14. Chapter 14
Iglance at Laila, silently questioning what just happened. Our bags are literally making their way up to the tiny studio apartment, which I”m certain has only one bed.
”Babe,” I say, but I stop when Laila squeezes my hand. She”s trying to reassure me that everything”s fine, but I”m not convinced.
”Where are the girls?” I ask, trying to calm my nerves.
”Emma”s final dress-fitting was today,” says Grandma. ”They should be back soon.”
”There they are,” I say when I see Abby open the sliding glass door.
”Sam!” she exclaims as I get up to greet them. Emma is behind Abby, carrying two plates topped with steak, roasted vegetables, and salad.
I hug each of them before making room for them at the table. I pull up two extra chairs and scoot closer to Laila to give them extra elbow room.
Once they”re seated, I introduce Laila. ”Girls, this is my girlfriend, Laila.”
They both hug Laila and sit next to her.
I take a deep breath and squeeze Laila”s hand in preparation for the onslaught of questions I”m sure is coming.
For the next hour, we all watch in awe as my sisters hurl a volley of questions at Laila. The exchange is extraordinary, and neither side trips up. Questions range from ”How did you two meet?” to ”Are you in love with our brother?” I try answering the last question with, ”That”s none of your business,” but Laila answers it without skipping a beat and without a hint of a lie in her response. ”I love your brother,” she says. ”He”s my best friend. He makes me laugh, and I can”t imagine my life without him.”
In the end, my sisters look at each other, look at us, and together say, ”Welcome to the family.” This must mean we have their blessing. Grandma and Grandpa shake their heads before getting up from the table. Grandma says, ”You two are brutal,” addressing my sisters and laughing before giving them each a hug. She also hugs me, and when she hugs Laila, she whispers something in her ear. Laila smiles and glances at me. I”ll have to ask her about it later.
”Would you like to go up to the deck with me?” I ask Laila, reaching for her hand.
”There”s a deck?” she asks.
”Yes,” I say. ”It has an ocean view. Let me show you.”
I take her hand, and we excuse ourselves from the table. When we’re gone, I”m sure my family will compare notes and decide they all love Laila.
Once inside, we make several stops to make small talk with various family members. Laila is witty, funny, and intelligent. She can hold her own in any conversation. My parents, in particular, want to hear all about her career in pediatric medicine. When they ask her what inspired her to be a doctor, Laila signals me to tell the story about her favorite television show, ER, and how she watched it with her parents when she was little.
”It was the only day of the week I was allowed to stay up past my bedtime,” she says.
Mom”s eyes light up because ER was also one of her favorite shows.
”Doug Ross or John Carter?” she asks Laila. ”John Carter!” they both say at once, excitedly grabbing each other”s hands like the best of friends.
When we finally reach the deck, the sky is clear and starlit.
Laila is smiling and looking up at the sky.
”It”s beautiful up here,” she says. ”You must”ve spent a lot of time up here when you were younger. How many girlfriends did you bring up here?”
Only one, but I don”t say it.
When she looks at me appraisingly, I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close.
”I told you they were going to love you,” I say.
”It did go well, didn”t it?” she asks.
”It was perfect. You impressed my sisters.”
”I just want them to like me.”
”What”s not to like?” I say. ”Laila, you are pretty special.”
When she looks at me, I lean down and kiss her. Her lips are soft and sweet. When she wraps her arms around my neck, I pull her closer and deepen the kiss. The world around us seems to disappear when we”re together like this. I waited two years to be here, holding her, kissing her, loving her.
”Hey, you two!” Amanda”s voice calls out. ”Get a room.”
We end the kiss, but I keep my hand on the small of her back and pull her close to my side.
”What”s up, Amanda?” I ask. ”Your timing sucks.”
”I”m sorry, not sorry,” she says, laughing. ”I just wanted to let you know that Tricia has called several times asking for your number. She said you never responded to her emails and that it”s important that you call her as soon as possible.”
”Okay,” I say. ”Thanks. I”ll give her a call.”
When we hear Amanda”s footsteps going down the stairs, Laila looks at me.
”Tricia,” Laila says. ”Isn”t that the reunion organizer?”
”Yes,” I say. ”I”ll email her. Now, where were we?”
When we go back downstairs, things have quieted down.
Almost everyone has left, including Amanda, her family, and my grandparents. My other grandparents, Mom and Dad, are in the kitchen drinking coffee.
”Where are Tiffany and Josh?” I ask.
”They went out with some friends,” says Mom. ”I think they went line dancing at the Renegade.”
”The Renegade?” asks Laila.
”Yeah,” I say. ”It”s a bar about forty minutes from here. I”ll have to take you one night, maybe after the wedding.”
”That sounds like fun,” says Laila.
”Where are the girls?” I ask.
”Emma”s in her room talking to Luke,” Mom says. ”Abby left a few minutes ago. She said to tell you both goodbye.”
”I didn”t realize it was so late,” I say, looking at my watch.
”Tomorrow is the only free day we”ll have until the wedding,” says Mom. ”Breakfast is at eight. We”re all going to church afterward if you two want to join us. If not, you can sleep in. You”re probably tired, and a little jet-lagged.”
”We”ll see you in the morning,” I say, taking Laila”s hand.
”Goodnight, everyone,” says Laila, letting me lead her out the back door.
We walk across the lawn and up the stairs to the patio and studio apartment. The room is spacious, with a king-size bed, a dresser, two nightstands, and a closet on one side. At the end of the bed is a sofa, a coffee table, and a big-screen television on the wall. There’s also a full-size kitchen with a stove and refrigerator, a small table with two chairs, a full-size bathroom, and a small laundry room.
”Wow,” Laila says, walking around the room. ”Our home away from home.”
”I”m going to shower,” I say, opening my suitcase. ”Do you want to go first?”
”No,” she says. ”You go ahead. I”ll hang our clothes in the closet while I wait.
After I shower, she takes her turn. When she comes out of the bathroom, she”s wearing flannel pajamas. Her hair is braided to the side.
”You look beautiful,” I say.
”Thank you,” she says.
I feel a nervous energy in the room.
”Is everything okay?” I ask.
”I”m just wondering about our sleeping arrangements,” she says. ”Sam, I—.”
”Come here,” I say, reaching for her and pulling her close.
”You can have the bed,” I say. ”I”ll take the couch.”
She exhales a breath she”d been holding.
”Can I kiss you goodnight?” I ask.
”Yes,” she says.
I kiss her slowly and thoroughly until she lets out a little moan.
I say goodnight and watch her pull the comforter off the bed and slip under the covers.
”Goodnight,” she says, turning to her side and smiling as she watches me walk to the closet and pull out a bed sheet, a pillow, and a blanket so I can construct a makeshift bed on the couch.
”Can I turn the light off?” she asks after I sit on the couch.
”Yes,” I say. ”Go ahead. I”ll see you in the morning.”
When I wake up, my neck is stiff, and my back is sore. It was a long night. I woke up several times, wanting nothing more than to get up and join Laila in bed, but I stayed put. I can hear the water running in the bathroom. Laila is already up. I look at the clock, and it reads five till seven.
Twenty minutes later, I hear Laila”s cheerful ”Good morning!” Glancing up, I see her standing beside the kitchen counter, rummaging through her purse. She”s wearing a teal blue silk top, tan slacks, and matching heels.
”Where are you going?” I ask.
”I”m getting ready for church,” she says. ”You can have the bathroom. I”ll do my makeup out here.”
”I haven”t been to church in years,” I say.
”Yeah, I know,” she says. ”I must”ve invited you at least a dozen times back home. You always said no, but you”re on your home turf now. What”s your excuse?”
”I”m what you would call a ‘prodigal son.’” I say. ”I”m not ready to go back.”
”Whatever it is,” she says, ”it”s not God”s fault. He still loves you, and He forgives you.”
I give her a weak smile and walk towards the bathroom.
”Suit yourself,” she says. ”If you change your mind, I”ll see you downstairs. If not, I”ll see you later.”
The room is empty when I come out of the bathroom at seven-fifty.
The Sunday after I met Patricia in school, we found out her parents were the new pastors of our church. The church my family still attends to this day.
I proposed to her on a Sunday afternoon after church. I had been praying for months about proposing. I thought I was hearing from God and had His blessing. I went to her parents and asked for her hand in marriage. They gave me their blessing, too. Everything was perfect.
I reserved a private party room at our favorite restaurant for the special occasion, and I invited our families and friends to lunch to witness our engagement.
”It”s a surprise,” I told everyone, ”so mum”s the word, and please don”t miss it.”
Everyone was there: my parents, her parents, all the grandparents. Everyone was accounted for. Before we ordered lunch, I got down on one knee in front of everyone, including God.
”Patricia Anne Duncan,” I said, ”will you marry me?”
She looked surprised, confused, shocked, and embarrassed. One thing she didn”t look, however, was happy.
”Patricia?” I said, still holding the ring.
”Sam,” she said, ”we should”ve talked about this in private.”
That”s when I knew. Her answer was no, and at that moment, I was the one who was surprised, confused, shocked, and really embarrassed. But nothing compared to the heartbreak I felt deep inside my soul.
I haven”t stepped foot in a church again.
After I eat breakfast with Tiffany and Josh, I pick up the phone in my dad”s office and dial Patricia”s number, which I still remember.
”Hello,” she says, sounding as busy and hurried as ever. Some things never change.
”Patricia,” I say, ”This is—.”
”Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn”t my long-lost fiancé.”
”Pardon me?” I ask.
”Sam,” she says. ”It”s so good to hear your voice.”
The last three words sound guttural.
”I got your message,” I say.
”Messages, Babe. I must have called you a hundred times. Why didn”t you respond to any of my emails?”
”Did you personally call the other nine hundred ninety-nine students in our graduating class to get their RSVP, or just me?”
”I wasn”t engaged to the other hundreds of students.”
”You weren”t engaged to me either. You said no, remember?”
”I never said no,” she retorts.
”I think it was clearly implied when you walked out of the restaurant and didn”t return.”
”I made a mistake,” she says. ”Sam, I miss you.”
”Emma and Amanda said you called to ask about the reunion. I”m calling to RSVP.”
”Are you bringing a date?”
”Yes, I am,” I say.
”Sam, please read my emails.”
”Goodbye, Patricia.”
I run back upstairs and turn on my laptop. When I open my inbox, I see a few work emails sandwiched between a slew of messages from Patricia.
The subject lines on all of them reference the reunion, but when I open the first one I received two weeks ago, I realize that the purpose of her emails has nothing to do with the reunion and everything to do with us.
”Dear Sam,” it reads, ”I haven”t been able to get your phone number from any of your family members. I hope you get this email. We need to talk.”
Others I open are similar, ”Dear Sam, I miss you. Call me. Forgive me. I made a mistake. I was wrong. Give me another chance. Are you going to hold a grudge forever? I”m going to win you back. As long as you”re not married, I still have a chance. I still love you.”
I delete the last few emails without opening them and get to work on the emails from my clients.