by Stacy Adams
On a whim, Gabe and Rachelle decided to take the young couple to one of their favorite spots in Houston. Gabe made the reservation and steered them toward his SUV. Brian sat in the front passenger seat so he and Gabe could chat while Gabe drove.
“I’m telling you,” Gabe insisted, “engineering is the career of the future. Tate said just yesterday that he wants to be a doctor and I tried to talk him out of it.”
“Gabe!” Rachelle leaned forward and lightly spanked her husband’s shoulder. “Don’t do that to your son. If he wants to follow in your footsteps, you’re supposed to encourage him.”
Rachelle shook her head and looked at Indigo. Men! she mouthed.
Indigo chuckled. It was funny to see their dynamic as a couple and how, despite the fact that they loved each other deeply, that didn’t necessarily translate to agreeing on everything.
“You know I love what I do, Rachelle,” Gabe said as he weaved in and out of traffic in downtown Houston. “But having to deal with these insurance company rules and treating patients based on what their plans allow or don’t allow is nerve-wracking and, in some instances, borders on making me ineffective as a surgeon.
“If I can’t, as the expert, determine what type of care or testing my patients need based on the gravity of their condition versus what the insurance company is going to approve, then my hands are tied. It strips me of the power to ‘first do no harm,’ in many cases,” Gabe said. “An engineer can do well and not have to deal with all of that. That’s all I’m suggesting to Tate.”
Gabe pulled in front of Pesce Restaurant and the four of them climbed out of the Range Rover so the waiting attendant could valet park it. Once inside, they were ushered to a corner table with a candlelight view of the city and an interior aquarium.
“This is beautiful,” Indigo said. “Thanks for treating us. You guys are something else.”
“No, you guys are.” Gabe looked at Brian. “Graduating from Officer Candidate School with honors—congrats, man.”
Then he looked at Indigo. “Winning a photo contest in O Magazine that comes with a monthlong internship. How often does that happen?”
Indigo and Brian smiled at each other. Their mutual pride was evident.
“How are you going to fit in an internship with grad school—and a wedding?” Rachelle asked.
“I’ve talked to the magazine’s photo editor and we’ve agreed that I’ll do the internship in New York, working about ten hours a week, around my grad school courses,” Indigo said. “I’ll get settled into grad school, get the wedding behind me, and start the internship in March or April of next year. They’re really flexible.”
Rachelle shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re doing all of this. Remember how torn up you were about learning about the glaucoma and about leaving the newspaper? Do you see how God works?”
Indigo laughed. “You should hear Aunt Melba walking around the house preaching about it. Between her recovery and all the exciting things going on with me, she’s beside herself. And there’s more.”
Rachelle raised an eyebrow. “You won a Pulitzer Prize?”
They all laughed.
“No,” Indigo said. “Even better. Claude Ingram, the photography editor at the Herald, called last week and asked if I would be interested in a photo column that would feature the pictures that I’ve been snapping at the salon all summer, and any future shots of local residents that would be fitting. He’ll pay me a freelance column fee and run the photos once a month, on Sundays.”
“Did you accept?” Rachelle asked.
“Of course,” Indigo said, and dug into the calamari appetizer the waitress brought to the table. “That’ll cover my meals while I’m in grad school.
“But what’s even better is that Reader’s Digest called. They want to reprint my photo of Ms. Harrow delivering flowers to the salon.”
Indigo laughed as Rachelle covered her mouth with her hand to contain a mock scream.
“Reader’s Digest?!” Rachelle said. “Are you sure you need to go to grad school? You’re on your way.”
Rachelle leaned across the table and grasped Indigo’s hand. “I’m only kidding about ditching grad school—you get all of the education you can,” she said. “But this is so exciting, so blessed. I’m just thrilled.”
Indigo nodded and grinned. “I know—and there’s more.”
Rachelle sat back and put her wrist in front of Gabe. “Check my heart rate, Doc, I don’t know if I can stand any more.”
“A staff photographer for O who helped judge the contest mentioned to a friend of hers—a recruiter for Ford Models—that one of the photos I submitted was a picture of an aspiring model—Yasmin. The agency wants to talk to Yasmin about doing some work for them.”
Rachelle bowed her head. Indigo wasn’t sure if she was praying or crying, but when she lifted her eyes, Indigo saw that she had been doing both.
“God is doing some amazing things in our family right now,” she said softly. “We need to be sure to remember this season. What does Aunt Irene say about Yasmin possibly modeling?”
Indigo took a sip of water. “She’s a little nervous, but she’s willing to go along with it, as long as Yasmin’s counselor gives her the okay. We’re all concerned about Yas lapsing into the bulimia. Mama and Daddy are willing to let her try this, as long as she continues working with Dr. Danvers and as long as one of them can be with her at all times. Right now, though, everything’s still in the talking stage. When they take me up to grad school, they’ll take Yasmin for a visit with the model recruiter. Yasmin is about to die from excitement. I told her my photos would take her places.”
Gabe leaned forward and raised his palm so Indigo could give him a high five.
“Anything else—from either of you—that we need to know about before we order all the champagne in this place?” he asked.
“I’m done!” Indigo said and laughed. Gabe knew she didn’t drink, but she appreciated his enthusiasm. “I’m still pinching myself about it all too.”
Brian looked at her and smiled. “There’s no way I can compete with all of that. I’m just getting ready to go to flight school so I can become a little old Navy pilot. No excitement and glamour there.”
He laughed, but Gabe looked at him soberly.
“I know you’re joking,” Gabe told Brian, “but a lot of this is unfolding just as you two are planning to become husband and wife. That’s a lot to consider. These changing dynamics can have a big impact on your relationship.”
Indigo hadn’t told anyone she’d been troubled by the same concerns. It was one thing for the husband to be the top dog, but what happened if she outshone him and gained more notoriety for her work than he did for his? She didn’t want to be like Whitney Houston at a long-ago awards show, trying to make her man feel better by declaring to the audience that he was the king. She was thankful to have the issue raised by someone else, and a man at that.
“What do you mean?” Brian asked Gabe. “I do what I do and she does what she does. We’re in two different worlds so it’s not like I’m competing with her.”
Rachelle looked him in the eyes. “I’m glad you see it that way, Brian, but our society operates differently. It was okay for me to be Mrs. Gabe Covington, wife of a renowned heart surgeon. But it took some of the polish off his brass buckle when my title changed to Dr. Rachelle Covington. You can have the best of intentions, but you need to be honest with yourself, in your heart, about what you want in a wife and what your expectations are from Indigo, given that she’s already locked into a career that she loves.”
Brian and Indigo looked at each other.
“You need to be careful too,” Rachelle told Indigo. “I can tell you from experience that it’s easy to set aside your goals and dreams and dismiss opportunities that come your way because you don’t want to make your husband feel insecure or inferior.
“That seems noble and all, but that’s not what love is about,” Rachelle told both of them. “At the end of the
day, the key to a solid marriage partnership is not just love. You also have to be with someone who respects you deeply and who is looking out for your best interest. If you connect with someone who makes those two qualities a priority in your relationship, you’ll be okay.”
Indigo wanted to ask a question but hesitated.
Rachelle noticed. “Go ahead. Let’s get it all on the table. We love you both and want you to succeed. If our being honest helps you get there, we’re willing and ready to listen or talk.”
“What about you and Gabe?” Indigo finally asked. “I know you struggled for a while. What was missing and how did you get things back on track?”
Gabe looked at Rachelle. “You go first,” he said.
“I got married for the wrong reasons,” Rachelle said. “I wanted to please my parents and I was looking for security, and it just happened to come wrapped in a handsome and successful package named Gabe.
“When we started out, we were very much like you two. I was beginning my work as an optometrist and he was finishing a residency. We both were on track to pursue our dreams. But at some point, my dream got lost in our dream.”
Rachelle took a deep breath, as if the memory of that period still weighed her down. “Gabe kept his individual goals—to become a heart surgeon, to work at a leading hospital in Houston, to become a valued member of the community. He also was committed to our goals as a family. When we had Tate and Taryn, he wanted them to be exposed to certain things and be educated a certain way. I became the facilitator for making him look good and helping him reach his goals, and making sure the kids got everything we had agreed upon. There was no time left for me to pursue the things that had once mattered to me.”
She looked at Gabe. “He loved me, but I’m not sure that the respect was there or that he had my best interest at heart, especially when my needs competed with his. I have to be honest about that. Things started turning around for us when I decided to stand up for myself and make myself a priority again. I realized, in doing that, I was also helping him be less selfish and teaching our children that everybody’s needs matter.”
Gabe sat forward. “Rachelle’s version is correct. But I have to say for my part, I had to realize that the world didn’t revolve around me and my needs. That was huge, because at work, it did. In the community, it did. Even at home, Rachelle made sure that it did.”
He reached for Rachelle’s hand and smiled at her. “So when she had this ‘early life crisis’ and decided to change the terms of our unwritten contract, I wasn’t too happy. Two things happened. I went on a mission trip to Uganda with a Christian friend and his wife and saw the beauty in a relationship that didn’t require either partner to be subservient. And I felt a connection with God, for the first time ever. Both of those experiences were humbling. I realized that it didn’t matter who I was back in Houston, on paper or in the hospital. What mattered was who God said I was, and who Rachelle needed me to be.”
He looked at Brian. “It’s sounds easy, right? But trust me, it hasn’t been. I came home from that trip really afraid to let go of the way life had been. I had promised Rachelle before I got home that I was willing to change and do better, but when I walked into my home in a suburb not far from here, the old Gabe came back. I was in charge and that was the way it was going to be.
“When I realized that I might lose my wife, though, I finally woke up. We went to counseling for about a year and worked through some of the things we’ve mentioned tonight. But the most important thing I took away from that time was exactly what Rachelle first pointed out—I couldn’t say that I loved her if I wasn’t going to treat her with respect and do whatever I could to help her reach her highest potential.
“And ultimately,” Gabe said, “it all boiled down to facing truths. I had to take a long, hard look at myself and accept that I was arrogant and selfish. Until I did that, there was no hope of me changing for the better.”
Rachelle nodded. “And I had to be truthful with myself and own the fact that I had married him for prestige and security, and on the rebound from a first marriage that my parents had not approved of. I had to look at myself and honestly determine if I was a gold digger or manipulator or what. Acknowledging what had led me down the path to becoming Gabe’s wife and accepting life on his terms instead of our terms freed me to make new decisions that were better for me, and to be okay with that.”
Indigo was speechless. Her cousins had bared their souls, without making it pretty. She was grateful. It hit home that marriage wasn’t about the beautiful dress she had ordered or the logistics of where she and Brian would live or even whether they’d support each other in their individual endeavors.
Brian said it before she could formulate the words. “This all boils down to truth, doesn’t it?” he said pensively. “Being honest with ourselves and with each other.”
“With nothing held back,” Gabe said. “Truth has to be your foundation. If you can reveal your flaws and mistakes and misgivings to each other honestly, and sometimes even painfully, and still look into each other’s eyes and want to be together, there’s nothing that, with the help of God, you can’t overcome.”
Brian and Indigo smiled nervously at each other.
“This must be called Premarital Boot Camp,” Indigo joked. She looked at Rachelle. “You two get the Aunt Melba award for candidness. Thank you. From my heart.”
Indigo smiled at Rachelle and Gabe and at Brian, who planted a light kiss on her lips, but inside, she felt like jello. Everything was quivering, from her heart to her stomach to her beliefs about who she was as an individual and in relation to Brian.
Rachelle and Gabe had toppled her fantasy. She had been preparing for a wedding, when she needed to be deciding whether she was ready for a marriage.
40
Indigo’s graduation party had been special, but tonight was spectacular.
The Burns family had rented the ballroom in the city’s newly renovated performing arts center and it seemed like half of Jubilant was there to celebrate Aunt Melba’s return to her salon. Melba was a friend to many, from the mayor and police chief to the single mother who owned the cleaning business that kept Hair Pizzazz in tip-top shape.
Aunt Melba wasn’t moving as fast as before, but she wasn’t shy about getting on the dance floor with her brother, Herbert; with Indigo’s dad, Charles; with Gabe or with Brian.
After the fourth song in a row, Mama instructed Indigo to intervene. Indigo danced over to Melba and urged her to take a break.
“You won’t be able to move anything tomorrow if you keep this up,” Indigo teased and led her off the dance floor.
Aunt Melba laughed and relented. She joined Indigo at the table where Indigo sat with Brian, Shelby, Shelby’s friend Hunt, and Nizhoni. Each had plates filled with hors d’oeuvres, and the wait staff kept circulating and offering more.
“Thank you, guys, for coming and helping make this night special,” Aunt Melba said above the overamplified live band. She turned to Hunt and looked from him to Shelby. She gave Shelby a thumbs-up.
“Care to introduce me, or are you afraid I might take him?”
Shelby laughed and grabbed Hunt’s hand.
“Aunt Melba, this is someone special—Hunt Pappas,” Shelby said.
Aunt Melba shook the hand he extended and reached across the table for a hug.
“Everybody who knows me knows . . . I’m everybody’s aunt, including yours . . . young man,” she said. “I hope you’re . . . enjoying the party.”
Hunt smiled and looked at Shelby.
“I’m having a great time,” he said. “I’m honored to help you celebrate your recovery. You’ve had a long fight, Shelby tells me. You’re looking wonderful, and I’m praying that God will keep you going strong.”
Aunt Melba sat back in surprise. “Well, now . . . where did you find him?” she asked Shelby. “Smart . . . handsome and . . . Godfearing too? Order me one up!”
Everyone laughed.
“Seriously, th
ough,” she said, “he’s right. God has kept me strong. I . . . wouldn’t be here . . . without his grace and mercy. Strokes don’t come . . . with warnings. At least . . . mine didn’t. But . . . while God had me off my feet . . . leaning on him . . . and on my family . . . for support . . . he drew me closer to him and deepened my love . . . for him. I have to say . . . that has made it all worth it.”
Everyone at the table fell silent, including Indigo. To be thankful for an illness that could have taken your life, cost you your business, and limited your chances of taking care of yourself ever again was deep.
Yasmin danced over and hugged Aunt Melba from behind. “The guest of honor is needed at the podium. Sorry to steal her away, guys.”
Yasmin escorted Aunt Melba to the microphone and raised a hand to quiet the music and the crowd.
“Good evening, everyone,” Yasmin said into the microphone. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. We’re going to start our formal program now with an introduction of my aunt Melba by her friend Dr. Cynthia Bridgeforth.”
Cynthia looked regal in a semiformal black chiffon top and flowing black slacks. She trotted across the stage and gave Melba a lingering hug, which the audience applauded.
“Some of us hadn’t expected to be here on a night like this, for this occasion,” Cynthia finally said into the microphone. “Melba was sick. Really sick. She couldn’t work, she couldn’t take care of herself, and at one point, she could barely talk. But what we see standing before us—and what you saw dragged off the dance floor a few minutes ago—is the goodness of God.
“Melba is proof that nothing is too hard for him, if we will just trust and believe.”
The crowd erupted into shouts of gratitude and applause.
Indigo looked at Hunt and winked. “Welcome to the black Baptist church,” she said and laughed.
Hunt furrowed his brow.
“I’ll explain later,” she said and smiled.