chapter 13 #2
“After I gave you everything I had,” I shouted. “It’s been sixteen years. And my body, my soul, my heart still feels that pain as if it happened yesterday. The loneliness. The self-doubt. Why would I want to put myself back in the position to go through that again.”
“It won’t happen again.” He reached for my hand, but I pulled it from his grasp. “I’m not the same person I was then.”
“And despite what you think, I’m not the same person I was then.”
“Tell me who you are, then. Because I want to know you.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I willed the tears to stop falling. “That’s where we differ, then. Because the only thing I wanted to know about you was how good your dick would make me feel.”
He rocked back on his heels, his eyes wide. “Wow.” To my surprise, a slow smile spread across his lips. He stalked toward me, pressing his erection against my stomach. “Is that so?”
Shit, he still smells good. Like soap and sin, and something unmistakably Wes. And my body reacted to him, to the heat of his skin. “Move.”
“Nothing can match what we feel for each other.” He nipped my ear lobe. “No one.”
My heart raced as my body skipped ahead to the potential orgasm. I was burning up, consumed with need for him. But I was also a stubborn bitch. Taking a deep breath, I backed away. “Maybe so. But I’m willing to risk never feeling it again.”
“Why deny it? I’m part of you, just like you’ll always be part of me. You used to say we were meant to be, that we were soulmates.”
“I was a teenager, obsessed with Dawson’s Creek.”
“You were #TeamPacey.”
The fact that he remembered that made me want to rethink my earlier position and throw myself on him. “That’s neither here nor there.”
“So you say.”
“Last night, you said we didn’t have to make promises. You told me to set the pace. Now, you’re playing dirty.”
He lifted his arms up. “You’re right. I meant everything I said. I never want to make you feel pressured. If you want me, you have to tell me.”
Searching his eyes, I fought the urge to lean into him, to wrap my arms around him. Where would that get me? “This was a mistake. I thought I could do this, but I … I can’t.”
I walked to the door, pausing at the threshold. Turning around, I walked back to him, stood in front of him. Even now, I wanted to drown in him. I stepped closer, so close I felt the steady beat of his heart against mine. He brushed his thumb over my cheek.
Damn tears …
He placed a gentle kiss to my forehead, trailed his mouth down the ridge of my nose and over my mouth. “Bug, stay.”
I pressed my lips to his one more time. “Bye, Wes.”
I didn’t mean to laugh.
Well, it was more like a tiny snicker. In my defense, though, I was hot—and a little hungry. The church thermostat had been set to hell, and I wondered if it had been done to scare us into accepting Jesus as our Personal Savior.
“Look at him,” Grandma muttered, gesturing toward the huge picture of my grandfather in front of the sanctuary. “What did I see in him? Looking like a broke Barry White. Hair looking thin and greasy. I should call him Slick Back. Yep, that’s my new name for him.”
I tried to hide my mortified yet slightly amused facial expression under a handkerchief. Grandma had been like this all morning, making little comments with a straight face while I … Yeah, my poker face was still asleep.
“I just don’t understand how he cheated on me with his small ding-a-ling.”
I snorted—loudly. Several pairs of eyes landed on me, and I sunk into the pew. It was already bad enough Grandma called me at five o’clock this morning, after I’d spent the night fucking Wes, to tell me we were coming to the memorial for a man I’d never met, a man she couldn’t even stand.
The pastor’s wife glared at me. The older woman had been terribly rude since we walked into the temple. Of course, that was probably because Grandma swatted her hand away when she attempted to hug her.
“You have to stop, Grandma,” I murmured. “They’re going to kick me out of here.”
“They could try,” Grandma said, just loud enough so that the women in front of us could hear. “I will own this church before the day is out. Bishop Matthews is a charlatan anyway. He was a drug kingpin from way back.”
“What?” Okay, so that came out louder than I expected. Three old women in nurses’ uniforms shushed me simultaneously. To my right, I saw an usher inching closer to us, but he froze in place when Grandma glared at him. “Are you serious?” I whispered.
Admittedly, I hadn’t visited my grandmother’s hometown much. I kept in touch with some of her family on social media, but I tended to stay close to Detroit on the rare occasions I’d visited home.
“As a heart attack,” Grandma responded. “I’ve known Floyd for years and, let me just say, he’s more likely to end up sipping margaritas in hell than praising God in heaven.”
The woman in front of us gasped, craning her neck to glance at us. Grandma smiled sweetly. “Turn around, Mabel. I’m not talking to you.”
Granny Joyce shook her head. “I can’t take you anywhere, Liv.”
I cut her a sideways glance. Like Grandma, she was stonefaced, her eyes fixed on the minister who was still praying for my grandfather’s soul.
I don’t even know why I’m here. I didn’t know him or the people sitting in the front row accepting hugs and kisses from people offering condolences for their loss. I didn’t recognize anyone. Except for my parents, who were seated a few rows ahead of us.
It was the first time I’d seen them since I’d been in town. Luckily, they hadn’t seen me yet. And I was hoping to keep it that way. My plan was to exit stage left as soon as the eulogy was complete.
Ram in the Bush Tabernacle was filled with people, though. The old church had seen better days. The ceiling looked like it could use some patchwork, the white paint had faded to a dull yellow, and the muted stained-glass windows were dirty.
Did I mention, it was hot as hell?
“What happened to air conditioning?” I mumbled to myself.
Grandma snickered. “Knowing Floyd, he probably purchased his new Benz with the repair money.”
The minister hollered, “In the name of Jesus!”
The organist started to accompany him, playing to accentuate the message.
One of the men in the pulpit responded with, “Gon’ head, Passa. Preach.”
I glanced around at the various people. Some were crying loudly, others were scrolling on their phones. One woman was fanning herself frantically while the man next to her was snoozing.
Growing up, I used to love going to church. Not this church. When I met Bri, her parents invited me to their church on the West Side of Detroit. My first visit was quite the experience, definitely different from the Catholic church Allisifer dragged me to on Christmas and Easter Sunday.
This church, though? The atmosphere was all wrong. It made me uncomfortable. “Can we go now?” I asked hopefully.
“Not yet, Pooh.”
A loud wail caught my attention. Several people were circling grandfather’s fake widow, as she crouched in front of the picture, holding an urn in her hands.
Except, there were no tears, no streaks in her heavily caked foundation.
Her quick weave was frozen in place like the permanent scowl on her face.
The old paper fan I’d been using snapped right before she broke out in an off-key rendition of Teddy Pendergrass’s “When Somebody Loves You Back” in the middle of the twenty-minute prayer.
Usually that would’ve been my cue to leave, but one sideways glance from Grandma kept me rooted to my place at her side.
“Isn’t that something?” Granny Joyce grumbled, shifting in her seat. “That must’ve been their song.”
“I think ‘As We Lay’ would’ve been more appropriate for the occasion,” Grandma muttered. “Or ‘Part-Time Lover.’ Half the women in the first two rows were his hoes.”
Yep, I laughed again.
This time garnering the attention of Fake Wife, as I called her. She paused the theatrics to glare at me. But then her gaze shifted to Grandma, who tilted her head forward and grinned.
I half expected the woman to wail on us, accuse us of disrespecting my grandfather’s memory. Instead, though, she just stared. The look in her eyes wasn’t anger, not even hatred. It was fear.
I glanced at Grandma. “What’s going on here?”
Granny Joyce patted my knee. “Everything is going to be alright, Albany.”
Standing slowly, Grandma scanned the room.
I braced myself, prepared for the worst, but silently hoped for the best. I wasn’t dressed to fight.
Not in this tight-ass dress I’d slipped into or my three-inch heels.
Hell, my body still ached from last night.
I needed a heating pad, not a potential melee at a memorial service.
The sanctuary was silent. My father stood and made his way back to us. When he finally noticed me, he frowned. Once he reached us, Grandma held up her hand and he stopped in his tracks.
“Grandma,” I whispered.
“It’s okay,” Granny Joyce assured.
“Do I need to take my shoes off?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No.” She turned to my father. “Sit down, Gregory.”
My father obeyed, sliding into the pew behind us. Up front, I noticed Allisifer staring at me. Everyone was staring at me, at us.
Finally, Grandma sighed. “Let’s go. I’ve done what I came to do.”
Confused, I scrambled to grab my purse and followed her out. As we breezed down the long aisle toward the door, I felt someone close on our heels and briefly wondered if it was security. Or Fake Wife.
But it was neither of them. It was my father.
“Mother,” he called softly. “Why did you do that? You embarrassed yourself and me.”
As usual, it was all about him. “Dad, please.” I stepped in between them. “Just let it go.”
Grandma and my father had a contemptuous relationship, partly because of how he’d treated her when she left my grandfather, but mostly because of me. He resented her for advocating for me, for insisting that he take care of his responsibilities when my mother died.
“When did you get back?” Allison asked, stepping into the foyer.
“I’ve been back,” I replied.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Care to explain why you haven’t called us? Darrell has been looking for you.”
“Wait a minute,” Grandma said. “What you won’t do is come at her in front of me.”
This was our dynamic. My father and Allison ganging up on me and Grandma defending me. I knew it would happen eventually, just not now. Not in the middle of a church in Ypsilanti. Not while a funeral service was going on in the sanctuary.
An usher approached us and ordered us to leave the grounds.
Once we cleared the doors, all hell broke loose.
Everyone talked at once. Dad accusing Grandma of being performative.
Grandma yelling at Dad for being a traitor.
Allison shouting at the top of her lungs about my disrespectful nature. Granny Joyce defending my grandmother.
I stood there, watching the scene unfold and wishing I could blink myself back to my apartment. Overwhelmed, I turned to leave and ran into someone’s hard chest. “I’m sorry,” I grumbled.
The argument stopped.
I peered up at the man I’d nearly bulldozed during my attempt to flee. “Moses?”
My brother grinned, pulling me into a tight hug. “What’s up, sis?”