The Bishop's Daughter

by Tiffany L. Warren

  He opens the door before I can knock. “Hey, baby,” he says, and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Hey.”

  He rushes back to the kitchen but says, “Get comfortable and sit on the couch. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  “We’re not sitting at the table?”

  “Nope. Not tonight.”

  I glance around the room at the strategically placed candles and the huge blanket in the middle of the floor. On the blanket are elegant place settings and huge, soft lounging pillows.

  “Should I sit on the floor?” I ask.

  “You can if you like.”

  I sit down in front of a pillow and rest my head, inhaling the aromas coming from the kitchen. I feel kind of bad that I’ve never cooked anything for him. But I’m almost a thousand percent sure he wouldn’t like my cooking.

  “Dang!” shouts Darrin from the kitchen.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  “No. I forgot the ginger for the sesame ginger chicken.”

  I shrug. “So why can’t we just have sesame chicken?”

  “Because I have my mouth set for sesame ginger, and it’s not the same thing. I’ll run to the corner and hope they have fresh gingerroot.”

  I grab my jacket from the couch and start to put it on. “Oh, I can go and do that for you.”

  Darrin takes my coat out of my hands and kisses me on the forehead. That was definitely a boyfriend move. “What kind of man would I be if I let my woman go out at this time of night? You can relax here until I come back.”

  “You sure?”

  He nods and smiles. “Yep.”

  “Well, you better hurry up, because I might fix myself a peanut-butter sandwich.”

  “You better not,” threatens Darrin with a laugh.

  As soon as Darrin walks out the door and I hear the bolt turn in the lock, I hear my mother’s voice in my head. No one just reveals himself. Not in a romantic setting. We’re all on best behavior.

  I’m not too worried about Darrin having anything to hide, because a man who is hiding something does not leave his girlfriend in his apartment alone. Right?

  A colorful brochure calls out to me from Darrin’s desk in the corner. It’s right out in the open, so he shouldn’t care if I take a little peek at it.

  Why am I looking over my shoulder like there’s someone watching me?

  I walk casually over to the desk and pick up the brochure. It’s for a cooking school in Savannah. I feel a smile stretching across my lips.

  Is my man planning on going to school in Savannah? Is he doing this so he can be near me? Is he going to ask me to marry him? We’ve only been dating a few weeks, but it could happen.

  I start doing a little praise-break shout like Sister Rogers at our church. Sister Rogers shouts every Sunday. Most of the time she shouts out of her hat. Sometimes she shouts out of her wig.

  While I’m in the midst of my shouting, I accidentally bump Darrin’s desk, and the computer flashes on. I jump like somebody’s caught me, but then I blink and look at the screen.

  A Google search page. Nothing exciting.

  Then I hear my mother’s voice again. No one just reveals himself.

  I had a friend in college who used to always hit the back button on her boyfriend’s Internet browser to see the Web site he’d just looked at. She found out that he had a cyber girlfriend and liked to look at butt-naked video chicks online.

  No one just reveals himself.

  I feel my hand reaching for the mouse, and before I allow common sense to stop me, I click on the back button.

  I draw in a sharp breath when I read the screen, because it’s all about my daddy.

  DIARY OF A MAD BLACK BLOGGER

  Some of y’all want to know which lady I chose, and that’s funny to me. I tell y’all about a scandal that could make my career, and all y’all want to know about is which girl I picked!

  I can’t believe y’all.

  Before I tell y’all about the girl, let me give y’all an update about the hypothetical situation.

  I actually met the alleged illegitimate son of the bishop. He was believable, and I truly felt bad for the dude.

  This has got me even more torn because I was one hundred percent in the bishop’s corner until I heard this dude out. I mean, to grow up without your father and then see him on television every week: ouch. That’s gotta hurt. Sad thing is, I don’t think the bishop is going to acknowledge him or ever be in the dude’s life.

  That’s messed up.

  I just know that it won’t be me revealing anything to anyone. My mother loves to say, “What’s done in the dark will always be brought to light.” If God wants to blow the lid off this thing, He will. I’ve got too much of my own stuff that I hope stays in the shadows.

  Anyway, I picked the bishop’s daughter, so that complicates matters even more. Gotta think of a way to tell her why I’m really “on location.” (Y’all thought I was about to slip and tell y’all the city so you could try to guess the bishop! Wow, y’all are nosy.)

  Hit me up in the comments, and y’all … pray for me!

  COMMENTS

  Tyrone 4:55 p.m.

  Yeah boyee! You picked the PK. I knew you’d make the right choice. Is she a freak?

  Jia 5:12 p.m.

  There YOU go, Tyrone. Anyway … I think you should reveal it, because it’s too many scandalous preachers out here right now. You can’t even go to church without worrying about WHO is praying for you. Tell it! Tell it!

  Lee-Lee 5:30 p.m.

  Ooh, MBB! How you gone play me like that? You know you supposed to be my boo. But I agree with Jia. That’s real talk. Not everyone was called, some of these pastors just WENT.

  Sister Mary 6:17 p.m.

  If you want to do anything, you nede to be praying for your bishop. He’s a man too. You nede to be liftin up the blood stained banner and stompin the devl under your feet.

  The room is spinning, and my head feels like it’s about to explode. I cannot believe this. So many thoughts going through my head right now.

  Why would Darrin do this to me? Why? He’s putting my daddy on blast on the Internet, and me, too! Did he know I was gonna give it up from the jump? Does he think I’m a freak?

  Why did I give my virginity to this man?

  I spin around quickly and grab my coat and shoes. Gotta get out of here before he comes back. I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see him, because I can’t look at him without crying.

  And I’m not letting him see me cry over him. But if I don’t get out of this apartment, I’m going to fall apart. I’m not strong, and I’m not mature, and I’m not going to be okay after this.

  I gave this man my virginity, and we’re not okay.

  I dash out and rush down the hallway, trying to be unnoticed. The tears have already started to fall.

  But the inevitable occurs. I run right into Dorcas in the building’s lobby.

  “Emoni, are you all right?” she asks.

  Do I look all right? I hate when people ask me stupid questions. What she really wants to ask is What did Darrin do? or Did you guys break up? But instead she asks if I’m all right. Then it occurs to me. She probably knows all about Darrin and his “story.” I bet that’s why they broke up.

  So I was his afterthought. His second choice. His fall back piece of tail. I can’t believe I gave this man my virginity.

  I respond to Dorcas, “Yes, I’m fine.”

  I can tell she doesn’t believe me. So what? I’m tired of trying to convince people of things about me. Tired of convincing Daddy and Mother that I’m grown, tired of convincing Sascha that I’m not a square.

  I rush into my car, slam the door, and start the engine in a fluid motion.

  I’m tired of convincing Darrin that he should pick me instead of Dorcas. Pick her. I don’t care.

  The only person I’ve never had to convince of anything is Oscar.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Darrin

  I’m so stupid.r />
  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  How could I have been careless enough to leave Emoni in my apartment with her business all over my computer? I’m seriously slipping.

  The only person I have to turn to is my boy Leon.

  I call him up and tell him how I foolishly left Emoni to get some ginger and then how she went snooping on my computer and found out about my blog. I tell him how she was gone when I got back and how she’s not answering her cell phone and how I never got to explain myself.

  Leon, for once, is silent.

  “Dawg! Did you hear what I said?”

  Leon takes a long inhale and a long exhale. “Man, you are in some deep doo-doo.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I have a question. Did you sleep with this girl?”

  I close my eyes and sigh anxiously. “Yeah, man.”

  “Aw, man! You took the pastor’s daughter to bed? What’s wrong with you?”

  “I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

  “The real thing you need to worry about is what you’re gonna tell Big Mathis at Christmas when he asks about your story.”

  A groan escapes my lips. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Dude, you have to go and talk to this girl. Go to her house, see her at church. But you can’t leave it like this. You gotta let her know what’s up.”

  “Yeah, I know. But tonight I have this Thanksgiving party to go to.”

  “Can’t you go to your girl’s house? You know she’s gonna be home on Thanksgiving.”

  I considered this already. Of course Emoni’s home. As is the rest of her family, including her brother and father. And probably that fool Oscar. If she told them about the blog, the deck is stacked against me. If she told them we slept together, they might be looking to shoot a brotha.

  “Naw. I’ve got to talk to her on neutral ground. I ain’t got no boys down here backing me up.”

  “I feel you on that. But er … uh … a brotha like me is trying to watch this here Cowboys game. So you let me know how all this turns out.”

  “Right. Yeah, all right.”

  I press End on my cell phone and head to my true sanctuary: the kitchen. I start chopping celery and onions for my sausage dressing, though I can’t believe I still plan on going to Dorcas’s shindig. But it’s something to do, and I’ve never spent a holiday alone. Been blessed to always have people around me.

  Right now, though, I’m alone with my thoughts. Trying to figure out how I let things get so intense with Emoni without telling her the truth. I’ve never been able to commit, but I’ve always been honest about it. I’ve never done anyone dirt, as my West Indian grandma likes to say.

  There is a knock on my door. I’m assuming it’s Dorcas and hoping it’s Emoni. But one peek through the peephole tells me differently. It’s Shayna—the woman who is obviously not done with me.

  I open the door. “Shayna.”

  She hugs me and kisses my cheek. “Hey, baby. Happy Thanksgiving. So are you happy to see me?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “Shayna, why are you here?”

  She opens her coat to reveal a little black Victoria’s Secret ensemble.

  I laugh out loud. “I know they didn’t let you on the airplane looking like that.”

  “No. I changed in the airport bathroom. Now tell me about your story! Should I stop sending Bishop Prentiss my tithes and offerings?”

  “There’s no story, Shayna. Your tithes are safe.”

  She raises an eyebrow like she doesn’t believe me, then goes into the kitchen and eyes my dish on the counter. “What are you cooking?”

  “Sausage dressing.”

  “You’re cooking a big Thanksgiving feast? I came just in time.”

  “I’m invited to a get-together.”

  “Can I come with?”

  I laugh again. “Sure, but it’s going to be mostly people from the singles’ ministry at church.”

  She scrunches her nose. “No, thanks. I’ll just chill out here. And we can have our celebration later … by candlelight.”

  “I can’t have a candlelit dinner with you.”

  “Why not?”

  I want to tell her I’m dating the girl I could be with forever. Thing is, I don’t know if Emoni will ever get over what I’ve done.

  I pull myself away from the suggestive conversation and go into the kitchen to finish my dressing. Shayna picks up the brochure for the cooking school from my table and thumbs through it. “What’s this?” she asks.

  “What’s what?”

  “This culinary arts school booklet. Is there something you need to tell me?”

  I consider telling her the truth. Seeing that my number of confidants has dropped to few and far between, it might help to have a sympathetic ear. But in light of Shayna’s background of carrying pertinent and not so pertinent information back to my mother, I swiftly change my mind. “No. That’s just some junk mail.”

  “Oh, okay. You know, I was a little worried about coming down here.”

  “Why?”

  “Only because I’ve hardly heard from you since you left. I almost thought I’d run into your new girlfriend.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “So why haven’t you called me?”

  “I’ve been busy,” I reply.

  “Too busy to call your woman?”

  Now she’s standing in front of me, putting little kisses all over my face and neck, and I consider not stopping her. I’m torn because my flesh misses this, wants this. I’m feeling so down about Emoni that I would rather wrap myself in Shayna’s arms and fornicate my troubles away.

  But then I think about Bishop’s Bible study lesson about the flesh. About how everything concerning the flesh is the opposite of everything the Spirit displays. My flesh is selfish and would take Shayna right here and right now, even though I don’t love her. Don’t even want her in my life.

  “Shayna. Put your clothes on, baby.”

  “You don’t sound like you mean that.”

  “But I do.”

  Shayna takes a spin, modeling her expensive lingerie. “Don’t leave me hanging, Darrin.”

  I close my eyes tightly. The new man I’m struggling to preserve can’t look at her standing here in booty-call apparel. I grab my cordless telephone from the counter and start to dial.

  “Who are you calling?” she asks.

  “Information. I’m finding you a hotel. The downtown Ritz-Carlton, please.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Yes. I’d like to book a suite,” I say into the phone.

  Shayna rolls her eyes and pulls a pair of pants from her bag. “I don’t believe this.”

  After I make the reservation, I place the phone on the counter and attempt eye contact with Shayna. I ask her, “Don’t you see why this is a good thing?”

  “It would be a good thing if I were a church girl you were going to make your wife.”

  Immediately, I think of Emoni. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “So that’s it? We aren’t even going to spend any time together?”

  “I’ve got this Thanksgiving party, and after that, it’ll be late—and dangerous.”

  “I don’t want to spend Thanksgiving alone. Can I come to the party with you?”

  I don’t want her to come. Dorcas is going to be offended, and the news of my “date” will be back to Emoni quicker than I can blink. But Shayna did come all the way here, and I don’t want her to be alone on the holiday.

  “Yes … you can come, but please don’t tell everyone you’re my girlfriend, because that is not the truth.”

  Shayna rolls her eyes again. “Right, I’ll just tell them I’m your booty buddy. Or was your booty buddy.”

  “Don’t embarrass me, Shayna.”

  “I know how to act, Darrin.”

  I go into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on my dressing. Shayna, now fully dressed, is sitting on my couch pouting. I’m sure that going to a sanctified Thanksg
iving party was not what she had in mind, but oh well.

  There is a knock at my door, and before I can turn from the oven, Shayna is answering it for me. It’s Emoni. Who else would it be when I’ve got my ex posted up in my spot?

  I hear Emoni say, “Is Darrin here?”

  “Hey, Moni—Emoni,” I say as I dash from the kitchen.

  Shayna asks, “Are you going to introduce us?”

  I clear my throat. “Shayna, this is Bishop Prentiss’s daughter Emoni. Emoni—”

  “I’m Darrin’s friend Shayna.”

  She puts a ridiculous amount of emphasis on the word “friend.” I should’ve known she would do that. Emoni looks about ready to lose her composure and go straight to the streets on Shayna. This can only end badly.

  Emoni asks Shayna, “Are you from Cleveland?”

  There is more stank in Emoni’s tone than a Bronx garbage day in the middle of July.

  “Yes. I came down here to spend the holiday with my friend,” says Darrin.

  Emoni spits more fire. “Wow, you two must be great friends if you’ll come all the way to Atlanta for Thanksgiving.”

  “You might call us bosom buddies.”

  I have to jump in before this gets out of control. “Emoni, isn’t your family getting ready for dinner? We’re going to the singles’ ministry party.”

  “I just came by,” replies Emoni in a softer tone, “to make sure you weren’t spending the holiday alone.”

  Shayna says, “Oh, he’s good.”

  I grab Emoni by the hand and lead her into the hallway. Shayna gives me the look of death when I close the apartment door in her face.

  “Moni, thanks for coming to see about me. I appreciate that.”

  “I shouldn’t have. Not since you’re trying to destroy my father and his ministry.”

  “It’s not like that, Emoni.”

  “I. Saw. Your. Blog.” Each of Emoni’s words is punctuated with hurt.

  “But if you’d read every post—”

  “I did read every post, Darrin. You’re torn about revealing my father. I get that. But the fact that you even considered it … that hurts.”

  “Moni—”

  “Please stop calling me that, Darrin. Save your little endearments for your bosom buddy.”