Forever and a Damn Day Part II

"Nothing ever goes away until it teaches us what we need to know." 

-Pema Chodron

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Do you ever wonder how some people get everything they want in life? As if the rest doesn’t work three times as hard for scraps. I'm not only talking about white privilege but in general. I am convinced that for the former, life is a seamless, effortless guarantee of happiness with long waves of good luck. Take my cousin Towanda for example. She's a highly sought after an attorney with her thriving practice, Olivia Pope Scandal type of lawyer. She could get the devil a deal without a trial. Not only does she has a fantastic career and a beautiful and fulfilling relationship, but she's also marrying her soulmate, Laila, in two weeks. And, uh, they have me to thank for that. 

Laila Santiago was a contractor at my company and new to Atlanta. I invited her to join Anderson and me for drinks as a welcome gift. At the time, Towanda was going through one of the most amicable divorces that I've ever seen, yet I still felt sorry for her. I was a little nervous about inviting her out that evening. I really hoped she decline. My cousin is one of those people that you have to take in doses. Don't get me wrong, she means well, but at the same time, she's not for everybody. When you ask her opinion, she'll give it to you straight, no chaser. Grandma says she has a sharp-tongue and was very instrumental in her decision to practice law. Laila is more on the soft-spoken, extra polite, meager side, the complete opposite.

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Surprisingly the two got along much better than I expected. Watching the two of them interact that evening was like experiencing two lovers reconnect after years of being apart. It was magical. From the moment their eyes met, they became fixated with one another. She completely ignored Anderson and me. Laila talked about growing up in the Dominican Republic before moving to NYC. Not once did she include us in the conversation, she kept her focus on Twiggy. Twiggy took every opportunity to make some form of physical contact with Laila. She brushed her thick wavy hair away from her face, wiped the crumbs from the coffee cake away from her small pouty mouth. She certainly brought out a softer side in Towanda. Not one sarcastic, offensive or judgemental comment came from her that entire evening. I grew envious, watching the two of them. They had me side-eyeing Anderson, like bruh, you do know I'm here, right?  

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Laila, unlike Towanda, has been aware of her sexuality since childhood. Twiggy discovered herself after Spank, her ex-husband, convinced her to have a threesome with a stripper he had a thing for. The two have been together since high school, and she's never been with another man. Spank was and still is extremely flirtatious, and Twiggy never seemed to care. She's even caught him cheating a few times. A couple of years ago, when their relationship plateaued, they agreed to an 'open marriage.' Bad idea! All that did was give him an excuse to sleep with other women. So when Twiggy and Sasha became an item, I thought it was her way of getting back at him. Then there was Malika, Asia, and a laundry list of Blue Flame strippers that ran through their bedroom before finally coming out to the family. Twiggs revealed how trapped she felt in her marriage.

Although she loved him, she didn't feel a romantic connection with him. f Feeling guilty is why she allowed all the foolery of an open marriage and threesomes. After sharing her truth, it was only fair that they parted ways. Spank is happily involved with Trish, a stripper, and in complete support of Towanda and Laila's union. Twiggy's life feels like an effortless fairy tale. Meanwhile, I'm over here, salty as hell but happy at the same time. I can't lie, I want what she has, yet I can't even muster up enough courage to ask my man to marry me.

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I've had Anderson's engagement ring in my purse since last week and have yet worked up enough nerve to propose to him. Why am I having such a hard time with this? Is this what men go through before they propose? All this jitteriness and anxiety got me sweating through my blouses, leaving big ole nasty pit stains and smelling like a musty fourteen-year-old boy. Between the nervousness and Twiggy calling and texting me every second, “Did you ask him? What he say?” I can't concentrate; it's beginning to interfere with work. My boss has been tripping since I botched the recent expense reports. My nerves nearly cost half the employees in the department their jobs. Let's just say that I had a difficult time explaining how we managed to spend seven figures in one month. Redoing that damn report gave me yet another excuse for not having asked Anderson yet. It gave me more time to plan the perfect proposal. I never imagined myself being the one to ask for his hand. I always expected it to be the other way around.

I've gone back and forth in my mind about how I should propose. Leave the ring box on the bathroom countertop next to his razor with a note that says, "let's get married," or send him a text with me on bended knee holding the ring with the caption: "I'm ready when you are." Or create a scavenger hunt that'll start off with a clue being FedExed to his office like in the movie Hitch. The more I thought about it; I realized that none of those ideas involve me actually asking him to marry me. I took the typical yet easy way out and decided to cook his favorite meal creamy garlic butter and Tuscan Shrimp. You know what they say, the way to a man's heart is through his taste buds.

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With the help of Pinterest, I planned and executed a beautiful romantic evening. I created a trail of rose petals and tealight candles leading to the deck. The weather was perfect for an outdoor dinner — not one cloud in the sky as if the Universe purposely orchestrated it. A long string of crystal lights hung from a willow tree, and a small firepit from the center of the patio table provided just enough sparkle. The string quartette of crickets accompanied by soft jazz music coming from inside helped ease my nerves. I was so excited to finally have a reason to use the vintage dinnerware set that has been in the family for a hundred years. After I placed a bottle of pinot grigio into a gold wine cooler, I took one last glance to make sure that I didn't forget anything. All the silverware, plates and wine glasses were in the proper place, took a picture and sent it in a group text with the caption 'bout to get mine' with a smiley face emoji.

I had about thirty minutes to get myself together before Anderson came home. I still had to do my hair and makeup and bathe. I slapped a green tea tree mask onto my face and hoped into the shower. With my eyes closed, I inhaled the eucalyptus mint shower balm and exhaled my anxiety. After about three full breaths, I opened my eyes and envisioned Andy's face and naked body appearing from the steam, as if he were right there in the shower. I gasped as his massive muscular arms pulled me closer to him and wrapped himself around me. I whimpered with each gentle caress and kisses to my neck and face. He looked deep into my eyes between his kisses and said: "Is something burning?". Oh no, I left the rolls in the oven.

Sudsey and soaking wet, I jumped out of the shower and headed straight to the kitchen. I yelped like a small dog as I stubbed my big toe on the edge of my bed. I managed to hobble my now crippled naked ass down the hall. I saw smoke and rushed over to save my dinner. Before I made it to the stove, WAM!!! My entire body hit the floor. Damn these slippery ass granite tile and damn them rolls too! I'm on the floor like that old white lady from that commercial. I fell and can't get my ass up. Anderson will be home soon. I'll lay my ass right here 'til he gets here. He's the one that wanted these damn tiles in the first place. I reached over and pulled my self up by the oven's door handle. The smoke detector sounded as I opened the oven. Without thinking, I grabbed the baking sheet with my bare hand, the baking dish and the bread rolls ended on up the god-damn floor. If only this man knew how much I truly love him.

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Two hours, thirty-six minutes, and one bottle of pinot grigio later,  I'm lying on the couch with a stubbed toe, a bruised knee, and third-degree burns to my dominant hand. I'm tipsy and in my feelings, because this muthafucka didn't bring his ass home yet. I deleted the group chat and turned my phone off to avoid Twiggy's umpteenth call. Of course, there were multiple missed calls and messages from her nosey ass and nothing from Anderson.  The last was the one I sent him at 4 p.m. asking what time he'd be home. Sure, It's Friday, and he's probably out entertaining potential clients. Plus, we have a trusting relationship, and I've never nagged him for being out late before. But it's not like him not to check in; he didn't respond to my text from earlier. Where is he? He's usually home long before now. He never stays out late without so much as a text or a call to let me know he's safe. Ok girl, don't trip. Get it together. 

I put my phone down and continued watching Love & Basketball.  Suddenly my phone chirps. It's Twiggy again. I hope you're dodging my calls because Anderson is taring that up! I love my cousin but now isn't the time. She needs to be focused on her wedding tomorrow morning and get the hell outta my business. I tossed my phone onto the couch and picked it right back up. Fuck it, I'ma text him.  Hey huney, it's late where are you? I starred at the screen for a minute. No response. Siri, call Bae. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, where are you? I started to worry?"

"Hello?"

"Anderson, can you hear me?"

Beep.

Did he just hang up on me? Uh-huh, I'm calling his ass right back.

"Hello, you've reached Anderson. I'm unable to come to the phone right now..." 

Oh hell nah! 😒

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