Chapter 31
madison
. . .
Mid-June
My lovely wife,
You don’t know how dark my world got when I lost everything most important to me.
My only son. You. There are only two things in this world that I couldn’t live without.
My Elijah and my Madison. But as I struggled to pull myself up, I couldn’t fathom what was going through your mind either.
My heart kept screaming at me, telling me to be the man you needed.
Even as I signed those divorce papers, it was this pressure and internal struggle that nearly took me out.
And I’m not saying all this to compare who went through worse.
Because, bébé, you went through the fire by hiding yourself.
By hiding the light within you. By wanting to be alone in your pain.
God must have some sense of humor, huh? Got me forcing the woman He created for me into a contract just to get her attention.
Asoft chuckle escaped me as I paused from reading Washington’s letter.
Zuri had placed it into my hands after she adjusted my wedding veil, and Phoenix had finished transforming my baby hairs into angel wings.
They’d left me in the church’s empty choir room to join the bridal procession.
My eyes returned to the letter and his familiar handwriting.
But in my defense, Madison, I’m confident that faith without work is not faith at all.
So, I stressed over that contract night and day for a week.
Damn, I’m going to be honest. I slaved over every contingency for two whole weeks.
All of that was me stepping out on faith.
Big stepping out, since I hadn’t slept well since putting everything in order. But enough of that.
You came into my life again right when we needed each other most. Right before parents who have gone through the unthinkable, losing a child, would have to live through that specific day over again. March first.
If I could’ve taken all the pain you went through on me, I would’ve. Still, I know that adversity molds the heart that’s broken down, cracked open, ugly as hell. (Chère, this ugly part was all you, bébé. Your heart was ugly as hell for a while.)
“Oh no, he didn’t.” I settled down on a chair next to a neat stack of royal purple praise dance flags. My glittering, elated eyes lifted toward the ceiling. “Lord, this man done called me ugly? And You want me to marry him again?”
In that precise moment, my attention landed on the word heart.
Washington said my heart was ugly, and humility made me agree.
My palm pressed against my chest, where a newfound fullness replaced the emptiness.
Still though? After my saltiness, he could’ve quit.
He could’ve given up on me. Instead, my husband relentlessly chased me down with overwhelming love.
My eyes went glossy, but I didn’t dare let a tear fall after all of Phoenix’s Picasso magic with peacock eyeshadows. Instead, I sniffed and kept reading.
I knew, though, that behind the multitude of scars needing attention lay a truly magnificent heart.
My wife’s heart. I’ve had peace these past few months with you in my life, regardless of what we had to work through or what we were up against, such as Shonda’s contract that I wanted no parts of.
We fought that art demon, Omari Harris, together.
Now, we are righting one last wrong. I’m marrying a strong, gorgeous Black woman.
Madison, you were magnificently beautiful when giving one last push during labor, glowy, sweaty, and absolutely gorgeous.
Your last ounce of strength allowed us to meet our baby.
And you are FINE with a bat in your hand.
A vision formed in my mind, and I chuckled. Washington had asked me in the police interrogation room if I’d vandalized his car. My salty little ass had said, Fine ain’t she?
“Yeah, I’m fine. Too fine.” I toed the Swarovski crystal heels nearby, but I had a few lines left to read before putting them on.
You’re strong, wielding and conquering the pits of hell.
And you’re one piece of the three-strand cord that will always hold us together. Madison, it is my honor to call you wife again, chère. And it’s even more of a privilege to do so while claiming my bride again on our day … June 12th.
With love,
Wash
I wanted to run to Washington right now. This precise second. Butterflies took flight in my chest, but I told myself not to rush it. As I refolded the letter, I murmured, “Well, Momma Virginia, you’re finally getting that church wedding.”
This was her church, a beautiful church. And she’d been waiting my entire married life for this moment. Though I doubted she’d wanted us to have an actual do-over, she’d suggested a vowel renewal here on our tenth anniversary.
As I slipped my feet into the show-stopping Jimmy Choos, a contented sigh escaped me.
Yes, I would always love designer heels.
I also wore a gown from one of the most premier wedding boutiques in New Orleans, but not the most expensive one.
In fact, this silk sheath was part of a line called Simple Creation.
But I didn’t give a damn if people said Mood Swing Maddy paired so-and-so with Wally World.
I wasn’t trying to be like Omari’s clients anymore.
Ugh. Omari Riche. Omari Harris, or whoever he was.
Who knew the FBI had an ART team? I wished I had a Fed friend because two of them interrogated me at length after our run-in last month.
And one of them was a sistah! Washington held my hand and did most of the talking.
But sis had the nerve to glance at me sideways when I explained my way out of the illegal production of Philippe’s artwork that wasn’t technically illegal since I was told all parties knew they were receiving dupes. Reproductions.
When I told the Feds he might be the serial killer, as evidenced by how he popped up around the time women started dying and how charming he was, the sistah had the nerve to look at me like I was reaching so hard I’d sprained my brain.
The look on her face read, Ms. Spencer, you want to throw the heat off yourself.
Did I go low and give her a stink face too? I did not, though it was a struggle to stay silent.
The team ended up investigating Omari but only charged him with art fraud. I was glad that his scheming behind was behind bars.
“Lawd, I’m glad I’m not behind bars too. I couldn’t do a jailhouse wedding or get into the mood for those conjugal visits.” My eyes widened. “Or … protect myself because Washington’s cousin, Felicia, couldn’t watch my back night and day.”
I told myself to stop stressing. All that was behind me, and I should enjoy those butterflies in my chest fluttering, nice and soft.
After a few moments, I got antsy. Zuri had said someone from the church would come and get me when they were ready, but I needed to take a peek. I opened the choir-room door.
Sunlight spilled through the stained glass, painting Peaches and Momma Virginia’s matching peach-colored skirt suits, except Washington’s auntie had scootched hers upward more than a few inches. They stood with the girls and Tennessee.
“Hey,” I whispered, doing my best to blend into the walls, being stealthy without touching them. This was a spotless, old-school church, but my dress was white.
“Oh, look at you!” Momma Virginia clapped her hands together as I approached.
“That girl is beautiful,” Peaches said, inching her dress up once more. Damn, she’d have to stand in the back during wedding pictures, or she’d look thirsty. “Washington was a fool to sign that divorce mess.”
“Mm-hmm,” Virginia said, taking my hands for a second and kissing my cheek.
“I’m gonna cry,” Zuri added as Phoenix slinked an arm around her.
I stifled a sob. “Don’t cry, because if you cry, then I’m gonna cry, and Picasso is gonna charge us for our makeup this time.”
“Yep, first time’s free.” Phoenix chuckled.
I peeped through the tiny windows of the double doors. Washington stood near the pastor with Montana at his side.
I sighed. We were doing it right this time. I only needed to remember my vows. Things were a lot easier to remember in my late teens.
“Texas is on his way, right?” I asked Tennessee as he handed Phoenix a bridesmaid bouquet.
Although I’d rather know if my sister had returned from the airport with my parents.
She’d sacrificed her sanity and her unwrinkled chiffon dress when they’d called her an hour ago.
Our momma had complained that she wouldn’t do an American rideshare after some chat she had with another couple in the Philippines.
Zuri handed me a bridal bouquet, murmuring way too loudly, “Montana and I better get married before another Babineaux catches wedding fever.”
I arched a brow. “The million-dollar waitlist got you worried. You’re afraid someone else may beat you to it?” My eyes tracked to Phoenix as Tennessee brushed a copper curl from her face.
Phoenix’s loud snort reverberated down the hall. “Ha ha … ha. Y’all know Tennessee and I are just friends.”
“Just friends,” he mumbled, readjusting his momma’s corsage. With more conviction, he added, “Besides, I’m seeing someone.”
“Who you dating?” his momma asked, with some I-rebuke-you energy that Phoenix needed to catch.
Before we could unpack their love lives, a voice cleared. Texas strolled along the corridor. A blazer blessed all his muscles. He was smiling, his locs falling down his back in two neat braids. A woman nestled against him.
A gorgeous woman, whose meek smile showed beautiful, white teeth, a good indication she wasn’t on drugs. Texas certainly looked better than I’d last seen him, so maybe we’d all been wrong?
“Pardon, ladies,” Texas said. “Zuri and Montana may not have next.”
The next few seconds blurred by. Virginia staggered. Tennessee rescued her, and Texas lifted his woman’s hand, which held a rock.
A rock so large and shiny, it must have been under pressure since the Jurassic era.
The entire foyer erupted with questions about their engagement.
From where I stood, I could see folks in the sanctuary shifting in their seats, whispering questions.
And I could practically hear Cason, whom we’d hunted down during a shift at Dooky Chase and invited, telling Washington, It’s gonna be alright.
“I’m so sorry.” The woman’s light-brown skin ran red with embarrassment. Her hazel eyes, sharp enough to give paper cuts, pinned the man. “Texas knows it’s taboo to steal a bride’s moment.”
“Oh, no, I don’t care.” I wasn’t sure what made me like her more: the way she humbled Tex, or the apology that softened her features.
We stood in the hallway long enough for me to worry that my man might fidget in his Bottega Veneta Chelsea boots. But by the time the wedding music made its fifth circuit, Momma Virginia wore a smile, granting her approval of Texas’s fiancée.
My sister rushed into the corridor, high heels in her hand. My parents strolled with a leisurely gait. Virginia claimed my hands. She rasped in Kouri Vini, as if she had to let it all out in her native tongue.
I grasped some of what my mother-in-law said, and even what I didn’t touched me to the deepest part of my heart.
She’d vowed I was always her daughter, and that God would bless me.
As tears streamed my cheeks, my mom approached, lips pursed.
Probably annoyed. How could my momma love to hear other languages while traveling but … ?
Nope. This was my wedding day. A day God redeemed my heart, and Mom shouldn’t have already forgotten to be on her p’s and q’s after our chat on my birthday.
Or maybe she felt her almost-apology for introducing me to Omari Harris counted for something and gave her some leeway.
Washington saving my life had not impressed her or my father either.
I wondered if they thought the scales were even now.
I wasn’t sure how we would all heal together regarding my parents, but I suspected distance was now on my side. We’d probably see them in the next ten years if Lynetta got married, or someone … conceived.
“Oh, honey,” Mom cooed. “Your mascara.”
I laugh-cried. I didn’t give a damn about mascara, but I was learning to love my momma my way, even if I had to school her on why Washington and I kept our original wedding date. Today, we’d undo the mistakes I made by cherishing and redeeming our day.
As she wiped my face, she complained, “Madison, they mustn’t see the bride until she enters the sanctuary. You know that. Why are you out here?”
“For the same reason, I’m not wearing these yet.” Lynetta lifted her shoes. “She wants to, Mommy, sheesh. Maddy, you get ten minutes of me in these shoes.”
“Thank you for leaving the prototypes at home, sis,” I replied.
“What about me?” Mom gasped.
I hugged her too, and then, keeping my arm around her, I guided her to the window and showed her the fidgety people. “I was waiting for you, Mom. See? That’s why I’m risking being seen by mere mortals.” Woman, have mercy!
“Don’t tell me you guys didn’t get a real photographer. Again. That’s—” Mom cut herself off, lips zipped, while behind her, Tennessee hyperventilated, totally stressed out by how overbearing my mother was. Texas chuckled.
I was a second away from telling the twins, Just be glad you didn’t grow up with this perfect robot, when Texas’s fiancée wedged her elbow against his muscular side, stopping him from laughing.
And the beat dropped again.
Inside the sanctuary, the pianist struck the first, resounding note, echoing Here from “Here Comes the Bride.” And Cason, the teen we’d somehow inherited, hummed with loud exaggeration as the wedding procession began. Again. Helpful ass