by Nia Arthurs
Amir stiffened.
I put my hands into my pockets. That confession was for my benefit, not Amir’s. The woman I was crazy about had made up her mind. This was her goodbye.
Imani turned to me. “What if I can’t take the risk that I’m wrong about what I’m feeling? And I give it all up for something that won’t last when I’ve got a sure thing in front of me?”
I stepped back.
The wind howled. Rain started falling harder, splashing against the ground. Thunder boomed in the distance.
“I’m thinking…” Imani said, her dark eyes were tight with pain. Raindrops mingled with her tears. She pulled her lips in, but I still saw them quivering. “What if I don’t choose you?”
Amir grabbed her shoulders. “Even then, I’d love you.”
“I know,” Imani whispered.
Lightning flashed, revealing my pitiful heart flapping on the ground in a shallow puddle. Imani looked stricken, torn-up. A lock of curly hair stuck to her perfect cheek.
Amir gathered her up and hugged her tight. Her chin nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Her eyes fastened on me.
There was nothing left to say.
I turned and plodded home as the rain battered my head and drowned the empty cavern in my chest.
Chapter 22
IMANI
It had been raining non-stop for the past two days. A bad omen? A good one? Honestly, I didn’t care. I’d stopped giving a damn the second Elliot turned his back and walked away from me.
No.
It wasn’t Elliot’s fault. I was the one who’d pushed him away. When all had been said and done, I’d made my choice and he hadn’t fought me on it.
Curling into a ball on the edge of my bed, I stared at the open window through the fluttering white curtains. Sunlight struggled past the grey clouds that hovered in the sky. Yellow light crackled on their edges.
According to the forecast, there should only be a light drizzle today. We’d moved the reception indoors to accommodate, but the wedding would be held inside Pastor Matthew’s church.
Mom, Mrs. Williams, Portia and a few of Amir’s cousins had spent all night decorating it yesterday. They’d banned me from helping. Portia had texted last night and swore up and down that I’d love what they did to the place. I needed to remember to act touched when I saw it later.
My phone buzzed.
I had no energy to move, but I forced myself to feel around my dresser and find the device. My fingers clattered past the empty soda bottles and used tissues, swiping them away until I found it.
Plucking my phone up, I checked the screen and saw a text from Amir.
AMIR: Good morning, beautiful.
AMIR: I can’t wait to get married to you.
I sighed and set the cell away. Amir and I hadn’t seen each other since Thursday night. I’d asked him for some space and he’d honored that, keeping his distance.
Today, at the altar, would be the first time we’d meet in two days.
My phone chirped again.
Another text from my fiancé.
AMIR: You are gonna show up today, right?
The text was followed by a worried-face emoji.
Since it was expected of me, I responded back letting him know that I’d keep my promise and be there on time. Ready to face the music, Imami? With a groan, I sat up and plodded to the bathroom.
The mirror hanging above the sink revealed a woman with light brown skin, tired, panda-beer eyes and a strained smile. I practiced baring my teeth some more, knowing I’d need to fool a lot of people today and this Bride of Frankenstein face wouldn’t cut it.
After a quick shower, I looked a little better, but the exhaustion and lethargy lingered.
Yesterday, I’d felt so horrible I couldn’t even go to work. My boss had been more than accommodating and told me to take the day off so I could focus on my wedding prep. I’d spent the day napping and watching Netflix instead, losing myself to a world that wasn’t my own.
Someone knocked on the door. I stiffened, but there was nowhere to run.
Reality was here to collect.
I plodded to the front door and opened up. It was Jane and Portia. I glanced over their heads. “Where’s my mom?”
Portia gave me a hug and explained, “She went with Mrs. Williams to finish the food preparations. They’re making fifty pounds of potato salad and they haven’t even started peeling the potatoes yet. The chicken has to be stewed and…” She blew out a breath. “They’re kind of overwhelmed.”
“That’s why I told Amir to have it catered,” I hissed. An irrational rage clawed at my brain. The last thing I’d wanted was our family flitting around like chickens without heads to help me.
“Whoa, Imani, relax. It’s not that big a deal.” Portia eyed me while shaking her curly fro out of her face. Her hair was frizzy and in desperate need of a little moisture. Not that I’d expected her to dress fancily. She’d warned me from last night that she planned on getting ready at my place.
Jane stepped into the room next. She looked glamorous as always in a blue, A-line, designer jumpsuit. Her baby bump was barely discernable. Dark hair fell around her shoulders like a soft rain. The fragrance of a hot comb wafted from her locks.
“You look nice,” I croaked.
“And you look like death.” Jane’s chocolate-colored eyes bugged. “Imani, are you okay?”
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Girl, don’t lie to us.” Portia grabbed my arm and jerked me closer. “Have you been drinking?”
“No.”
“Then is it the flu?”
I shook my head.
Jane stroked her chin. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”
“Not really.” I didn’t want to discuss kissing Elliot on my wedding day. I felt horrible enough about that.
On top of all the crap I’d done in my past, I could add ‘cheater’ to the list.
Amir had glazed right over my confession and I knew that, even though I’d told him about it, he hadn’t given himself space and time to consider what my unfaithfulness meant. He’d just tossed it and forgiven me instantly.
I should feel relieved.
I didn’t.
“I’m fine,” I said aloud to myself.
Jane looked unconvinced. “Really?”
“Yes.”
Portia grinned. “Why wouldn’t she be? It’s her wedding day.”
“I don’t know. Just a few days ago, she was torn between Elliot and Amir.”
“Given I’m about to put on my wedding dress and walk down the aisle, can’t you tell what I’ve chosen?” I snapped.
“The right choice.” Portia nodded sharply.
Jane didn’t seem offended by my attitude. If anything, her expression grew even more pitying. “Are you having second-thoughts?”
“No!” I blurted. Noticing I’d answered too quickly, I lowered my voice. “I’m not. I’m perfectly happy.”
Jane humphed. “If this is what ‘perfectly happy’ looks like, I don’t want to see you miserable.”
“I’m fine, guys. See?” I bared my teeth in another blood-curdling smile.
Jane winced.
“Let’s focus on what we have to do today, okay?” I pleaded.
“Alright!” Portia waved her hands dramatically. “Let’s get you hitched!”
As the clouds outside shifted and hunkered lower in the sky, I felt myself going increasingly numb. Through the grueling hair and makeup sessions to the act of actually putting on my dress, there was such a massive disconnect that I thought I was going crazy.
Doing the right thing should feel better, shouldn’t it? Even if it didn’t, even if doing the right thing sometimes cost your life, it should at least be accompanied by a sense of peace, right? A certainty that I was on the right path. Why was that missing?
“Imani…” Portia’s broken voice tore me from my thoughts. My best friend dotted at the corner of her eyes. “You look so beautiful.”
I str
ode over to the full-length mirror. Portia had done the up-style I’d envisioned. It was graceful and elegant. With my hair back, I could appreciate the makeup artist’s work so much more. My foundation actually matched my light brown skin tone and my dark eyes popped. My plump lips looked soft and kissable.
Portia was right.
I did look amazing.
If only my appearance matched my insides.
A horn beeped.
Jane, Portia and I whipped our heads around.
I trotted to the window and glanced over. “Did someone hire a limo?”
“That would be me.” Jane winked. “Consider it a pre-wedding gift.”
My heart twitched. “You shouldn’t have.” No, really. She shouldn’t. The thought of any of my friends spending chunks of change on this wedding that I was beginning to dread… it sickened me.
Portia nudged me to the side, a bright grin on her face. “Don’t stand there gawking. Go and put on your shoes so we can leave.”
My bare feet thudded against the carpet as I returned to my bedroom and grabbed the shoebox that had been waiting in the closet.
As soon as I saw the top, Elliot’s face popped into my head. I could almost hear him warning me away from purchasing it, advising me to wait until I found something I really loved.
I slowly pulled off the top and gripped it between my manicured nails. The shoes stared back at me, plain and uninspiring.
Elliot had been right.
I didn’t love these shoes. I never did. I’d bought them because I was trying to stick it to Elliot, to prove that I’d look good with anything on my feet. But they didn’t suit me. Not as well as they should.
“Imani?”
I glanced up.
Portia.
She smiled at me, but the grin dimmed when she saw my shoes. Her voice climbed. “Where did you get those?”
“A boutique downtown.”
“They’re…” She blinked rapidly. “I mean… it doesn’t matter. It’s too late to change them now. Let’s go.”
I let her drag me down the stairs. She and Jane stuffed my fluffy wedding dress into the backseat of the limo and got in beside me.
The car rolled down the highway while I stared, unseeingly through the window. A mounting panic clamored in my chest. As we neared the church, I frantically pushed the satin skirt aside so I could stare at my heels.
“Imani, what are you doing?” Jane spoke as if I were a child squirming in her Sunday best. “You’ll mess up your makeup.”
I heard music pouring from the church and frowned. “Wait, what’s going on? Did they start without me?”
“Amir requested it,” Portia said. Grabbing my shoulders, she leaned in. “There’s no backing out now, babe. Everything’s already set. All you have to do is walk down the aisle.”
I stared at my shoes again.
Oh… no.
Chapter 23
Elliot
“No, no, no! What the hell, Wyatt? I told you I wanted the meat steamed not stewed. Aren’t you hearing me?”
“Sorry, Chef. I’ll do it again, Chef.”
I watched him run off and yelled, “Don’t make any mistakes this time.”
“Yes, Chef!”
The other cooks shot me side looks, some fearful and others indignant.
I glanced around. “Anyone have anything to say?”
They all ducked back to their respective stations.
The silence screamed loudly.
I massaged my temple and braced one hand against the counter. Two nights ago, I’d held Imani. Right here in this exact spot. She’d been in my arms, like a dream come to life. Like a miracle in the flesh.
Today, she would officially become someone else’s dream, someone else’s miracle. I’d have no permission, no moral or legal ground, no chance… to desire her.
Someone rapped her knuckles against the counter. My head whipped up. I opened my mouth, ready to scream at the hostess for allowing diners back here when I’d explicitly informed her that the chef’s table was closed until further notice.
To my surprise, I saw Gran standing on the other side of the wall. Wrinkles tightened the skin around her eyes, which stared soberly at me. The white light bounced harshly against her dark brown skin and, when she frowned, I coiled back instinctively, waiting for her to bust out a paddle and start trashing my behind.
“Gran, what are you doing here?”
“Elliot Patrick White, why are you torturing your poor employees?”
My mouth fell open. “Gran?”
“With your face all black and blue like that, they probably think you’re a gangster. That’s not the way I raised you.”
I ducked my head. “Sorry.”
“I’m not the one you screamed at like a madman.”
I swallowed and moved through the door so I could stand beside her. “Let’s talk in my office.”
She nodded.
I sighed in relief. I didn’t want the crew to see me getting dressed down by a five-foot two old lady.
Our footsteps pounded against the stairs. I led Gran to my office and flipped on the light. The air was stuffy so I threw open a window and sucked in a deep breath.
The squeezing sensation in my chest lessened. At least here, in my office, I could be free of Imani’s shadow.
That wasn’t the case when I was in the kitchen. Cooking had become torture for me. Her presence was imprinted on the counters, on the stove, on the plates. I saw her everywhere I turned.
“Imani’s wedding is today,” Gran said.
“I’m aware.”
“Even if you have a good reason for taking out your anger on your employees, that doesn’t make it right.”
I looked her over, noticing for the first time that she was wearing lipstick and a silky purple dress. My eyebrows shot up when I registered what those clothes and her words meant together. “Are you going?”
“Where?”
“To the wedding.”
“I was invited.”
I frowned at the dry remark. “Amir told me not to come.”
“That instruction was for you, not me.” She sank into the couch. “So I plan on showing up.”
I sulked. “Fine. Go. You didn’t have to stop by my restaurant and announce it first.”
“I wanted to check up on you before I grabbed a taxi to the church.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’ll wait a few more minutes to make sure.”
I checked my watch and spit the bitter words out. “Isn’t it starting around now?”
“I don’t think so. Weddings in Belize always start about an hour or so late. I’m not missing anything.”
“Tell me how it goes.” I turned my chair around and faced the window. It was raining. Served them right.
“Do you mean that?” she asked.
I sighed. “What do you want me to say, Gran? That I’m happy? That I wanted things to end like this? I thought Imani would come to me and she didn’t. There’s nothing I can do to force her to my side.”
“I’m not accusing you, Elliot.”
I whirled the chair around. “She’s always been this way, you know? She’ll creep close and then flit away before I can catch her. She’ll tease and laugh and kiss me—”
“You kissed her?” Gran sat straight up.
I rubbed the back of my neck, searching for an accurate response. If Gran found out I’d made a move on Imani while she was still engaged, she’d lose it.
“Elliot,” she growled, a warning in her tone.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“In college.”
Gran looked shocked. “Really?”
I nodded, thinking of that crazy night when Imani had a few too many drinks and suggested we get together to make her ex jealous. It was the first time she’d ever hinted that we could be more than friends, but the next day she took it back and made me swear to never mention it again.
A few days later, she got back with her ex.
“I always end up getting her signals wrong. Imani loves attention. Just knowing that I’d want her is enough. She had no intentions of following through.”
“So, is that it?”
“What more do you want me to say? There’s nothing I can do.”
“Nothing? Okay.” She stood, knees cracking. “My taxi’s downstairs waiting for me. I’ll see you after the wedding.”
“I’ll walk you down.”
“Don’t bother.” She waved me away. “I’m sure you have a lot to think about. Just stay here and… wallow.”
I narrowed my eyes.
She chuckled mischievously and strolled out the door.
I threw my head against the chair and let it spin. Gran had visited intentionally to stir up my feelings and cause more confusion. I’d already accepted Imani’s marriage and was doing my best to cope with it.
Now?
I stood and paced. What was left for me to do? Bare my heart to Imani in front of her fiancé—that she’d chosen to my face a few days ago—and their wedding guests? What kind of an idiot would even consider such a thing?
I chewed on a thumbnail.
Me.
I was that idiot.
Grabbing my car keys, I shrugged out of my chef’s coat and ran downstairs to the kitchen. “Wyatt!”
“Yes, Chef?”
“You’re in charge.”
His eyes widened. “Chef?”
“I’ll be out for a couple hours doing something incredibly stupid. You can handle the lunch rush, right?”
“Yes, Chef!”
“Good work everyone.” I darted out of the kitchen and into the main entrance so I could get to my car. As I was running for the door, a small woman stepped into my path.
Gran.
She was beaming from ear-to-ear. “Do you mind? I sent my taxi away and I need a ride.”
I skidded to a stop and looked down at her. “You played me.”
“I did nothing of the kind. I just figured… you needed a little push.”
Shaking my head, I escorted her to the parking lot. “I thought you didn’t want me storming the church.”
“Because it’s embarrassing,” she shrieked. Then her words seemed to register and she amended, “But I’d rather you let Imani go knowing you did all you could than live with regrets.”