Heavy Love(9)

He begins to reach into his suit jacket. Now, I've spent half my life  attending teas with Melody and her mother, and the other half hoofing  it, with the type of people that are looking for their next come up, but  I glare hard. Not sure what he's reaching for.

When Carlton pulls out a small velvet box, I'm even more astonished than if he had pulled out a snub-nosed revolver.

"Angelique, I understand what's going on, baby. You've waited long enough," he says, hands shaking while popping it open.

At least five carats blind me. It's past midnight. We're still sitting  in his Benz, so I can do something so ridiculous: drive myself home  after attending the most boring event of my life! A streetlamp about  fifty yards down the way, doesn't even provide much illumination. Yet,  the cushion-shaped diamond sparkles like stars on an Alaskan night,  begging me to just say yes.

Here. We. Are. The happily ever after part.

"I have waited so long," I murmur the words.

"And I admire that about you, Angelique," he sighs. "I love you."

"Maybe you do." My gaze meets his, and something in me just clicks. He  had to love me once. Come to think of it, I didn't start to ruminate  about my college boyfriend Taye or work myself up too anxiously about  wanting to get engaged until Carlton wanted to lose weight …  for Jessica.  That had to be about a little over a year ago, when she tried to weasel  her way back in, the warning signs were there. Sex going from good, to  great, to falling over flat. The day Jessica decided she no longer  wanted Carlton again, I can only assume, is the day, he decided he  didn't want me either.

Can I hate him? Have I been doing the same? That sounds crazy, comparing  myself to Carlton. But it's true. He's strung me along. I've strung him  along for the sake of a ring. He sees me as safe. As an educated black  woman, I admired him as my equal. My African king. Icing on the cake was  that he saw his willingness to talk about marriage as courage. His  confidence was symbolic of a solid future.

So I murmur once more, "Maybe you sort of love. The cold thing about it  is I actually love you, Carlton. And I've scoured my mind for every  theory that could make sense of this anomaly. Cognitive psychology and  motivational distortion come to mind – mind you, it's my duty to stay  current – so this theory is relatively new. Motivational distortion makes  women like me, who want that simple kinda love, settle for a guy like  you. A guy who will keep me and run after something so unattainable as  the next gold digger. You do understand that once you get the chick, she  will leave you for an even richer guy, right? And I'm still stuck with a  piece of paper, a vow of your love and perhaps you bring home an STD  every once in a while."

He's frozen in time, with a dumbfounded facial expression. Carlton  glances from me and to his palm, where lies what must be the equivalent  to a brand new semi-luxurious car.         

     



 

I scoff, something within my being just needs Carlton to understand  instead of eyeing me like I'm booboo the fool. "I guess this theory is a  little bit too lofty for you, Carlton. Let's take a behavioral  approach … " I begin to tell Carlton about a proponent behaviorist. It  doesn't take the dynamics from 101 Sociology to read his body language.  The numbskull is still holding the perfect engagement ring out for me;  all I have to do is nibble.

Why does this hurt? Hand pressed to my chest, I take a deep breath. All  of this thinking, talking, attempting to appeal to Carlton's intellect,  or heart, rather yet, isn't working. A silence ensues. Red flags have  bonked me in the forehead ever since we got together. I guess Carlton  and I are more alike than I thought, because he valued my intelligence,  and career, as I valued his. One day, shit happened. And I didn't take  charge in the change in him.

"Carlton, this is the end of the line for us. Feel free to text me, see  if I made it home tonight, since it's already creeping into the wee  hours of morning," I say quickly opening the door. "or maybe I'm not  even on my way home."

He stutters, "What the heck do you mean you're not on your way home, Jelly! Are you cheating! Are you fucking cheating on me?"

The tone of his voice makes it seem so absurd, as if he has a right.  While I don't have the option of a warm heart beat to tempt me. As  Carlton shouts, I click the unlock button for my coupe, and slip inside.  He's out of his Benz in seconds; I pull from my parallel position just  as he begins to bang on the door.

"Jelly, what the heck is gotten into you – " Carlton jumps back as I drive away.

Before I make it to the freeway, I've dialed Mel, twice. The ringing  continues through the speakers of the car stereo. Finally, she answers.

"Jelly! What's wrong!"

"Carl – "

"Let me go wake up, Kiel!" The diva growls, and Melody doesn't even know  that she's again keyed me to the fact that they're sleeping apart. But I  quickly say, "No. Don't. Carlton proposed to me tonight."

"You said no," Melody sings the words. How ironic for a chick that can't  carry a tune. She's now wide awake, grasping for my answer.

"This fool tried to propose in his car, in his friggen car. He's  probably had that ring in his pocket for ages now. Just waiting for me  to blow up, so he could manipulate me!" My eyes narrow in paranoia.  "Fuck that, Mel! Before I let a man try to tarnish me with a lie that  he's dong me a favor by marrying me, I will marry myself!"

Melody laughs at the joke, and she seems to be able to breathe again. "Forget that asshole … "

 …

Marry myself.

"Angelique …  Angelique? Hello?" She speaks into the receiver.

Marry myself. "Wha …  What?" I glance up at the freeway signs, and take  the ramp for the 710 freeway. Wow, I must be clocking 110. I look down  at the dashboard, and true to form I'm driving by the Grace of God.

"Angelique, are you listening to me?"

"Technically no, Mel. I just had an epiphany. I am going to marry myself!"

Now there's white noise between us, on Melody's account. "But what about  Dwight? He can't stop talking about all that ass you have, girl!"

"Slow your roll, Melody! I mean metaphorically speaking."

"Metaphoric my ass! My mom is going to flip out when we tell her. Grand  celebration, silver wedding bells, all of that!" She continues to talk  about a wedding under the grand scheme of things. When all I want to do  is make a vow to myself. It's like double dutch while trying to jump  into the conversation.

"No, thank you, Melody Annelese Bradford McIsaac, aka Mel, aka Miss.  Prissy Bitch. Listen, you recall, I did my thesis on this very subject. I  just want the liberation. You're always saying I'm trying to save  someone. And, it's true. Half my life," I pause thinking about my  father. If only I could have gotten him away from the race tracks. After  a heavy sigh, I say, "Half my life my quest has been to help people. It  didn't start out like that with Carlton." I think back to all the  qualities he has, and how good I must have looked at the club that  night …

Maybe he was drunk on his way into the club. I shake that negativity out  of my head, and continue with, "I learned so much completing those  interviews about how the mind thinks after women committed to  themselves, first and foremost. Now, that's what I meant by a marriage."

"All right, Angelique. Quote, unquote marry yourself, if you'd like. We  can do a tiny ceremony, in your honor. But … " Melody pauses, tone close  to a grovel, "We haven't been on vacation in a while … "         

     



 

I match her ability to linger replying, "Okay … "

"Prior to marrying yourself how about a destination bachelorette party;  we haven't had a girl's vacation in at least a year. I think hitting the  road is in order before you make such strong demands of yourself,"  Melody offers.





CHAPTER 8


Franco





A FLURRY OF gray clouds adds bleakness to the pale blue sky. Mist fogs  out before my just parted lips, and I pull my hands into my black hoodie  as the driver opens the back door.

"Your things, Senor de León?" The Guatemalan asks.

I nod to the duffel bag over my shoulder. "I packed light, Hector."

He tips his cap, and steps back around the SUV, since I've always closed  the door behind myself. While he heads toward the airport, I call my  mother to let her know of my plans.

"Mi corazon, I am so happy!"

"I know, I know," I reply. Only Carmen Maria Rodriguez de León can bring  a smile to my face when the world is gone to shit. Oh and maybe her  twin sister, Célia, who is my mother amplified in her emotions. "So I'll  be seeing you soon, sí?"

"Ay... Er..." She begins

"Mama, no comprendo ay, er … " I chuckle. "There is a first class ticket  sitting in your email mama," I say, though she doesn't need the funds to  get around. "So no, I will hear ay y er, when I see your hermana Célia,  doing God knows what mischief. You two can get together and  start – shi – stuff … " I catch myself, from cussing.