What a Sista Should Do (14 page)

I’m hoping that I come back from this trip revitalized and ready to work on my marriage. Troy’s Christmas gift was inspired. I’ve been writing out my thoughts and feelings and getting to know myself again. When Troy gave me that journal, it touched me, because I knew that he was paying attention to me. I feel a pang of guilt. I need to start paying more attention to him. Maybe then we’ll get closer.

Without making even one move in his direction I’ve been waiting for Troy to stop everything and come to me. My prayers are for Troy’s salvation and that he become a better husband. It’s funny, though, that when I’m praying, God keeps bringing to mind things about me. There are some wifely duties I know that I could handle better. Housework definitely takes a backseat to anything going on at church (but the maid is doing just fine), and in two weeks I haven’t cooked anything that doesn’t include the microwave. I guess it doesn’t really matter to Troy that I pray for him every day. I suppose he can’t tell. He can’t touch, see, feel or eat a prayer.

By the time I get home, I’m really excited about inviting Taylor and Yvonne to Jamaica. It’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time. I figure Yvonne will be a harder sell, so I invite Taylor first.

“Pam, I’d love to,” she answers. “But I can’t afford no trip to Jamaica.”

“What if you didn’t have to pay for anything?”

“Are you serious?” Taylor is excited now.

“I need a travel buddy, but there’s a hitch.”

“What’s that?” I can hear the suspicious tone in Taylor’s voice.

“I’m also inviting Yvonne.”

Silence from Taylor.

“Taylor? Are you still there?”

“Yes. I’m thinking. Would she want to travel with me?”

“I haven’t asked her yet.”

Taylor says decidedly, “Well, I don’t have anything against Yvonne. As long as she doesn’t have a problem with me, I’m all for it.”

“Good! I’ll call Yvonne and let you know what she says.”

That was easy—almost too easy. But who in their right mind turns down a free trip to Jamaica?

“Praise the Lord.”

“Praise the Lord, Yvonne. This is Sister Pam.”

“Pam, how are you?”

“Blessed. I can’t complain. And you?”

“Well . . . I’ll make it.” There is a melancholy weariness in Yvonne’s voice.

“I hear you. Tell me something. What do you have planned for the second week in February?”

“Girl, these days I don’t even think that far ahead. Why?”

“Because I’m going to Jamaica for a week, and—”

“You want me to watch the girls for you? No problem.”

Cautiously, I continue, “No, Yvonne. Let me finish. I want you to go with me and Taylor.”

“And what is your reason for this?” asks Yvonne sharply.

I reply honestly, because I can tell Yvonne is angry at my request. “Because it’s awkward having two friends that can’t stand to be in the same room with each other.”

“I didn’t know the two of you were so close.” Yvonne’s voice is dripping with sarcasm.

“We’re getting there.”

“You know what? I do want to talk to Taylor. I’ve got some things I want to get off my chest.”

“I think Taylor’s expecting that.”

“I’ll ask Luke and get back to you.”

That went better than I expected. If everything goes the way I think it will, my two friends will be at peace. Then maybe they can help me figure out what to do about Troy.

Troy is humming when he walks in the front door. I hope that indicates a good mood. After my massage I didn’t feel much like cooking, so I picked up fried chicken and side dishes from our favorite soul food restaurant. The girls have already eaten, and I’ve sent them upstairs to play. I need them out of my hair while I break the news of my pregnancy to Troy.

Troy inhales deeply and asks, “Is that Mama Joe’s I smell? What’s the occasion?”

“I didn’t feel like cooking today. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

Troy looks concerned. “Oh, really? Like what?”

He probably thinks I’m about to confront him again about that episode in his studio. I’m not quite finished with that conversation, but I don’t know what else to say. I’ve asked the Lord for guidance, but every time I think of words to say, they sound all wrong. Informing Troy of his impending fatherhood shouldn’t be as difficult as accusing him of drug abuse.

“Troy, I’m pregnant,” I say flatly.

“Pregnant? We’re having a baby?” Troy asks redundantly. There is no joy in his tone, only shock.

“Yes. If my calculations are correct, I’m due in early October.”

Troy sighs. “The timing for this baby is not right. I’ve got a ten-city tour planned starting in September.”

“So you’ll cancel the tour, right?” I’m sure Troy can hear the irritation in my voice.

“I don’t know, Pam. These kids live and breathe for this. I cannot let them down. Do you know how much negotiation it took for me to even get these dates?”

I roll my eyes angrily. I do not care about anything Troy is talking about right now. All I can hear is my husband telling me that he’s leaving me alone when I’m going to give birth to our child.

Troy continues, “Pam, we’re not playing hole-in-the-wall clubs either. These are real venues, where these talented young people will actually be heard. It can mean millions for us.”

“So you’re not going to be here when I have this baby?”

“I don’t know, Pam. I’ll try.”

Troy doesn’t sound sincere or like he even cares. His only concern is his music. He stands there silently for a moment. I guess he’s expecting a rebuttal or maybe even a tirade from me, but I am not about to get all stressed-out about this now. Not after I enjoyed an afternoon massage. He finally leaves without saying another word. I can hear him playing with the girls upstairs. A stranger might actually mistake him for a loving father. I know better. I can’t wait to get to Jamaica. Hearing his voice is getting on my last nerve.

Chapter 23

Taylor

I
don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I’ve never been on a date before. I feel like I’ve got a whole fleet of butterflies in my stomach. For some reason, every outfit I put on looks either too conservative or too risqué. What’s the happy medium between prude and Jezebel, and why can’t I locate it in my closet?

I don’t even know what Spencer likes. What if he’s one of those men who think women aren’t supposed to wear makeup, jewelry or pants? What if he likes a polished-looking woman?

He’s taking me to a gospel play called
I Believe I Prayed for a Prince
. It sounds entertaining. I hope it is, too, just in case Spencer isn’t. I’m still undecided. From what I can tell, he’s a good man, but then again, I’m not the best judge of character.

Good man or not, I’m still apprehensive about mentioning Joshua. When is the right time to tell a man you have a child? Is there even such a thing as a right time? Maybe I’m wrong, but Spencer seems like he wants to marry a pure, virginal, godly woman. I hope he’s not disappointed when he finds out that I’m damaged goods.

Thinking about what Spencer might think of me killed my vibe, because right now I’m feeling real uptight. I put Maxwell’s CD in the stereo and let “This Woman’s Work” soar through my living room.

By the time seven-thirty finally rolls around, I’m feeling real mellow. I’m ready to have a good time tonight, no matter what. I’m hungry as all get-out too. Spencer is making some long dough, so we better be going somewhere good to eat. I ain’t talking about no Ponderosa either!

I decided to wear a simple black dress that wraps around in the front. It’s sexy and modest at the same time. I’m wearing a stone necklace and matching bracelet and low heels. That’s a tip I give to my girlfriends about first dates: Always wear comfortable shoes. Who can have a good time when their feet are hurting?

I hear a light knock on my door. For some reason, the knock is appealing. Not as invasive as that loud doorbell. I am pleased when I look through the peephole. Spencer looks better than I remember. And he’s holding flowers.

“Taylor. Good evening.”

“Good evening. Would you like to step inside while I grab my coat?”

I notice him scanning my apartment. I’m glad I did some extra cleaning. He’s obviously a quality man who appreciates a clean woman.

“Taylor, you look lovely.” He hands me the flowers.

I don’t think a man’s ever called me lovely before. “Lovely” sounds so much more romantic than “Girl, you look good.”

“Thank you, Spencer. And thanks for the flowers. You should be careful. I might get used to all this special treatment.”

Spencer’s smile spreads across his face slowly and sensuously. Somebody tell me all the words to please this man! I could gaze at that smile for the rest of my life.

“Well, don’t you think you’re worth it?”

“Yes, Spencer. I sure do.”

After the play Spencer and I go to an upscale restaurant called Chadwick’s. It’s one of those places where they don’t even have prices on the menu. If you need to ask, then you obviously have no business eating there. I hope Spencer is not trying to pull anything bringing me to this place. If he thinks he’s getting some booty after dinner, he can think again.

“So you see anything on the menu that you like, Taylor?”

“Hmm . . . I’m not sure. I think I’m leaning towards the grilled mahimahi.”

“That’s a good choice. They fly their fish in daily.”

Who am I fooling? I thought mahimahi was an Asian stir-fry dish. I don’t even like fish. There is no way I’m going to let him in on my ignorance, though.

“So you have a son? What’s it like having a little mind to mold?”

I don’t know how to answer his question at first. I told Spencer about Joshua on the way to the play. I was nervous that he would turn around and take me back home. His positive reaction surprised me—in a good way.

“I’ve never really looked at it that way, Spencer. I’m mostly concerned with keeping a roof over his head and food in his stomach.”

Now Spencer looks a bit stumped, as if he doesn’t know what to ask me next. I wish he would just be quiet and enjoy the surroundings. Conversation has never been my strong suit.

“Ellis Financial isn’t paying you well? Would you like me to talk to Glenda?”

“No! Ellis Financial is very good to me. I was making a reference to being a single parent, that’s all.”

“Oh. I see. So . . . what do you do outside of work?”

“What do I do?”

“Are you involved in any church ministries? Got any hobbies?”

“I was in the singles ministry.”

“Was?”

“Yes.
Was
as in past tense.” Did I stutter?

“The singles ministry at our church is pretty nice. We’re planning a conference this year.”

“Sounds good.”

Spencer nods his head and sighs. I guess he was looking for a lot more in the conversation department.

“It’s my goal to go into prison ministry or perhaps become a traveling evangelist,” he says.

What kind of response does he want? Should I give him a pat on the back, or a cookie, or what? Spencer sure does talk about himself a lot. I mean the brother is fine and all but I don’t need his résumé.

“Wow,” I say at last. “A traveling evangelist? There are lots of black men going into the ministry these days. I wonder what that’s about.”

“I don’t know what it’s about for anyone else. I just know what it is for me.”

“You about to be the next T. D. Jakes or something?”

Spencer laughs. “I don’t know about all that. It would be nice to reach that many people.”

I feel myself rolling my eyes. Why can’t I just sit back and enjoy this date? What is wrong with me? I’ve got a fine, saved, black man sitting up here trying to impress me, and all I can do is try to poke holes in his plan. Luke has truly messed me up. Or maybe I was messed up before Luke. Right now I just want to go home and curl up with my son. Maybe I’ll read him a story.
The Green Shoes
is his favorite book. But first I have to make it through this dinner. Okay, Taylor. Focus . . . be here now.

“Well, Spencer, you know what they say: ‘Those who can’t . . . preach.’”

Chapter 24

Yvonne

L
uke hasn’t been home in two weeks, but I don’t care because I’m about to go to Jamaica with my friend Pam. Well, we’re not exactly friends, but I’m glad she thought about me. Most of my friends have been keeping their distance lately anyway. They act like I’ve got some kind of contagious disease. Like a cheating-husband virus that they can catch. I wish it was a virus, then maybe I’d be vaccinated.

I’m not so sure what’s going to happen when I get in the same room as Taylor. I don’t know whether to let her have the fullness of my anger or if I should pretend to be aloof. I want to get everything off my chest, but I don’t want to come out looking like a villain.

When I started packing yesterday, I realized that I didn’t have anything cute to wear on an island, so I went shopping. A shopping spree is probably closer to the truth. I took out one of those Visa cards that I never use and kind of went crazy. I bought five different swimsuits. I even let that salesclerk talk me into a two-piece. Luke used to tell me that I’m still in great shape, so why shouldn’t I?

I bought new luggage. Then I let the makeup counter give me a makeover. The woman suggested that I have my eyebrows arched, and when I looked in her mirror, I agreed. My hair looked kind of drab too, so I promptly took my Visa into the department store salon. I got a fresh touch-up (I kept my bun, though), and I got a manicure and pedicure. I’ve never had a pedicure before. I didn’t even know I had pretty feet.

I got up early this morning to double-check my packing. Our flight leaves at one in the afternoon. Pam says not to worry about getting to the airport: She’s going to pick me up. One thing I can say about her: She sure knows how to make things fun.

I hear a horn honking, so I go out on the porch with my luggage. I can’t help but start giggling when I see the black stretch limousine in front of my house. Pam wasn’t playing when she said first class. I should’ve worn my mink coat! Well, it’s fake, but it looks real.

The driver comes up to my door and takes my luggage to the car. He opens the door, and Pam is sitting in the backseat looking just like a movie star diva. I feel myself relax a little when I see that Taylor isn’t in the car yet. Maybe she changed her mind.