Miriam said, “Really, there’s not a lot for me to say except that I’m very, very sorry.”
She paused as if she was giving me a turn to speak. But Miriam needed to understand that this was going to be her monologue and not our dialogue.
After a few seconds, she continued, “The reason I asked Michellelee to arrange this . . .”
I squinted at Michellelee once again, wanting to smack her, but I had to handle one fight at a time.
“I really wanted to tell you I’m sorry,” Miriam said again. “But I also wanted to get together because I wanted to explain other things to you.”
“Like what? The details? You want to tell me exactly what you and Jamal did? You want me to know the exact dates and times and positions?” I shook my head. “I don’t need to know anything else. I know enough.”
“Well, you don’t know that this had nothing to do with love.”
“Oh, I know that. I know my husband doesn’t love you.”
Two points! Miriam didn’t flinch, but she blinked. Hard. And rapidly for a couple of moments. I’d hurt her with words. That’s all I had. Just words. And I hoped those words caused her half the pain that she’d caused me.
But then she kept on as if I hadn’t spoken. “This wasn’t about love, this was about loss.” She let those words settle. “When Chauncey died, I needed someone to talk to.”
“Oh, that’s a good reason.” My voice was thick with sarcasm. “You’re blaming this on me not being there for you.”
“I’m not blaming you, but you weren’t there,” she said, seemingly unfazed by my attitude. “You need to understand that even if you’d been there every day, this would’ve happened anyway.”
Okay, those two points I’d scored a minute ago needed to be taken off the board. Because those points couldn’t compare to the ten points she’d just scored with those few words.
“I’m telling you the truth,” Miriam said. “I owe you that.”
She waited for me to nod or say something, but I didn’t move.
“I needed someone to talk to—I mean really talk to. I knew that I could talk to Michellelee, and even with you working, I knew that you would’ve listened to me all night if I had called.
“But the thing was, I couldn’t talk to you”—Miriam shook her head—“not the way I could talk to Jamal. I could talk to Jamal about Chauncey in a way that I couldn’t with anyone else. No one knew my husband like Jamal and when we talked, I felt as if Chauncey was right there with me. I didn’t feel so much loss when Jamal was around.”
She paused as if she wanted me to say something; I said nothing.
Miriam said, “Being intimate was never our intent.”
I didn’t want to flinch, but I did.
She continued, “It began when I started crying one day and Jamal was comforting me and it happened.”
My plan was to let this be her soliloquy, but I couldn’t help it. “You know, I’ve heard that before. That this just happens. That clothes just fell off, and people didn’t know what hit them. So let’s just say it went down . . . just . . . like . . . that.” I placed my arms on the table and leaned forward, so close to Miriam that I could smell the mint-scented fragrance of her toothpaste.
“So how does it happen again, Miriam? How do you fall into bed with your best friend’s husband again? Were you crying again? And he came to your rescue again?”
She looked down for a moment. “There was never a time when it was planned.” Now she glanced up. “But it was always wanted. Jamal got me through the days so that I could sleep at night.”
Okay, I was beginning to hate myself. Because she was telling the truth, and her truth did nothing except hurt me.
Miriam went on, “I’m not justifying anything. I’m explaining because I think you should know.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you. If we never had this meeting, you would definitely leave Jamal.”
It made me livid that she knew me so well. Better than Michellelee, apparently.
She said, “But now hearing me, you and Jamal have a chance. And you need that chance because he loves you.”
I smirked.
“Now, you’re gonna have to think about what I’ve said. And you’re gonna come to understand that it was horrible, it was a mistake, it shouldn’t have happened, but there was a reason.”
I crossed my arms once again and stared at her so hard that she finally had to look away.
Miriam waited for a moment. “That’s it. It was never about sex, it wasn’t even about lust, it certainly wasn’t about”—her voice got softer—“love. Like I said, it had everything to do with loss.”
I dropped my arms. “So you’ve had your say now, Miriam. And you know what?” I paused because there was no way I was going to cry in front of her. “I still want to choke the life out of you and my husband. I still hurt.”
“I will always be sorry for that,” she said softly.
The waitress came back asking if we were ready to order. The stare I gave her made her scurry away.
When we were alone, I asked, “So, you went through all of this just to say that? You could have just called me.”
“You wouldn’t have taken my calls.”
She was right about that.
“Plus,” she continued, “you deserved to look into my eyes and see that I was telling the truth.”
“So now I know your truth; what do you want from me?”
She nodded slowly, as if she’d been expecting that question. “Right now, forgiveness would be as good as gold.”
“Forgiveness?” I grabbed my purse, swung it onto my shoulder, and looked straight into her eyes. “You want forgiveness? Well, let me tell you what I want. I want to know why you pretended to be my friend, yet all these years you’ve hated me.”
“What?”
“You’ve always hated that I was with Jamal.”
Her eyes got as big as silver dollars. “That’s not true!”
“You hated that he married a white woman. You hated that he married me.”
“No!” Miriam shot a look at Michellelee as if she was some kind of life preserver, but I kept my eyes on her.
“Well, I guess you made sure that this turned out the way you always wanted. You made sure that Jamal ended up with the black girl.”
“Emily . . .” Michellelee said.
That was good. That meant that I’d gone too far. That meant that Miriam was probably good and hurt.
So all I had to do now was finish. “Think about that when you’re wondering whether or not I forgive you,” I said to her, then sat there for a bit longer, just until I saw the tears come to her eyes. Then I kicked back my chair and stomped out of my favorite restaurant, not even taking a second peek at the cheesecakes as I strode quickly to the exit.
42
Emily
I was steaming as I revved up the engine and shot out of the restaurant parking lot. There was never going to be another day in my life when I would speak to Miriam Williams. Or Michelle . . . Lee . . . for that matter. “Michelle Lee,” I said, purposely calling her by the name that her mother had given her. I wished that I was standing in front of her face right now, so that I could call her that and piss her off.
I screamed, and the sound echoed through the car. Surely there had never been a time when I’d been filled with such fury.
I wasn’t even sure what made me angrier, Michellelee setting me up, or Miriam having the audacity to ask me to forgive her. How in the world could she think that I would ever forgive her?
It was never about sex.
I gritted my teeth.
It wasn’t even lust.
I punched my hand against the steering wheel.
It certainly wasn’t about love.
“Get out of my head,” I screamed, and then pressed the button to activate the Bluetooth. “Call Carl Bell,” I said. And after a couple of seconds, my call was answered by the receptionist, who checked to see if my attorney was available.
I was seething as I waited, my anger in the deep breaths I was taking.
“Emily, how are you?”
“Have you spoken to Jamal?” I said, hating that I sounded rude, but I needed to get to the point.
“I spoke to Jamal and he was going to have someone call me, but I haven’t heard anything.”
“When did you speak to him?”
“A few days ago. I was going to give him some time to get back to me.”
“He doesn’t need time. This divorce isn’t complicated.”
“Well, you do have property and other assets.”
“So, how long will this take?”
“I told you, about six months, once we get going.”
“Can you do me a favor and call Jamal? I need to get this done.”
“I can.” He paused. “Are you sure you don’t want to call him yourself?”
“I’m sure,” I said.
By the time I hung up, I was pulling into the garage. I’d never been so grateful to find a parking spot right away.
I didn’t even calm down when I got up to our condo. I flung my purse onto the sofa, then marched into the kitchen in search of ice cream. But I hadn’t replaced the last carton and I wished Häagen-Dazs delivered. Flopping down onto the couch, I was so mad at myself for falling for Michellelee’s play. So mad that I’d sat there and listened. So mad that Miriam’s words were still in my head.
It wasn’t about sex.
“I don’t care,” I yelled out. “An affair is an affair.”
When the bell rang, I frowned, but I jumped up at the same time. I was grateful for whoever stood on the other side of that door. Anything to break up this conversation with myself.
I swung the door open, and then stood in shock. I’d expected it to be one of my neighbors, or one of the concierges with a package, since no one had called up ahead.
“This is not my day.”
Jamal frowned.
“What’re you doing here?” I certainly didn’t feel like seeing the other half of the Miriam-and-Jamal couple. Then I squinted. “Did Miriam call you?”
“I haven’t talked to her. I’m not going to talk to her.”
“Then what are you doing here?” I repeated.
He motioned that he wanted to come inside, but I didn’t move.
“Okay”—he shrugged—“we can have this conversation right here.”
I rolled my eyes and stepped aside.
When I closed the door behind him, he said, “You seem upset.”
“You think?”
He held up his hands. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
I didn’t move from the door because my plan was to open it up, very soon, so that he could find his way out.
He said, “Your attorney called me the other day.” When I said nothing, he continued. “I’m not going to cooperate, Emily. Not until we really talk.”
I shook my head.
“Just listen to me and if you still want to do this, then I’ll have to let you go. Even though it’ll kill me, I’ll let you go. But not before we talk.”
“No.” There was a whole lot more I was going to say, but then the doorbell stopped me. What was this? My patience was hanging by a thin string, and I yanked the door open with a full scowl on my face. “What?”
“What?” Pastor Ford smiled. “That’s not a great greeting, honey.” My pastor hugged me before she glided into our apartment.
“Pastor,” I said, softly closing the door, then facing her. How had she gotten past the concierge?
But then when I took in the sight in front of me—Pastor Ford and Jamal, standing shoulder to shoulder—I realized it had been Jamal. He’d told them to let her up, and again the rage began to rise in me. I’d been set up. Again! Twice in one day.
“So,” Pastor Ford said, “do you guys have some time now?”
I folded my arms. “For what?”
“Uh . . . Pastor, I haven’t talked to Emily. I just got here.”
“That’s fine,” Pastor Ford said, taking charge. “We’ll all talk. You do have some time now, Emily, don’t you?” She didn’t wait for me to answer; she just sat down on the sofa.
Jamal sat next to her, but I didn’t move. I stood there, steaming and huffing.
“Emily,” the pastor said so sweetly, “are you going to join us?”
If it had been anyone else coming into my home and telling me what to do, I would have just thrown them out. Better yet, I wouldn’t have let them in.
But this was Pastor Ford. No way was I going to do that to one of God’s apostles.
Still, I wanted her to know that I didn’t appreciate being blindsided like this. So I took my time, almost dragging my feet as I walked across the room. I was glad, actually, that Jamal had sat next to our pastor. That meant that I could sit alone, in the chair catty-corner from them.
As soon as I sat, though, I felt like it was me against the world.
“I left you a few messages, Emily. Did you get them?”
“Uh . . .” I coughed. “I did. But I’ve been really busy.”
“I know that. You’ve done a great job, especially with LaTonya. The Millers are grateful.”
“I’m glad.”
“So, how are you?” she asked.
I shrugged. There was no reason for all of these niceties. I knew why she was there. We just needed to get to the point! “I guess Jamal talked to you.”
“He did.”
“He told you we’re getting a divorce.”
She shook her head. “No, he didn’t tell me that part,” she said, as if Jamal wasn’t sitting right next to her. “He told me that you wanted a divorce, but he was going to do everything to fight it.”
When I looked at Jamal, I wondered if he could see just how upset I was at all of this, especially bringing Pastor Ford into our battle.
“So, do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
No was what I said in my head. Aloud, I told Pastor Ford what I’d been telling everyone else. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I think there is.”
“Well, if we have to talk, let’s talk about Jamal sleeping with my best friend.”
“That’s a good place to start.”
That wasn’t the response I expected. Not from Pastor and not even from Jamal, who nodded as if that was what he wanted to talk about, too.
Then Pastor Ford said, “Emily, I hate to say it, but I saw this coming.”
Those words blew my heart into a million shattered pieces.
I stared at the woman I loved so much, the woman who had stood by me and Jamal when my own parents had not, who had encouraged me when I was in school, and who taught me so much about the Lord. I wasn’t quite sure where they came from, but I burst into tears.
Jamal jumped up and knelt in front of me. “Emily.”
I knew he wanted to comfort me, but I didn’t want that from him. Right now, I wouldn’t even have taken comfort from my pastor. I just wanted them to go, leave me alone.
My hands covered my face when I felt Pastor Ford come over and sit on the arm of the chair and hold me, even though I didn’t want to be touched.
As I sobbed, Pastor Ford said, “I’m sorry, Emily, but that’s the truth. I saw it, and I hinted, but I never spoke to you directly. But with the time that Jamal and Miriam were spending together, with their grief, with their relationship to Chauncey, and with you being so busy . . .”
“What . . . was . . . I . . . supposed to do?” I asked, sniffing back my tears.
“Make sure you hear what I’m saying. I saw this coming, but it was not your fault. This is totally on Jamal and Miriam. Now, I’ve been working with Jamal. He came to me. And even though Miriam’s been dodging me, just like you”—she paused—“I’m going to talk to her, too. All three of you need counseling.”
“Together?” I was horrified. Surely I’d been tortured enough.
“No, no. Not together. You and Jamal. I should’ve been spending more time wi
th Miriam myself, and I will. But you and Jamal, we’ll do your counseling together.”
Wasn’t anyone listening to me? I wanted a divorce! No counseling, just a decree that said I was no longer married. But Pastor Ford was speaking as if counseling was a fait accompli.
I sniffed again, and this time Jamal jumped up. Just seconds later, he was back with a tissue and I only took it because I didn’t want to keep using my hands.
Once I’d cleaned up, I said, “All I want is a divorce.”
Now she was the one who knelt in front of me. “Why are you trying so hard to run away from this? Why won’t you even talk or just listen? What are you afraid of?”
I pressed my lips together, trying to push back my cries. “I can’t figure out why everyone is running to Jamal’s side. No one seems to get how I feel.”
“Oh, I do,” Pastor said. “I understand. He violated your vows and your trust.”
“Yes!”
“And now, you’re very hurt.”
“Yes!”
“And you want to hurt him as much as he’s hurt you.”
“Yes!”
“So you feel the best way to get back at him, the best way to hurt him, is to divorce him because he will really hurt then.”
“Yes . . .” I said, though not as emphatically as the last times. Because this time, my agreement didn’t sound quite right.
“You don’t want to divorce Jamal because you no longer want to be married. You want to divorce him because that’s the only way you can hurt him. That’s the only way you know how to make him pay. But, Emily, divorce is the ultimate price. If you’re divorcing him for that reason, it’s going to cost you, too.”
She waited for me to say something, but all I did was wipe my nose.
“Do you know how many men and women realize this afterward? They realize this when it’s already done, and it’s too late.
“I was there at the beginning with the two of you, I’ve been there with you all this time, and if there is one thing I know it’s that Jamal loves you.”
“I do,” my husband said softly.
“And I know you love him. That’s the reason why you’re so hurt. So are you willing to throw away love for payback?”
I bit the corner of my lip, trying to transfer the pain that Pastor was dredging up with her words. “But . . . how do I know that he won’t do it again?”
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