by Shelly Ellis
Feeling like a soldier heading before the firing squad, C. J. walked back into the room wearing a simple white satin mermaid wedding gown. She thought the ruching complemented her curves and the heart-shaped neckline showed the right amount of cleavage. It also hugged her round booty.
Something Terry will definitely like, she noted.
When she stepped on the podium, the salesgirl adjusted the train. C. J. stared down at the faces of the three women.
“So? What do you think?” she asked.
Leila tilted her head. “It’s . . . nice,” she said politely, in the same tone that one would use to describe the weather.
Paulette glanced up from her cell phone, shrugged, then looked at her cell phone screen again.
“It’s boring!” Aunt Ida exclaimed before sipping from her champagne glass. “It looks like something I would wear to a dinner party!”
C. J. frowned down at the dress.
Who the hell would wear a white satin mermaid gown to a dinner party?
Aunt Ida waved off the dress like she was waving off a fruit fly. “Not acceptable! We can do better! Try on another one, sweetheart.”
Grudgingly, C. J. raised the hem of the dress and walked off the platform.
She returned a few minutes later wearing a cream-colored ball gown with a little embellishment along the bodice. She turned to the three women expectantly.
“Better?” she asked.
“I really like you in that color,” Leila said, nodding.
Aunt Ida sighed. “I guess it’s better, but where’s all the Swarovski crystals and pearls, honey? Where’s all the bling?” she drawled. “Believe me . . . girls like us can’t go simple with what we wear. We need as much help as we can get!”
“Aunt Ida,” Leila said tightly, eying the older woman.
“I’m just saying she’s no beauty queen! She knows that. But, darlings, neither am I! That’s why I always make sure I’m covered in flash,” she said, motioning to her diamond bracelet and necklace. “It draws the attention instead!”
“We . . . uh . . . we have a similar dress with much more adornment along the bodice and train!” the salesgirl piped, stepping forward.
“You do?” Aunt Ida asked hopefully.
Meanwhile, C. J. stood mutely on the platform. She was still recovering from the insult: “She’s no beauty queen.”
No, C. J. would never describe herself as beautiful, but she had never considered herself unattractive, either. From the way Aunt Ida was describing her, though, you’d think she’d be better off not choosing a wedding gown but walking around with a paper bag on her head her entire wedding day to hide her ugly face!
“Yes, we do! There’s this gorgeous Lazaro that just came in last week,” the salesgirl said to Aunt Ida, still eager to make a sale and oblivious to the devastated bride-to-be standing beside her. She paused and finally glanced back at C. J. “Of course, it’s at a much higher price point. It’s—”
“This dress is fine,” Paulette said, finally speaking up. “No need to bankrupt my brother over a dress she’s only going to wear once.”
C. J. gritted her teeth. She was ten seconds away from cursing out Paulette and Aunt Ida but decided, for Terrence’s sake, to just grin and bear it, to just get through this ordeal.
She and the salesgirl returned to the dressing room, trying on more gowns that C. J. quickly eliminated. She finally settled on a Chantilly lace and charmeuse empire-waist dress with caplet sleeves and a ribbon at the waist that was held together with a small diamond broach. She thought the dress was romantic. She felt like a character in a Jane Austen novel wearing this dress.
C. J. proudly marched onto the platform, daring her entourage to say anything bad about the gown.
Aunt Ida lowered her champagne glass and squinted. “Did they steal someone’s tablecloth to make that?”
Paulette burst into laughter as C. J.’s shoulders fell.
“It does not look like a tablecloth,” Leila snapped.
“I swear that my grandmother used to have something similar on the mahogany table she kept in her foyer! An old doily, I believe it was. It’s the very same pattern.”
At that moment, C. J. felt like a trash can that both Aunt Ida and Paulette had been lobbing garbage into for the past hour. She felt almost full to the brim with their putdowns. Instead of making her feel worthless—which is what she was sure the duo had intended—it made her angry.
C. J. shook her head. “To hell with this,” she mumbled before marching off the platform, no longer in the mood to try on wedding gowns.
She wasn’t going to be abused any more by these women. She started to head back to the dressing room but stopped, thinking better of it. She whipped around to face them again, balling her fists at her sides.
“You know what? For all your damn money and supposed class, you are some petty, malicious, tacky bitches!” she spat, making Paulette’s snorts and giggles abruptly taper off and Aunt Ida’s mouth drop open. “Thanks for welcoming me to the damn family!”
She then strode across the shop back to the dressing room.
“Well, if you can say anything about her, she’s got backbone,” Aunt Ida muttered just as C. J. slammed the dressing room door shut behind her.
She yanked off the dress, ripping off one of the pearl buttons as she did it. She hurled the dress to the floor in frustration and paced back and forth, furious at Aunt Ida and Paulette—and furious at herself for losing her cool. She was still fuming when she heard a soft knock at the dressing room door twenty minutes later.
“What?” she snarled.
“It’s me . . . uh, Lee,” Leila answered. “Can I come in?”
C. J. didn’t answer her. She closed her eyes and chewed her lower lip instead.
“They’re gone. You don’t have to worry about dealing with them anymore. I swear it’s just me out here. And I . . . I come in peace,” she called out weakly.
C. J. threw on the complimentary robe that the shop had given her, knotting the belt. With great hesitancy, she undid the lock and slowly swung the door open.
Leila stood in the doorway, giving a smile that looked more like a pained grimace. “Hi,” she whispered, stepping into the dressing room.
“Look, I’m sorry I flipped out like that.” C. J. dropped her eyes to the carpeted floor. “I just didn’t expect to—”
“Oh, don’t apologize!” Leila insisted with a chuckle, shutting the door behind her. “They deserved it—and I told them so. They were being petty, malicious, tacky bitches. But I’ve gotta tell you . . . Paulette isn’t usually like this. I’m sorry you’re seeing this version of her.” Leila sat down on one of the padded benches and sighed. “She’s soft-spoken and sweet most of the time. She’s been that way as long as I’ve known her . . . since she was a little girl. But she’s . . . well, she’s scared for her brother . . . for Terry. So she’s lashing out at you.”
C. J. furrowed her brows in confusion. “Scared? Scared of what?”
“She knows he’s fallen hard for you—and that’s never happened before. Terry’s had plenty of girlfriends but none that anyone would take seriously. You’re the first one that he’s been this intense about, that he’d even considered moving in with, let alone marrying! But you guys haven’t known each other for long . . . well, not as long as Paulette thinks you should’ve. She’s worried that you’ll break his heart and send him spiraling into depression again.”
“Oh.”
And just like that, C. J.’s anger dissipated. She’d had no idea Paulette felt that way. She’d thought that Paulette believed she wasn’t good enough for Terrence: not beautiful, rich, or classy enough—not on his level. She’d had no idea Paulette was being such a bitch because of her protective feelings for her older brother.
“And Aunt Ida was behaving that way because . . . well, I’m not even going to try to defend her,” Leila said, throwing up her hands. “I barely know her, but I’m pretty sure she’s uniformly rude to everyone. That woman ju
st can’t be helped.”
“Look, Leila, I don’t want to hurt Terry,” C. J. whispered. “I love him. That’s why I want to marry him.”
“I know that. And I think you guys will make each other very happy. Terry has a strong personality. Everyone expected him to hook up with one of the airheads he always used to date, but I knew better. He needs a woman who can challenge him . . . match him toe-to-toe. From what I’ve seen so far, C. J., you fit the bill!”
C. J. laughed. “Thank you for saying that.”
Leila nodded then rose to her feet. She walked back toward the dressing room door, grabbed the handle, then paused to turn back around to look at C. J.
“Even if some of us are giving you a hard time, you are welcomed to the family, C. J.”
“Thanks.”
Leila nodded again before opening the door and closing it behind her.
Chapter 8
Paulette
“That’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back,” Paulette muttered as she pulled into her driveway. “What a waste!”
Not only had she gone to the bridal shop against her better judgment, and been made to wait for almost an hour for Terrence’s fiancée to finally show up, the ungrateful woman also had the nerve to insult her!
“This will be the first and last time I ever do a favor for that bitch,” she snapped as she threw her Mercedes into park, removed her car keys from the ignition, and shoved open her car door. Less than a minute later, Paulette stomped up her walkway, still fuming. Her high heels clomped on the brick path.
She just wanted to kick off her shoes, relax, and spend some time with her son, whom she had left in the care of her mother-in-law, Reina. But Paulette stilled near the front door when she heard Little Nate’s muffled, shrill screams. Being his mother, she had heard his cries before, but he had never sounded like this. He sounded like he was being strangled to death, like he was being tortured.
“What the hell is she doing to my child?” Paulette questioned aloud.
All thoughts of C. J. Aston and the disastrous bridal shop visit were shoved out her head. Her hands shook as she shoved her key into the door and unlocked it. When she opened her front door, she saw Reina and Little Nate framed by the archway leading to the living room. Reina was holding a milk bottle to Little Nate’s mouth, even as the infant wailed and tried to turn his head away.
“What on earth . . .” Paulette murmured as she tossed her purse aside. It landed with a thud on the hardwood floor. She slammed the door behind her and ran across the foyer toward Reina, who was sitting on their sofa, holding the wriggling baby in her arms. In her haste, Paulette almost tripped over one of Nate’s discarded toys. She caught herself before she did.
“What’s wrong with him?” Paulette cried, tugging him out of his grandmother’s grasp. She held Little Nate close, kissing his forehead and cheeks, tasting his salty tears on her lips. “It’s okay, honey. Mommy’s here! It’s okay!” she cooed.
Reina flapped her hands in the air in capitulation. “Oh, just go ahead and take him! He’s been crying his head off for the past hour. I’ve got no idea what’s wrong with that boy! I laid him down for a nap and he woke up yellin’.”
“Why didn’t you call me to tell me?” Paulette asked, patting his back and bouncing him gently even as he continued to scream bloody murder. “I could’ve come home if he was this bad off!”
“I’ve raised a child to a full-grown man, thank you very much,” Reina said, raising her dimpled double chin defiantly. “I know how to take care of babies—even yours.”
“Well, you weren’t doing a very good job of it, if Nate’s like this!” Paulette shouted angrily, gesturing to her son. “Did you do anything different today? Did you—”
“No, I didn’t do a damn thing different! I changed him. I fed him,” Reina said, counting off the tasks on her fingers. “I took him for a walk in the park! Before his second nap, I gave him a big bowl of my egg and potato salad and then I—”
“What? You gave him . . . potato salad?” Paulette squinted in disbelief.
“Yeah, it was homemade! Not that cheap store-bought stuff you try to pass off as yours.”
When Paulette continued to stare at her aghast, Reina raised her brows.
“That boy is way too skinny for his age with you giving him all that mashed up, puréed nonsense!” She flicked her wrist. “He needed something to put some meat on his bones.”
Ignoring her mother-in-law, Paulette felt the baby’s stomach beneath his rubber duckie and umbrella cotton onesie instead. It was as hard as a rock—as expected. His stomach was so swollen that she bet if she stripped him down to his diapers, he’d look like one of those poor African refugees in the Save the Children ads on television. She knew now why he was screaming so much; he was constipated and filled with gas. He was probably in horrific pain.
As Reina continued to talk about fattening up Nate and giving him “decent, real food” and Nate continued to wail, Paulette seethed. She felt like flames were about to sprout out of her ears.
“I told you,” she began through clenched teeth, “not to feed him that . . . that shit!” she yelled, making Reina fall silent. “Every day I label the jars for what he should eat—and you ignore them! Now I come home to this?”
Reina blinked rapidly, as if she couldn’t see straight. She shoved herself to her feet, though it took a few tries to do it successfully. “How . . . how dare you talk to me like that!” she sputtered. “There isn’t a damn thing wrong with what I feed that boy! If you would just—”
“There is something wrong with what you feed him! Every time you give him your recipes to ‘fatten up him,’ he can’t poop! You think that’s normal?”
Reina pushed back her shoulders and stood at her full height. She glared at the younger woman, and Paulette glared right back at her. They looked like two prizefighters in the boxing ring, each preparing to land the first punch.
“I gave that food to Antonio every day since he was four months old!” Reina charged, pointing her finger into Paulette’s face. “He never had any problem doing number two! He was regular as—”
“I don’t care what you fed Tony when he was a baby! Tony was your son, but this one is mine!” She shoved Reina’s finger away, making the older woman bluster all over again. “I let you babysit Nate because Tony begged me to, not because I wanted to let you do it. Frankly, I wouldn’t trust you with a pet goldfish, but I did it to please my husband. But if you want to keep babysitting Nate, you better damn well do what I tell you to do! Understand? Stop feeding him that crap!”
“Well, he probably would’ve been able to take what I gave him if he had Tony’s genes,” Reina sneered. “But maybe that boy doesn’t. Maybe he isn’t Tony’s baby!”
Paulette stilled again, feeling the blood drain from her head. “What . . . what did you say?”
“You heard me! I said maybe that baby of yours,” Reina said, gesturing to Little Nate, “isn’t my son’s child. The older he gets, the less he looks like him.”
Paulette stood mutely, too stunned and too furious to form words.
“Didn’t think I knew the truth, huh? But I do! I know how you were when you two first got married. Uh-huh, couldn’t keep your legs closed, could you? You had no problem jumping from one bed to the next! That’s right . . . I’d get a DNA test if I was my son! No point in him raising some other man’s baby!”
If it wasn’t for the fact that she was holding Little Nate, Paulette swore she would’ve punched her mother-in-law in the face at that moment. This was despite her refined upbringing and her mother Angela’s constant admonishments to carry herself like a lady. Years of judgment and condescension by Reina had finally pushed Paulette to her breaking point, and she was ready to beat the hell out of this fat old woman. But instead, she turned on her heel, marched out of the living room and across her foyer. She then swung open her front door and pointed to the view of her lawn, brick walkway, and driveway.
“Get the hell out
of my house! Get out and don’t you ever think of coming back!”
Reina’s entire body went rigid.
“You heard me! Get out!” Paulette screamed.
She prepared herself for another yelling match, for another onslaught of insults and allegations. Instead Reina reached down and yanked her tote bag from the couch. She slowly walked toward Paulette, taking her sweet time as she made her way toward the front door. When she stood next to Paulette in the doorway, she paused to stare at her. Bold challenge was in her eyes.
“Tony’s gonna hear about this. He’s gonna hear about how you treated his mama, and you’re gonna have to suffer the consequences.”
“Tell him whatever the hell you want. I don’t care if Tony sends you a golden engraved invitation to come back to this house, you better not ever darken my doorstep again!”
Reina chuckled, infuriating Paulette even more. “We’ll see about that, Miss High and Mighty. Tony would never choose you over me! Be ready to eat some crow, heffa,” she spat before strutting out the front door.
“Bitch,” Paulette muttered as she slammed the door behind Reina. Its thud was drowned out by Little Nate’s wails.
* * *
Hours later, Antonio arrived home from work. Paulette had finally gotten Little Nate asleep after plying him with milk infused with prune juice and literally unplugging him with Vaseline and a baby thermometer, testing her fortitude as a new mother and her queasiness. She had just closed the door to the nursery, leaving the infant slumbering to the sound of the nursery rhyme music that played on his mobile, when Antonio opened the front door. Paulette winced as she walked stiffly down the staircase, sore and exhausted from the tension and activity of the day. Antonio lowered his briefcase to the tiled floor. Paulette knew from the look on his face that he had already spoken with his mother and he was about to unleash a lecture that she was in no mood to hear.