All the Things I Meant to Tell You

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “Girl, I am not telling you,” I said. “Now who is giving you problems about the dress?”

  She sighed. “The broke people’s party.”

  “Ooh. That particular constituency is pretty dogmatic with their views.”

  “You ain’t lying. Come on. I need the bougie constituency to win.”

  We walked back into Hahna’s family room and we sat on the couch while Samantha was in the middle of a full-blown soliloquy. She stood in the center of the room, pointing and growling as she talked, like she was a pastor preaching to his board members who hadn’t paid tithes in a year.

  “If I’m being honest, I can’t afford a five-hundred-dollar dress. Not and attend this wedding. This is too much. And now y’all talking about spa treatments and onsite makeup artists and hair stylists.”

  “I mean, I want all that stuff,” Debbie said, “but I can’t afford it either. Maybe some of my rich sorors can sponsor me.”

  “Why don’t we just pick a fabric and designer for the dresses,” I said. “Then we can have a range of prices for the dresses. There’s a couple of websites that can help us with that.”

  Samantha, still standing in the middle of the room, dropped the hand she was using to point. She tilted her head to one side like she was sizing me up. I was ready for whatever she wanted to throw my way.

  “Whatever fabric you pick better have some stretch in it,” Samantha said.

  “I think you can trust that we know what to do for our plus-sized sisters too. We got Kim together for her bridal gown,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Hahna said. “You’re worrying about the wrong thing. We want everyone to look their best at Kim’s wedding.”

  “But I see no one is saying anything about sponsoring me,” Debbie said. “I wasn’t joking.”

  And I wasn’t responding to that bullshit. I was going to let Hahna deal with Debbie on that front. Debbie was always trying to make everyone feel bad about the fact that she dropped out of college and had a baby. That was not our fault she didn’t recover and make better career choices, and I damn sure wasn’t going to feel guilty about having shit just because she did not.

  “Let’s talk about that offline,” Hahna said. “We’ll figure something out.”

  I knew Hahna would fall for it, but despite her situation with her kids, Debbie did exactly what she wanted to do. She found men to sponsor trips and everything else. If none of us helped her pay for the wedding stuff, she would find a way, because there was no way she’d miss being a bridesmaid.

  I guessed Samantha was either out of steam or felt double-teamed, so she had a seat on the couch across from us. She still didn’t look happy.

  “Okay y’all, I hate to bring this evening to a close, but I have to travel to my family in North Carolina tomorrow.”

  “Ooh, your country family?” Debbie asked. “Is your cousin Tennessee gonna be there?”

  “Yes, but ugh. He’s way too young for you,” Hahna said with disgust in her tone.

  Her cousin was too young for Debbie. He was only about twenty-five.

  “He might be too young to be my man, but he ain’t too old to break me off, ’cause he’s fine. I just want to comfort the family,” Debbie said.

  Hahna rolled her eyes. “Anyway. I’m traveling tomorrow so I need to finish packing, rest, and get my mind right to deal with them. So, I will be sending out an email with a few website links for dresses for us to choose from. We’ll need to make a decision over the next couple of weeks. Also, I will be providing a travel agent’s phone number and website for us to start booking travel. I know the wedding isn’t until the end of March, but it’s already October.”

  I wanted to laugh at the facial expressions that Hahna got from Debbie and Samantha. Samantha wasn’t going to accept our word for anything. I knew she was going back to Kimberly. So that was why she was giving Hahna a blank, straight-faced stare. Debbie smiled, damn near cheesing, because she knew Hahna was going to pick up the tab for everything.

  I didn’t laugh though, because Hahna was trying her best, and I was supposed to be helping. I was the co-MOH.

  I hoped that Hahna wasn’t going to get too tired about doing the heavy lifting on the wedding, because I needed my energy. I couldn’t focus on dress fabrics when I needed to focus on punishing Alexander Adams for his crimes.

  I couldn’t walk down the aisle and chew Big Red at the same time. But Hahna would have my full attention once I’d finished my unfinished business.

  Chapter 20

  KIMBERLY

  Kimberly sat at the edge of Ron’s bed fully dressed. She was too nervous to go get in the shower and put on her nightgown until she’d talked to Ron about her meeting with Sabrina. Kimberly was wrong to meet with Ron’s ex-wife without him. She should’ve known better, but she just had to put her foot down and get the woman together. She’d done no such thing. Whether she’d known it or not, Sabrina had left that conversation with the upper hand. She’d managed to sow seeds of doubt in Kimberly’s very fertile mind.

  “Kimmie Kim, you want the shower first?” Ron asked from the bathroom.

  “Um . . . if you want to go first, I can wait.”

  Ron walked out of the bathroom shirtless, showing his still-fit frame. Kimberly’s first thought was to reach out and touch him. Anytime she saw his bare, chocolate skin, she wanted to feel him beneath her fingers.

  “Is there something wrong?” Ron asked, probably wondering why Kimberly’s hands weren’t already touching him.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Did something happen? Did you not find your dress?”

  “It’s not that,” Kimberly said. “I found the perfect dress. Or I should say Twila and Hahna found the perfect dress. They are the real MVPs on that front. I would’ve never known where to look if not for them.”

  “So, what’s bothering you then?” Ron asked.

  Kimberly sighed, and Ron got a look of recognition on his face.

  “Oh, I forgot,” Ron said. “You were talking to Sabrina today. How did that go?”

  “It went horribly,” Kimberly said. She surprised herself when the tears fell from her eyes. She didn’t think she was that broken up about it, but maybe she was.

  “Why? Did she say she wanted to give a toast at the wedding?”

  “No. She promised she wouldn’t do that, and she apologized for being weird at the engagement party,” Kimberly pulled herself together and stopped the tears. “The apology was crazy though, because she felt some kind of way that a lot of the people at our engagement party were at your wedding.”

  “I have the same friends as I did back then. I don’t know what she wants me to do about that.”

  “She said she was overwhelmed by that. Do you think she feels judged by your friends because she cheated?”

  “My friends didn’t know about that.”

  “She was exaggerating then. No one cared about her at the party.”

  “And that might have been the issue,” Ron said. “She was used to being the center of attention. She played second fiddle to you at our party.”

  “If she was going to feel that way she shouldn’t have come.”

  “Agreed,” Ron said. “But that doesn’t sound too awful, Kimmie Kim. What made you cry?”

  Kimberly closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She held the breath for a moment, and exhaled slowly, trying to center herself. Was asking Ron about Sabrina’s wild and outlandish claims a way of somehow taking Sabrina’s side?

  “She said that the two of you had an argument that scared her. She thought you were going to put your hands on her, and she was frightened of you forever after that.”

  “I know exactly the argument she’s referring to,” Ron said, “but she is completely exaggerating. I never threatened to hit her.”

  “You put holes in the wall?”

  “Yeah, but I never would’ve hit her,” Ron said. “You know I don’t do that.”

  Kimberly nodded and tried to imagine Ron punch
ing a hole in the wall. She’d never seen him that angry. Should they be getting married if she hadn’t seen his full range of emotions?

  “Kimmie. She hurt me badly. She cheated on me and then said she wasn’t sure if she ever loved me in the first place. But still I never and would never hurt a woman or children. I can’t believe she told you that.”

  “She said she was warning me.”

  “You’re not Sabrina. And our love is different.”

  “How is it different? How do I know I won’t do something to hurt you?”

  “One way it’s different is because there is reciprocity. I always felt like I was giving too much away when I was with Sabrina. Things were never quite the way I wanted.”

  “We’re more of a team?”

  “We are. Nothing about us is hard.”

  But what if things became hard? Kimberly bet Sabrina never thought things would deteriorate the way they did.

  “Don’t let her get in your head,” Ron said. “For some reason she doesn’t want to see me happy.”

  “Maybe she isn’t happy herself,” Kimberly said. “If that’s the case she’s more dangerous.”

  “If she ever does anything to try and keep me from my children, I swear, she’s going to regret it.”

  “And by regret it, you mean we will go through the legal system and fight for joint custody?”

  Ron stared at Kimberly. His breathing was even and measured, as if he was trying to calm himself. Had she angered him? Was this the beginning of what Sabrina had experienced?

  “Kimberly. Don’t let her get in your head. I’m not a violent man.”

  “I know.”

  Kimberly thought this wasn’t the best time to tell Ron she’d kinda threatened Sabrina with legal action. She’d tell him that later when he seemed calmer, or at least not on the verge of anger.

  “She’s not in my head, baby,” Kimberly said. “I just wanted you to know what we talked about.”

  “Well, I do believe that some people are just with the wrong person. That’s what happened with me and Sabrina. Being with the wrong person can bring out the worst side of you,” Ron said.

  “That’s true.”

  “Kimmie Kim, you bring out the best in me. I am the absolute best version of myself when I’m with you.”

  Ron took Kimberly in his arms and covered her face and neck with kisses. He was so gentle and kind. Ron made her feel nothing but loved.

  “You don’t just make me the best version of myself,” Kimberly said. “This is a self I didn’t know I had.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t believe that anyone would ever sweep me off my feet, like in the romance novels. I didn’t think that was for me.”

  “If not for you, then who?”

  Kimberly looked up at Ron and basked in his love for a moment. Maybe she shouldn’t tell him who she meant. It could remind him that if he wanted, he could have one of those vixen-bodied women who always seemed to win.

  “I don’t know. Women who look like Twila and Hahna, I guess.”

  “And look who’s getting married first.”

  Kimberly laughed and Ron joined her. “I want my girls happy too.”

  “I know you do. I’m just saying, love doesn’t have a shape. It’s about two souls connecting. With you my soul is fed.”

  Kimberly snuggled into Ron’s arms and allowed her body to melt into his. His words of affirmation had uprooted the seeds that Sabrina had planted. Kimberly chose to trust her instincts, and they told her that she’d never felt safer with a man than she did with Ron. Her heart, body, and mind felt safe. And like Ron, she believed that they connected at the soul level.

  Kimberly would be crazy to let Sabrina steal her joy about the best and only real love she’d ever had. And nobody had ever called Kimberly crazy. She was the grounded friend. The crazy title, unfortunately, belonged to Twila. Kimberly sent up a quick prayer that Dr. Mays was doing everything possible to fix their friend.

  Chapter 21

  TWILA

  I didn’t like morning appointments with Dr. Mays because I was not a morning person. After my workout, I tried not to have a conversation until I’d consumed a copious amount of coffee. Early appointments for my patients meant that they had a dental emergency. I didn’t do morning thought well. I had brain fog like a mug. That was probably why DeAndre kept tricking me into conversations at the gym.

  He was on my mind as I sat across from Dr. Mays. We’d shared breakfast again, and I really enjoyed his company. I must’ve been hormonal because I didn’t just want to take him up on his offer of a date. I wanted to take him to bed. I didn’t feel whorish or apologetic about it either. I resisted the urge though—on the date and the bedroom activity.

  “Are you ready to do your work today?” Dr. Mays asked, breaking through my thoughts about DeAndre.

  “I am.”

  I recounted the rape again for Dr. Mays. This time powering through without displaying any emotions. I felt emotions, mostly rage, and a little shame, but I didn’t feel like crying or hyperventilating. It felt like progress.

  “Very good,” Dr. Mays said. “Is there any reason why you rushed through it?”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t want to spend my whole hour on that. I have other things to talk about.”

  “I understand that,” Dr. Mays said with a smile, “but I want you to experience the trauma until it cannot paralyze you anymore. If you are rushing through, you are not experiencing it here with me.”

  Dr. Mays might have been right within the rules of this particular therapy, but for real, I experienced that shit every day. Every time I woke up in Hahna’s house, I remembered the reason why I wasn’t in my own house.

  “I hear you. Next time I’ll take my time recounting the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

  “It is not about being masochistic and enjoying the pain. It is about becoming numb to it, Twila. It is about not letting it affect your life.”

  “Understood.”

  “So, what else did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Good news or not so good news first?” I asked.

  “Hmmmm . . . I never know how to answer that,” Dr. Mays said. “Sometimes I think hearing the bad news first is best, because the good news will take the bad taste out of my mouth. But sometimes, if I think the news is bad enough, I do not want to hear it at all, and especially not first.”

  “So, what do you choose?”

  “You choose for me,” Dr. Mays said. “It is your news.”

  “I’ll choose the good news first, then. I met a guy.”

  “Have you had problems meeting guys?”

  I sighed. “No, not really. But, I met a decent guy and that’s something different. He’s a lawyer, he’s fine as hell, he works out, and he’s not intimidated by me.”

  “That is good news, then.”

  “The only downside is that I can’t get into a relationship while I’m doing this work, right? It isn’t smart.”

  “I would not say you cannot get into a relationship, but you need to be transparent if you choose to do that.”

  “Don’t you think a man would be scared off by hearing a woman is in therapy?” I asked.

  “Would you be scared off by a man seeing a therapist?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I mean, I’d want to know what he was working on, I guess. I’d probably applaud him for taking care of his mental health, to be honest.”

  “If this man you have met is a good prospect then he will feel the same way.”

  “So, you’re saying I should go for it?”

  “That choice would be yours. Just do not let therapy hinder you from that choice. Mental health care is an ongoing pursuit. If therapy works for you, then you will probably find times later in your life where you will seek a therapist. A partner should know that about you.”

  “Interesting. I may tell him. Or at least see what he thinks about therapy.”

  “Very good. Let me know how that goes.�
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  “I will. Do you want the not-so-good news now?”

  Dr. Mays sighed, but nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “I found out the identity of my attacker.”

  Dr. Mays gasped. “I am sorry. I was not expecting that.”

  “My sorority sister owns the nightclub where it happened. It’s an elite club that you have to apply to be a member.”

  “And you told her about the rape?”

  “Yes.”

  “What will you do now? What are your next steps?” Dr. Mays asked.

  “I don’t know. I think that’s why I’m telling you now. Maybe I want you to talk me out of my next steps.”

  “Well, you decided to go down the path of knowing who your attacker is. I thought I had advised against that, or at least strongly cautioned against it.”

  “You did, but I don’t think you understood how much not knowing tormented me. I felt powerless not knowing. That is the opposite of where I’m trying to be.”

  “Is knowing enough, though?”

  “That’s the part I need help with. I want to confront him. Tell him that I know who he is, and make him feel the same discomfort I’ve felt with him being in my space.”

  “Mental and emotional discomfort, but not physical discomfort?”

  I knew Dr. Mays was asking me if I planned to hurt the man. I also knew that whatever I told my psychiatrist would be confidential, and that even if I committed a crime, she could never be compelled to testify against me.

  “I honestly don’t know. I’d like to think I could hurt him—even physically. I have all of these weapons in my house, and I tell myself that I would use them if necessary, but I’ve never had to use them.”

  “It is quite all right that you may not be able to cause another human pain. There is nothing wrong with not being wired to hurt people.”

  “But the next steps I’ve imagined are me hurting him. I couldn’t hurt him the way he hurt me, though.”

  “Are you saying you could not rape him?”

  “Yes. That’s what I mean. It’s sick.”

  “Any kind of physical torture of a helpless human being requires some level of depravity.”

  She just spat that last sentence into the atmosphere and the words hung there. I wasn’t ready to face what she said, but her meaning was clear. If I hurt my attacker, I was as depraved as he was.