“After all these years, Amber, I’ve finally found love again, and everything is sunshine,” Peyton sang.
As a favor to Andrew, the therapist he’d suggested squeezed Malik in for a session before he left for his four-day Thanksgiving weekend.
“How was your first visit?” Peyton asked him later, when he stopped by her office. He’d been on her mind all morning and she was anxious to hear details.
“It wasn’t what I expected,” Malik said, taking a seat across from her. “I thought I’d be sitting on the couch pouring my heart out, but it was nothing like that. He allowed me to talk about whatever I wanted.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Comfortable,” Malik answered honestly. “We talked about how I almost lost control with Omar, and the profound effect it had on me.”
Malik had insisted Omar meet him and Peyton downtown at the police station. And in front of an assistant district attorney, Peyton agreed not to press charges, provided Omar sought counseling. The assistant district attorney had some names on file, and Omar had already called to tell Malik that he’d set up his first appointment with a therapist. Omar wasn’t happy about it, but he hoped it was the first step in helping him get his family back.
“And did you take anything away from the session?”
“Yes,” Malik said. “I realized I have a lot of built-up anger at my mother for not protecting me from Joe’s abuse and for abandoning me. The therapist said we have a lot of work to do.” Malik didn’t want to take his anger about his mother’s abandonment and negligence, or Joe’s abuse, out on another human being.
“But it’s a start.” Peyton walked from behind her desk and kneeled down in front of him. Malik’s anger issues wouldn’t be resolved overnight; she would have to stay positive and encourage him along the way.
“Yes, it is,” Malik admitted. “He said one day when I’m ready, I should confront Joe about the abuse and tell him how much he hurt me.”
“I think that’s an important step.” When she brushed back his dreads so she could see his face, Peyton saw the doubt in Malik’s eyes.
“Joe’s never going to admit that he did anything wrong.”
“No, he probably won’t,” Peyton agreed. “But it might do you some good, honey, to finally say the words aloud.”
“What would I do without you?” Malik asked, pulling her towards him and sitting her in his lap.
“Let’s hope you never have to find out.”
On Thanksgiving Day, Malik and Peyton, Andrew and Theresa, Dante and Sage, and many other community center staffers, served Harlem’s homeless and residents a free Thanksgiving supper. Quentin and Avery had been unable to make it, due to a previous invitation to her parents’.
Malik was pleased with how the day was progressing. Everyone had pitched in, because the new setup had allowed several hands to be in the kitchen at one time. They would serve fried turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole and candied yams and apple and pumpkin pies donated from a local bakery. Theresa had decorated the tables with festive centerpieces from the afterschool program, so the now-spacious dining room was filled with the Thanksgiving spirit.
“Thank you for pitching in,” Malik said to Dante when he came into the kitchen looking for trash bags. Although Andrew had fried several turkeys, Dante had prepared all the sides, with some help from volunteers. He was still cooking more food, because he was afraid they’d run out.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Dante said as he turned on the food processor to whip more mashed potatoes. “I’m doing what I love. And, by the way—” he cut off the processor “—I have never seen you look happier, my friend.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before,” Malik replied honestly. Peyton had brought a joy to his life that he hadn’t known was missing, and now Malik felt completely fulfilled.
Malik and Peyton were so busy laughing and talking as they served dinner that they didn’t notice Joe Johnson, until he was standing in front of them with his Styrofoam plate held out.
“What are you doing here, Joe?” Malik asked.
“Well, I wanted to see your handiwork,” Joe replied, glancing around the room. “See what all Richard King’s money could buy.”
“Is there a problem here?” Andrew asked from Malik’s other side. He may have been carving turkey, but Andrew had no qualms about stepping in and taking over.
“There’s no problem.” Malik sunk his spoon into the mashed potatoes and plopped some on Joe’s plate. “It is Thanksgiving.” Malik turned to Andrew and feigned a smile.
Joe nodded. “Thanks.” He slid over to Peyton. “Gravy, please.”
Reluctantly, Peyton ladled some gravy onto Joe’s potatoes, even though she really wanted to pour it over his head.
As Joe moved down the line to Sage for candied yams, he was greeted with the same chilly reception.
Only Andrew managed a “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“I swear, that man has a lot of nerve showing his face here,” Sage leaned back and whispered to Malik, once Joe had gone.
Malik nodded and watched Joe sit at one of the tables with the less fortunate. What was he even doing here? Malik wondered. It wasn’t like he was down-and-out. The man just wanted to ruin his holiday. The more he watched Joe enjoying Thanksgiving dinner, the more Malik wanted to walk over there and wipe that smug smile off his face. The therapist had said in time he would be ready to confront Joe. Maybe now was the time.
“I’m going to talk to Joe.”
“I don’t know…” Peyton replied. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea.
“It may not change anything, but at least I’ll get it off my chest.” Malik headed towards the door.
“All right, I’ll cover for you.”
“Are you sure that was a good idea?” Sage had overheard them talking.
Peyton nodded. “Trust me, Sage, he needs to do this.”
“Okay…” Sage glanced nervously towards the door. She just hoped they wouldn’t be calling for an ambulance later.
“Joe, wait!” Malik caught up with him at the side entrance.
“What do you want?” Joe asked, putting on his leather bomber jacket. “If you’re coming to tell me to get lost, I’m already leaving.”
“I want to talk to you.”
A puzzled look crossed Joe’s face.
Malik motioned for Joe to follow him. When Malik began walking away, he noticed Joe was still standing there. Probably debating whether he should come, Malik figured.
Malik stared at Joe until he reluctantly followed him to his office. Once inside, Malik walked over to the window and looked out. Here was his opportunity to finally get everything off his chest, to tell Joe Johnson exactly what a scuzzball he was—so why did Malik feel nine years old again?
“So, what do you have to say that’s so important?” Joe asked, closing Malik’s door and folding his arms across his chest. “Because now that I have a full belly, I want to get back to watching football.”
Malik turned around and stared at Joe.
“Well? I don’t have all day.”
“Before I say what I have to say. Why did you come here?”
“To rattle your cage,” Joe returned.
“I think you’re here because you have no one and you know why that is?”
“I guess you’re going to tell me.”
“Because you’re scum.” Malik finally spat the words out.
“What did you say?”
“I said you’re scum.” Malik said the words louder, so Joe would hear him. “You preyed on my mother, a single, needy woman.”
“Your mother was looking for someone to take care of her and her son, and I did that.”
“Yeah, you did one helluva job,” Malik replied, the anger building. “You put her down and belittled her so you could feel like a man. And when that wasn’t good enough, you used your fists to show you were all big and tough. Do you think beating up on a defenseless w
oman and child makes you a man?”
“I didn’t beat you,” Joe responded. “You just needed a firm hand.”
“A firm hand?” Malik’s voice rose. “You call a bloody nose and cracked ribs ‘a firm hand’? How about when you fractured my arm? Or knocked me so hard I busted my head against the coffee table and needed ten stitches?” Malik pointed to the fading telltale mark that could still be seen on his forehead, underneath his dreads.
“You were a problem child.”
Joe had a comment for every offense that Malik threw at him, and it infuriated Malik. But he didn’t stop. He had something to say and he was going to say it.
“Then, if that wasn’t enough, you forced my mother to choose between me and you.”
“Don’t blame me because your mama was weak,” Joe replied, and poked Malik’s chest with his index finger. “It was her decision to turn her back on you. She’s the one you should be angry with, not me.”
“A decision that you championed,” Malik returned, poking Joe back. “Because of you, I was left in foster care. Because of you, I was left with no one. It’s all your fault, Joe. And I’m here to tell you that I blame you. You abused me and my mother for years, but lucky for me the state took me out of the hellhole I was living in. The orphanage wasn’t much better, but at least I found people who cared about me. Loved me.”
Malik bent down so that he and Joe were eye-to-eye. “I wasn’t a bad a child, or unlovable, like you claimed I was. I am a worthwhile human being and you, Joe Johnson, are nothing but a low-life, wife-beating child abuser who no longer has any hold over me. And do you want to know why?”
“No,” Joe said and rolled his eyes, “but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Because I am a survivor,” Malik continued. “I survived your abuse and I’m still standing.”
“Are you finished now?” Joe seemed tired of hearing Malik’s tirade.
“I could go on,” Malik replied. “But I don’t need to. I am free of you, and you no longer have any power over me. So you see, Joe,” Malik stood up to his full six-foot-three height, “I’m the one with the last laugh.” Malik walked over and opened his office door. “Now, you can get out.”
“That’s it?” Joe asked.
Malik nodded. “Yup, that’s it. We’re done.”
Joe gave him a withering look as he left. Malik knew Joe hadn’t understood or cared about a word he’d said, but then again, Malik hadn’t done it for Joe, he’d done it for himself.
He returned to the kitchen and dining area with a little more pep in his step. Malik felt like a burden had been lifted off his shoulders and that he could finally breathe again. He had made the first step in getting the monkey off his back.
When Malik strolled back to the table, Peyton breathed a huge sigh of relief. She didn’t see any black eyes or detect any broken bones, so that was a good sign. “How’d it go?”
Malik came towards her and kissed her on the cheek. “It went just fine, baby. It went just fine.” He took the mashed potato scooper out of her hand.
Peyton squeezed his arm. “I’m glad. I was worried.”
“Don’t be,” Malik replied. “In time, I will get over all the hurt and anger that I have inside, and when I do, I’ll be an even better man. Joe will not win.” Malik felt Sage and Andrew giving him inquisitive looks, and he gave them an enthusiastic thumbs-ups signal to let them know that everything was going to be all right.
Chapter 17
On Christmas night, Malik and Peyton joined the gang at Quentin’s loft, where he was hosting the Christmas party that year.
“Merry Christmas!” Malik said when Quentin opened the door. He gave his friend a hug and a pat on the back with one arm, while juggling gifts in the other.
Malik quickly pushed past him to place all the gifts under the tree. When he saw Dante on the sofa in front of a plasma television, watching highlights of the football game earlier that day, Malik joined him, leaving Peyton at the door.
“See how he forgets about me,” Peyton joked as she came inside the loft.
Quentin laughed. “C’mon on in, Peyton.” Quentin gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek. “You’re looking festive.” He regarded her V-neck red sweater, and the black suede pants.
“Thank you, I try,” Peyton replied. “Where should I put this?” She held up a honey-baked ham on a platter.
“The kitchen,” Quentin said, closing the door. “Avery’s in charge tonight.”
Peyton found Sage seated at the bar while Avery prepared eggnog in the kitchen.
“Merry Christmas.” Peyton kissed Avery on the cheek. “Where do you want this?”
“I’ll take it,” Avery said, putting the platter on the stove. “And thank you for bringing it. This looks divine, and it will go well with the turkey and stuffing I picked up.”
“You mean you didn’t cook?” Sage teased from her bar stool.
“Sorry, girl,” Avery said, “I’m not domestic.”
“Don’t worry,” Sage replied. “Neither am I. If it wasn’t for takeout, I’d starve to death.”
“Well, it’s time to make a toast,” Avery yelled over the roar of the television. She picked up the eggnog tray and walked around the loft making sure each person took a cup.
“Why? What’s up?” Dante asked.
Peyton joined Malik on the sofa and he scooted over to make room for her. It surprised him just how much he hated being away from her.
Avery turned down the Christmas music and Quentin hushed the crowd. “Everybody, Avery and I have an announcement to make.”
“Ohh, I just love a juicy secret,” Sage said, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.
Quentin pulled Avery closer until she was snuggled firmly against his chest. “This morning I asked this beautiful lady to do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
“And?” Malik asked.
“I accepted!” Avery held up her left hand, so everyone could see the four-carat, princess-cut diamond ring Quentin had given her.
“Oh my!” Peyton could see the bling all the way from where she was seated.
“That’s some rock,” Sage commented from the bar, and rose to get a better look.
“You’re telling me,” Peyton replied. “I’m surprised you can hold your hand up, Avery.”
“Don’t hate.” Sage laughed. “You might be next.”
“Hush your mouth,” Peyton whispered. She didn’t want Malik to freak out hearing the M word. They were in a good place. He was working out his issues in therapy, so Peyton couldn’t ask for anything more.
“Congratulations!” Malik rose from the sofa and hugged his best friend. “And you, my dear,” he said, kissing Avery’s cheek, “are getting a great man.”
“Don’t I know it,” Avery said, and nudged Quentin with her hip.
“I’m so happy for both of you.” Sage came forward and hugged Quentin. She’d always had a special fondness for him.
“Thank you, sweetie,” Quentin said, and bent down to kiss Sage’s forehead.
“All right, everyone,” Dante yelled above the crowd, “Let’s lift our cups and toast. To Quentin and Avery!”
“To Quentin and Avery!”
While everyone congratulated Quentin, Malik pulled Peyton aside and into the hallway. “Come here,” he said, and captured Peyton’s lips.
“Mmm…not that I don’t like the ardor, but what’s gotten into you?” Peyton asked.
“I guess, romance is in the air,” Malik replied, caressing her cheek. “Seeing how happy Quentin and Avery are has made me realize just how lucky we are to have found each other. I love you, Peyton Sawyer.”
“And I love you, Malik Williams.”
ISBN-13: 978-1-4268-2785-3
THIS TIME FOR REAL
Copyright © 2009 by Yahrah Yisrael
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This Time for Real (Kimani Romance) Page 18