Joy (18 page)

The waiter returned and, in one swoop, set their plates in front of them. Sasha knew the routine now, and she waited for Anya to say grace. But before Anya could pronounce the second syllable in “Amen,” Sasha had dug full force into her lobster omelet. After a few bites, she eyed Anya's salmon pasta.

Anya laughed and waved her fork in her cousin's direction. “Don't even think about it.”

Sasha returned her laugh. “So, why are you doggin’ Braxton?”

Anya shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “We're just going through some … things that I'm sure are normal for any couple.”

“Is it the pressure of the wedding?”

Anya sighed. “No, we're just trying to find a comfortable place in our relationship. It's not like it was in the beginning.”

“Thank God for that,” Sasha said, her mouth stuffed with lobster and eggs. “Let's hope that you've both grown. The only thing that matters is that you're still in love.”

Sasha's statement sounded like a question, and Anya felt the need to affirm it. “I
do
love Braxton. I just don't know if that's enough. We're always arguing. Everything in our lives is an issue. We're not pleased with each other.”

Sasha shrugged. “Then don't marry him.”

She said the words so casually that Anya wondered if she had heard her correctly. “I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because …” Anya stopped and put down her fork.

Sasha's mouth opened wide. “I was only kidding, but if you can't answer that question—you don't need to get married.”

“I really do love Braxton.”

“Girl, I loved Gordon. But, like you said, sometimes that's not enough.”

“If I'd known you were going to try to talk me out of getting married, I would have left you in L.A. with Hunter.” Anya laughed, but she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“I'm just responding to what I've seen. You haven't been happy since I got here. Except for that night on the boat and, even then, you said you guys had a fight. You should call the marriage off.”

“I'm not prepared to do that … just yet.” Anya twirled the ring on her finger.

“You're afraid of being alone.”

“That's not true! I've been alone all these years.”

“My point exactly. I think you feel that you're getting older and this might be your last chance. And,” Sasha lowered her voice, “I think you missed having a family and now you want one of your own.”

Anya shook her head. “Madear and Donovan are my family. You and your parents were there for me too. I never felt I was missing anything.”

“You missed your parents more than you'd ever admit,” Sasha said softly. “And you want to create that family unit in your own life now.”

“That's not true.” Anya was still shaking her head.

“Then how do you explain an independent, successful woman like you going through all of these changes? I know you. If something's not right, you get rid of it.”

“This is a relationship, not a pair of shoes. I can't throw it away because of a few little problems.”

“Your problems have suddenly been downgraded. A minute ago, they were big issues.”

“We're in counseling,” Anya protested. “I have to at least see the counseling through.”

“You think counseling will change anything?”

“I think counseling will
reveal
everything. We'll understand each other better.”

Sasha nodded, but then another thought came to her mind. “How are you going to handle the fact that Braxton isn't a Christian?”

Anya pushed her plate aside and sat up stiffly in her chair. “I never said Braxton wasn't a Christian.”

Sasha squinted at her cousin for a long moment. “Then you're all set.”

“Yes, I … am.”

Sasha smiled. “I'm glad to hear that, because I think Braxton Vance is one fine catch.”

Anya blinked rapidly. “A moment ago, you said that I should get rid of him.”

“Just testing you. But I think you should marry the man. He obviously worships you. Sure, he doesn't do everything right, but he's a man—and it's not like you're perfect. You guys are going to make a great team. There are women who would offer up their well-managed stock portfolios for that man, not to mention their first-borns.”

“Funny you should mention children.”

Sasha's eyes opened wide. “I knew it! You're pregnant!”

“Almost.”

“You're going to have to explain that.”

“I'm about to give birth to a ten-year-old, Braxton's son.”

“He's coming for a visit?”

“A permanent one, if Braxton has his way.”

“Oooh! An instant family. How do you feel about that?”

“I don't know. I just found out and I'm stunned more than anything. Braxton's a good father, but I didn't know he wanted
this
much of a role.”

“I can't imagine you with a grown boy.”

“He's only ten.”

“Honey, you haven't been around a lot of ten-year-olds. They are grown and it is not a pleasant sight.”

“Maybe I'll hire you to help me,” Anya joked but she was only half-kidding. The idea of having Junior was beginning to settle in, making her feel unsettled.

“Oh, no! I'll sell Amway before I'm ever locked in a room with kids again.”

They both laughed.

“But having that kid is going to be no joke. How are you going to do it with your business and everything else in your life?” Sasha asked.

“You're getting ahead of things,” Anya said, holding up her hands. “Braxton and I have to talk first, not to mention winning a custody battle that I think is a long shot.”

“I don't envy you, but is this why you're mad at Braxton?”

“I'm mad because he didn't tell me.”

“Come on, Anya. You said you guys have been having some issues—translation: fights. What was Braxton supposed to do? In the middle of a battle say, ‘Hold it. I have something to tell you’?”

“He should be able to talk to me about anything.”

“That's only if he can catch you. Between you dodging his calls and telling him lies, what's the man supposed to do?”

Anya remained silent but smiled.

Sasha licked her finger and held it in the air. “One point for me. You wanna know what I think? We should get in the car, break the speed of light, so that you can get to Braxton.” She leaned forward and looked Anya straight in her face. “That man loves you.”

Anya swallowed a piece of ice, then motioned for the waiter.

When he brought the check, Sasha tried to grab it. “I told you, this was my treat.”

“No, this is mine. Call it a fee for service—for all of your advice. And don't argue with me. That will just slow me down. I have a fiancé that I have to see.”

Sasha smiled and raised her glass in a toast. “Now
that's
what I'm talking about.”

Anya jammed her hands deep into the pockets of her leather swing jacket and pulled it tightly around her waist. A cool night had descended upon Santa Monica. Looking at the stained-glass window in the front door of the two-story Colonial, she took a deep breath before she pressed the doorbell. Almost a minute passed before the entryway light came on, then the door opened immediately. He was covered by just tan silk pajama bottoms, totally naked to his navel.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Anya.” His voice matched hers.

Seconds ticked by.

“May I come in?” She was shivering on the front steps.

“I'm sorry. I'm just surprised to see you. I've been calling all day.” He reached for her, but she kept her hands hidden.

After he closed the door, they stood in the vast foyer, not daring to make eye contact.

“Anya—”

“Braxton—”

They chuckled nervously.

“You first,” Anya said, her eyes darting between his face and the mosaic-marble tiled floor. She didn't dare look at his chest.

Braxton took a step toward her, then stopped when she lowered her head. He cleared his throat. “I feel so bad. I should have told you what I was thinking and it was wrong the way it came out.”

She met his eyes. “You never talked about wanting Junior,” she said softly. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I don't know. As soon as it came to me, I should have told you.” He took another tentative step forward. “But I promise there are no other surprises.”

She forced a smile. “There's a lot we have to talk about.”

“I know! Let's go in,” he motioned toward the sunken living room.

She kept her feet planted. “No, it's getting late. I only came by because I couldn't sleep without seeing you.”

He smiled. “I'm glad to hear that.”

“I want you to know, I'm not
against
having Junior with us.”

Braxton let out an audible sigh. “Thank you, baby. We'll work this out, I promise.”

An easy quietness fell between them.

“I'd better go.”

This time his step brought him so close, she could smell the mintiness of his freshly brushed teeth. “I wouldn't mind if you stayed. Even if you don't want to talk. I just want to hold you.” His eyes pleaded with her.

She reached for him and they held each other in silence, feeling the need to hold on to the moment. It was Anya who pulled away first.

“I'd better get out of here if we're going to make it to church in the morning.”

“Want me to pick you up?” His voice was filled with hope.

She hugged him again, her palms lingering for a moment on the hardness of his back. “I'd like that.”

“Let me get my robe so that I can walk you out.”

Her eyes followed him as he ran up the winding staircase and then, when he disappeared down the hall, she looked around the formal entryway. In a few months, this would be her home. Her eyes scanned the open, sparsely furnished space. He was waiting for her to move in so they could shop together.

He trotted down the stairs and tied his robe around his waist. They walked to her car with their arms entwined. “Maybe I should drive you home.”

“No you shouldn't. I'll be all right.”

“I want to always protect you.” He kissed her forehead. “Call me when you get home.”

“As soon as I walk in the door.”

They kissed.

“I love you, Anya” was the last thing he said before she got into her car.

Another battle had passed. Anya still didn't know how she felt about this—she couldn't imagine Junior living with them. It was too much to think about right now. She popped the CD that Braxton had given her into the player.

My love … is so good to me

It's your love that I need

She smiled. She did need Braxton's love. They would find a way to work through this.

She was in automatic mode, driving the familiar route without taking much notice of anything around her. She never saw the car that followed her all the way to her front door.

The second time Anya called, the phone only rang once. “I'm home.”

“I was worried—you didn't call right away.”

“I did but your phone just rang. I thought you had stepped out to 7-Eleven or something.”

“Oh. I don't know what happened. I'm just happy to hear your voice now.”

“We'd better get some sleep.”

“I'll be there at seven-thirty.”

“I'll be ready.”

“Good night, Anya.”

“Good night. And Braxton—”

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

Chapter 22

D
avid's hands trembled as he gave the cab driver a twenty. “Keep the change,” he said, his voice matching the quivering of his hands.

“Thanks, pal,” the New York driver responded. “Hey buddy, are you sure this is where you want to go?”

David nodded, making eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror.

“Okay, pal. Just be careful, ‘kay?”

“Thanks,” David said flatly. He wasn't afraid—the neighborhood gangs and wandering thugs didn't pose the greatest danger.

As the cab rolled away, David fought the sweeping desire to run after the car. But he remained steadfast, being drawn by forces refusing to relinquish their hold on him.

He looked up at the elderly building. The bricks had weathered the years well, but many of the windows had not and were boarded up with various shades and sizes of plywood, making the building look like a strange patchwork quilt.

David shivered and started toward the building. He kicked the overturned garbage can that barred his path and jumped as two squealing rats sprang from their habitat.

Taking forced steps, he moved toward the building and fleetingly glanced at a little boy coming out with a bicycle.

The boy crinkled his eyes at David. “You comin’ ta see my mama?”

“No.”

The boy maintained his stare, putting a finger in one of the holes of his tattered shirt and moving it around, making the hole larger. “Someone else up there wit’ her right now.”

“I'm not going to see your mother.” David tried to push past the boy, but the bicycle blocked the path.

“You the po-lice?” The boy stood firm.

David understood the young boy's suspicions. He'd been the same way, enforcing the neighborhood rule: No strangers allowed. David picked up the bicycle and stepped around the boy.

“Hey, get yo’ hands off my stuff!” the boy yelled.

David entered the five-story building and covered his face as the dank air hit him like a right uppercut. Urine, marijuana, and other indistinguishable elements mixed to cast a pungent odor that convinced him the building hadn't been cleaned since he moved away.

He took the steps, two at a time, not stopping until he reached the third floor. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the railing. The Flintstones blended with reggae, yet both were outdone by screaming voices that pushed their way into the corridor.

He hadn't raised his eyes yet, unable to find the courage to face what he'd come to see. As his breathing steadied, he forced his eyes to travel upward until he saw the number on the door. 3A.

His heart thumped with a force that shoved him back against the banister. He closed his eyes, trying to combat the images that flooded him. Then he heard it.
Bang! Bang! Bang!

Startled, he opened his eyes and whirled around in the hall, crouching low as his eyes shot from corner to corner. Suddenly, the hallway was threateningly silent. The music, the television, the voices had all disappeared.