gotten so bad? So what are you going to do?”

  A white couple at another table rubbernecked Senalda as her shrill voice rose above the festive mariachi music playing in the restaurant.

  “You really cannot accept that Richie wants to be a photographer instead of a doctor?” Senalda asked, quietly this time, although the shock of Whitney’s news continued to reverberate in her head. She questioned her ability to make a marriage with Wendell work if a perfectly matched couple like Richie and Whitney couldn’t make theirs work.

  “I love him, so I’m going to attempt to stay with him, but it’s true what they say about that seven-year itch.” She munched on more chips before completing her statement. “I feel like he is going through a midlife crisis, and if I just stick it out, then maybe he will come back to his senses.”

  “But what if he never decides to start practicing medicine again?”

  “I don’t know, Senalda,” she said breathlessly, as if she was very, very tired. “I deserve to be happy, and I’m not happy right now. I haven’t been for months.”

  “Excuse me for being too nosy, but are you guys having money trouble?”

  “No, we’re fine for now,” she said, “but I didn’t sign up to be the primary breadwinner. We have some investments and everything, but I just don’t want to be married to a photographer. I’m sure you understand.”

  As Whitney continued to justify her complaints, Senalda thought about her relationship with Wendell. She had said similar things to herself. But in that moment, she decided that maybe her definition of a “power couple” needed to be reworked. Maybe the power came from two people loving and being willing to support each other, not trying to live up to the image of what some people defined as successful.

  CHAPTER 22

  September

  Destination Wedding Meeting #21

  SENALDA DIDN’T BOTHER CONTACTING Mimi or Whitney about meeting in September. And they didn’t contact her, either. And as Jarena still had not returned any of her voicemail messages since their July meeting, on the Saturday afternoon that she wanted to host the meeting, she determined rereading her now favorite relationship book, Why Men Marry Some Women and Not Others, would have to do. She zeroed in on the section about abandoning “princesshood” behavior.

  As she reread the section, it made sense to her this time. I’ve got a man who loves me very much and wants to marry me. He is responsible, has a good job, and is a great father. So what if I make more than he does? So what if I am more polished than he is?

  That night she was meeting Wendell at Jackson’s at midnight to celebrate her birthday. As he didn’t have Sunday, her actual birthday, off, he asked if they could celebrate after his Saturday shift was over. She recalled her birthday the year before, and a feeling of terror overcame her.

  She frantically texted Wendell. “I hope you’re not planning a surprise birthday party for me, because I hate them.”

  Then she texted her friends. “If Wendell is planning a surprise birthday party for me, you better let me know NOW.”

  Wendell texted her back within seconds, but none of her friends responded. “A surprise birthday party is not what I have planned, purrrty.”

  “What should I wear tonight, then?” she texted.

  “Whatever you feel is appropriate :)”

  Since she had just read about putting “princesshood” behind her, she simply wore blue jeans, a red turtleneck sweater and some ankle boots. No need to dress up, she reasoned. Knowing Wendell, he was probably taking her to a midnight movie or something on that level.

  She left her home at 11:30. As she drove, she searched for a good radio station, stopping when she heard Al Green’s ethereal melody, “Let’s Stay Together,” floating from the radio. She smiled, because his songs always reminded her of her childhood. Sometimes, if she stayed up late enough, she heard Al Green crooning from her parents’ bedroom. She thought about calling them, but they were probably asleep by then. Plus, they would probably call first thing in the morning for her birthday.

  After pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot, she texted Wendell to let him know she was there. “Come on in,” he texted back. She walked to the restaurant’s front door and opened it, not sure what she would see inside the closed restaurant. To her surprise, the hostess was at her usual station, stepping up to her as she crossed the threshold.

  “Ms. Warner, please follow me.”

  Senalda braced herself, wondering if all of her friends, associates, and co-workers were corralled in the restaurant’s dining room, but she saw nothing except scores of candles all over the room on the chairs, tables and ledges. A single round table with two chairs was in the center of the room. She looked back to ask a question, but the hostess was gone. Instead, a waiter appeared at her left, directed her to the center table, and pulled out her chair. From the back of the room, the swinging doors leading to the kitchen swung open and there was Wendell, his husky body ensconced in a white tux with a black bow tie and vest.

  “Happy birthday, purrrty!” Wendell said as he strutted over to the table where she sat.

  “How did you get your boss to agree to do this?”

  “Don’t worry ’bout all that,” Wendell said with a cocky grin. “I got pull with management.”

  “I guess you do,” she said with a smile.

  “I hope you haven’t eaten.”

  “I have learned to be hungry when I see you,” she said with a laugh, recalling when he tried to force-feed her popcorn on their first date. “So what’s on the menu?”

  “All your favorites,” he answered. Everything that she ordered at Manolo’s was brought out to them.

  “How did you do this?” she said. “This is a soul food restaurant.”

  “My buddy Manolo made everything and brought it over here.”

  “You must really have an understanding boss,” she concluded.

  “Let’s just eat.”

  After finishing their meal, the waiter brought out a Puerto Rican rum cake with candles on top.

  “Blow the candles out, purrrty, and make a wish,” Wendell directed.

  She did as instructed.

  “Cut me a piece of cake,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said, standing up to cut a slice. Just as she lowered the knife, something sparkled in the center of the golden brown Bundt cake.

  “What’s this?” she said. “There’s something in the center!”

  “Reach in and get it out!”

  She thrust her hand in the cake, pulling out a diamond ring.

  “Wendell,” she screamed. “Is this an engagement ring?”

  “Purrrty and smart,” he said with a hearty laugh. “I gotta keep you.”

  “Is there something you want to ask me?”

  “Yeah. So you gon marry me or what?”

  “You didn’t even get down on one knee.”

  “I can take the ring back, purrrty,” he said, only halfway joking.

  “You don’t have to do that.” She bent down, clasped her hands around his chin, and kissed him.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Sí señor,” she said.

  “Now that we got that outta the way, I wanna tell you something.”

  She sat down then, flashing back to when Dexter proposed, and preparing herself for the worst. Did he have more children that he hadn’t told her about? Was he being evicted? Did he need to borrow money? Was he bisexual, too? A dozen scenarios played out in her head in seconds.

  “
What do you want to tell me?” she finally asked.

  “Not only am I the executive chef here, but I also own Jackson’s,” he said.

  “What did you say?”

  “This is my restaurant,” Wendell said. “I’m the boss and the owner. And sometimes the janitor and erethang in between. I should have told you sooner, but I’ve met some really materialistic women in Atlanta, and I wanted to get to know you first.”

  “But you have a Honda Accord! You live in a small apartment! And you own all of this?” Senalda usually Googled everyone and or checked them out on LinkedIn but hadn’t thought to do either, since Wendell didn’t have what she considered to be an important job. She realized then that all of the time she spent worrying that he did not make as much as she did amounted to nothing. She couldn’t wait to tell her girls!

  “Yes, because I have expenses. I have a whole staff depending on me. Haven’t you heard of living beneath your means, Ms. Client Manager for Wachovia Bank?”

  “You are making a lot of sense,” she agreed.

  “Dollars and cents,” he said with a smile. “I know it’s corny. Purrrty, I know you like the finer things in life and you deserve them and I want to give them to you when I can afford them.”

  “Wow,” was all Senalda could get out.

  “Is that aight with you?” Wendell asked, attempting to mimic her accent.

  “Ay papi!” she replied.

  CHAPTER 23

  October

  Jarena

  IT HAD BEEN A month since I met my father, but every day since then, I relived what happened when I drove down to Vidalia on Saturday, September 10. Two weeks after Dr. Baker told me he was my father, I agreed to meet him at his office at Redemption Baptist Church, where he was the pastor emeritus. Driving onto the church parking lot, I realized two things: This was the first time I had been on the grounds of a church since being kicked out of lay ministry at Hidden United Methodist, and stumbling onto Hidden United Methodist was about finding my way back to Redemption Baptist, a near replica of Hidden United Methodist. Tears gathered in my eyes as I just knew that I would be hearing from God that day. But instead of letting them fall, I willed them to go away.