Chapter 7 #2
“Speaking of family, our parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary is coming up in a couple of weeks, and I need you to help me plan it.”
“Yay, but what? C’mon, Liv. You know I’m up to my eyeballs in all this wedding shit. I literally don’t have the bandwidth to take on another task.”
“When I say plan, what I really mean is show up on the day of and help me set up the cabin.”
My brows heightened. “The cabin?”
Liv cheesed. “Yup. You remember we used to go up there every summer?”
I smiled, reveling in the nostalgic memories. “Yeah. We used to race each other to the dock as soon as your dad put the car in park.”
“That and always raiding the pantry for snacks at night and hiding them in our blanket fort in the loft so Oak’s bigheaded ass couldn’t find them.”
I smiled, though I wasn’t sure if it was because of the warmth of our fun childhood memories or the simple fact that I caught myself smiling before I even saw him, from simply knowing I was about to.
“Good times,” I finally muttered.
“See! You have to come! I’ve been working on something really special for them. You gotta be there to see it. I just know Mama’s gonna bawl.”
I huffed. “When is it?”
“In two weeks. After that, they’re going on their annual week-long cruise.”
“Where to this year?”
“I think Mama said they’re starting out in Fort Lauderdale and going to Aruba and Bayonne.”
I smiled, happy to hear there were black couples still loving each other out loud and making time for one another even after forty years. “That sounds so nice. I know they’re going to have a blast.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty excited about it. Daddy, on the other hand, as long as he’s got a drink in one hand and a fancy cigar in the other, he’ll go wherever.”
A soft chuckle slipped past my lips. “It wouldn’t be him otherwise.”
“So, . . . is that a yes?” she quizzed as her eyebrows lurched toward her forehead.
I huffed without responding.
“Besides, depending on how your talk with Pat goes later, you may be dying for the fresh air and a nice little getaway.”
I finally bobbed my head in agreement. “You’re right about that. Fine. I’ll help.”
Our conversation naturally drifted to different topics as we ate our food. Even so, I couldn’t shake the nerves in the pit of my stomach as I wondered what would come of my talk with Pat.
I stepped up to the front door of my apartment, keys dangling in my grasp as I turned the lock and sailed inside.
I froze mid step when I saw Pat sitting on the couch with his palms clasped together and his pointer fingers steeped.
His broad shoulders were slumped, and he looked tired, like he hadn’t been sleeping well.
The blue shirt he had on was crinkled at the collar and in desperate need of an iron.
“Pat, . . . h-hey.” I stammered, temporarily forgetting he had a key. “I thought you’d be here later for dinner.”
“I couldn’t hold out any longer. I wanted to see you, Lex.”
I closed the door behind me but remained rooted by it as the awkward silence stretched on between us.
“Listen, I know I’ve been sending you long ass texts and voice messages about this shit for days, and I know it looks bad, but I didn’t cheat, baby,” he explained as he stood to his feet.
I huffed. “If saying it was enough, you could’ve saved yourself the trip.”
“I’m forreal, Alexis,” he confirmed, voice deepening.
Hearing him say my full name sent a shiver down my spine and made me straighten my posture. Still, I refused to cower. I folded my arms across my chest.
“You act like my suspicions are coming out of nowhere, Pat. We’ve been here before, remember?”
“I know I’ve fucked up in the past, but I put that ring on your finger to show you that I—hold up. Where is your ring?”
I looked down at my bare finger. I hadn’t put it back on since the voicemail. It didn’t mean anything anymore and felt more like an anchor weighing me down than a new beginning or kept promises.
“I took it off,” I answered. “I needed to think.”
His brows creased. “Think about what? Do you not wanna get married anymore?”
“I don't know anything anymore, Pat. All I know is that I feel like a fool for marrying someone I don’t fucking trust.”
I marched past him into the kitchen. He followed me but kept his distance. “All this time, and you still don’t trust me? I thought we were good.”
“I thought we were too. But it’s like the closer we get to this wedding, the more you keep showing me why we don’t need to be doing this.”
“Lex—”
I held up my hand to stop him before he could get out the rest of his sentence.
“No, Pat. Listen to me. You want me to trust you, but you keep giving me reason after reason not to. Do you know how embarrassing it is to be planning a wedding to a nigga I barely get to see and to get a voicemail from his phone of him fucking another bitch, six months after I caught him with the first side bitch? C’mon, Pat. How would you feel if you were me?”
Pat lowered his head as a full burst of wind pushed through his nostrils. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel like that, baby. I panicked when I finally got a new phone and saw what you’d sent me. I’m here because I don’t wanna lose you, . . . lose us.”
“Oh, I believe you don’t want to lose me. But I also believe you want to have your cake and eat it too. I want you to change, but maybe I have to fuck around and accept the things I cannot change and live with the fact that you’re incapable of doing that.”
“I’m trying, baby. For you.”
I sucked my teeth. “That’s the problem, Pat. You shouldn’t be doing it for me. You should be doing it because it’s something you genuinely want to do. Because you want to be a better version of yourself. A better man.”
He paused. The air between us was thick with tension.
Every passing second felt like a ticking time bomb ready to detonate.
Listening to him made me realize that a lot of men wanted a good woman until it required their asses to be better men.
And if I could treat myself better than he treated me, what did I even need him for?
“Do you wanna cancel the wedding?” he asked finally.
His question caught me off guard. We were at the point in our relationship where we were supposed to be on the same page, not trying to find the right book and rebuild our foundation of trust weeks before our wedding day.
But full-on canceling it after months of planning and the numerous down payments that had been made?
If we didn’t go through with it, it wouldn’t only be us affected.
There were his parents, his grandfather, the wedding vendors, and Liv’s family to consider—all who had already put in a lot of time and effort to help make our day special.
And if we did cancel the wedding, what did that mean for our relationship?
“Alexis, do you want to cancel our wedding or not?” Pat probed again, more direct that time.
I cleared my throat. “I need more time to figure out what I want.”
Frustration furrowed his brow as he looked at me. I knew I hadn’t given him the answer he wanted to hear, but it was the truth.
He scoffed. “Are you serious right now, Lex? I told you I love you. And although you didn’t ask me, I don’t wanna cancel this wedding.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you love me, Pat?” I questioned.
His brows creased. “What kind of question is that?”
“One I want to know the answer to.”
He huffed out a sharp breath, clearly annoyed that the conversation wasn’t going the way he wanted it to. “I love you because I just do, okay? Isn’t that enough? I mean, damn, Lex. C’mon. You got a nigga damn near on his knees, begging you right now.”
I looked him up and down his six-foot frame. “Looks like you’re still standing to me.”
“Fine. Fuck it. If you wanna play childish ass games and shit, you can do that by yourself.”
He turned back toward the living room as if he were headed toward the door. I remained rooted in the kitchen, refusing to chase after him or give him the attention we both knew he so desperately craved.
“I’m not playing about how I feel, Pat. I’m being as honest as I can with you about how I feel right now.
I’m all over the fucking place, and instead of you trying to understand that, you’d rather have me feed your ego by telling you it’s okay and that I’m not going anywhere, when I don’t know if that’s the fuckin’ truth right now! ”
“Well, when you find out, you call me,” he snapped back before reaching the door and slamming it in his wake.
A hot, angry tear slipped down my cheek.
And to think, I’d had my reservations about having a face-to-face conversation with Pat, thinking it would somehow make me regret what happened between Oak and me. But it didn’t. Did that make me heartless, or had I just finally gotten my lick back?
Two weeks later.
I drove down the curved, gravelly driveway and parked.
With no other cars around, I was the first to arrive.
The naked oak trees above swayed in the cool breeze, and leaves scattered across my feet as I opened the door and walked over to my trunk to get my bag.
Up ahead was the Gray family cabin, nestled between pine trees as tall as giraffe necks and facing Lake Michigan.
The aged structure had timber siding, a stone roof, and a chimney.
Two weathered rocking chairs sat on the wraparound porch, with fairy lights wrapped around the railing that led to stone steps to go straight down to the water or off to the firepit with five chairs around it—one for each of us.
I didn’t admit it often, but I was really a part of the Gray family.