Epilogue Hendrix
EPILOGUE
HENDRIX
“Let her walk into every room like a hymn sung high, a Black woman named Beloved, hips swaying like the gospel beat she was born to… I want love to arrive freely for her—
like light breaking into a room at dawn,
gentle but sure, a thing hers without labor.”
—Frederick T. Joseph, “A Black Woman Named Beloved”
T his night has been a long time coming.”
My words feel like such an understatement as I look out over the crowd assembled in Sky Park and gesture to the large screen set up behind me.
“I’m so excited to share an early screening of this new television show with our friends and family right here in Skyland before it airs on network TV in a few days.”
I pause for the crowd’s applause before going on.
“Many of you know its star from her online videos. You’ve seen her charisma, infectious spirit, and ability to do just about anything,” I say. “It’s what drew millions to her, but it’s her heart that makes them stay.”
I stretch my hand and invite my client, my dear friend, to join me on the stage.
“Please welcome the woman of the hour to introduce the premiere of her new television show Home Is Where the Start Is , Soledad Charles!”
By the time Soledad crosses the stage to me, her face is tear-streaked and wreathed in so much joy that I’m blinking back thug tears my damn self. She doesn’t say a word, but walks right into my arms. Holding each other only makes us both cry a little harder. She finally pulls back and smiles up at me.
“Thank you, Hen,” she says into the mic. “When I say I wouldn’t be here tonight if it weren’t for Hendrix, I mean that. When I had no money, she and my friend Yasmen made sure me and my girls didn’t go without.”
Soledad blinks away more tears, gulps until she finds her composure.
“Hen helped me carve out a new path as an influencer. She took me on as a client and believed in me when I had to figure out how to believe in myself. So yeah. I wouldn’t be here without her.”
Soledad shields her eyes against the bright lights and peers out at the crowd.
“And where is Yasmen Wade? Yas, I know you’re running around planning or fixing something. She helped organize this event for us tonight. It doesn’t feel right to be up here without you.”
Looking slightly frazzled, Yasmen speed-walks through the crowd and up to the stage. She takes the spot on the other side of Soledad and slips an arm through hers. Soledad looks from me to Yasmen, and tears fill her eyes all over again.
“I have an amazing partner,” she says. “Judah Cross, you know I love you and am so glad we get to do this life thing together.”
I search the crowd to find Judah sitting on the front row with his boys Aaron and Adam. The look in his eyes, the smile on his face is so full of love and pride. Soledad’s three girls are seated with them, and their faces are alight with the same emotion. The same love.
“Yasmen has her ex-ex-husband Josiah,” Soledad says, a teasing grin curving her lips. “We were all waiting for those crazy kids to get back together.”
Yasmen rolls her eyes, but smiles good-naturedly and blows a kiss to Josiah, who sits with Deja and Kassim.
“And now Hendrix has a partner, too.” Soledad’s eyes soften when she looks back to me. “Maverick, welcome to our chaos.”
Mav, who’s seated on the same row as Josiah and Judah, drapes one arm over the shoulder of his daughter, Tamia. When my gaze locks with Maverick’s, there’s a tender heat, a deep knowing that I’ve only ever felt when I looked into this man’s eyes.
“My point,” Soledad continues, “is that all three of us have partners, men we love.”
A few more tears trickle over her cheeks. “But these two women are just as much my soulmates. They have been with me through the toughest times of my life. They have never wavered and have taught me what true friendship, what real sisterhood means. I thank you.”
We’re all a mess now, the tears falling faster than we can wipe them. We’ve all been on our individual journeys, experienced hardships, but not one step since we met each other has been taken alone.
“If I don’t play this first episode,” Soledad laughs, swiping at her cheeks, “we’ll never get through this. When the network approached me about doing a show that emphasized the beauty of creating a home, I knew this was the right fit. I dedicate this premier episode to my girls and to my guys.”
She smiles at her daughters, Judah, and his boys. “And to you, Skyland, for being our family and our community. For being our home.”
We leave the stage and I settle gratefully into the seat beside Maverick. He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles once the episode begins playing.
“Proud of you, Gorgeous,” he whispers.
“Me?” I shrug and keep my voice low under the show’s opening credits. “It’s Soledad’s night.”
“It is, but she said it herself. None of this would be happening without you.” Affection fills his eyes in the dim light from the screen and the moon overhead. “I know you said once it’s not Black Girl Magic, but you are magic, Hendrix Barry. And I’m more than happy if this is a spell you cast on me.”
I fight back the smile threatening to overtake my face and punch him lightly on the arm. “Boy, hush. You have me. You ain’t gotta lay it on that thick.”
“Oh, my God!” Tamia hisses, aiming an indignant look our way. “Will you two please just watch the show?”
She reminds me so much of Deja and Lupe, always hushing me and Soledad and Yasmen, acting embarrassed by us. Just generally being teenagers. Over the last year I’ve gotten to know Maverick’s daughter and she’s a remarkable young woman. I’d expect no less from someone raised by the man who has absolutely stolen my heart.
“Sorry!” I grin over at her. “We’ll keep it down.”
I make a conscious effort to focus on the show, but I’ve seen the episode so many times. As an executive producer, I’ve been involved every step of the way. Turns out I didn’t have to sacrifice my relationship with Maverick to break into television. Neither did I have to depend on Maverick’s money or name. I did it myself, helping Soledad cultivate and refine her raw talent and parlaying it into this opportunity. We did it, and I think it was supposed to happen this way all along. Oh, Chapel’s show is on the air. Zere followed through on that promise, and it’s doing well, but that wasn’t my destiny. I had two paths in front of me. One led to an opportunity I could recreate for myself, but denied me Maverick. The other led to the only man who has ever made me feel safe and secure and adored and respected and seen.
I chose right.
When the show is over, everyone eats from the tables set up all over the park loaded with the Grits catering menu. Soledad sparkles on camera as local news stations interview her and capture her reactions. I stand a few feet off, close enough in case she needs me.
“You happy?” Maverick asks from beside me, tangling our fingers. “With the show, I mean?”
“Yeah.” I smile at my girl getting all the light she deserves. “This is the first of many opportunities. She’s ready for them all.”
“Hendrix!” a reporter calls, walking over to join us with mic in hand. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” I don’t need the spotlight, but I’m always ready.
“Can you share what’s going on with Aspire’s legal troubles?” the reporter demands, thrusting the mic toward me.
I lift my brows, surprised by the direction of the question, but not unprepared.
“CFE has done everything in its power to delay our day in court,” I say. “Meanwhile, there are Black women who could be receiving grants to assist with their businesses. These grants are modest, but they can make a huge difference to the folks who need them.”
“But you’re still running the venture capital fund?” the reporter clarifies.
“Oh, yeah. With Hue we are headed toward our first unicorn. We’re proud of CannaDo, a female-led company pioneering innovative methods for dispensation of legalized cannabis. We’re still going strong on that front, but I cannot emphasize how important this case is. If they defeat us, they set precedent for other grant-based equity efforts. Dismantling affirmative action was just the beginning. They’ll be coming for other programs designed to shrink the wealth and education gaps created by historically racist structures in this country.”
“And what about you, Mr. Bell?” The reporter shifts her mic and her scrutiny to Maverick. “There was quite a bit of controversy when you withdrew your bid to buy the Vipers, but then Andrew Carverson was ousted, pressured to step down and sell the team. You swooped right back in and bought the controlling shares. Any updates?”
“Update is that we’re going for a ring this year,” Maverick replies with an easy smile and an arm around my waist. “We’ve had a lot of distractions with the transfer of ownership, but the team remains focused on winning. Coach has asked my father to serve as an adviser, which feels right since he devoted so much of his career to the Vipers. So I think all is well as we gear up for the new season. A winning season.”
“And did you hear the news about Zere?” There is a glint in the reporter’s eye as she looks between us, searching our faces for a reaction Maverick and I are both seasoned enough not to give her.
“No, sorry.” Maverick keeps his expression pleasantly indifferent. “Haven’t heard.”
“She and her fiancé, Charles Filmore, are expecting their first child,” the reporter offers, her sharp gaze pinging between Maverick and me.
I gasp, pleasure winning out over playing it cool.
“That’s amazing,” I say, my smile genuine. “I’m so happy for her, for them.”
“Yeah,” Maverick agrees, his grin sketching faint lines around his eyes and mouth. “I hadn’t heard, but that’s fantastic. I wish them only the best.”
The reporter looks slightly disappointed by all the goodwill and nods before thanking us and walking off to find the next story.
“I’m truly happy for Zere,” I say, dropping my head to Maverick’s shoulder. “I know how badly she wanted a baby.”
“You can tell her yourself next week in New York when Chapel is doing promo for her show. I hope this heals the last of whatever tension might exist.”
“I think it will. I’ve had some contact with her during the first season of Chapel’s show, and we were amicable. Hopefully this can move us into warm and friendly.”
“Speaking of move.” Maverick dips to whisper in my ear. “When can we leave? I’d like you to myself for a little bit.”
Tamia walks up beside us, biting into a collard green quesadilla.
“Are you guys being all in love again?” She teases us about not being able to keep our hands off each other, but I know she’s glad to see her father happy.
“Oooh, I want some,” I tell her. “Those collard quesadillas are my fave.”
“Get your own.” Tamia shifts the food away from me and laughs. “Dad, I’m gonna head back to the hotel if that’s okay.”
“Fine with me.” He kisses her forehead. “Be ready to fly out first thing in the morning.”
“Feels weird not to have Bolt cracking the whip,” she says.
“Even Bolt gets a break every once in a while.” Maverick flashes me a conspiratorial grin. “You think he and Skipper are enjoying the Amalfi Coast?”
“They better be,” I pretend to grumble. “They’re finally official and for the sake of my business, I need them to stay that way. That girl can’t keep a thought in her head when they’re fighting.”
“Well, I’m happy for them,” Tamia offers, her features settling into softness. “You guys sure you don’t want to come with me to Ghana?”
“I wish,” I say. “But Sol and I have the Atlanta red carpet tomorrow and then New York for the official premiere. And Chapel needs me in LA.”
“I’m shocked Dad is letting me go check this new property on my own.” Tamia grins at her father as if testing the truth of her words.
“If I didn’t need to be with Hendrix,” Maverick says, “I would be on the first flight to Ghana. I’ll come next week to make sure everything’s in order.”
“You really don’t have to.” The exasperation on Tamia’s face is tinged with affection. “I’ve got this, Dad. I had a great teacher.”
“I know.” Maverick gently pulls her neck into the crook of his elbow until her head rests against his chest. “But what kind of teacher doesn’t check on his student? Besides, it’ll make your Mom feel better about you deferring college.”
“It’ll make you feel better about her deferring college,” I correct, aiming a knowing look at him.
“Exactly!” Tamia high-fives me.
“Did I hear the words ‘deferring college’?” Soledad winces as she and Yasmen walk up beside us. “Because I fear that’s a discussion Lupe will want to have soon.”
“I’m here for you,” Tamia says. “And congrats on the new show. Great first episode. Who knew baking soda was good for all that?”
“Sol knew,” Yasmen says. “And you may have to have that talk with Deja, too.”
“Deja gon’ be out-earning all y’all.” I chuckle at the long-suffering look on both my friends’ faces. “You shouldn’t have raised such amazing girls if you didn’t want to deal with them being… well… amazing.”
“I think you have to take some of the responsibility for that.” Yasmen links her elbows with mine and Soledad’s. “Since they get a lot of that inspiration from their Aunt Hen.”
“Oh, for sure, Aunt Hen has to take some of the blame for our girls being badasses,” Soledad says, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “And at least a little bit for me being a badass.”
For some reason, them saying that—that I had even the smallest part in helping to influence their daughters, some of the most confident, compassionate and smart young women I know—prickles tears behind my eyes. People often hold the uncertain future at the end of our lives over the heads of women who don’t want children.
Who’ll take care of you when you’re old? Aren’t you afraid of dying alone?
Do I go through 95 percent of my life living with a decision I regret so the last 5 percent of my life I’m guaranteed a caretaker?
I’ve poured my love and care into a circle of people who surround me now and will encircle me then. I’ve watched my mother survive nearly everyone she loved throughout her life until now there are so few left. When I couldn’t be there, her sister was. Her church was. Her neighbors were because she’d extended herself all her life, not just to me, her child, but to everyone around her, and they wanted to extend themselves to her.
That’s community.
Yes, there is power in making your own way and joy in sharing it. Sharing it with your family. Sharing it with your friends.
And—if you find the blessing of it—with the love of your life.
“You ready?” Maverick asks, shoving his hands into his pockets and eyeing the large gate that guards the Sky Park entrance.
“Yeah.” I kiss Soledad’s and Yasmen’s cheeks. “Great job organizing everything tonight, Yas. And, Sol, you supernova. That first episode is fantastic. Tomorrow, the red carpet!”
We squeal and squeeze and laugh. All the while, Maverick is tugging me away and toward the park’s exit by inches.
“Ready to go, were you?” I laugh once we settle into the back seat of the car.
“I’m sorry.” He loops our fingers together. “I thought you’d want to check on your mother before it gets too late considering we have to leave so early in the morning.”
“No, you’re right. I just had to tear myself away because it was such a great night.”
He pulls the car into the drive of the contemporary house in the heart of Skyland I bought for Mama, Aunt Geneva, She-she, and me. It’s more space than we need, but I love the extra room so we aren’t always on top of each other. There are also enough bedrooms that the nurse who comes in a few times a week has her own.
“Where’s She-she?” Maverick asks, glancing around the empty foyer.
“Probably upstairs asleep at the foot of my bed. Prissy self.”
He chuckles and slips his arms around my waist. “I don’t mind having you to myself for a few minutes without her yapping at our heels and demanding all your attention.”
“Jealous?” I whisper, linking my arms behind his neck.
“Always.” He bends and drops a kiss on my lips. “Let’s go out back.”
He walks us to the kitchen and toward the door leading to Mama’s garden.
“You want to go out here?” I frown, but don’t stop his progress. “At midnight?”
“I want to see how all our hard work in the garden is paying off.”
He slants a grin over one shoulder, and I melt. Not just under the heat of his smile, but from the warmth of memory. Him out back helping my mother plant her “prize” ranunculus in the backyard where I grew up and then again here when Mama moved to Skyland. The transition hasn’t been perfect or without its setbacks, but Mama has adjusted surprisingly well. I know this garden Maverick helped her plant gets some of the credit for that.
I may have questioned the rationale of coming out here this late, but I can’t deny this place’s serenity. In the blossoms that are a legacy of my grandmother, whose flowers won my mother’s heart. Of the star-studded sky and the gentle breeze whispering through the trees surrounding the garden. All the tension of the night, the excitement and anticipation, dissolves.
We sit on the bench that Maverick had delivered the day we moved into the house. It bears my parents’ initials. A testament to their love. Some days I look through the back window and see Mama lost in her own thoughts; in the labyrinth of her own mind, just tracing their initials with her fingers.
Only now I’ve come to realize that maybe she’s not lost out here, but this is where she feels most found.
“I know it sounds crazy,” I say, my voice cracking the smallest bit. “Because we didn’t live in this house, didn’t grow up in Atlanta, but sometimes when I sit on this bench, I can feel him. Daddy, I mean.”
“Doesn’t sound crazy to me. I never met him, but I imagine that he’s here surrounded by ranunculus and this bench memorializing their love.”
I lay my head on his shoulder. “That’s sweet, Mav.”
“Matter of fact, the last time I was out here,” Maverick goes on, “I had a talk with him.”
I lift my head to peer at him in the shadows of the garden.
“Are you serious?” I ask, laughing a little.
“Yeah.” He nods in that decisive way he has that dares you to question even his most outrageous investment, his riskiest move. “For a while actually.”
“What’d you… Well, what’d you say?”
“I said I was sorry we never got the chance to meet.” Maverick clears his throat, his voice sounding tight with something close to uncharacteristic nervousness. “I thanked him for making someone so perfect for me. For raising you to be authentic and confident and kind.”
I swallow the heat gathering in my throat.
“I told him that I love you.” Maverick’s voice barely lifts above a whisper now. I have to lean in, to strain a little to catch the heartfelt words. “I promised him I’d be good to you. That I would take care of you and of your mother.”
A hot tear slides down my cheek at that. I don’t even bother to wipe it away. Maverick never complains when I have to cancel plans at the last minute because Mama’s having a bad day. He’s not freaked out when she melts down or loses the thread of this world and spirals into another. Fate or God or the universe—whatever formed us to fit—knew what, who , I needed.
“I told him that one day, I’d ask you, with his blessing, to be mine forever,” Maverick says, steadily running his thumb over the back of my hand like he didn’t just say something that caused an axial tilt. Everything goes still, and it feels like my blood stops flowing, my breath gets hung up in my chest and even the night around us suspends, awaiting his next words.
“And he couldn’t answer, of course,” Maverick says, studying the tangle of our fingers resting on his thigh. “But I felt like he was pleased. I felt like I had his blessing. And, of course, I asked your mother for hers. She said yes.”
He meets my eyes, searches my face. “So I guess that only leaves you.”
He slides off the bench and onto one knee. I don’t speak or even breathe, but sit as prone as the stone statues peppered throughout Mama’s garden. Awe and shock twisting through a storm of joy. I hazard a glance at him, and his eyes are so hot and tender in a face more sober than I’ve maybe ever seen it.
“I want a life with you, Gorgeous. I want to spoil you if you’ll let me.” He chuckles and shrugs. “I know you’ll let me because you deserve it.”
I still can’t speak, but manage a small breath of a laugh while I wait to see where he goes, what he says next.
“I want my love to be the most extravagant gift I ever give you,” he whispers, his voice deep and reverent. “I want it to be outrageously unconditional. I want it to overflow and spill into every crevice of your life, every corner of your heart because that’s what you do for me. You overwhelm me, Hendrix.”
Even seeing him on bended knee, hearing the love and devotion pouring from him, I was not prepared to hear those words. Logically, I knew where this was going, but my heart pounds and skips and hammers with the shocking reality of this amazing man asking me to spend the rest of our lives together.
“I didn’t see this coming,” Maverick continues, his eyes sure, but his voice shaking slightly, so far from the confident cadence I’m used to. “Things were complicated and awkward at first. Looking at how we met and how things started, of course they were, but there’s never been anything awkward about you for me. I’ve always felt, almost from the beginning, that I knew you. That I saw you and you saw me. That life up until the day we met had uniquely prepared my heart for yours.”
Tears slip over my cheeks unchecked and I taste salt at the corners of my mouth. I haven’t spoken a word, but every cell in my body is screaming . Every molecule alive and aloud; a rush of blood in my ears and the pelting thrum of my pulse. Erratic. Arrhythmic. And still I can’t make my voice come out. I stare at him, mute with wonder. Me—the loud one. The one who’s always got something to say—speechless with the possibility of this lifelong joy.
“There are some hard times ahead,” he goes on, undaunted by my silence. “Hard times I’ve lived through before, dark days I’ve negotiated with my own family. I’m ready to walk this path with you. I will face anything with you. I want to be by your side, and I’d be honored to have you at mine.”
A sob catches in my throat, and I cover my mouth with my hand. My eyes close for a second because the commitment, the unwavering devotion in his gaze, undoes me. I scrabble to find my composure, but it’s useless. Every defense is gone. Every wall has fallen for this man. I’m bare on this bench before him. Completely vulnerable, but with him, wholly protected and safe.
In a moment like this, I expected to feel elation, of course. The love and the passion and the joy of a proposal. All those things, yes. But this peace that washes over me? It’s unexpected. Knowing I won’t face the dark days alone? That this man, this remarkable man, who loves me so outrageously, will walk with me through storms? Will shelter me when life leaves me vulnerable and exposed? That gives me peace. Seated on a bench that bears my parents’ initials, surrounded by the flowers that symbolize their lifelong love, I’m reminded that I wasn’t sure I could ever have that. That I’d ever find a man I could trust with my heart, with my goals and dreams; whom I could respect with the assurance that he respects me in return. Maybe I’d subconsciously resigned myself to a life alone, or if I found someone, to a shadow of the love I’ve seen in those closest to me, but this isn’t a shadow of anything. This is blinding light. This is the heat and passion of a thousand suns.
God, this is love.
So when that man I hadn’t dared to dream of reaches up to cup my face, looks into my tearful gaze and says…
“Marry me, Hendrix.”
There is no hesitation. No reservation. The answer booms loud in my heart. It comes soft in the hand I lay over his. It comes sure when I nod my head, my reply a mere whisper in Mama’s garden.
“Yes.”