“It was lunch, Caela,” I said, walking past her, heading towards Wesley’s office. She followed. “We ate, we talked, and we made plans.”
“Plans?”
“Yes, Caela, and you’re passing your desk,” I said, turning around briefly to face her.
When I reached Wesley’s office, I knocked to announce my presence, even though his door was open. I figured he was busy on the phone describing his morning to Erin. You know how people are when they get into a new relationship. You spent morning, afternoon, and evening on the telephone wanting to learn everything about them, as if you were racing against time. That’s how it was for Jackson and me. I figured straight men did the same thing. Before Erin, the ladies who came into Wesley’s life stayed on the bottom of his list of priorities, but this was never something he kept hidden from them. His business came before girlfriends, but Erin was so much more.
Once he acknowledged me, I walked into his office and sat in one of the dark leather chairs in front of his desk. He had a childish grin on his face.
“Guess what?” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Mr. Copeland finally agreed to the design changes we proposed.”
“How did you get him to do that?”
“He called this morning asking me to give my honest opinion. I told him none of my opinions had been dishonest,” Wesley said. “I showed him how he could make the same statement and save a few bucks at the same time.”
“And he went for it?”
“Like he should have in the first place,” Wesley added.
Wesley Monahan stood 6’3”, a little on the thick side, but could probably find a bulging muscle or two if he searched hard for them. But Wesley loved his size, and so did the ladies. He spent days at the gym, but just long enough to get his heart pumping. He wore suits Monday through Friday, and his idea of dressing down meant wearing his suit sans tie. The faith Wesley had lost in love, relationships, and marriage was restored when Erin Lanning came into his life. He allowed himself to do with Erin what he hadn’t allowed himself to do with any other women he had met: he allowed himself to fall in love. Though he was working on his relationship with his father, a process he started a year ago, their interaction still had a few rocks, if not boulders, in the way. One in particular was his father’s wife.
Wesley had already admitted he didn’t see mending fences with his stepmother in his near future. The man who two years ago thought marriage was for the birds was getting ready to build a nest with Erin.
“How do you like working with him?” I asked.
Wesley convinced me to contract the Copeland project. I agreed, on one condition: He had to head the project from start to finish—designs, negotiations, and presentations were all on him. With Kelvin and Jackson already occupying my emotional space, I definitely didn’t want to add the conundrum that was Charney Copeland, not as a client or otherwise. Wesley agreed.
“Working with him isn’t that bad. He brought Thorpe Flynn to our last meeting, a guy he introduced as his partner. He didn’t specify if Mr. Flynn was his business partner or his partner in the bedroom. I don’t care either way, but if you ask me, I would have to say, both.” Wesley paused. “Whatever makes the brotha happy, you know.”
I looked at Wesley and smiled. I did know.
“Are you ready for your 3:15?”
“Nothing to really get ready for. We’re just going to meet these guys, see what it is they are looking for or expecting, and I guess we can go from there.”
We were meeting with the Milner Group, a nonprofit organization interested in expanding the recreation center just outside of Marcel’s hometown. They didn’t have a lot of money and needed some companies to donate their services. Marcel was Dexter’s nephew and had spent most of his evenings after school and Saturday mornings perfecting his basketball skills. I was doing this as a favor to Dexter, my way of giving back.
“You are still coming in with me, aren’t you?”
“I got you, partna,” Wesley said, and winked.
11
Distance and Time
Jackson …
Some people just don’t get it. Even though it came sooner that expected, I expected this phone call from him. I hadn’t completely cut myself off from him, at least not yet. I had purposely placed distance between us and I hoped time wasn’t too far behind. Unlike many, I knew the truth. I had fallen plenty of times with him and because of him. I had fallen in love, fallen in hurt, and finally, I had fallen out of love. That last fall was the best fall I had ever experienced with him.
“So when were you going to tell me you were leaving, or that you had left?” The word hello hadn’t even fallen from my lips.
“What difference would it have made if I had stayed?”
“Now we’ll never know.”
“That doesn’t sound like something I need to worry about,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Did you leave because of me?”
I wasn’t going to give Gavin that much power or any credit for the choices I made. “I left because of me. I needed to start over and starting over has been going well so far. You know I almost forgot what it felt like to be loved, and because of the bad taste your love left in my mouth, I almost ran from it.”
“It wasn’t always bad,” Gavin said.
“Well, I remember most of the bad because the good was few and far between, and towards the end, the good never existed.”
“You know something, Jackson…” And he was silent, as if he were sitting on the phone contemplating if he should say exactly what was on his mind. I wasn’t going to do anything to encourage him.
“Are you there?” he asked.
“I’m here. You asked me if I knew something. I didn’t think you needed a response to continue.”
“I miss you,” he admitted, and I could tell he regretted those words the moment they were spoken. I was surprised he would say something like that.
Who he missed was the person I became during the five years I was with him; the guy who knew truth but accepted lies. He missed the man who held on hoping both him and his love would come around soon, and the person who went to bed asking why he couldn’t be the one. If Gavin missed anything, it’s that I was no longer there to play his fool.
“That’s nice,” I said. I think he expected more than that.
“That’s it?”
What did he mean if that was it? What else did he want or expect me to say? I knew how Gavin’s mind worked. I would be saying I missed him, and he would be hearing something completely different. He was notorious for hearing whatever he wanted to hear. That had been the cause of many of our disagreements because nothing I said was ever heard exactly how I wanted him to hear it. So many times I had stopped myself from telling him how I felt when most of what I felt was pure hurt.
“What else is there for me to say, Gavin?” I had gotten to where I just didn’t care anymore, and it pleased me that Gavin was feeling what it felt like when your feelings just don’t matter.
“You just don’t say ‘that’s nice’ after someone says they miss you.”
“But it’s always a nice feeling to be missed. Don’t think I was going to lie and say I miss you, too, because I don’t. You just don’t get it, do you?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, and for a moment he had convinced me he hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.
“Gavin, ten years ago I came into your life to love you. There was nothing ordinary about the love I had for you, or the love I gave to you. I never thought I needed to take caution when it came to love, not with you. But leave it up to you to prove me wrong.”
“Why do you keep talking about us in the past?” he asked. If I knew him as well as I thought I did, he had been thinking about this conversation, rehearsing it over in his mind.
“First of all, there is no ‘us’. All thanks to you, of course. And I keep talking about you in the past because that’s where I left you. Isn’t that where you
wanted to be? ‘Cause you damn sure didn’t act like you wanted to be a part of my future. I spent five years loving you, two years wanting you back, not realizing I never actually had you. I spent another two years trying like hell, and not without failure either, to get over you, and then one year finding the self I lost from loving you, and finally loving me again. And as hard as I’ve worked to get here, with everything else going on in my life, repeating you isn’t something I want to do again.”
“I’m sorry,” Gavin said.
“It’s too late for I’m sorry, Gavin. Maybe your apology would have meant something to me, you know, back when I needed to hear it, even if you didn’t mean it. Right now, it really doesn’t matter.”
“But I am sorry,” he repeated.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m not.” He was silent, like he always was when he knew I was speaking nothing but the truth.
I had been sitting in the car pulled over to the side on P Street NW, in the popular Georgetown section of D.C., getting ready to hit the shops. Students from the nearby Georgetown University were getting settled into the routine of classes. Freshmen who’d left home for the first time were taking advantage of their newly found independence.
“Will I see you again?” Gavin asked.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Maybe not this soon, but we’ll see.”
“Take care of you, JC.”
I smiled and shook my head. “Who’s going to take care of me if I don’t?” I asked, not expecting him to respond. “Take care, Gavin.”
12
Wish He Never Met You
Trevor…
What I thought was a heavy breeze was actually a hard rain. I sat up on the couch, my head resting in the fold of my arm, my eyes piercing through the vertical blinds, staring at a tree that swayed easily by a late September breeze.
I had just gotten off the phone with Jackson before the rain began. He had spent the rest of his day shopping for a new work wardrobe. He had prepared dinner when he got home and spent some time unpacking boxes. I wanted Jackson to be well rested his first day on the job, so I decided I would sleep in my own bed tonight, between my pillows. I heard the disappointment in his voice, but he knew it was best. It wasn’t always possible to lie beside him and keep my hands to myself, which meant we would both be awake later than we needed to be.
The raindrops glistened as they freefell past a bright light in the front yard. A television movie I had planned on watching failed to keep my attention since all I could think about was Dexter and the conversation we had this morning. Across the street a couple ran from their car trying to escape the elements. When my cell phone buzzed, I had no intention of entertaining the caller. Although my mind was busy in thought, I was still enjoying my peaceful night until the vibrating phone interrupted my tranquility.
“So, you’re the man who supposedly loves him? Don’t think he’s there for you to hurt him. If that’s what you have in mind, do yourself a huge favor and leave him alone,” a stranger began. “He’s dealt with enough of your type in his life, and as much as he tries to avoid your type, you always seem to find yourselves in his radar. If you’re looking for someone to hurt because you’re still figuring out how to love, he’s not the man for you.”
“I don’t know who this is, but don’t you think it’s time you stop hiding behind messages and ill-gotten phone numbers?”
“Oh, baby. I’m not hiding.”
“I’m not your damn baby,” I corrected. “And if this isn’t hiding, then what do you call it?” I got up from the couch and walked to the refrigerator, searching for anything that would settle the nerves I had allowed this interloper to fluster. I had ignored his messages and phone calls, even the one that came today while I was having lunch with Jackson.
“For your own good,” he warned, “loosen him from your pretentious grasp before…” the caller paused.
“Before what?” My interest had peaked. I stood in front of the refrigerator, the light revealing the tightness in my face.
“You’ll be hearing from me again,” the stranger promised.
“Hello? Hello?” I called out, but the phone was silent. I removed the phone from my ear and stared at the screen. Still disturbed by his audacity, I tossed the phone on the ceramic countertop. I removed an opened bottle of Pinot Gris I had gotten from The Wine List, poured a glass full, and then began making my way back to the couch. Before my nose could be tickled by the fruity fragrance, and my tongue completely wrapped in the sweet taste of vanilla, my phone vibrated again.
I rushed over to the counter. “Look, damn it!” I answered in fury. “I don’t have time for you or your simple ass games. Get some balls and tell me why the hell you keep calling me.”
“That definitely isn’t the way I would greet my best friend.”
“Definitely not,” I said, smiling when I heard Denise’s friendly, tranquil voice on the other end.
The familiarity in her voice brought a pleasurable smirk to my face. Some time had passed since our last conversation and we had some catching-up to do. Work, Caela, and my relationship with Jackson had kept me busy. I couldn’t think of an excuse for Denise, although I was sure if I asked she probably had a good one.
I knew Denise would overreact to these menacing phone calls I had been receiving, so I kept that piece of information to myself. The phone calls, although I hadn’t admitted it, were raising some questions about Jackson. Before he moved here, I wasn’t receiving calls like that.
“So what’s new with you?” Denise asked.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” I said, deflecting her inquisition.
“I’m doing all right, and I’m definitely enjoying the people out here.”
Moving to Houston was never in Denise’s plans, but when opportunity came knocking, she opened the door and let him in. I hadn’t had a chance to focus on missing her. But every time I spoke to her, that was the feeling I got in my heart.
“What about your love life?”
“Nonexistent. Next question,” Denise responded hastily.
“Wait a minute, speedy Sally. You’re not going to walk out of this one so easily. You were supposed to be working things out with Toni. Denise, what happened? What are you not telling me?”
“Like I told you,” Denise replied. “DeRon Winters happened.”
I did remember the last conversation I had with Denise. DeRon Winters had entered Toni’s life and had thrown a monkey wrench into the happiness she enjoyed with Denise.
Toni Dale Hadley’s hire at Texas Children’s Hospital came with a salary increase, a seat on the hospital board, and eventually, DeRon Shane Winters. While Denise was busy negotiating contract deals for basketball center Shane Wheatley and guard Delroy Wallace with Los Angeles, Toni was busy becoming DeRon’s bedfellow, cementing her place as the first Mrs. DeRon Shane Winters. Late evenings spent romping in DeRon’s bed were covered up with lies about life-saving emergency surgery or board meetings that ran extremely late. Her involvement with DeRon stirred something in some of the jealous hens and cocks around the hospital. They were careful what they said about her and who were around when they said it. Those who thought she was a sleep-your-way-to-top kind of girl smiled in her presence and offered pleasantries like free government cheese, but smeared her name the moment she turned her back, or when the only thing lurking was the scent of her Angel perfume. The low jabs and insults came back to Toni as fast as they were breathed from the mouths of her haters. They, too, had their eyes on becoming Mrs. DeRon Shane Winters.
Toni’s name was chewed up and spat out like last night’s broccoli, at least that’s what her inside-man, Kendal Bellfield, told her with eagerness, and then wondered what she did to make the women so bitter towards her—as if he didn’t know. For whatever reason, Kendal paraded himself like a gossiping lady on a corner stoop just to get the latest scoop. He delivered rumors faster than an anchorwoman on the five-o’clock evening news, as if he had something to gain from Ton
i’s rise or her impending nuptials to DeRon. DeRon was an eligible bachelor until Toni slithered her way in Texas Children’s, and into his arms and heart.
I walked into the living room and settled in the chair facing my television. My right elbow rested on the arm of the chair, the wine glass held loosely between my fingers. I took a sip of the wine and waited for Denise to divulge.
“Maybe moving here was a mistake.”
“Denise, what happened?” I asked again. She was never the type of person to second-guess herself. Any decisions she made were thoroughly thought out. She weighed the pros and cons, the ifs and buts, all to avoid making mistakes.
“I thought it was something she needed to go through since she‘d never explored this idea of being with a man. It was a fling I thought, or hoped, would die out sooner rather than later.”
“So you were okay knowing your girl had swung from dildo to dick?” I asked. I didn’t mean to make a joke of it, but at some point, Denise expected me to do just that.
“None at all.”
I sat on the phone and listened to Denise tell me about the end of a relationship I envied, between two women I admired.
Denise told me about the evening Toni never made it home for dinner as she said she would. She had called Toni several times, but each call went straight to voicemail. Knowing Toni’s schedule, Denise didn’t think anything was unusual. But when her calls weren’t returned, usually within the hour, she knew something was wrong. She sat around the dinner table watching the candles burn to a ball of wax. She had emptied wine glasses of red wine to chase glasses of red wine, trying to stop her mind from wondering why one was enjoying dinner meant for two. Then, just before midnight, Toni came walking through the door as if she owed no one an explanation.
“What exactly did you say to her?”
“Are you going to let me tell this like it happened or what?” Denise snapped.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted,” I said. I stayed quiet for the moment and allowed her to continue.