Read What He's Been Missing Online
Authors: Grace Octavia
What He's Been Missing (9 page)
“Welcome home, Ms. Winslow. Dr. Dupree is upstairs,” said Jeremy, the front doorman and elevator operator as he gave me a lift to my floor in the raw freight elevator that once carried mattresses when the building was a mattress factory. Some years ago, following an Atlanta trend pushed by new socialites and the avant-garde, a developer had purchased the abandoned space, rezoned it, and built condos he could sell quickly to those hoping to be on the cutting edge, and live in the city with a little bit more space and style than those stuck in apartments and condos. There were forty units in the building, and all forty residents seemed to be the sameâexcept for Mrs. Jackson, an old woman that moved onto my floor after her son almost lost his unit to foreclosure. Still, the rest of us were young, entrepreneurs, financially secure, and single. Jeremy, a twenty-six-year-old doctoral philosophy student who wore spikes in his brown hair and jumped the curb on his skateboard as he waited for residents to arrive, was the perfect punctuation to the post-hipster vibe in the building.
“Wonderful,” I replied to Jeremy's observation. Certainly, as a doorman, he knew that he ought to tell me that a man, even if he knew that man was my best friend and said man had a key to my place, was waiting upstairs for me. Lord only knows what he'd seen over the years. One of the units on the top floor was occupied by a strip club owner, who wasn't shy about bringing work home.
“Two visits in one day?” I announced, walking into my place. Ian had left the door unlocked. “To what do I owe all this attention?”
“Figured you'd want to talk after your date.” Ian was laid out on my couch. His naked feet were up and crossed on one end and his head was resting over his hands on the other. His tie was loose, but he was still wearing the same clothes from earlier at the car shop. I knew that he hadn't been home yet.
“Talk? I can call you on the phone to talk to you.” I put my work bag and purse on the dining room table that was across the room from the couch and television.
“I figured you'd need a little extra attention tonight.”
“Why?”
“After your date with Sparrow. If things went bad, you know?”
“Bird. His name is Bird,” I said. “And no, I don't need any extra attention.” I rolled my eyes and started walking toward the kitchen. “Everything was fine.”
“I already made your tea. Thought you'd want the coconut chai,” Ian called.
In the kitchen, I looked at the stove. The tea pot had steam coming from the spout. The warm, sweet scent of my favorite tea was wafting overhead. It was exactly what I wanted. What I always had after one of those dates that flat-lined for no reason I understood. I rolled my eyes again.
“I was going to make the ginger, but I thought it would be a coconut chai night,” Ian said, now standing in the doorway of the kitchen behind me. “I mean, after I saw Dragonfly Jones, I . . . Well, we know the track record.”
My eyeroll was decidedly dramatic as we walked back into the living room. “Bird. His name is Bird,” I said, sulking and looking up at the black and white printing of a Kara Walker silhouette of an African woman with angel wings hanging over the couch. Maybe something in the coconut chai air was breaking me down. “And I hate you.”
“Ahhhh.” Ian stretched out his arms and pulled me into a hug. “Was it that bad?” He pushed my head into his chest dramatically though I resisted. “Tell daddy everything.”
To anyone watching, this skit of pain and comfort that Ian and I had performed many times might look bizarre or even suggestive of something more, but it was just us. As the best friend of a female, Ian had to be my comforter, my stand-in daddy and shoe picker. For every reason I hated him for assuming my date would likely be a flipping flop, I backed it up with a rationalization. I needed that shoulder to lean on. Someone waiting to listen to me when I got home. Someone who knew the right tea. At the right time.
“Men suck,” I proclaimed a little later after I'd had two cups of tea and told Ian all about Bird and his “no settlements” statement.
“I know, but dude kind of has a point,” Ian said.
I angrily flipped my legs off of his lap and placed them on the floor. We'd been sitting on the couch and he'd volunteered to give me a foot massage.
“What?” Ian asked.
“What fracking point? There's no point. It was just an excuse.”
“Come on, Rach. You know that guy wasn't for you. You should be happy he didn't just sleep with you and dip out.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because no guy wants to be that guy with the girl who's obviously settlingâmaybe to sleep with her, but not long term. All of her friends and family hate you. She always knows she can do better. And worse, someone who is better might come along and snatch her,” he said. “The point is, he just wasn't your type and he knows it.”
“Blah. Blah. Blah,” I grumbled. “My type? What's the sense in having a type if no one fits that type? And what is my type?”
“Someone who's equally yoked with you. A man like the one in your favorite India.Arie song, âReady for Love.' ”
That song described everything I ever dreamed of in a man. Anytime and every time someone asked me what I was looking for in a future husband, I quoted the song, because if I could have just those things in a mate, I figured everything else Ian had listed would fall into place. I'd hazed Ian a million times, making him listen to the song with me as I cried over some man who'd broken my heart. He kind of knew the words by default.
“And he'll be someone who can teach you new things. Sweep you off your feet. Treat you like the queen you are,” Ian added. “Because you deserve it.”
“I'm thinking that those men don't exist anymore, E,” I said. “Everyone knows it. They say I need to âdate down,' date white, or be a polygamistâdid I tell you Keisha from undergrad shares her husband with three other women? One in Africa?”
“No, you didn't tell me that,” he replied. “And yes, they do exist.” He pulled me over from my side of the couch and tucked me under his right arm like a kid he was about to read a book to. “And one will come along. And he will find you. And he will love you. And you won't have to settle. And he'll have to deal with big daddy.”
I played right into my part. “Do you think I'm too picky?” I asked.
“No, I think you're just right.”
I slid Ian's half-empty tea mug of brandy from his hands and took a sip.
“What about youâdo you think Scarlet is settling on you?” I asked.
“Hell no. I follow Parakeet on that tip. I'm no one's settlement.”
“So you two are equally yoked?”
Ian paused. “I wouldn't say that. Scarlet is younger. Still trying to figure herself out.”
“So you're the one settling?”
“No such thing for a man. A man can marry a woman who works at Burger King if he wants to and he can support her at his level,” Ian said.
“But a woman can't?”
“Hell no,” Ian said. “Not if she doesn't want problems. And that mix would definitely lead to problems.”
“What's in it for the man who's settling, then?”
“Well, first, I am not settling,” he said. “I am marrying the woman I love. And second, I am fine with the fact that I know where Scarlet is going. How she thinks. She may not be on my level right now, but she'll get there once she figures it out. Or we'll figure it out together.” Ian snatched the brandy back from me. “Nosy ass.”
3
“Scarlet Don't Know Nothing 'Bout Planning No Wedding!”
#Ihateoverachievers. I have always aimed to be the best at whatever I get myself involved in and I encourage that kind of commitment from the people around me, but after my disaster of a date with the last single and nonhomosexual male in all of Atlanta, who seemed to be attracted to me before I announced that I was attracted to him, I was in no mood to listen to another speech about how Scarlet was set to save the world, one little black girl at a time. The bad luck that had chased me into the new year could give a tiny lab rat's ass about my mood, though, so there she was sitting beside Ian in the booth at the back of Fado, the Irish pub where Ian and I had lunch once a week. Most Wednesdays Ian and I debated politics and black power. He was a conservative liberal and I was a conscious conservative. We both wanted to do away with welfare, but we couldn't agree on what to do with all those poor people who'd been failed by weak school systems, predatory financial institutions, and broken communities that offered little in the way of proper food options and services. One day, Shane, our standing waiter for three years, said he was sure we could run the country if we ran for president and vice presidentâthen we argued over who'd take the top role. None of that would happen with Scarlet there, though. She was sitting so close to Ian it looked like they were fused at the hip. And, like any betrothed woman, all she wanted to talk about was one thing: her wedding....
“Well, Ian and I were talking about the wedding, and while I was seriously thinking he would want you to be his best manâwith you two being best friends”âScarlet laughed and took a sip of the lemon water she'd ordered for lunch; apparently the diet was already in effectâ“we decided to do a barter system and my cousin Steve is going to be one of the groomsmen and I want you to be one of the bridesmenâI mean, maids.”
Ian kicked me under the table and I realized I was staring at Scarlet.
“Really? Wow!” I snapped. “I'd be honored.”
“Awesome!” Scarlet smiled.
“Ian, who's the best man?” I asked. “Don't tell me it's Xavier! You're just asking for trouble. He'll probably try to sleep with half the bridesmaids.” Xavier was Ian's college roommate and one of the top male whores on campus. And that designation was for good reason. Xavier was a beefcake, a mocha chocolate version of Ian. Sometimes I felt bad for some of the other guys on campus when Ian and Xavier were together. It just didn't seem fair that they got so much attention. And even less fair that unlike Ian, Xavier was clearly primed to take advantage of the situation. No one's girlfriend was safe.
“Nah, X is my dog, so he'll be in the wedding, but my cousin Elon will be the best man.”
“Oh, Elon. Fine-ass youngun.” I grinned and batted my eyes. Elon was twenty-one and mixed with every race in New Orleans. He had silky tan skin and a thick New Orleans accent. His father had run out on his mother when he was young, so Ian was the male role model in his life. He lived in New Orleans, but came to stay with Ian most summers.
“And half your age.”
“Don't hate on my cougar possibilities. That boy is a man! And I have an entire year to get slim and trim to make him my boo,” I joked.
“A year? Wait, Ian, you didn't tell her?” Scarlet looked at Ian.
“Tell me what?”
“We moved the wedding up,” Scarlet said.
“Moved it up?”
“It's in May,” Ian revealed.
“Ian, I can't believe you didn't tell her.”
“We just decided this last night,” Ian said to Scarlet.
“Well, ya'll talk all the time.”
“May? May? That's . . . in four months.” I'd been counting it up in my head.
“Three and a half,” Scarlet said.
I peeked at her ring. It looked like she'd had it polished already.
I said, “Why? That's crazy. It takes at least nine months to plan a decent weddingâone that's not going to break your pockets.”
“We kind of wanted to get it out of the way before I leave for the Congo,” Scarlet said, and in her eyes I could tell that she'd expected me to know what she was talking about. “You didn't tell her about my trip either?” She turned and poked at Ian.
“Scarlet is going to the Congo this summer to work at an orphanage for girls,” Ian blurted out quickly.
“It's not just an orphanage,” Scarlet said. “It's a rehabilitation clinic for girls who had their limbs severed during home invasions by the rebel tribes.”
“Wow! That's heavy. How'd you get into that?” I asked.
“It's through my graduate program.”
“You're in graduate school?”
Scarlet shot a stare at Ian. “Well, not right now,” she said. “I start in the fall. This is just a summer pilot program they have going. Anyway, Ian and I are so excited to be getting married that we figured, hey”âshe threw her hands up and the look on her face forced Ian to do the sameâ“we might as well just do it before I leave.” She looked at Ian.
“Yeah, we might as well!” he confirmed with his voice as obnoxiously fake as Scarlet's.
I still couldn't piece together why in the world he was putting himself through this whole thing. But, like Journey said, it was his life. I was just there for support. Who cared what they did as long as it didn't involve me?
“And I guess that brings us to why we invited you here today,” Scarlet said. “Ian told me that you don't plan weddings for friends, but I was just hoping, just hoping you would find a way in your heart to reconsider your rule.”
“Scarlet, I'm sorry to let youâ”
“Wait”âScarlet cut me offâ“before you finish, let me say this: Ian's your best friend. You two have known each other for so long. It just wouldn't be right for anyone else to plan his wedding. Not our wedding. We're all about to be family. And family has to be there for one another. Now, I know you have your rule, but you also have a heart and that heart has to have some love for your family. If you're everything Ian says you are, it just has to.” Scarlet pursed her glossed lips together and looked at me like I was holding the plug to her mama on a life support machine. I felt like Ian with all those cameras flashing on him at the birthday party. I could either let everyone down or be the life of the party.
“It's just my policyâ”
“Please, just this once?” Scarlet held out her hands together in prayer and closed her eyes.
I looked at Ian bug-eyed, but all he could do was shrug his shoulders.
“In three and a half months?” I said.
“I know it's short, but I was thinking that for someone with your expertise, with your skillâI mean, you're a master. Ian always says how amazing you are at what you do.” She was playing me like an African drum, but it felt so good. “You'll have total control. We'll follow your lead.” Scarlet looked at me with glassy eyes.
“OK,” I said, knowing what she'd just said was a lie. “As long as we keep it small and tasteful.”
“That's what I was thinking,” Scarlet said.
“Where are you two thinking about having it? I can have Krista look for dates once I get back to the office. It won't be very warm here in three months, so someplace inside is best in case it gets too cold at night. Or we could do a tent.” I'd gone right into work mode and pulled out my iPad.
“Oh, I can't get married in Atlanta,” Ian said. “I have to get married at home in New Orleans.”
I looked up from my iPad. “What?”
“I keep telling him that we can just have the wedding here. Have his people come to Atlanta. It's halfway between New Orleans and Miami. It's only fair. But he insists.”
“Scarlet, my mother would have a heart attack if I brought a woman into this family outside of her church.”
“Oh, you mean your mother whom I haven't even met yet?” Scarlet asked. “And I thought we decided that we weren't doing it in a church.”
“I was raised in the church!”
“Do you know what the Catholic Church did to those Africans during Middle Passage? Raping little boys and girls?”
“Yes, I know. I taught you that when you took my class!”
Shane, the waiter, was standing by the bar and he turned to us when he heard Ian's voice go up.
“Y'all quiet down with all that,” I said. “We can talk about this later.”
“Ain't nothing to talk about,” Ian said. “I have to get married in New Orleans.”
“Fine,” Scarlet agreed.
“And my father's Zydeco band has to play at the reception.”
“What?” Scarlet nearly knocked her water over, but I caught it.
As they continued their bickering session, I signaled for Shane to come with the bill. What in the hell had I just agreed to?
“Why does your father's band have to play at
our
wedding?”
our
wedding?”
“Because it's my culture. The man might die if he doesn't play at my wedding. Die, Scarlet! Die.”
“Well, I might die if I have to listen to Zydeco all night.”
“Who said anything about all night? We'll play other music.”
“Like salsa? My parents like salsa.”
“Salsa? Why would anyone be listening to salsa in New Orleans?”
“Why not?”
“Because it's New Orleans!”
This went on for another ten minutes before I excused myself to go to the bathroom and walked out the back door.
Â
“So please explain to me how you took my advice to mind your business and strictly be there to support your friend to mean that you should plan the wedding. That's just not what I had in mind.” Journey was sitting in a chair bottle-feeding Apache. They were both in their nightclothes. It was bedtime for me and the middle of the night where they were in South Africa. I was lying in bed with my laptop and had signed on just to see if Journey might be up. Luckily Apache wasn't sleeping through the night because of all of the travel, so Journey was up trying to coax her back to sleep.
“She played me, Journey. Played me. I went from being against the wedding, to being in the wedding, to planning the whole thing.”
“She's good.”
“Really good.” I added another pillow behind my back.
“So how are you feeling?”
“I don't feel anything. I mean, I've been trying to take myself out of the equation and just look at Scarlet and Ian like any other two people who are engaged. They fit the bill . . . I guess. Listening to them argue today, sounding like two people in love . . . I think I might have felt a littleâ”
“Jealous?” Journey looked at me like she was a detective who'd just cracked a case.
“No, Journey! That's not it. I'm . . . I do want love. I want to get married and argue about where the wedding is going to be and what kind of music we're going to play, but I know it's not my turn. Not my time. It's Ian's time. I just don't want to see him get hurt. He's such a good guy. So sweet and caring. Always there for me. And he'll be a great father. Probably will have his son reading before he can sit up,” I said jokingly, but Journey still had her sharp eyes on me. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why do you think?”
“Stop it, Journey!”
“No, you stop it, because you started it.”
“You know what? Fine! I'll admit it. Ian is the perfect man for me. He's everything I want. He's into everything I'm into. He enlightens me. He's my rock. I'm his rock. It's all there,” I listed.
“And he's fine as shit,” Journey whispered, looking over her shoulder for Dame.
“He looks all right.”
“And he ain't poor!”
“Yes, he makes a decent living,” I said. “But that ship has sailed. It left the dock a long, long time ago and it won't return.”
“You sure?”
“I'm beyond sure. I'm committed.”
Journey started laughing and the bottle slid from Apache's little mouth a bit. The baby girl whined at her mother until she got the bottle readjusted correctly.
“Why did you laugh?” I asked.
“Because you just said that you're committed to not being in love with someone. That's insane. I think I said the same kind of thing right before I ended up sleeping with my former student. Now I have three children with him and follow him around the world. Did you see my baby on the cover of
Rolling Stone
last month?”
Rolling Stone
last month?”
“Wonderful,” I said. “Good for you. But that has nothing to do with me.”
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