by Nikki Rashan
She answered me with silence. I sat on the floor and leaned against the door, praying she would let me in. I cried. I cried until my body shook, and my throat tightened until I could hardly breathe. I was losing the one person I had allowed myself to love completely. The one person who filled the questionable void left unanswered for so many years.
I finally heard movement in her room and I jumped up as Steph opened the door just enough to expose half of her body. Her eyes were red and her face was blotchy. She spoke calmly and evenly.
“I love you, Kyla. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t silently wishing you’d choose me. But now I know that’s not going to happen. I’ve already crossed lines I never intended, and being with a married woman is something I sure as hell am not about to do. If you’re going to be with Jeff, then be with him and only him. Keep me out of it. But before you make that decision, I suggest you do some soul-searching. If you truly loved him, you wouldn’t have strayed so easily. Be honest with yourself and be honest with him.” With that, she closed the door.
I called for her over and over but she ignored me. Eventually she turned her radio on so loud that it drowned out the sound of my voice. I got the hint.
I went to the closet and retrieved my coat. I placed the ring back on my finger and stared back toward the bedroom door, hoping she’d run out and tell me she couldn’t live her life without me. If that happened, I would no longer question what I should do. That would be the answer I was waiting for. However, I knew that was too easy. I had to make this decision for myself.
13
After I rolled from underneath my bedspread and stuck my head out, I squinted at the clock until my vision focused on the red numbers. It was 8:20 A.M. and I desperately needed two more hours of sleep. But sleep would only be a dream, considering I was already behind schedule and due at the hair salon in forty minutes.
I scrunched my face at the sunlight peeking through my window blinds when I sat up. My mouth was sticky and my forehead throbbed, reminding me of the three too many shots of tequila I had the night before.
My dear Vanessa didn’t want a bridal shower; she said that marrying the man of her dreams amongst friends and family on New Year’s eve was celebration enough. The rest of us didn’t agree with that fairy-tale, la-la land shit. She needed to go out like a champ, so Tori and I, along with Vanessa’s sister, Chavon, and Roger’s sister, Monica, who was in town from the ATL, finished the table gifts in less than hour and insisted on taking Vanessa out, in honor of her last day as a single woman.
Tori knew just the club to take us to. At first, Vanessa was bashful and hid behind Tori, who of course went broke handing out dollar bills, but we all eased up after the first round of Long Island iced teas. And then came the shots. You couldn’t hold Vanessa down after that. She was all over the dancers like the old lady in the front row at the Apollo. Once word got around to the dancers that she was getting married the next day, all eyes and bodies were on our group.
I didn’t mind admiring the dancers, as long as they didn’t touch me. However, one greasy, sweaty dancer who went by the name Long John (how original) felt the need to come grind his dick in my face. I wanted to punch him in the stomach and kick him in the nuts, but I refrained myself, not wanting to get us thrown out and all. Instead, I told him to get his funky ass off of me and he did. No one bothered me the rest of the night, and I had a fabulous time.
Tori had to call Malik to come and pick us up because we were all too lit to drive. He brought one of his boys to drive her car back home. Malik dropped each of us off and made sure we each got safely inside. I was happy that he and Tori were still going strong. Looked like she finally found a winner.
When I looked in the mirror, I prayed that Vanessa didn’t look as bad as I did. I showered quickly and poured half my bottle of Visine into my eyes. I threw on a flannel sweatsuit, a baseball cap, and headed to the salon.
It was a mild winter day, with a temperature in the thirties, and the sun was shining brightly. I believed the winter break was especially for Roger and Vanessa.
After stopping at McDonald’s for coffee, I arrived at Martha’s hair salon just as Monica was getting out of the chair. Her shoulder-length hair was pinned up in the back with a flock of curls hanging down the right side of her lightly freckled face. One wispy curl hung next to her left ear with a few more sprinkled around her neckline. I assumed we’d all be getting the same hairdo, except for Tori, who would sport her usual Halle style.
I rested my eyes the whole time I got my hair washed, dried, and curled. I was so glad Monica stayed and talked to Camille as she did my hair, so I could have a few more minutes of rest.
Tori and Vanessa came in just when the curling iron left my head for the last time. Vanessa had the glow of a pregnant woman, with her eyes sparkling brightly and her white teeth on display nonstop. Her jaws were going to be sore by the end of the day if she kept it up.
“Do you have any last-minute runs you need me to make?” I asked her when I got out of the chair and hugged her.
She continued to talk through her smile. “No, you would think I had planned this wedding for years because everything is set. The decorations are going up as we speak. The band is arriving before the ceremony, so jazz can be played while we take pictures. Appetizers will be available for guests at that time also. I can’t have people staring at the ceiling while we all take pictures. After that, we’ll have the toast, dinner, and cake. And then the party is on!”
She was so hyper that she reminded me of a little kid who needed a double shot of Ritalin. I stayed and talked with them, since the ceremony wasn’t until 2:00.
Tori delighted us with one of her infamous sex stories. Just about the whole salon had their ears tuned in. Apparently Malik had rocked her world last night.
“How could you even function?” I asked her.
“Girl, you know my stuff never gets tired. He was lapping up this drunk pussy like a starving man!”
She slapped five with Camille while the rest of us lowered our heads. The girl could be so uncouth sometimes.
“Oh, Ky,” Vanessa said, “guess who we saw this morning?”
“I’m too tired to guess, Vanessa. Who?”
“Stephanie. We were at a stoplight together.”
“Speaking of pussy . . .” Tori muttered quietly.
I shot a look at her. “What?”
“Nothing. You ready to talk yet?” Tori asked.
“Not today, Tori, okay? This is not the day,” I said.
“Whatever,” she said and went to admiring her short curls.
Couldn’t she just set the bitch in her aside for one day? Everyone exchanged questioning looks, wondering what our words were about.
“Anyway, I asked her to come to the wedding. How come you didn’t invite her?” Vanessa asked.
“I’m not getting married today,” I said, trying to joke with her.
“I know.” She giggled. “You should have reminded me to send her an invitation, though.”
I waited for her to tell me Steph’s response, but she was preparing to get her hair washed.
“Well, did she say she was coming?” I tried too hard to sound casual.
“She said she might. Her son has a basketball game at noon, so she didn’t know if she had time.”
I hadn’t talked to Steph since she found out about the engagement. I yearned for her every waking moment, but I couldn’t go back to her unless I was one hundred percent sure I could have a relationship with her—and I wasn’t. I was too scared to leave my comfort zone and risk the chance of losing my family and friends. David’s words constantly echoed in my head. If I chose to enter a relationship with a woman, my life would never be the same, whether the relationship worked or not. I couldn’t chance being labeled the girl who let a good man go because she thought she was a dyke for a minute.
I broke from my daze and found Tori smirking at me. I ignored her and studied the French manicured nails I’d had done the day befor
e.
Chavon walked in looking freshly painted as usual. She had been selling beauty products for six years and refused to step foot out of her house without looking like she was running for Miss America. “How am I supposed to recruit other women if I come out of the house half-steppin’?” she would say when asked why she put on a full face of makeup to go to the corner store. We didn’t talk badly about the girl, though, because she was driving around in a free car, making some serious money.
“Are my models ready?” Chavon asked.
We looked at one another trying to figure out who did the last cover of Vogue. Wasn’t me.
“I’ll go first,” Monica volunteered.
“There’s a room in the back by the manicurist that you can use,” Camille offered.
The two of them strutted off, which left Tori and me watching Vanessa’s head move from side to side as Camille ran the blow-dryer through her freshly trimmed hair.
“So how come you really didn’t invite her?” Tori asked me.
I let out a deep breath because I just wasn’t in the mood for her. I only wanted to celebrate the marriage of one of my best friends without a fight with the other.
“Like I said, it’s Vanessa’s wedding, not mine.”
“So you’re inviting her to yours then?” she asked sarcastically.
She got me with that one, and I sat silent. She kept on.
“You haven’t mentioned her much lately. Why not?” Tori picked.
“School’s out. We haven’t talked much,” I answered.
“Yeah, right,” she said, cutting her eyes at me.
I slammed down the magazine I had been pretending to read and leaned forward, close to her face.
“What is it that you want me to say, Tori?”
“Tell me the goddamn truth, that’s what I want to hear,” she said back.
“Fine. Is it that serious that I tell you she’s a lesbian? A dyke, fag, gay, whatever you want to call her. What in the fuck is up with the twenty questions? I know you already know, so quit playing these tired-ass games with me.” I spoke in a soft voice but in a tone that let her know she was pushing me.
She leaned back in her chair, somewhat satisfied. “Is that all there is to tell me? There’s nothing else you want to confess?”
I stared at her, trying to figure out if this was truly my best friend of twenty years. I had seen this side of Tori before, but never directed at me.
“You know, Ky,” she continued, hissing through her teeth, “I have an image to keep. I run one of the hottest restaurants in the city, and while dykes and fags may frequent my place, I don’t want to associate with them on a personal level. You understand what I’m saying? I like dick way too much for people to think otherwise, because my best friend is hooked up with a fuckin’ dyke.”
Each word cut into my soul like razor blades. My eyes watered, but I refused to let the tears fall and show my weakness. Or an admission of guilt. That’s when I realized that I would lose my friend if she knew my intimate feelings for Steph. I didn’t want to lose Tori or our relationship after all these years, but knowing she’d drop me for the sake of her image hurt me.
The blow-dryer turned off, ending our conversation. I quickly got up and went into the bathroom, sat on the toilet and wiped the tears I finally let fall. I felt Stephanie’s pain and all she had to endure in a struggle just to be herself. Surely, she had come across more than one Tori in her lifetime.
I took out my cell phone to call Stephanie and tell her I loved her and admired her strength and wished I could be as courageous as she was. Then there was a knock at the door.
“Kyla, darling, did you fall in?” Chavon sang high-pitched and off-key.
I put my phone back in my purse and squeezed the remaining half of Visine into my eyes. I opened the door to Mary Kay’s African American clone.
“You’re next,” she squealed.
I flashed my most convincing smile and stepped out of the bathroom, determined to make my best friend’s wedding the happiest it could be.
I stood in front of a room of nearly three hundred familiar and not-so-familiar faces. There were several well-known local celebrities present, including TV anchormen and anchorwomen, along with the mayor, the police chief, and fire chief. All, like us, were there to watch their friends unite in marriage.
Since the wedding was not held in traditional church style, mine and Jeff’s parents were seated at a table with Yvonne (yes, she brought Byron). Vanessa and Roger’s parents and families had their respective tables on opposite sides of the aisle that divided the room.
Vanessa was stunning—her skin smooth, her makeup perfected, her hair lustrous. She wore an A-line floor-length ivory dress, with short sleeves and a scoop neck in the front and back. A tiara of pearls and rhinestones wrapped the bun in her hair with an attached veil that flowed down her back. Her ears and neck glittered with the diamond and pearl earrings and necklace her grandmother had given her mother at her wedding, which now had been passed down to Vanessa.
Every face beamed as Roger and Vanessa exchanged personally written vows. The exchange was not typical in which the bride cried and choked over her words. Vanessa stood beautiful, proud, and composed as she lovingly told her soon-to-be husband that she would be honored to spend the rest of her life with him. Roger, on the other hand, shed several tears as he looked into Vanessa’s eyes and placed the ring on her finger.
The entire wedding party was teary-eyed when the pastor announced the official union of Mr. and Mrs. Roger Mitchell and the groom was given permission to kiss his new bride. Everyone cheered as they headed down the aisle toward the back of the room with the wedding party following. I walked toward a super-handsome Jeff in a black tux and red vest and silently envisioned our own wedding day as we walked to “This Is My Promise” by the Temptations.
Vanessa decided against a receiving line, since the reception immediately followed the ceremony. Attendees were instructed to take pictures with the one-use cameras while the wedding party took time to take pictures with the photographer. After the wedding party departed into the outside corridor, the waitstaff immediately tended to guests, taking drink orders and placing hors d’oeuvres on each table.
Chavon took a moment to touch up Monica’s makeup, while the remaining bridesmaids waited our turn. I stood aside and watched the first set of photos as the groomsmen hovered around Vanessa, with Roger right by her side.
Suddenly, Vanessa waved at someone and then looked at me and pointed. I spun on my heels to find Stephanie waving at Vanessa. She was dressed in a black pantsuit with a red blouse, resembling the groomsmen.
My immediate reaction was to turn back around because the sight of her made my stomach drop like the first time. But my feet stood still. We blankly stared at one another for what felt like eternity. I walked to her and gazed into the eyes I had grown to love. I didn’t know if the wetness in her eyes was from the emotional ceremony or from seeing Jeff and I walk down the aisle together. I felt my heartache flare up again.
She reached in her purse and pulled out her keys. “Can you tell Vanessa I couldn’t stay?” she asked.
“Sure, I’ll let her know,” I said.
She looked at the floor and then reached for my left hand. She stroked the sparkling diamond on my finger and squeezed my fingers tightly.
I squeezed back but wanted more. I wrapped my arms around her, closed my eyes, and pretended we were back on the beach, embracing one another under the moonlight.
“You looked beautiful up there,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said, choking over the lump in my throat.
She cleared her throat as well, and I felt a tear drop on my shoulder. She backed away and forced the million-dollar smile I loved so much.
“Be happy, Kyla. Follow only what your heart tells you.” With that, she gave my hand one last squeeze, and the one person who held my heart in the palm of her hand walked out the door.
I stood there emotionally paralyzed, not
knowing whether to run after her or lock the door behind her forever. I looked at my ring shimmering in the light and thought about Jeff. My friends and family were waiting for me to join in on today’s wedding and New Year’s eve celebrations.
Speaking of New Year’s eve, I remembered my resolution to make a decision by midnight and laughed out loud. I was no closer to making a decision than I was to walking across the stage and receiving my degree. Instead, I decided, as I dried my eyes, I would smile big for the camera, toast the union of two friends, sip a lot of champagne, and dance the night away.
I straightened my dress, ignored the disgusted frown Tori shot in my direction, and joined the rest of the wedding party as they gathered together for a group photo.
The hell with New Year resolutions; they never last anyway.
Epilogue
August 2003
I was sitting at the bar sipping a blue motherfucker and watching the women mingle through the smoky club. Friday was ladies’ night at the Bar Code, better known as Traxx during the week, and this place had quickly become one of my favorite places to be.
“You need anything else, baby?” Sharice, the slim, sexy-ass bartender asked me.
“No, sweetie, I’m good,” I said.
“Well, if you need anything else, you let me know.” She slid a piece of paper to me. I looked at the 404 area code and digits and smiled. “Of course.”
I smashed my cigarette into the ashtray and cursed the day I started that nasty-ass habit. I slid off the bar stool and made my way to the edge of the dance floor, saying hello to several women I had grown to know in more ways than one. I stopped to hug Donna, a super-femme woman with a body so sweet, I just had to taste it on a regular basis. But I hadn’t yet decided if she was the chosen one for the night.
Atlanta sure was an eye-opener for a Midwest girl like myself. I’ve been down here a little over a year now. I headed out three weeks after I graduated with my business degree. After all those years, can you believe I settled on business? But the thought of taking classes with Stephanie and seeing her on a regular basis was more than I could handle. So I talked myself into a new major, and a new school with an accelerated program that helped me achieve my much anticipated degree in nine short months.