Tropical Fantasy

by Monica McKayhan

  “Ma, she’s young.” Sasha knew that her mother was referring to Deja. “And it’s trendy to have a tattoo there. I think it’s cute.”

  “Cute? It seems slutty to me,” said Charlotte. “How is that going to look in the wedding photos? The dresses are low-cut, and...”

  “Ma, no one will even see it in the photos.” She couldn’t understand why she was even having a conversation about the boobs of Bridget’s friend with her mother. She thought it more appropriate for her mother to have this conversation with the bride. Or even Deja for that matter, “Ma, I love you. We’ll talk later...when I get back. I promise.”

  It wasn’t unusual for Sasha to have conversations like this with her mother. In fact, they disagreed about most things. Even if Sasha had said the sky was blue, her mother would have challenged her and sworn that it was red. If Sasha had said up, Charlotte Winters would have strongly said down. When Sasha had settled on law school and decided to follow her father’s career path, it was as if Charlotte’s hopes and dreams for her daughter were lost. She’d wanted Sasha to do something more meaningful—such as being her first daughter to marry, becoming a homemaker, and giving her some grandchildren. Those were Sasha’s duties as a daughter. Women didn’t pursue such careers. They married men who pursued those careers.

  Sasha had been unable to completely please her mother. It seemed that while she couldn’t do anything right, Bridget was the one who favored her mother. She would be the first to marry, she’d be the perfect homemaker, and she’d give their mother beautiful grandchildren. Bridget had gone to college, but instead of pursuing a career in her field of accounting, she’d opened a little boutique—sold items on consignment, which barely took care of the overhead. But that was fine, because she’d managed to snag a great husband in the process. And she showed up for Sunday dinners.

  After kissing her mother’s cheek, she caught up with Bridget and the rest of the bridal party. They were already climbing into the back of a black SUV when Sasha took the front passenger’s seat and secured her seat belt. The SUV made its way out of the resort’s circular drive and down the hill. As they drove down Bay Street, Sasha noticed the straw market and made a mental note to stop there on the way back. She loved the shops and fraternizing with the Bahamian women who peddled their handmade souvenirs. She loved the Bahamas.

  They took a water taxi to the spa on Paradise Island, where they were greeted with glasses of wine and fresh fruit. With an herbal-scented green mask on her face, Sasha relaxed while a young Bahamian woman rubbed her feet with hot oils and another manicured her nails. She closed her eyes and savored the moment. It had been months since she’d enjoyed a manicure and pedicure. Bridget sat in the leather chair next to hers.

  “Thank you for coming, Sash. It really means the world to me that you’re here,” said Bridget.

  “Glad I could be here for you,” said Sasha.

  “I know that it’s not the most convenient time for you, but I appreciate the sacrifice that you made.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” said Sasha, closing her eyes again.

  “I love you, Sasquatch,” said Bridget, using her pet name for Sasha that had stuck through the years.

  They’d been close once—inseparable even. That was long before Kevin had shattered Sasha’s heart, and before she’d buried herself in her work to escape the pain. Her sister had been her best friend and confidante, but all that changed when Sasha decided to shut everyone out of her life and to make her career a priority. Nothing else mattered except passing the bar. And once she’d accomplished that, her journey from intern to junior associate was inevitable. It wasn’t long before she’d snagged a senior associate position, and in just six years, she was already being considered for partner.

  Sasha hadn’t been on vacation in three years. There was never time. She barely made time for hair appointments, manicures or pedicures. More often than not, she’d stop by Ray’s in the City—one of her favorite restaurants—for takeout on her way home. She’d grab a bottle of wine and eat dinner alone in her large kitchen, with its stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors, law books scattered about in front of her. She had a knack for cooking—was an undercover chef. Had law school not worked out, she’d have gone to culinary school, she often thought. She was a great cook. Yet, her evenings had been reduced to expensive takeout and a bottle of Chardonnay to wash it all down.

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me Sasquatch,” Sasha told her sister. “I’m not a big, hairy Bigfoot-looking thing.”

  Sasha was far from big. With her petite frame, medium-brown complexion and short bob haircut, she often turned heads when she walked through downtown Atlanta wearing one of her tailored suits and her designer heels.

  “I think it’s a cute nickname,” Bridget said with a giggle. “You’re too uptight, Sasha. You need a man.”

  Sasha was tired of people telling her what she needed. Just a few hours earlier she’d had a confrontation with Vince, and then had to deal with her mother, who always told her she needed to spend more time with the family, needed to show up for more Sunday dinners. And now her sister was swearing that she needed a man, which, in her opinion, was the last thing that she needed. Men always complicated things, got in the way. What she needed was that corner office with the view of the city.

  “Have you sworn off men forever, Sash?”

  “No, not forever. Just for right now,” said Sasha.

  “You think you might get married someday?” Bridget asked, out of the blue. “Are you ever going to forget about what Kevin did and settle down with someone new?”

  “I don’t know, Bridge. I’m really married to my career right now. And I like it that way.”

  “Your career can’t keep you warm at night, or take you on romantic walks through Piedmont Park,” said Bridget. “And what about sex? When was the last time you...?”

  “Bridget, please!” Sasha eyeballed the Bahamian woman who was massaging her feet and wondered if she was eavesdropping. The woman smiled as if she was waiting for Sasha’s response to her sister’s inappropriate question.

  “I’m just asking. I mean, there are probably cobwebs in there. And everybody needs a little maintenance every now and then,” Bridget told her.

  “See, this is exactly why you and I don’t have these types of conversations.”

  “I’m sorry, Sash. I’m just teasing.” Bridget smiled, then said, “But seriously, don’t you want to get married and have some babies one day?”

  “One day...yes.”

  “I know you don’t like to be set up, Sasha, but I was thinking...”

  “Oh, here we go,” Sasha groaned.

  She knew that her sister was probably about to fix her up with Vince, which is why she’d sent him to the airport instead of coming herself. She’d wanted the two of them to hit it off. And Sasha could understand why—Vince was gorgeous. As a matter of fact, he’d danced around in her thoughts since the moment she’d left the resort. But she didn’t appreciate being set up, and she was tired of people thinking that it was okay. She was fine being single.

  “Paul,” said Bridget. “He’s one of Derrick’s groomsmen. He’s the fair-skinned one. Not very tall, but he’s such a sweetheart, Sash.”

  Such a sweetheart. Interpretation: “He’s not very attractive.”

  “When I found out that he was a judge in DeKalb County, I knew the two of you would hit it off—seeing as though you’re in the same line of work and all. I can’t wait to introduce you to him. I told him al
l about you.”

  “What? No more matchmaking, Bridget.”

  “He graduated from Harvard...cum laude.”

  “That’s nice,” Sasha said sarcastically.

  “And he’s single,” Bridget urged, “drives a Maserati. Can you believe that? How many black men you know are driving around the city of Atlanta in a Maserati?”

  “Not very many.”

  Sasha was ready for the conversation about Paul to be over. She’d seen Paul once or twice and hadn’t found him the least bit interesting. He was the type her mother would choose for her. No matter what he did for a living or what type of car he drove, he definitely wasn’t her type. Although she hated to admit it, the truth was she was more interested in knowing more about Vince.

  “So how long has Derrick known Vince?” Sasha asked, trying not to appear to be interested.

  “Girl, all his life. They grew up together. Same high school...same college,” said Bridget, “but Paul he hasn’t known very long. A couple of years maybe.”

  “He seems a little arrogant,” Sasha said. “Vince, I mean.”

  “He comes off that way sometimes, but Vince is a nice guy. And he’s good-looking too, but not really your type. You’re career-minded. He’s a dreamer.”

  “What do you mean dreamer?”

  “He doesn’t really take life seriously. I mean he has a degree in dentistry, for Christ’s sake. He should have his own private practice or work in one of those upscale dental offices in Buckhead. Instead he chooses to work at that low-income health center in the heart of Atlanta for nothing, giving away his services for free. He’s got a little matchbox office down there and he makes a small stipend, but I’m sure it’s pennies compared to what he could make. Might as well go work at McDonald’s.”

  “Isn’t that noble? I mean, giving back to his community and all?”

  “Noble? I think it’s absurd.”

  “Our father did the same thing for years, Bridget. As a young attorney, he worked for Legal Aid, and he offered his legal services pro bono to many underprivileged people over the years.”

  “Thanks to Mama, he didn’t completely lose his mind though. Thank God she talked him into working for that law firm and making a decent living for us. It’s because of that firm that we were able to live the way we did.”

  “But Daddy wasn’t happy at that firm. He was happier serving others.”

  “Serving others is fine, but it doesn’t put food on the table, nor does it secure the future of your children. Which is why I’m marrying Derrick. Besides the fact that he’s drop-dead gorgeous and can give me beautiful babies, he’s successful and he’s the sole heir to his father’s business. My children will have the best of the best.”

  “So you’re not marrying for love?”

  “Of course I’m marrying for love! It’s just that love wasn’t exactly at the top of my list. It was just below ‘Must have six-figure salary,’” said Bridget with a giggle. “But don’t get me wrong, Sasha. Love is important. And I hope that you find it someday, or it finds you.”

  “Well, I’m not exactly looking,” said Sasha.

  “That’s okay. Sometimes love finds you anyway. Especially when you’re not looking,” Bridget said. “Just make sure when it finds you it comes with a nice 401(k).”

  “You’re a mess!” Sasha exclaimed and laughed.

  “I know, but you love me anyway.”

  “I do love you, sis, but your view of life is pretty twisted. Derrick had better make sure he has a prenup in place,” teased Sasha. “Have him give me a call and I’ll draw up the papers for him. There are still a few hours before the wedding.”

  “He’s already had one drawn up,” Bridget said candidly.

  “Really?” Sasha asked, rising in her chair to give her sister a closer look. “How did you feel about that?”

  “It’s okay. I mean, he’s not going anywhere and neither am I. Besides, our future is already secured.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sasha asked.

  Bridget laid a gentle hand on her stomach, and smiled.

  “You’re pregnant!” Sasha exclaimed.

  “Shh. Keep it down,” Bridget whispered. “I don’t want anyone knowing before it’s time. Except you, Sasha. I can trust you.”

  “How far along?”

  “About seven weeks.”

  “You haven’t told Derrick yet?”

  “He can’t know before the wedding,” said Bridget.

  Sasha gave her sister a sideways look.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Sasha. It’s complicated,” Bridget whispered. “He’s got this...this plan. It’s so stupid. He says he doesn’t want children until two years after we’re married.”

  “Then why didn’t you respect his wishes?”

  “Who can live with that kind of pressure? Two years is a long time, and I’m not getting any younger. I hate clichés, but my biological clock is ticking. And I know that once this baby comes and he lays eyes on it, he’ll change his mind.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “He will.”

  “You’re not trying to...you know...replace the other baby, are you?”

  Bridget dropped her head, didn’t want to respond.

  “One doesn’t have anything to do with the other.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “That was so long ago, Sasha. I was a kid. And I’d managed to forget all about it until now. Thank you very much.”

  Bridget’s abortion wasn’t something that could easily be forgotten. Sasha remembered how well her sister had hidden the pregnancy. But it wasn’t long before Charlotte Winters caught wind of it. And when she did, there was no conversation about it—abortion was inevitable. Keeping it was never an option for Bridget. Their mother had worked too hard to build a perfect image for her daughters. A teen pregnancy would’ve tarnished that image beyond repair, and Charlotte Winters wasn’t having that.

  Sasha remembered the tragedy as if she’d had the abortion instead of Bridget. She remembered the dull gray walls at the abortion clinic, and the Hispanic lady who handed them a ton of papers to sign. She remembered the pain in her sister’s eyes and the deep sadness on her face. She’d also remembered the grueling whimpers as Bridget cried herself to sleep that night. It was the saddest time in both their lives, and for that she blamed their mother. Their father would never have allowed such a thing to go on. They weren’t allowed to breathe a word of it to their father, or anyone else, for that matter. Sasha thought it to be a horrible secret for young girls to be forced to keep, but she had no choice. They simply did as they were told. In fact, they never even talked about it again between themselves—until now.

  Sasha recognized her sister’s need to replace the unborn child she’d once lost, but she was going about it all wrong. Derrick had put up with a lot of things in their past. She just hoped their relationship could survive this one.

  Chapter 3

  Sasha nursed a glass of rum punch while listening to the sounds of Flo Rida. She stood against the wall and watched as a very muscular Bahamian man danced his way into the hearts of the women in the room. He grinned as they screamed and placed dollar bills into the elastic of his bright red briefs. By the end of the song, Dexter, the male dancer enlisted by the bridal party, was sitting on Bridget’s lap. With one hand covering her eyes, she spanked his behind lightly with the other hand. The women in the room cheered as Dexter swiveled his hips and teased Bridget. She was embarrassed but managed to laugh through it.
/>   Sasha laughed at her sister but secretly wished for a moment that she could slip out of the room and catch some fresh air. She’d been pinned up with these women since heading for the spa earlier in the day. They’d gone to Paradise Island and been pampered with massages, manicures, pedicures and fresh hairdos. Sasha’s freshly shampooed hair had blown in the wind as they’d visited every boutique and retail shop on Bay Street. They’d grabbed a bite to eat at one of the local Caribbean grills and then rushed back to the resort for a quick change of clothes before preparing for the beachside rehearsal dinner.

  At the rehearsal dinner, the tables had been arranged along the sand and adorned with white tablecloths, white tea light candles and seashells in square vases that were gathered as centerpieces. The scent from the fresh plumeria flowers danced in the wind. The rehearsal dinner had been planned just before sunset, and the reflection of the beautiful colors was illuminated against the water. As contemporary jazz played and waves crashed against the shore, Sasha glanced across the table at Vince. He wore a white linen shirt with shorts to match. Holding a glass of wine in his hand, he chitchatted with the other groomsmen. He caught her watching and she quickly turned away, pretending to say something to her mother, who had been seated right next to her.

  “They did a good job with the decorations,” she said.

  “Everything is just so beautiful.” Her mother smiled.

  “Yes, it is.” She glanced at Vince again, and he raised his glass to her. She gave him a soft smile.

  “I’m glad that you’re finally taking a much-needed vacation, Sasha. You work too hard.”

  Here it comes, Sasha thought. Conversations with her mother were always strained. They always turned to Sasha’s career and how she worked too hard or how she made bad decisions in her personal life. Sasha wished her mother would be proud of her accomplishments, but instead she diminished them. Sasha wanted so badly for her mother to be proud of her.

  “I enjoy my job, Mother.”