by C C Monroe
“Does it turn you on when I talk like that?” I ask, batting my lashes, looking up at him nervously while waiting for his answer. What if he doesn’t like it as much as I did and he’s only tolerating it to satisfy me?
“I don’t like to demean you, but I like to please you and if that’s what you like, then I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
I smile up at the perfect man towering over me, how can he be all the things I love and everything I should hate, but don’t?
“You’re something else…” I trail off, shaking my head.
“I’m your something else.”
“Always.” We share a few gentle, whispered kisses, then I turn back to the stove, finishing up dinner, swimming in the beauty of the words we just shared.
“Knock, knock. Anyone home?” Nails on a chalkboard sounds more appealing than the sound of Gwen’s voice filling my apartment, pulling me from my dream state and straight into a nightmare. Irritated to say the least that she just walked in and didn’t wait for us to answer. She walked in like Queen Elizabeth on holiday.
“Hey, Gwen, we’re in here,” Trey shouts, sitting down at the bar and pulling out his phone. Making work at it with great intent, practically zoning us out.
I look over my shoulder and give a curt nod accompanied with a small smirk. I don’t miss the way she rolls her eyes at me. Oh, that’s how it’s going to be? Keep it up, Gwen, I already don’t like your saggy ass.
“Hello, how are you?” Trey stops for a second to hug and acknowledge her. While I take a swig of my wine and prepare for a night of fake laughter, head nods, and awkward silence.
You got this, Shay.
“Thanks for coming.” Trey kisses her cheek and I cringe. Those lips shouldn’t touch her.
“And how are you, Shayla?” My name leaving her lips sounds so forced, as if it’s a hard shit she can’t get out. I really don’t know how I’ll go the rest of my life pretending to like her.
“Hey, Gwen, I hope you like chicken Alfredo with veggies. It’s Trey’s favorite.”
“I used to make him this great spaghetti, he loved it. I’m surprised he likes anything else, that’s all he would ask for.”
I’m sure that’s all she ever cooked when he was six years old, I don’t think he had a wide palette for exotic foods, so no shit he enjoyed it. Man, I am a bitter bitch tonight, sass on point.
“He loves my spaghetti and meat sauce, but I decided I would make him this instead. He loves it now.” Doing my best to seem relaxed and less annoyed with my rebuttal.
“Oh, well, I’ll probably just have veggies. Chicken isn’t my favorite and yours looks dry, so it’s a double no for me, but thank you.” My eyes jump to hers, they squint and my lips glue together. Trey is too busy with emails, completely missing her catty comment. Did she really have to say that? How rude—how classless.
“I’m sorry, I had no idea. I can whip something else up if you’d like?” Trey finally hears me, joining in on the conversation.
“Why would you cook anything else, this is perfect, baby?” I smile inwardly at the small victory when he comes to me and places his hands on my shoulders, massaging them gently.
“Your mom doesn’t like chicken, apparently, and she said mine’s dry.” I throw her ass under the bus.
“Oh, no I do. I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry.” Her sentence is hurried, with a hint of vulnerability. Hanging her head, she stares at the ground. Oh, she’s good, she’s good. Game on, troll.
“Baby.” Lowering his head he whispers in my ear, “Play nice.”
I shiver and not from the good old arousal shiver, but the irritated kind. This woman thinks she can just play the fiddle and get away with everything. Not on my watch—not in my house.
“I was just trying to be accommodating. Dinner is done. I’m going to set the table.” I give a snappy reply then create some space, collecting the plates and making work at the table. I expect him to pull me back in or beckon me back to him, but he doesn’t, instead, he blows me off, only fueling my irritation.
“Okay, well, I’ve been working all day. I’m gonna freshen up, I’ll be out in ten minutes. Gwen, get comfortable, there’s some wine and beer in the fridge.” Trey leaves, walking down the hall toward my bedroom. I hear the door shut to the bathroom and my body becomes well aware that Gwen and I are now alone, my shoulders tense and I feel the deep frown stretch across my face.
“So, you guys are engaged. I must say I’m shocked.” I turn to look at her, not at all sure where this is going. However, Gwen has never been pleasant when she has been around me and usually she likes to stir the pot and say some messed up things to get me going. One time I went to lunch with her and Trey and when he left to go to the restroom, she tried to tell me Trey was looking at other women when I wasn’t paying attention. Really? How childish and trivial is that?
“Why would you be shocked?” I entertain her.
“Well, I didn’t think my son would marry someone who’s really good at lying, I thought he would choose better.” Appalled by her insult, I stare at her for a minute, at a loss for words. Where does this woman get off thinking she can say things like that to me and what the hell is she talking about, or better yet, making up in her twisted freaking head?
Not sure if I should ignore her or take the bait, I go with the latter, because she bluntly just called me a liar.
“I’m sorry?” I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Your pregnancy secret,” she says smoothly, with no kind emotion in her voice. I feel like we’re chest to chest in this huge room, when really we are on opposite sides of the room. The walls are closing in and my head begins to sting. I can feel my throat going dry, my hands become clammy. Debating to run out of the room, I wield myself, nearly forcefully to stay put and face off with this neurotic woman.
“How did you know?” I ask her with a quiver. There’s no way she could have known about me not being able to get pregnant. I don’t know whether to be scared or anxious with the knowledge that she somehow knows. I have only talked to this woman a handful of times in my life, two of those times I told her to stay away from Trey, with good reason. But I was nice at our last meeting, leading her to believe I had no problem with her. Why would she go through all this trouble to sabotage me? I knew she was scum, I knew we shouldn’t have trusted her.
“I have my ways, but those I’ll keep to myself. So, you need to promise me something.” She wraps her hands around the back of my gray dining room chair, her white tip dragon nails thrumming a rhythm while she waits for me to answer. The gall of this woman, standing in my home and attempting to scare me enough to blackmail me.
But seeing Gwen like this—threatening me for no reason, scares me—chills me to the bone, and the last thing I need is her telling Trey the secret I’ve been hiding. Turning desperate, I’ll do anything to make sure Trey doesn’t know about this until I’m sure what it means for us.
“What?” I swallow loudly, my heart dropping, my stomach hollowing out. My eyes becoming hazy with tears. Here I am giving into her threats, letting her feed me poison, which I take willingly from her dirty hands. What other option do I have though? If she tells Trey before me, he may never forgive me for hiding this secret for as long as I have.
“You stay out of my son’s choice to forgive me, and I’ll keep my mouth shut about your little situation.” She points at my stomach and it’s like a kick to the gut, even someone as vile as her can make me feel less than.
“Why are you doing this? I’ve done nothing but love your son and this is how you repay me, repay us—shit, repay him?” My voice elevates before I have time to stop it.
“You don’t worry your pretty little self with that. I’m here to stay and that’s my business alone. So back off, Shayla, because I’m not willing to lose what I want.” Her threat is loud and clear.
“What do you want, Gwen? What?”
“For you to stand down and let me in his damn life.” The finality in her
voice forces me to silence. What can I do? She has the upper hand. My heart aches for Trey and there’s nothing I can do but sit back and let him discover this for himself. He hasn’t seen this side of her. Why would he believe me? I’ll just look like a selfish brat and possibly lose him for good. All I can do is idly wait and let this woman prove on her own how vile and dangerous she is. I hate feeling this hopeless. I let the tears fall, sadness colliding head-on with my anger. You know that moment you’re so mad that you can do nothing but cry? That’s me this very second.
“Fine. But Trey isn’t a dumb man, Gwen. He’ll see through you. But so help me God, if you hurt him, I don’t care what you tell him. I’ll lay your fucking shit bare.” My finger is pointing at her like that of a sharpened blade. She moves to get closer to me. I almost back down—almost. Instead, I stick my chest out and defend Trey no matter the danger.
“You may think you’re strong, little girl, but I’m stronger.” With that last word the bedroom door opens, announcing Trey’s return.
The body wash that he cleans his strong, muscular, lean body with filters out, carrying down the hall and into the kitchen. The wash that covers his body, the body that encages his loving heart. The heart that loves so much and forgives too easily. When I let his scent fill my lungs entirely, I make a vow to Trey. I will find what this woman is up to, and I will end it. She may think she’s got the upper hand, but really, I do. I have his past, I have his time, and I have his heart, I will protect that with every living fiber in my body.
“Baby, did you wash my jeans?” he yells, crossing the hall into the laundry room.
“Yeah, I did, they’re in the dryer, honey.” Gwen and I are still face-to-face challenging the other to move.
“Fuck, you’re too good to me, woman! I love you!” I tilt my head and purse my lips.
“I love you, baby.” I make sure I say this slowly and with enough cocky arrogance. She steps back first, giving me the crown and deeming me the winner.
Told you, I have the upper hand.
“We’ll see who’s stronger in the end, Gwen,” I say, pushing past her and making Trey a plate. This night just flipped me upside down.
INVITING MY ENTIRE CIRCLE OF close family and friends maybe wasn’t the best idea I’ve had to date. Kingston, Lana, and Kathy should have been my stopping point. But then my dad looked at me with doe eyes and Mom forced her way in after she guilt-tripped me during our “talk.” Now, I’m here with the motley crew, and I’m in over my head. This downtown bridal boutique was named best in Seattle, so we start here. I need to find the one that speaks to me. Before, I always wanted a ball gown but recently, lace mermaid dresses have been on my radar.
Stepping onto the platform in front of the gray sofa that houses my entire crew, I look into the three-way mirror in front of me. This one is very Grace Kelly, elegant, vintage with a ball gown bottom and lace top. It’s beautiful, but I wish it showed more of my skin and a better view of my figure. This dress isn’t for me, I want Trey to not only be elated, but I want to see his mouth drop when he sees me.
“I like it, you look cute, sis.” I find Kingston in the mirror and smirk; he’s chomping on some kind of candy and smiling up at me, like a child.
“I don’t want to be ‘cute’ so this is a no. Thanks, bud.” Kingston nods and Lana silently agrees with the shake of her head as I step down from the stand. Making my way back toward the changing room, I’m out of eye range, but not earshot when I hear my mom start talking. Pausing, I listen.
“Thank God, she looked like a hefty potato in that.” My eyes drop to the floor. Ouch. Am I really that big? I know I gained a couple of pounds, but I didn’t think it was noticeable. I just got back from vacation, of course I gained a couple of pounds, but she doesn’t need to vocalize it to everyone, especially on this day.
“Mom, fucking stop. She looks amazing. You’re just being a raging bitch today, aren’t cha?” Entering the fitting room, my eyes stay focused on the floor while the stylist unbuttons the long trail of beading up my back.
“Kings, watch your mouth. I’m your damn mother, you can’t speak to me like that,” she huffs. “I mean, it’s no wonder this poor girl doesn’t want to be your girlfriend.” I bite my lip, feeling nothing but sorry for the can of worms my mom just opened. Three…two…one…
“You’re lucky you’re my quote, unquote mother. I’ll let that comment slide, because you’re just a miserable toad.”
“Leave Kingston alone, Erica. And stop picking on Shayla.” Lana’s soft, stern voice defends my brother and me. Noticing the stylist hasn’t said a word, I turn around and see she’s wearing a smile, the gleam in her eyes giving me a mental high five.
“Family, am I right?” I ask with a chuckle, brushing off my mother’s insult.
“They aren’t the worst I’ve had.” Jaclyn winks at me. I like her; she’s sweet and very accommodating. She has picked out every dress that could possibly fit my criteria and she compliments me in each one.
“I think you’re gonna love this one, dear.” We quickly work at getting me in the new dress. Once I’m fully dressed, she lifts the train and we move back out to the seating area. Everyone is talking as I enter the room, my presence calls for silence to fall. You could hear a pin drop and Kathy’s gasp tells me this must be as stunning as I think it is.
Turning to the mirror, I instantly begin to cry. This is the one. I spin slightly my hand never leaving my open mouth. The mermaid style hugs my breasts, waist, hips, and thighs like a glove. The entire dress is white and covered in an intricate lace design.
Turning, I move my hair to the side and look over my shoulder. I see the keyhole cutout showing my thin back, the curve of my spine, and sharp lines of my shoulder blades playing peek-a-boo. It’s classy but still sexy. I look like everything I imagined I wanted to.
“Fuck, you look so beautiful, Shay.” Kingston’s whispered praise registers in my mind; I give him a sweet smirk. Kathy comes to join me where I stand.
“You look like a dream in this dress, sweetheart.” She wipes my tears, and I hear a grumble come from my mom. I ignore her and smile down at Kathy, not letting my mother ruin this raw feeling.
“Charles would tell you the same thing if he were here now.” I cry even harder alongside her. I wondered many times what it would be like to find my dress, what emotions I would feel, and how I would know. I can’t explain nor answer any of those; I just know it’s better than any dream.
“You do look like my little princess, but all grown up,” my dad says, standing behind Kathy, putting his hands on her shoulders. I love that he keeps wiping at his tears with a hurried determination, pretending he isn’t really crying.
“You think Trey will love it?” That’s whose opinion I care most about.
“Shay, are you kidding? He’s going to die, come back to life, and then ruin your dress with his savage ways.”
“Lana!” Kingston and I say in unison. I don’t miss the uncomfortable twitch my dad made; I mean honestly, why are we even shocked—that’s Lana for you.
“What, it’s the truth. He’ll be blown away. I think it’s the one.” I look at everyone’s faces, deliberately skipping over my mother’s and landing on Jaclyn’s.
“Is this the one?” she asks, lifting her hands in the air.
After a brief pause I shriek excitedly. “Yes!”
And just like that, I find it. My dream dress, my every fairytale and childhood dream. I stare at myself for a few minutes longer, tracing over every detail of the gown before I get dressed.
I’m slipping on my Converse shoes in the fitting room when there’s a rap on the door.
“Shayla, sweetie, it’s Kathy. Are you decent?”
“Yes, come in.” Stepping in, she closes the door behind her, indicating she wants privacy.
“I wanted to ask you something.” She sits on the chair to the right of me, grabbing my hands, she brings them to her lap, where they then rest. Her hands are fragile, looking thinner than they we
re a few months ago. Pops’s death still evident in the little things.
“Anything.” Hesitantly, her eyes search the dressing room, landing on my hanging dress just across from us.
“You picked the right one, you know that?” For a second I believe she’s referring to my dress, but I know better, there is a double meaning.
“Yeah, I really did—and yes, I do.” I squeeze her hand.
“Well, yes—anyway—I would like to pay for the dress.” No way can she pay for my dress; her words shock me, my eyes growing wide in response.
“No, you can’t do that for me—actually, you don’t need to do that,” I rush out, putting my free hand over hers. I don’t want to put her in a position or make her think she needs to. Trey and I are having a small, intimate wedding on the beach where he proposed. The funding for that isn’t insanely expensive, so we’re more than comfortable splurging on my dress.
This morning we decided—well, he decided—that I could spend whatever I wanted on my gown. I woke with his face between my legs, his tongue lapping at me, appreciating my body, spoiling me with multiple orgasms. When he finished, he told me to spend whatever I wanted on the dress that speaks to me. I blush a little at the thought.
“I really want to, Charles and I would’ve done this together. I would really like to do this for you—for my husband.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and I don’t even have it in me to argue with something like that. This isn’t just for me; she’s doing it to feel closer to her husband. Her husband that won’t be here physically to be beside his son.She won’t have his hand to hold while we share our vows, or his arms to be wrapped in when we all dance on the dance floor. Kathy needs this one thing to feel nearer to him. I can’t and shouldn’t deny her of that.
“Okay, yes, of course you can.” I accede to her wish, freely, with no more fight, without any stipulations. She leans in and wraps her small arms around my neck, crying softly into my shoulder.