“And that may have been easier for him to accept!”
Why did I keep doing this to myself? Every time I called, I went there. And every time I went there, I got my feelings hurt.
“Emily,” my mother said, her voice much softer this time. “Your father will never accept your marriage. If you want him to forgive you, you know what you have to do. Until then—”
“I’m not forgiven and I’m disowned,” I said, finishing for her. “Can you at least tell him that I called, and that I asked about him?”
“I’ll see. I don’t like getting your father upset.”
That meant my mother would never say a word. It was the way she was raised—she was old-school Southern. She lived to please her husband. That was her job and she’d done it well. Growing up, I never once saw my parents disagree in any way about anything. Because my mother always went along.
That’s what she was doing now, agreeing with her husband, even though he was wrong.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Well . . .” I didn’t want to hang up, but there was nothing else to say. I wanted to add something like, “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving,” or “I can’t wait till Christmas.” But I hadn’t celebrated a single holiday with my parents in the eight years since Jamal had put the ring on my finger.
“You be well, sweetheart.”
“I will.” Then I hung up, wondering why I had made that call. I felt worse than before.
My heart yearned for the old days. The days when I was Daddy’s girl, and Mother’s princess. The days when I woke up every morning knowing that I was special, knowing that my mother was proud, and I was the apple of my daddy’s eye. I longed for the days when I knew both of my parents loved me in all ways and would love me always . . .
May 12, 2000
“This is absolutely ridiculous,” I said as I came down the stairs, stepping carefully as the graduation gown billowed around my ankles. The smell of white roses had assaulted me from the moment I walked out of my bedroom.
“I already told her that it smelled like a funeral parlor up in here,” Michellelee said, even though she didn’t look up from the notepad on her lap.
I figured that was Michellelee’s salutatorian speech. She hadn’t parted with that pad from the moment she learned that she’d been selected to speak.
“I would prefer to say that it smells like a flower shop,” I said, sitting down next to Michellelee.
Miriam looked over her shoulder, smirked, then went back to smelling one of the bouquets of white roses. “Don’t hate ’cause I’m so loved,” she said. “My boo did the dang thing, didn’t he? I mean, one hundred flowers? How many did you guys get?” She stopped for a moment. “Oh, wait. Y’all didn’t get any.”
She laughed, and I laughed with her.
What Chauncey had done for Miriam was definitely special, but that’s how it’d been the four years I’d known him. Every day, Chauncey made sure Miriam knew that she was loved. And that made Chauncey an amazing man to me. He loved the ground that Miriam waddled on, and she deserved it. All the love she’d missed in her childhood, she had now. There was nothing more wonderful than that.
When the bell rang, Miriam tore her nose away from the flowers and dashed to the door. “My boo!” she shouted.
I looked at Michellelee, she looked at me, and we both rolled our eyes. True love was so special, I guessed.
“Miriam, it’s just supposed to be the three of us this morning,” I said.
“I guess Chauncey couldn’t stay away.” She swung the door open. “Boo,” she began, but then her voice faded.
“Emily!” my mother drawled as she sailed into our townhouse with her arms open wide. She didn’t say a word to Miriam, who still stood at the door, holding it for my father, who had a big old camera in his hand.
I jumped up from the sofa. “Mom, Daddy. I thought you guys were meeting us at the campus. You have to get over there because it’s going to be hard to get seats.” That had been my excuse to keep my parents away. I loved my parents dearly, but sometimes they could be a bit over the top. I added, “There’re going to be over thirty thousand people there.”
“We don’t have to worry about seats,” my mother said. “Your father talked to Michael this morning.”
“Michael?” I asked, having no idea who she was talking about.
“Michael Eisner,” she said in a tone like I should’ve known. “Didn’t you know he’s one of the commencement speakers?”
“One of the commencement speakers, yes, one of your friends, no.”
“Of course I know him, Daughter,” my father piped in, calling me by the not-so-original nickname he’d given me when I was born. “He’s a member of Delta Upsilon, too, and we’ve gotten together a few times over the years. I talked to him last night and now we’re in the reserved section.”
See what I mean? Whose parents did that?
My father added, “Though with as much money as I paid this school over these years, I should’ve been sitting on the stage.”
My parents laughed, but my father meant what he said.
“I think you should still get over there as early as you can. The lines are going to be outrageous.”
“Now, why would we go over there when we can be here?” my mother said. “We want to spend some time with you, Emily.”
“That’s right, Daughter,” my father said. “Last night you ran off right after dinner.”
“Sorry about that, but we really wanted to get to that party,” I said.
My mother waved her hand. “We forgive you. All I want to do today is focus on your graduation.” She took both of my hands in hers. “I am so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Yes, Doctor Harrington. We are very proud,” my dad said before he kissed my cheek.
“I’m not a doctor yet, Daddy.”
“But you will be very soon,” my mother said. “Proudly following in your father’s footsteps.”
I grinned, pleased that my parents were happy. I wasn’t following in the exact footsteps of my father; he was a pediatric heart surgeon. But with my PhD in psychology that I’d get in the next four years, at least I’d be in the “Doctor” club. That was good enough for my parents.
My father said, “The only thing that would’ve made me happier is . . .”
Before he could finish, my friends piped in, “If you had gone to Ole Miss!” And then they giggled.
My parents filled up any room they entered, so for these last few minutes, I’d forgotten that Miriam and Michellelee were there. Now, I was horrified. I couldn’t believe my friends were making fun of my father like that. It was true that he had said those exact words at least one hundred times last night when my parents had taken us all out to dinner. But to repeat his words back to him this way; my friends didn’t know who they were messing with.
It was the mood of the day that saved Miriam and Michellelee. The only thing my mother did was turn her head slightly and say, “Oh, hello, ladies,” as if she was just noticing them. Even though Miriam was the one who had opened the door, and even though my mother had almost been standing on Michellelee’s feet, she truly hadn’t seen my friends.
My parents! I had to love them and I believed they really did try. But they lived in such a secluded community. Not just in terms of where our home was, but in terms of where their minds were. My parents came from old money. Both of them. Generations of doctors on my father’s side and federal judges on my mother’s side. My parents only dealt with people in their class and of their color.
“Anyway,” I said quickly, trying to divert the attention away from my girlfriends. “Miriam, Michellelee, and I were going to stay here and take some pictures before we headed over to the campus.”
“No time for pictures,” my father said, waving the hand that held his camera.
I glanced at my friends and apologized with my eyes.
My father continued, “There is something we have to show you before we go over to the school.”
“What?”
My mother said, “Don’t ask any questions, just come with me.” She took my hand and led me toward the door.
As I passed Miriam, I shrugged. From the stories I’d told them, and after finally meeting my parents last night, my friends surely understood. When my parents were around, it was all about Dr. and Mrs. Harrington.
“I’ll be right back,” I said as I followed my mother.
Not that I expected Miriam and Michellelee to stay behind. My friends were way too nosy for that. I didn’t have to turn around to know that both of them were right behind me.
I took two steps out of the townhouse and screamed. Well, I didn’t scream. I opened my mouth to scream, but I didn’t have the chance. Miriam and Michellelee screamed for me.
There it was—my dream car. The car I was absolutely sure my parents would buy for me four years from now, when I received my PhD. But it was here now. A red Porsche 911. Sitting in front of our townhouse. With a white bow on the grille.
A bunch of people stood around the car, gazing at it in awe.
“Oh, my God,” Michellelee said. “It’s red! That must mean it’s mine.”
Those words made me find my voice. “I don’t think so.” Turning to my parents, I could barely breathe. “It’s mine?”
“It’s yours, sweetheart,” my mother said.
“Yes, it’s yours, Daughter,” my father added.
“Thank you,” I said, squeezing them both as tightly as I could.
“I had wanted to get you two of these,” my father said, “but your mother stopped me.” When he laughed and my mother didn’t, I knew he was telling the truth.
Turning to Miriam and Michellelee, I clapped my hands and squealed. And my girls joined in with me.
“We’ve got to go for a ride!” Miriam exclaimed.
“But it only has two seats,” I said.
“That’s okay, we’ll stuff Miriam in the back.”
Any other time, Miriam would’ve been pissed at Michellelee. But now she nodded as if that was a good idea.
I turned to my parents. “Can we?”
My father dangled the keys and I jumped up and down.
“Thank you, Daddy. I love you so much.”
“And I love you, Daughter. In all ways and for always,” he said before he snapped the first photo . . .
In all ways and for always. Those were words my father had said to me every day of my life. In the morning when Nellie (the woman who helped raise me) got me up, dressed, and to the table for breakfast, my conversation with my father was always the same.
“Good morning, Daddy.”
He would lean over so that I could kiss his cheek. “Morning, Daughter.” Then he would wait until I climbed into my chair before adding, “Do you know how much I love you?”
Even though I knew what he was going to say, I asked, “How much?”
“In all ways and for always.”
And at night, after I said my prayers, whenever my father was home, he would come in and say the same thing before he tucked me into bed. It was our little game. A game that told me how much I was loved and how I would always be.
But those days were so far away. I no longer had that car, just like I no longer had my father’s love. I had to sell the car for funds when my parents took their support away. And I’d have to walk away from Jamal if I wanted my father in my life again.
That was never going to happen. I’d never leave Jamal, because he loved me in a way that I thought my father did, but actually didn’t. Jamal really did love me in all ways and for always. No matter what I did, no matter what mistakes I made, no matter what, Jamal would be there. Just like I would be there for him—in all ways and for always.
At least that was one promise of love that I would always be able to depend on.
8
Miriam
It was a dream and I knew it, but I wanted to stay in my semiconscious state for as long as I could. As long as my eyes were closed, I was with Chauncey. At least, that’s the way it felt. Like Chauncey was right here and we could travel back in time together. Back to a day that I would always remember . . .
June 9, 2000
It wasn’t supposed to be this way in Los Angeles. Not this month. This was supposed to be June Gloom, when the marine layer made the days cloudy and cool. But the weatherman didn’t get the memo, because my first week as a full-time working girl had greeted me with record-breaking, ninety-plus-degree temperatures.
It had been hard, trudging from my studio apartment in my thirteen-year-old, beat-up, rusting Toyota that I’d copped a week after graduation. Every morning, I left my place on La Cienega, cool and collected, but was a hot mess by the time I drove up to Beverly Hills to my management training job at the Beverly Hilton.
It wasn’t the most glamorous job for a USC graduate with a BFA in theater arts, but you know what, I had a job. And it wasn’t like I’d gone to college to build a career, like Emily and Michellelee. They were pursuing their dreams and I was going after mine. I wanted to be a wife and mother. That was the desire that God had put on my heart and I was never going to apologize.
Until Chauncey decided to make me his wife, though, I had to work, which was proving more difficult than I’d thought. Not that the training program was all that mentally challenging. But physically, it was a beast. This first week, they’d had me on my feet behind the front desk for the entire eight hours every day.
Now all I wanted to do was get home and celebrate my first weekend, my first days off.
The back of my blouse was sticking to the pleather seat and I was so glad to get out of this broke-down car. But it was even hotter outside and I had no idea where I was going to find the energy to climb up to my third-floor apartment.
By the time I got to the second landing, I was too pooped to go on; I had to take a break.
“I really need to lose at least twenty pounds,” I whispered.
“What?” A voice came from above. “Are you talking to yourself?”
Looking up, I grinned. Peeking over the railing was my boo. “What’re you doing here?” I was able to move a bit faster, knowing that at the top was my reward.
“I came to see you,” Chauncey said. “To make sure you made it through your first week okay.”
When I got to the last step, I was breathing like I needed a ventilator, but Chauncey pulled me up and into his arms, making me forget just how tired and funky I was. To anyone passing by, Chauncey and I, with our round bodies, probably looked like overstuffed teddy bears. I didn’t care. I just loved this man.
But then I remembered how hot I was and I pushed Chauncey away. “Ewww . . . I’m stinky and sweaty.” I wiggled from his embrace. “Let me get inside and freshen up.”
“Girl, you don’t have to freshen a thing for me. I even love your funky behind.”
I sucked my teeth as Chauncey followed me into the apartment. “I thought you were working today.”
“Nope. I wanted to make sure that I’d be here when my baby came home.” He started singing, “My baby can bring home the bacon and then fry it up in the pan.”
I laughed. “I haven’t brought home any bacon yet. I don’t get my first paycheck for another two weeks.”
“Oh, okay. So you’re cool? Got enough money?”
I nodded and almost asked this man to marry me right then, ’cause I loved the way he loved me. I turned the floor fan to high, then unbuttoned my blouse and moaned with pleasure when the cool air caressed me. If Chauncey hadn’t been standing right there, I would’ve stripped down to nothing. But even though Chauncey and I had been intimate since my eighteenth birthday, I wasn’t crazy about standing in broad daylight butt-naked in front of anyone, not even my man.
“Baby, why don’t you come over here and let me take care of you.” Taking my hand, he led me to my pullout sofa. “Just lean back”—he gently pushed me down on the couch—“I’m gonna make you feel good.”
By the time Chauncey lifted my legs up a
nd slipped my pumps from my feet, my eyes were closed. Then he pushed and pressed his fingers against the arch of my foot and I almost screamed out loud. He kept up that pleasure on my right foot and then shifted to my left. And I swear, I was just floating on air.
For minutes, and minutes, and minutes he kept on and on and on, and the weight of this week eased from my shoulders (and my feet).
“This . . . feels . . . so . . . good.”
“Ssshhhh . . .”
So, I did what my boo said and just focused on the bliss. When I felt Chauncey set my feet back on the couch, like he was done, I wanted to cry. I missed that good feeling already. But then he took my right hand, something he’d never done before, and he massaged the tips of each of my fingers before he made his way down to the center of my hand. When he squeezed that spot between my thumb and forefinger, I did cry out.
Chauncey chuckled, but I didn’t care how crazy I sounded. I wanted him to do it again. Then he took my left hand and did the same thing, making me scream out once more. I was drifting in ecstasy; but then I felt something cold against my finger.
My eyes popped open, and even though Chauncey had loosened me so much that I felt like a noodle, my eyes were clear enough to see that he had put a ring on my finger.
My eyes didn’t leave that silver band that hugged the fourth finger on my left hand until I heard Chauncey’s voice. I turned, and there was my boo on bended knee.
“Baby, would you do me the honor of—”
“Yes,” I screamed, wrapping my arms around his neck, and making him tumble backward. He pulled me down, I fell on top of him, and we rolled across the floor laughing.
“Oh, my God!” I kept saying over and over. “Of course I will marry you. I cannot wait to marry you. Let’s get married right now.” I was still giggling because I knew we looked crazy, but I meant every word I said.
He laughed with me. “Now, that’s funny.”
“I’m not kidding,” I said. “If I could, I would marry you today. Right now.”
“But what about that wonderful wedding you’ve been dreaming of since you were a little girl?”
Never Say Never Page 7