The One I've Waited For

by Mary B. Morrison

  If my wife would’ve fought for instead of against me, we might have lovers’ quarrels in place of bouts of marital remorse. Falling in love with Arizona wasn’t what I wanted but it was better than being alone. That wasn’t happening.

  My father told me man was not meant to live alone but women were different. Some would stay single claiming they were happy. Fewer would marry. Others would never trust any man due to too many men breaking their heart.

  Had I made a vow to the latter type of woman?

  I returned to the table, and my ass wasn’t settled in the seat before Mercedes’s eyelids narrowed at Toya, then at me. “So you no longer want to be the patriarch of this family. Just say it.” The clench of her molars was evident when her jaws suctioned inward.

  I didn’t care what Toya might have told my wife.

  Arizona replied, @home

  “Handcuffs or silk scarves?” Toya asked her wife, then raised her hand toward the waiter motioning a down and then up mark in midair.

  Mercedes snapped her fingers twice. “Waiter, we’ll have a fresh round of drinks, the charcuterie, artisan cheeses, and avocado toast.”

  No “please” or “thank you.” That was my wife’s modus operandi. The only thing I had an appetite for was getting far away from my wife. Toya was right. Mercedes was not going to change.

  Taking a long, deep breath, I paused then exhaled into the warm wind, eager to hear handcuffs. The onset of fall welcomed us with a pleasant clear sky and seventy-three degrees. Romance breezed by our table.

  Firmly, I lamented, “You put me out of the house I paid for, remember?”

  Mercedes laughed. “Correction. You started sleeping out. That was your decision.”

  I messaged Arizona a pindrop of my location, then typed, Meet me for a drink and wear something sexy!

  Mercedes refocused my attention with a stern stare. At this point I didn’t give a damn. I was tired of her shit!

  Providing shelter for my family did not warrant accolades. It was my obligation, but bouts of gratitude would’ve been nice. No matter where I lay my heads, I loved my kids enough to file for full custody. Arizona would learn to like them.

  Scooting back, I turned my chair to Toya. I adjusted my pants, propped my ankle atop my knee. Slowly wetting the tip of my tongue with cognac, I glazed my upper, then lower lip. Letting the liquor linger beneath my nostrils was a habit I enjoyed. Plus, taking my time made my drink last longer.

  Toya thrust her breasts forward, stared at my lap, then smiled at me.

  “He’s not packing your type of equipment, honey,” my wife told my private investigator.

  I shook my head.

  “You’re right. He’s packing mine,” Toya’s wife confirmed, making me damn near drop my drink.

  “You’re not going to appreciate him until some other woman does,” Toya added.

  I nodded. Toya winked at me before resuming her conversation with her wife.

  Mercedes hissed, “I’m not going there with you, you, or you. You hear me. Nod at her again and see what happens.”

  Looking at my wife, I turned my back to Toya, faced the street. I didn’t want to see Arizona walking in. Needed a pleasant surprise.

  ATL promiscuous females lured a lot of do-right men into extracurricular situations. For the first time in six years of marriage I had a mistress—the past two. As my determination to be all Mercedes wanted in a man, in a husband, faded, I was getting closer to penetrating Arizona. Maybe tonight.

  “You know I’ve never met my father. I don’t want our kids to grow up not knowing you.” My wife’s tone was melancholy as she spoke to my left ear. Refusing to face her, I remained silent.

  “You guys have a good evening,” Toya said, then I heard, “Handcuffs. Definitely.”

  Instantly, my dick got hard as I visualized my locking their wrists to each other.

  The daddy card was worn so thin I could see the ace of spades in Mercedes’s hand. “Your mom messed you up. I’m tired of you using this as justification for your inability to reciprocate my affection. If you want to find your dad, do like your sister Alexis and demand that your mother tell you what she knows and start there.”

  “Easy for you to say. You grew up in a loving two-parent household.”

  Staring at her, I banged my fist on the table. The water in our glasses spilled onto to the white tablecloth as I told her, “I’ll never apologize for that! I wish I would’ve listened to my dad and never married your ass!”

  My wife’s chin, cheeks, and lips dropped at the same time. I’d have to squeeze between the tables to comfort her. Not this time. Either she wanted me or she didn’t but this control game had to end.

  “So you want me to come home?” I asked, hoping she’d say yes.

  She shook her head. The response didn’t shock me. Then what the fuck did she want?

  Feeling dejected, I said, “My kids know me. You’re the one who don’t know me.”

  Exhaling heavily, my wife reached for my hand. I interlocked my fingers with hers wondering what the hell we were doing.

  My wife confessed, “I know you better than you know yourself. You—”

  I interrupted with a headshake. “If you know me so well, then tell me why I’m having an affair.”

  “I’m not defending your infidelity, Benjamin.”

  Wow! Another woman could have me just like that!

  Mercedes heisted, then said, “If I forgive you without your begging for my forgiveness, I might as well invite Arizona into our bedroom.”

  The scent of Tori Burch hovered in the wind. Mercedes’s eyes scrolled up and down. I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. Knew it was her.

  “Hey, babe,” Arizona said. “I’ll be inside at the bar. I’ll order you a fresh cocktail. Take your time.”

  Not responding or turning around, I watched tears fill my wife’s eyes.

  “I’m so not impressed. Her photos are more flattering. Her titties look like your chest. Broad shoulders. Masculine muscles in her biceps and thighs, she could easily suit up for a football team. What’s the problem? You’re not man enough to date a man.”

  “She is a man.” That comment was intended to humor the both of us. “Before I go—”

  “This is an all-new low, Benjamin.”

  “No, you’re a new low. I hold you in my arms every night. Well, I used to. When was the last time you held me?”

  Slowly pushing back my chair, I glanced at my wife. She wasn’t strong right now. Took all I had not to break her all the way down.

  Walking away, I unlocked my cell, joined the finest linebacker I’d ever seen at the bar, then texted Toya, Rain check please!

  Arizona hugged me. Closing my eyes, I held her. I needed to feel her in my arms. Sipping my cognac, I said, “Thanks for meeting me.”

  “So that’s her?” Arizona asked.

  “Let’s not talk about her. Let’s focus on . . . us.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Alexis

  “I don’t recommend your terminating your pregnancy almost six months in but the decision is yours, Alexis,” the doctor said. “I can’t do it but I can give you the name of a specialist outside of Georgia.”

  She wasn’t my OB/GYN. I wasn’t brave enough to let my physician know my head’s desire. This doctor had given me a response that was not to my satisfaction. She made me feel like I wasn’t shit. I didn’t want to run all over the country, maybe the world, in search of an abortionist.

  “What about the bleeding I told you I had from my emergency visit? I thought my body was rejecting the baby?”

  Truth was, I hadn’t gone to emergency. If I were losing my baby, I didn’t want to get help that might’ve saved it. I was trying to save myself from motherhood.

  A miscarriage would be God’s will. He could relieve my guilt. Being pregnant was messing up my once-perfect figure. Then there was a chance I’d have stretch marks like Devereaux and Mercedes. The twins had messed up my sister’s stomach. Sandara had three kids and her
body was fit for runway bikini modeling. I might not be that lucky. Her dad’s side of the family must’ve had those awesome skin elasticity genes.

  “You, my dear, may have experienced a little spotting but you are healthy and so is your baby boy, Ms. Crystal.”

  “But the blood. I really was bleeding.” How could nothing be wrong? I wanted to cry until I looked at West-Léon. His eyes shined as though he were the father of my son instead of James.

  “If you’ve been sexually active, some men ejaculate blood with their semen if they have prostatitis. It could be caused by an enlarged prostate, a male bacterial infection, something simple as a UTI, or as serious as cancer. If that’s the case, your partner should have an examination and use a condom. Be straightforward and ask him,” she said, giving West-Léon a split-second glance.

  Ask him my ass. To blast him on my socials meant everyone would know he’d been hitting it. I didn’t owe West-Léon an explanation but he might need to explain some things when we left here.

  “I’ll give you a moment to decide what you want to do,” she said, exiting the exam room.

  For the first time in my life, I did not want to be an alpha female in control.

  “You have my support either way,” West-Léon said. “If you keep it, I promise you I’ll be here for both of you. And to ease your mind, I recently had an exam. I’m good head to toe and don’t mind showing you my results.”

  If he was fishing for information about my sex life, I wasn’t volunteering shit. The random dudes I’d let bang me didn’t always wrap it up. I knew I should but I didn’t care anymore. Men always casually promised shit they didn’t deliver! A lead role in a film, extra hours on set with my sister, a spin-off show of his own and West-Léon would forget my name.

  “Promise?” I asked.

  He nodded, then hugged me. “You’re not that tough. You’ve got to let somebody care for you. Can I be that man?”

  Dudes who were easy to conquer had an ulterior motive. I didn’t need his or anybody else’s help. Opening the door, I called for the doctor.

  “You’ve made a decision?” she asked.

  “I want to make my appointment to see the specialist,” I told her.

  Touching my belly, I said, “Forgive Mommy,” to my son. God knew I didn’t want to make this decision. Life was so fucking hard. One day I’d have to accept responsibility for sacrificing my son’s life to enjoy mine. If what the Bible said was true, I could repent.

  A few clicks on the keyboard, and the doctor handed me a sheet of paper from the printer. “Good luck,” she said, then exited the room.

  West-Léon stared at me. “Do you realize that if you gave birth today there’s a chance he’d make it? I bet he’s a fighter. Thought you were too. Guess I was wrong. The more I think about him, I can’t support your taking his life.”

  That was because his ass couldn’t carry a baby for nine months. That right there was the bullshit I expected. Two minutes ago West-Léon was down with Alexis Crystal. The kid wasn’t here and West-Léon had already abandoned us. Men, like my father, had walked away from me for twenty-seven years then showed up like . . . what’s up?

  I was used to this bullshit!

  “Go!” I yelled in his face. “You’re like all the rest. I’ll take care of myself!” I refused to cry.

  West-Léon didn’t move. Shoving him out of my way, I went straight to my Benz, called the specialist, made my appointment, and drove to Spencer’s job.

  Pissed, I sat at the bar.

  “Hey, dude. This is a surprise,” he said.

  “Let me have a mai tai. Be generous with the alcohol.” I needed something strong.

  “Not on my watch,” he said. “Give me ten minutes. I’ma take a lunch break. I’m overdue.”

  Watching him leave the bar area, I ordered a mai tai from the other mixologist. What difference did it make? If one drink would’ve ended it all, I would’ve had a double.

  Happy people were seated to my right. The laughter of females smiling in the face of guys, that was once me. Fuck James and Chanel! Carrying this kid was weighing me down.

  I texted James, I have an appointment for an abortion.

  WTF!!!!!, he replied, then commented, Give my child to me.

  I hit him back with, You mean give him to y’all?

  I’d be damned if Chanel raised my son. Maybe this was her get-back way to make me suffer for hurting her. Chanel was wasting her time.

  Alexis, WTF is wrong with you? Where are you?

  Not responding, I gulped half of my cocktail. I complimented the mixologist, “This is really good.”

  As I raised the glass to finish the rest, Spencer snatched it from me. Damn near spilled the cocktail on my lavender halter dress.

  “I told you not to drink this shit!” He poured the remainder in the sink. “Let’s go.”

  Casually, we strolled Lenox Square mall. My brother held my hand. We passed by, Bebe, Coach, and Guess.

  “Life is a bitch,” I said, breaking our silence. “Less than a year ago, we fucked like rabbits in heat.”

  Remorse wasn’t in our DNA. If I made a decision, I was cool with it. Spencer was the same. Wasn’t as though anything done could be undone.

  “Yeah, then we found out we had the same dad.” Spencer let out a lightweight laugh.

  “Then he died. Funny how I didn’t give a damn about Conner before or after. Not really. When he passed, I buried a stranger. Don’t miss him a bit. Appreciate his house, wheels, and the mils though.”

  Whenever I did have a kid, ’cause two would never come out of my vagina, I sure hoped they didn’t hate their father. What was my mom thinking repeating the same mistake four times over?

  “You should drop Cheesecake and open your own bar and restaurant,” I told my brother.

  “Dad left you everything, me . . . nothing.” His tone was bitter.

  I hunched my shoulders. “Venus left you stacked on seven figures.”

  Spencer’s mom meant the world to him. She’d built a small empire. He was her only child and inherited it all. Bartending kept him occupied. Everybody didn’t want to be an entrepreneur. I got that.

  “I miss Blake. That was my gurl,” he said.

  Where’d that come from? “She’s engaged, chick, but I’m sure you know she’s moved on. You need to pick up your pace. Get back on your ho stroll.”

  Spencer stopped walking, let go of my hand. “To that old dude?”

  I stared at him. “Uh, yeah. Old dude with crusty bank. And he’s only forty. He’s just my kind.”

  “Yeah, if anybody can fuck up a relay, dude, it’s you,” my brother said.

  What was fucked up was his comment. I started to check him, but I let chick slide on his feelings.

  Spencer’s tight lips relaxed into a curve to the side as he nodded. “Blake shoulda stayed with me. He probably can’t make my gurl squirt.”

  I did a Mercedes, snapping my fingers twice in front of his face. “I wasn’t finished,” I said, fucking with his emotions. “Bing is wealthy. They’re somewhere on another vacation. I think. Or maybe they’re back from Paris. I’m not sure. All I know is my mom, like everyone else, is dodging me.” I grabbed his hand; we rode the escalator down one level to Steve’s and Marjorie’s Garrett Popcorn. Got my favorite, a small Chicago mix—caramel and cheese.

  “I fucked that relay up,” he said as though talking to himself. “Never shoulda smashed you.”

  Of course he had. He was a man. That’s what they were great at. Had to remind him, “You fuck up all your relays, chick. Remember Charlotte’s crazy ass?”

  “True dat. But tell the truth. Where Blake at though? Atlanta or Charlotte?”

  Enough about her. I ignored his last question. “You can say we did things we shouldn’t have that hurt my mom. But you don’t mean it.” I didn’t care where they were. She hadn’t replied to any of my pleas. Guess, as usual, her man was more important. “I dropped by because I want you to take me to my abortion appointment,”
I said, sitting on a black leather couch in the middle of the mall.

  Spencer squatted beside me. “Solid.”

  “You don’t mind?” I contained my excitement. He was my only, yes.

  “If you don’t care, I don’t mind, Sis. Your body. Not mine. You get the last word. Just keep my shit about our old man under wraps and I got you.”

  “Hashtag real talk,” I said, second-guessing my decision to kill my son.

  “Been thinking about turning myself in,” he confessed.

  “What the hell for? He can’t come back. I’ll never tell anyone.” I held up my pinkie finger. He locked his with mine. Gave me a firm hug.

  A strange man with a lady by his side walked up to us. Spencer stood, looked at me. “You know them?”

  “No harm intended, man,” the guy said.

  The woman politely added, “Excuse me, but did I overhear you say you’re having . . .” She paused, then whispered to me, “An abortion?”

  Staring her up and down, I told her nosy ass, “No.” If they’d heard that, then they overheard what came after that. Never knew who was an undercover agent in the ATL.

  The man stated, “I’m sure that’s what we heard. We’ve been trying to get pregnant for over five years. Please,” he begged. “Name your price and give the child to us.”

  Creepy creeps. Tears streamed down my face. I dried them immediately. Spencer inched closer to me. Held my hand slightly tugging. I felt his flow. These bitches were up to no good. Had my piece ready to pop both of them if need be.

  “What else you got to say?” Spencer questioned.

  The guy hunched his shoulder. The woman answered, “Nothing.”

  I wasn’t giving either of them my personals. “What are your names? Full names?” I needed to know what they were up to and they’d better not hesitate.

  “Paul and Karen Ramsey,” he answered.

  How could I have been so careless with my conversation with Spencer in a public place? Folks in the ATL were straight hustlers and that included ear hustling.

  Saving their info in my phone, the details could be bogus. A background was going down. I told them, “I’ll think about it, Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey.”