The List

by Sherri L. Lewis

  I looked over at Lisa and wondered why it had been nine years for her. Lisa was gorgeous. She had a perfect body and had even done some modeling in her younger days. And she was smart and successful. She worked as a fashion magazine editor.

  Nicole returned from the kitchen carrying a tray with juice, water, crackers and fruit on it. She set it down on the coffee table. “I believe we’ve gotten off the subject. This is supposed to be a Michelle celebration. Not an Angela crucifixion.” She grabbed an apple off the tray and plopped down on the couch next to Angela, giving her arm a squeeze.

  I turned a couple of pages in the journal, not wanting to go into the next topic I had written about. “I look back at my marriage and all the mistakes I made and the choices that landed me here, divorced at thirty-five. I know it’s basically because I was twenty-one and naïve when I got married. I’m not the same woman now that I was then.”

  I took a deep whiff of the lavender-scented smoke spiraling into the air from Vanessa’s aromatherapy candle and hugged a throw pillow to my chest. “I was a little girl, in love with my high school sweetheart, being pressured because it was ‘better to marry than to burn.’ To be honest, even though it’s wrong, I would have rather fornicated than to have ended up in a divorce court eleven years later.”

  Lisa’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hands.

  Nicole chuckled. “Come on, church girl. She’s being real. If a little premarital sex would have kept her from marrying the wrong man, ending up broken-hearted and financially devastated, I don’t think God would have minded.” She took a big bite of her apple.

  Vanessa cleared her throat. “I beg to differ. God puts those boundaries in place for a reason. And He doesn’t change His mind for our fleshly desires. And who’s to say having sex would’ve kept them from getting married?” She looked back at me, dismissing Nicole’s statement. “Michelle, keep going.”

  “I feel like I’m a better woman. In a better place, able to make a better decision.” I closed the journal. “Otherwise, I’m happy. My life is good, and I have so much to be thankful for. It seems ridiculous that this one stupid little issue can so drastically affect the rest of my life.”

  Vanessa shook her head. “Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not a stupid little issue. Even the Bible says it is not good for man to be alone. That encompasses the male and female. God made us to desire to be in intimate, loving relationships. Think about it. God created man to have someone to love and be in relationship with. Marriage is a good thing. It’s a beautiful, God-ordained thing. And there’s nothing wrong with desiring it. So stop being hard on yourself.” She focused on her husband’s picture on the wall.

  I felt selfish for making her have this conversation. I knew she had done a lot of work to overcome her loss and grief, but there was still some sadness in her eyes when she talked about him. I guessed that never went away.

  Her eyes moved to her children’s pictures. Her smile returned. “God created us in His image as His children—so guess where your desire to have children in your image comes from? There’s nothing more beautiful than having kids. Pouring into their lives, speaking into their spirits, watching them grow into who God ordained them to be. So don’t be upset with yourself.” Vanessa pulled her eyes away from her family picture wall and focused on me again. “My question is, what are you going to do about it?”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Nicole tossed her apple core into the trash can in the corner. “She means, you whine and complain about not having a man, but what have you done to make things any different? You work almost as hard as me, because you want to, not because you have to. Which is insane.” She rolled her eyes. “You spend your free time at church or at home by yourself or hanging with us. So, how are you gonna find a man?”

  “I’m not supposed to be finding a man,” I said. “He’s supposed to find me. A man that findeth a wife, findeth a good thing.”

  Nicole said, “Yeah, but how is he supposed to find you? He would have to throw himself in front of your car on your way to work. Where do you actually go where you can be found?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Church, I guess.”

  Lisa humphed. “Girl, please. You can’t find no man in church.”

  Angela said, “What do you mean? That should be the best place to find a man.”

  Lisa shook her head. “The good ones in church are already taken. A good, godly man who’s committed to living holy ain’t gonna be single long. He’s gonna find the right one, marry her and settle down. Any man that’s been single long is fornicating.”

  Vanessa laughed. “Lisa, that’s not true. There are plenty of men who live celibate for sometimes as long as we do.”

  Nicole chimed in, “Plus, I’ve seen you shoot down guys at church.”

  My eyes widened. “Shoot down guys? What are you talking about?”

  Nicole pointed a finger at me. “What’s that guy’s name in the youth ministry who’s always trying to talk to you after service? Darryl, Derrick? He’s single, attractive, available, yet every time he’s around, you avoid him like the plague.”

  “Derrick’s not interested in me. He’s just . . . he’s . . .”

  Nicole put her hands on her hips. “He always stares at you, makes a point of talking to you every chance he gets. He’s definitely interested.”

  “And what about the guy in the bookstore?” Lisa added. “You guys always talk about your favorite books and music, but then you cut him off and rush away when he tries to take the conversation elsewhere. You don’t give guys a chance.”

  “You two are reading into stuff,” I said. “They’re not interested. They’re just being nice.”

  “How do you know, if you don’t give them a chance? You make a guy afraid to approach you.” Nicole folded her arms. “Guys gotta know they have half a chance to get the confidence to step to you. If they feel like they’re gonna be rejected, you can forget it. You get labeled as unapproachable, and that’s it.”

  I thought about it for a second. Was I unapproachable?

  Vanessa looked at me intently. I could see the psychologist wheels turning in her head.

  “What Vanessa? Psychoanalyze me, oh wise one.”

  She narrowed her eyes but then smiled. “You’re whining about how much you’re waiting and trusting God to send you a man, but sounds like He’s sent you at least two possibles who you’ve shot down without giving a chance. I have to wonder how many others there have been, and why you’re running them off.”

  I sat and pondered that for a minute. Was I self-sabotaging? “I guess I need to look at that.” I grabbed a cluster of grapes off the tray.

  Vanessa looked around at all of us. “Are any of you guys a part of the singles’ ministry?”

  Angela raised a finger at the same time that Nicole blurted out, “Please—who wants to be a member of the desperate-and-lonely club?”

  I winced.

  Angela said, “Why do you have to call it that?”

  Nicole made an apologetic face. “I’m just saying. It’s a bunch of women that ain’t got no man who get together for various social activities and talk about how to catch a man. I can do that with y’all.”

  Angela answered, “That’s not what it is. We . . . we . . .”

  “What?” Nicole asked.

  “First of all, it’s not only women. I admit that it is mostly, but there are some men. Second of all—never mind, Nicole. We’re talking about Michelle.”

  All eyes refocused on me. “I guess I don’t go anywhere where I can meet men. Or be found by a man.”

  “When was the last time you went on a date, by the way?” Lisa asked.

  Now I felt like Angela. “Never, really.”

  “Huh?” Lisa said.

  “Well, me and my ex were best friends in church up until high school. Then we started going together, and next thing I knew, we were getting married. And since him . . . well, it’s only been the past year that I’ve gotten ove
r the bitterness and anger to even think about another relationship. I’ve just kinda been waiting.”

  “So, God is supposed to drop you a husband right out of heaven?” Lisa asked.

  I shrugged. “That would be nice.”

  Nicole and Lisa looked at each other in amazement then looked back at me. Lisa said, “Surely you know that’s not gonna happen.”

  “I guess I go on five-minute dates. I meet a man somewhere, strike up a conversation, and within five minutes, I know he’s not anyone I would be interested in.” I grabbed a bottle of water off the table and twisted off the cap. “Either he’s not godly, or he’s boring, or his eyes are roaming all over my body, or whatever. Something just lets me know.”

  “Are you one of those super-picky women who finds something wrong with every man?” Angela scrunched up her nose.

  I shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

  “So you meet a guy, shoot him down in five minutes, and then move on to the next?” Lisa asked.

  Everybody was studying me like a science project.

  “No, sometimes guys make it past the five minutes, but then something jumps out that’s a big red flag. I don’t know. I just haven’t met anyone I felt like I had chemistry with, or that I would consider building a future with.”

  “You’re hopeless.” Nicole stretched out on the couch like she was finished dealing with me.

  Vanessa almost looked like she agreed. “So, what exactly are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Lisa threw up her hands and flopped back against the couch. “This is too much. She has no idea what she wants but has the nerve to be picky about it.” She rolled her eyes and then asked me, “You mean you don’t have a list?”

  “A list?” I asked.

  “Yeah, a list of what you want.” Lisa looked at me in disbelief. “The essentials, the would-be-nice’s, the icing-on-the-cakes, the not-so-desirables, and then, of course, the deal-breakers.”

  I looked at Lisa, totally perplexed. “What in the world?”

  “Hey, I believe in knowing what I want. Maybe you haven’t found the right guy because you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

  I pondered that for a minute and shrugged. “When I meet him, I’ll know.”

  Nicole and Lisa stared at me like I had three heads. Even Vanessa was giving me a strange look.

  “You’ve watched too many chick flicks. Girl, that’s the only place where love at first sight happens,” Lisa said.

  “I’m not saying love at first sight. I’m talking about . . .” What exactly was I talking about? How did I really think it was going to happen?

  The perfect man would ring my doorbell one day. I would open the door and stare into his eyes, and he into mine, and then he would tell me he’d been looking for me all his life and he was the man I’d been praying for and God had answered my prayers. And then we’d get married. And he’d be perfect with no faults and flaws, and we’d live happily ever after.

  Not much more realistic than my dream life at age seven.

  Lisa said, “You’re asking God for a man, but not telling Him what you want. Aren’t you always saying we should be specific when we ask God for something?”

  I took a long swig of water, thinking. “Okay, he couldn’t be financially irresponsible, couldn’t be a cheater, couldn’t be a liar, couldn’t be a—”

  “Wait a minute.” Vanessa held up a hand. “You’re saying you wouldn’t marry your ex-husband again. We know that. We want to know what you want, not what you don’t want.”

  “Lisa mentioned deal-breakers. I’m telling you what they are.”

  “Let’s start with the positive stuff first. What do you want?” Vanessa asked.

  I lay my head back against the couch and closed my eyes. What did I want in a man? “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, we’ll give you one week. We’ll reconvene for girls’ night next week, and we expect a complete list. Essential must-haves, would-be-nice’s, icing-on-the-cakes, not-so-nice and deal-breakers. In that order,” Lisa said.

  Nicole looked at her watch. “Okay, hate to end the fun, but let’s get the rest of this touchy-feely junk out of the way so we can get on to the big birthday surprise.”

  three

  The rest of my birthday turned out great. After giving me more affirmations than I could stand, the girls took me to my favorite artsy-fartsy clothing boutique in Atlanta’s eclectic Little Five Points and bought me a brand-new outfit. Then they took me out to one of my favorite restaurants, Top Spice. We ended the evening with a concert featuring my favorite neo-soul gospel artists—Darlene McCoy, Christopher Lewis, and Leon Timbo at the C-room—our favorite Christian nightclub.

  The entire evening, I found myself looking around the audience at men. Most of them had a woman on their arm. I realized that was the case most of the time I went out. At most of the places I frequented, the men were already attached.

  After our finding-a-man conversation, I found myself paying more attention to the guys at church on Sunday morning. Most of them seemed paired-up as well. It was the same at work on Monday morning. Anyone I found even the least bit desirable had the golden band of commitment on his left hand.

  “Michelle, did you get a chance to look at the promo I edited last night?”

  See—exactly what I was talking about. Mr. Eye Candy popped into my office door asking about some stupid spot, not realizing he was the last person I needed to see. He took tall, dark and handsome to new heights, depths, and realms. His dazzling smile of perfectly aligned pearly whites, parenthesized by deep, cheek-puncturing dimples, almost blinded me. His deep, dreamy eyes with long, thick lashes any woman would pay for—shoot, give her firstborn for—were expressive and caring. And I dare not talk about his body. That would cause me to sin.

  “Huh?” I kept my eyes on my computer.

  “The promo you asked me about. Did you get a chance to look at it?”

  Sometimes I thought he did that on purpose. Pop up at my most vulnerable times with a chest-hugging sweater and perfectly tailored slacks, smelling like—manliness. Was that pure testosterone cologne he was wearing?

  Yeah, the good ones were always married. I allowed myself a brief glance at Jason Hampton. Brief because, as I said, he was married and I wasn’t trying to sin so early in the morning.

  I looked back at my computer. “Sure did. Looks great, as always. I appreciate your hard work.”

  “You okay?” He leaned in, hovering over my computer.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Why do you ask?” I looked up at him for a moment. Those eyes. Jesus, keep me near the cross. I quickly refocused my eyes on my computer screen.

  “I don’t know. You don’t quite seem yourself this morning.” He sat down in the chair across from my desk.

  Perhaps I wasn’t looking busy and focused enough. I opened up a file folder and leafed through some papers. I didn’t need him caring about how I was feeling right now.

  Jason was one of those ultra-nice, sensitive guys that was easy to talk to. He seemed to sense when I was having a bad day or was frustrated with something at work. He’d pop in my office, and I’d find myself spilling my guts about the latest office drama, programming issue, or production problem bothering me. We’d talk and strategize for a while, and next thing I knew, my problem was solved.

  No way was I about to open up about my personal issues. Especially guy issues. We had always kept things strictly and completely professional, and I planned to keep it that way.

  I looked up at him and gave a reassuring smile. “I’m good, Jason. Just a little tired from my weekend.”

  “Oh, yeah. Happy birthday. How was it?” He crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair, obviously not planning to go anywhere anytime soon.

  “It was great. Spent an awesome day with my girlfriends. They celebrated me extra special. I couldn’t have asked for a better day.” Except maybe to have had my husband and two daughters come into the room, bringing me breakfast in bed si
nging, “Happy birthday to you—” I cut off the little fantasy before it got to playing in my head good.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t spend it with that special someone. How did your girlfriends rank higher than him?”

  He clearly didn’t know there was enough residual estrogen running through my body to either make me burst into tears or rip him a new one with a sleight of my tongue. He had never crossed the line between personal and professional like that before.

  I looked at his dimply smile, its attraction fading at his blatant social violation in pointing out my lack of a man. He clasped his hands together and that’s when I noticed.

  His wedding ring was gone.

  “Um, Jason, please don’t take this as rude, but I cut out early on Friday to get ready for my birthday, and now I’m paying for it. I got a bunch of stuff to finish and can only hope to get out of here by eight tonight.”

  “Anything I can help with?” He leaned forward, flashing a perfect view of his pearly whites and almost anesthetizing me with his cologne.

  “No, it’s all stuff I gotta do.” That was my last polite sentence. If he pushed me any further, he would get to see the ugly side of Michelle.

  “All right then. Call me if you need me. You know where I’ll be.”

  “Thanks, Jason.”

  He slowly rose as if he was waiting for me to change my mind and remember that there was something he could help with.

  I wheeled my chair around to the file cabinet behind my desk and pretended to look for a folder. When I turned back around, he was gone. What in the ... ?

  I tried to give Jason the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’d taken off his ring over the weekend to complete some chore his wife had asked him to do. Maybe he had sent it out to be cleaned. Whatever the case, surely he wasn’t trying to cross any lines with me. He had been my editor for the last two years, and we were a great team. He had never done or said anything out of line. He hadn’t mentioned any problems with his wife, but then again, he never talked about his personal life either.