If Only For One Night

by Victoria Christopher Murray

He said, “Here,” he moved toward one of the chairs at the side of our dining room table that was set for eight. “Sit down.”

  It was shock that made me sit, shock that made me look up at Preston and finally ask the question, “What is this?”

  He said, “I told you, we never finished our drink.”

  Still holding my glass, I said, “I thought you wanted to talk.”

  “I do. But I also wanted us to have dinner together because like you said, we hadn’t done that in a long time.” He walked toward the other end of the table and lifted a white plastic bag. “And since I didn’t have time to cook….”

  My first thought — I wondered which delivery guy Preston had hijacked this time. But when he unloaded the Styrofoam cartons onto the table, I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, though I heard the hint of a smile in his voice.

  “Really, Preston? The Waffle House?” I looked down at the giant waffle that was surrounded by scramble eggs, sausage and grits.

  He chuckled with me, but then, by the time he sat down next to me, there was nothing but sadness in his voice when he said, “You told me this was when you were happiest with me. When we were eating at The Waffle House.”

  I wanted to reach out and hug him. But although we’d laughed just a moment ago, Preston’s pain was so palpable, I was afraid to touch him. I couldn’t — not when I was the cause of his pain.

  When he looked up and I saw the mist in his eyes, that brought tears to my own. “I’m so sorry, Preston,” I said.

  He nodded. “You know, I really did want us to eat first. I wanted to chat and laugh the way we used to…and then, talk. But….”

  I swallowed, a reflex as I wondered what would come next.

  He said, “But we need to talk.”

  My hand shook as I set down my glass. “I know. “

  We sat together, Prince still doing his singing thing in the background and I wondered where this was going? What questions would Preston ask? What answers would I give? It was a rhetorical question in my head because I knew what answers I would give — I would give the truth.

  He said, “It’s been a tough week for me because I’ve been trying to figure out what went wrong in our marriage.” I opened my mouth but he held up his hand. “No, I heard you. All I could do last Sunday was listen to what you had to say, but,” he shook his head, “I don’t get it.” His tone was filled with the hurt that had been stamped onto his heart by me.

  “And I get that you don’t.”

  He tilted his head.

  I said, “Because all of this,” my hand swept toward the expensive replica of Ellis Wilson’s painting on the dining room wall, the four-shelf curio that Preston had designed, and the three-tiered chandelier that sparkled above it all, “this…all of this is your love language. But this,” I held up the Styrofoam container, “this right here is mine. Because this means that you paid attention to me, that you heard me, and that you wanted to do something about what I said.”

  He nodded, but I could tell that he didn’t really understand.

  “Preston, I get that you work so hard for all of these things. But all of these things have nothing to do with me.”

  “But, they’re all for you,” he said, his voice filled with astonishment. “I work so hard because I want you to have the best of everything.”

  It was clear that Preston was trying, but it was just as clear that he hadn’t comprehended what I’d said on Sunday. “I know what you wanted me to have, but all I wanted was you.”

  “I heard you,” he said, though I wasn’t sure that he had. “But don’t you realize that I am these things? That all of this and me are one in the same?”

  I leaned back. “I never thought you’d have that revelation.” Twisting in the chair, I reached for him, then hesitated, but after a moment took his hands into mine. “This week has been hard for me, too. Because I kept asking myself how could I do that to such a good guy as you.”

  He nodded as if he totally agreed with my assessment of what I'd done. “And did you get an answer?”

  “I did.” I paused. “First of all, this was all me, and my shortcomings. It had nothing to do with you.”

  He didn't nod nor did he shake his head.

  I continued, “I know it had nothing to do with you because I didn’t even think about you.”

  He flinched.

  “I only say that because if I had thought of you, I would have never been able to go through with it. I would have walked away, I think.” When he raised his eyebrows, I added, “I hope.” That was all I could give him — the truth.

  “So why didn't you…why didn't you think about me?”

  I knew that he’d have hard questions. “I did start off thinking about you.” I didn’t add that once Blu’s lips touched mine, that was when any kind of memory of Preston ended. “But,” I continued, “I think what this was about for me was that I was chasing something.”

  He gave me a slow nod. “And did you find it?”

  That was not the question I expected that he would ask. I thought he would ask what I’d been chasing. That would have been the better question, the easier one to answer.

  What was interesting was that it wasn’t until this moment that I could answer this question. I guess I had to be in this place surrounded by these candles and the music and this waffle. I had to be in this place that Preston called love for me to be sure.

  “Yes,” I said as my shoulders rounded. “I found it.”

  He frowned. “Usually when someone says they found what they were looking for, that makes them happy. You don’t sound that way.” His tone was just as sad as mine. “Did you find whatever you were chasing…with him?”

  I realized then that Preston didn’t even know his name.

  He said, “Did you find it in that…”

  My eyes widened in expectation. I’d never heard my husband utter a bad word. But he skipped over whatever noun he planned to call Blu and asked, “Is that it? Do you want to be with him?”

  “No,” I shook my head right away, “I don’t want to be with Blu,” I said his name purposefully. “I didn’t find what I was looking for in him, I found it with him. “ I took a breath. “I hate saying this because it sounds so cliché. But I promised myself, I would tell you only the truth. And what I was looking for was me.”

  Preston frowned like my words totally confused him.

  And so, I began my explanation. “From the moment we met, I became lost in you. Everything in my life was about you. About making our home comfortable for you so that you could come home to a safe place after working hard all day. Next, it was what I could do to help you get your Masters. Then it was about making everything work for you while you worked long hours at the firm. And then, the ultimate. I was so excited to do everything I could to help you plan, start and build Wake Forest. But then somehow, I was dropped from that equation. It became all about you, I wasn’t included at all anymore. I never put myself first, so why should I have expected you to do it?”

  “But it wasn’t like you wanted to work with Wake Forest. I thought you had the foundation.”

  “That you…and sometimes I…treated like it’s a hobby. It’s not important or else you wouldn’t have missed the gala.”

  “It was because…” He stopped as if he caught himself. As if he knew another excuse would not help this conversation. “Okay, so now that we know the reason, where do we go from here?”

  I pulled my hands away from him, lowered my head, and licked my lips to prepare to tell Preston all that I needed to say.

  But before I could say anything, Preston said, “Because you hurt me, Angelique. You hurt me so much, that at first, I was sure this was beyond repair. I’m talking about my heart and our relationship. I didn’t think either one could be fixed.”

  His words thickened the air with tension.

  He continued, “But although it’s hard for me to understand what you did, I want us to come back from this.” He
reached for my hand. “Because if there’s one thing that I know for sure, it’s that you’re my life partner.”

  Life partner.

  He squeezed my hand and it felt as if he’d done the same to my heart.

  “It’s going to take a lot,” he continued. “We’ll need counseling because we’ll both have to figure out how to put this behind us. We’ll have a lot of work to do and we’ll have to do it together. But I’m willing to do all of that, whatever it takes to work this out. I want to work past my pain and past all of the pain you’ve felt because like I said, we belong together.”

  Life partners.

  “So, do you think we can do this? Do you think we can put this back together?” His words were so hopeful and it pained me to think that what I had to say would take that all away.

  “Angelique,” he called my name as if he wasn’t sure that I’d heard his question, “do you want to do this together?”

  I gulped in air and a bunch of courage before I said, “Preston, what I want is a divorce.”

  EPILOGUE

  Nine months later

  The salesman handed me the keys and smiled. “Here you are, Mrs. Mason.”

  I didn’t flinch the way I had nine months ago when someone called me by that name. From the moment Preston and I agreed to a divorce, I knew I was going to change back to my maiden name of Angelique Carter. But, I wasn’t tripping — since my divorce wasn’t final, I still used Mason as my legal name. That was going to change, though, in about four weeks.

  Slipping inside the car, I slapped on my designer shades and rolled out of the parking lot with the top down. This car was much older than what I’d been used to while married to Preston. He made sure that I had a new car every two years — another part of his love language that didn’t speak to me.

  This car was one of the pieces of my new life. Gone was my Lexus SUV and in it’s place was this four-year-old convertible red Corvette.

  Anyone who knew me would be sure that this car purchase had been inspired by my favorite singer. But this red car had truly been inspired by Blu.

  I sighed as I thought about him, and not for the first time. My sigh wasn’t a longing for Blu, but rather the regret I felt for Preston. Not that I was sorry about the divorce. There was no doubt that ending my marriage was what was best for me.

  But it still hurt because Preston Mason was a good man, just not the good man for me. And because he was so good, because every part of his package was just right, I might have rolled with that marriage the way so many women have done if I hadn’t met Blu. Blu Logan opened my eyes. And even though I’d had fleeting thoughts of spending a lifetime with him, they were always just that — fleeting. Because there was one thing I always knew for sure — God wouldn't send me another woman's husband. And except for that one transgression, I was never going back.

  So Blu had come into my life for a reason, and Preston had been a very long season. Now, my journey was all about the lifetime — and finding that true soulmate who belonged to only me.

  My mind drifted back to this morning, when I'd seen the soulmate who didn't belong to me. I'd seen Blu on TV, not in person. We'd really pulled the plug on our connection and hadn't communicated with each other since the day we'd said goodbye. I'm not going to lie, there were so many days I wanted to send a text, call just to check-in, or even start back playing Words With Friends. I'd deleted the app so I wouldn't be tempted to reach out to him. At first, staying away was hard. But with each day came a renewed strength - until my heart made peace with the fact that Blu was gone.

  When I'd first seen Blu this morning, being interviewed on Fox 26 Morning News - with his wife by his side - I didn't know how I'd feel watching them. The anchor was talking to them about Monica's family foundation, The Taylor Foundation, which was having a big fundraiser next week.

  I'd stood in front of the television in shock.

  "...and so, we decided to come out of the shadows," Monica said, "to really raise awareness about mental illness. That's what this fundraiser is all about."

  She looked nothing like I envisioned. I pictured some pale, scowling woman who looked like she hated life. I don't know why I'd formulated that vision in my head, it's not like Blu ever described her that way. But this woman, looked radiant, full of life. She looked happy. And the way she and Blu kept their hands intertwined, I knew they were happy.

  "Your family foundation used to have a rich history of funding projects, but over the last few years, it seems you went in a different direction," the red-haired anchor said.

  "Oh no," Blu answered, "we were still working with charitable organizations, we just preferred to stay out of the spotlight."

  Monica squeezed his hand and turned to the anchor. "My husband's right. Thankfully, when I was sick, he found an amazing organization to help, so we're still active."

  My stomach did flip-flops as she continued.

  "What organization was that?" the anchor asked.

  She smiled, and I could've sworn she looked directly at the camera. But she just turned and grinned at Blu. "That was a donation that we had preferred to stay anonymous on, and since we hadn't cleared it with them, we'll keep it that way."

  Blu looked a little uneasy, but he kept his smile as the anchor wrapped up their interview.

  "Well, best of luck on the event.....and can I just say, you two are hashtag-love-goals," she chuckled before turning to the camera. "We need to have them back in February to talk about finding your soulmate," she said. "That's it for us this morning, we'll see you back here tomorrow."

  As the music came up and the credits began rolling, I'd snapped the TV off and silently wished them all the best.

  I pushed aside thoughts of this morning, and turned my attention to this evening, and my new beginning.

  I pulled up to my studio apartment, then sat in front of the building looking at my new place. One day — two new sets of keys.

  As I stepped out of the car and walked up the stairs to the third floor, I admired the visuals that surrounded my new home. I was going to love this neighborhood. My new place was far from the five thousand square foot home I’d been used to, but it got me out of Cassidy's apartment, which was where I'd been staying since her international flight duties kept her away from home. And while that had been great, it was something about having your own. And this was mine.

  Opening the door, I stepped inside and paused after I closed the front door. I wanted a moment to inhale the air, the freedom, I wanted a moment to inhale the new Angelique Carter.

  I was looking forward to my new life, committed to throwing myself into Black Girl Magic, earning a great living, and finding my happiness within - until my true soulmate came along.

  The End

  Want more from

  Victoria Christopher Murray &

  ReShonda Tate Billingsley?

  Check out It Should’ve Been Me

  Lights, camera, action…

  Tamara Collins is poised to become the next great American actress. The problem is Hollywood doesn’t know that just yet…..and since her bills aren’t paying themselves, Tamara signs on to star in the new stageplay, It Should’ve Been Me. Get in, get out, get paid…that’s all Tamara wants to do. But her co-stars – including Donovan Dobbs, her ex that left her at the altar and Camille Woods, a young starlet with a serious grudge – could make this the worst decision Tamara’s ever made.

  Whatever it takes…

  Playwright/producer Gwen Tanner Weinstein has decided if her neglectful husband can’t give her love, she’ll take his money. And use it to make her stageplay dreams come true. She’s put together an amazing cast, sold out shows across the country and is ready to take her rightful reign as one of the top play producers in the country. If only she can keep the drama contained to the stage….and that sexy young merchandising guy out of her bed….

  From shady crew members, to unscrupulous paparazzi, It Should’ve Been Me is bound to be turned into real life drama that will rival anything t
hat could ever happen on the stage.

  Turn the page for an excerpt…

  CHAPTER 1

  Tamara Collins

  In my last film, I'd played a psychotic woman who stabbed her husband in the stomach thirty-two times with a Swiss Army knife. Now, looking at the man who'd just stepped into this huge conference room made me curl my hand into a fist as if I were holding that knife again.

  "This cannot be happening," I mumbled, as I stepped to the other side of the room that had been set up in the Renaissance Hotel for our first rehearsal. I pivoted, so that he wouldn't see me and I could get my face together in a few seconds.

  I was already upset because this jacked-up, twenty-degrees warmer than normal Atlanta temperature had turned my Brazilian Blowout into a Philippine Poof. Now I had to deal with this, too?

  Clearly, I was being punished for something I had done, maybe in a previous life. I didn't believe in reincarnation, but that was the only way I could explain why I hadn't had a movie role in two years. Or maybe it wasn't punishment. Maybe it was because my name wasn't Cameron Diaz or Jennifer Anniston or that my skin wasn't the color of mashed potatoes.

  Yes! That was it. That was the reason why I was in this room, an A actor (okay, maybe an A minus or at worst, a B plus) on the play circuit.

  Now, don't get me wrong, I loved theater, always had, always would. Some of the greats -- James Earl Jones, Cicely Tyson, Vanessa Williams, even Denzel Washington -- had all slayed the stage. And August Wilson's “Fences” -- now that Pulitzer Prize winning play was one of my all-time favorites. Having a role in “Fences,” on the Great White Way, in the magnificent city of New York, would have been as much of a coup as just about any big screen movie.

  But this wasn't “Fences” nor was it “Aida” or “Fela.” And this wasn't Broadway. This wasn't even off-Broadway, it wasn't two blocks over from Broadway. This was down the street, around the corner, across the river, and almost nine hundred miles away from Broadway.

  And once we began touring, we'd leave Atlanta and go deep into the 'Chitlin Circuit,' probably visiting cities I'd never heard of and towns that sounded like the butt end of jokes.