All the Things I Meant to Tell You Page 16

  “And it helped you didn’t it?”

  “I wouldn’t be where I am today had I not handled my mental health. I support you in taking care of yours.”

  He was legit sitting there sounding absolutely perfect and I didn’t know what to make of it. I just stared at him in disbelief.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Okay, I’m gonna keep it all the way real with you for a minute. I just dealt with a dude a few months ago who was crazy, broke, and he cheated on me.”

  “A fuckboy.”

  “Pretty much. And I’m really not in the mental headspace to deal with that shit right now. So, if you’re on some bullshit, just do us both a favor and ghost me.”

  DeAndre sat back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “Why do you think I’m on some bullshit?”

  “’Cause why are you single? For real? You are forty-two, a lawyer, no kids, fine as hell . . .”

  “Thank you.”

  “Dude. Cut the games. Why the hell are you single? Why aren’t you someone’s husband?”

  “Why aren’t you someone’s wife?”

  I shook my head and looked around for the waitress to bring my drink, because I needed a sip of it at that exact moment.

  “I’m not someone’s wife, because women like me are every damn where. You? You are a unicorn.”

  As if on cue, in the waitress delivered both drinks and appetizers to the table. I was grateful for it, because I needed to breathe for a second. This was not first date conversation. At all. But, shit, I was still in rule-breaking mode.

  DeAndre took a swig of his drink. Bourbon. Neat. He even picked a perfect man’s man drink. It was like somebody gave him the playbook and he didn’t even care that I knew he cheated.

  “I am a serial monogamist. At forty-two, I’ve had five relationships. I dated one girl in high school. Met her over the summer before freshman year and dated her until she decided she didn’t want a long-distance relationship in college.”

  “You had one girlfriend in high school.”

  “I did. I found out later that she talked to a couple different guys, but I only wanted her. Lost my virginity to her and would’ve married her.”

  “College?”

  “I spent the first two years of undergrad heartbroken over my high school love.”

  “I know you’re lying to me.”

  “I’m not. Met a girl junior year. We dated for two years, and she met an NFL player at an internship. I couldn’t compete with that. I was poor.”

  “By the time you graduated undergrad you’d had two girlfriends. Ever.”

  “I went on a few dates in college, but I didn’t sleep with anyone. Graduated college and had only ever been with two girls.”

  “You might be a unicorn, the abominable snowman, and bigfoot wrapped into one.”

  “Well, you’re going to like this part. I decided that in law school I was gonna be like all the other dudes. A hitter and quitter.”

  I nodded. “Good, now let’s get to the real part of the story.”

  “I ended up falling for the first girl I fell in bed with. We dated for three years.”

  “Okay, that was number three. Where’d you meet number four?”

  DeAndre laughed. “I can’t believe I’m going through my entire dating history with you on our first date.”

  “We are clearly atypical. We’ve talked about therapy and now we’re onto your unlikely dating habits. Have you had your testosterone levels checked?”

  “Whoa.”

  “I’m kidding. Tell me about number four.”

  “This was the one that broke me for a while. I was right out of therapy. My first real job. I slept with one of the partners’ wives for five years.”

  My jaw dropped. “Oh shit!”

  “I’m not proud of this. You’re actually the first person I’ve ever told this story to. I was determined to take this to the grave.”

  “This level of transparency has got to be the most refreshing thing I’ve ever experienced,” I said. “Please don’t stop. It’s like having sex on the first date, but better. Like we’re getting completely naked.”

  “So, sex is off the table tonight?”

  I threw my head back and hollered. I wasn’t going to tell him, but I felt like nothing was off the table.

  “How in the hell did you end up sleeping with one of the partners’ wives.”

  “I met her at a company party. She and I were the only ones not engaged in conversations with others, so we started talking. She was approaching fifty, but still fine as hell. She propositioned me.”

  “Was she white?”

  “Does that matter to the story?”

  I shrugged. “Not really, but it adds context. Makes it richer.”

  “Well, yes, she was white. Had red hair like Peggy Bundy. You know, I always had a crush on her. I wondered why Al Bundy wouldn’t want a wife who was begging for sex and had a rack like that.”

  Oh, he tickled me. I don’t know if it was the levity or the honesty, or maybe that his unbelievable story made mine feel somewhat tame in comparison.

  “So, you got entangled with Peg Bundy.”

  “For five years. I was stupid. Thought she was going to leave her husband for me. She never had any intentions of doing that.”

  “He was a partner, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Chile . . .”

  “I know. I was young. I thought we connected.”

  “Oh, y’all connected.”

  DeAndre laughed and finished off his bourbon. “That was number four.”

  “How old were you when you were done with her?”

  “Thirty.”

  “So, you’re telling me in twelve years, you’ve only slept with one other woman?”

  He shook his head. “No. I had one more relationship that I got out of a year ago. But it lasted for three years. Before her, I had a couple of flings.”

  “And why did number five go south?”

  “This one hurt pretty bad actually. I thought about going to therapy again after we broke things off.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah, she just didn’t believe in monogamy. She wanted to, every now and then, have a fling with another dude.”

  “An ex-boyfriend?”

  DeAndre shrugged. “She cheated on me three times that I knew of. One was an ex. One was a co-worker. One was a guy she met in a club. Those are the three she told me about.”

  “Why in the hell did you stay?”

  “Because I thought I could deal with it. She told me I could hook up with other women if I wanted. It seemed like a man’s dream.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “It was not. Well, it was a nightmare.”

  “And you’ve been single since you broke up with her?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t break up with her. She broke up with me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, she turned me out. She did things to me I never had done before.”

  I wrapped my arms around my stomach to keep from laughing. Because this wasn’t funny, but for some reason all of it tickled me.

  “She turned you out, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Your freak number was like four and hers was a million.”

  “Accurate.”

  I lost it, and the laughter rippled out. Tears poured out of my eyes and my whole body participated in the laughter.

  “You laughing at me? Wow.”

  “It’s the way you’re telling the stories, DeAndre. Only a man could tell these stories like this. If these things happened to a woman, I’d be praying for her.”

  “But you don’t want to pray for me?”

  “I just feel like, none of this stuff had to happen to you. Men always have options.”

  I stopped mid-laugh when I heard a familiar voice. The voice interrupted my mirth. It was Hahna’s assistant, Corden. He was with a group of people a few golf bays down. When I realized what I was looking at, my lips forme
d an ‘o’ and I stared for a moment.

  “What’s wrong?” DeAndre asked.

  “That’s Hahna’s assistant. He’s with a group of gay guys.”

  DeAndre shrugged. “So?”

  “So . . . since when was Corden gay? He’s engaged. To a woman.”

  “Are you serious? I thought he was gay from when he opened the door at The Data Whisperers building.”

  My light feeling left me and my mood dropped like it had a concrete block chained to it, and it was on its way to the bottom of the ocean. This was why men couldn’t be trusted. They cheated, they lied, they were closeted, and sometimes, they raped.

  “Well, we’re making an assumption that he’s gay,” DeAndre said. “Just because he’s got gay friends doesn’t mean he’s gay.”

  “You have gay friends?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “But riddle me this. Would you go out with a whole group of gay men? In Atlanta?”

  DeAndre ate a few French fries. He knew there was only one answer to this question that did not prove the point he was trying to make.

  “Nah, I wouldn’t.”

  “I know you wouldn’t.”

  “But you could go out with a group of lesbian women?”

  “I mean, I could, and no one would assume I was a lesbian. I think most men don’t want to accept that any woman truly doesn’t want a penis.”

  DeAndre laughed. “You’re right.”

  “I know it. But, back to Corden’s ass. How in the hell is he still in the closet? It’s 2021. He doesn’t need to still hide it.”

  “I don’t know. That’s crazy.”

  “Should I go and speak to him?” I ask. “Or would that be awkward?”

  “Yeah, don’t. It’ll be more awkward for Hahna than anything. Then, he’ll feel like he has to come out to her.”

  “Well, he’s out in public. Maybe he wants someone to see him. Maybe he wants to be outed.”

  I wondered if this was the truth. I didn’t want to dissect it at the table, though. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to dissect it at all. It wasn’t my business. Shoot, my business was sitting in front of me.

  “How about you? You’re a damn unicorn too,” DeAndre said. “No kids, business owner, in shape. Most of the time I meet a woman with no kids, and is in shape, but she’s broke or with bad credit. Or in shape, got her money together, and has three kids. Never all of the above.”

  “And you want all of the above.”

  “I mean, well, yes.”

  “Younger women might have all of this.”

  “Yes, but then they’re immature, or want to party. I went out with a girl in her twenties once. It was terrible. Even the sex was bad.”

  “’Cause you was used to entangling with older women.”

  “How are we back on me?” DeAndre said. “We’re talking about you.”

  “Okay, I owe you some realness. I am just horrible at picking guys. I haven’t been in a relationship where the guy was faithful. Never. I’ve had great sex, guys who splurged on me, and guys who seemed like they had it all together. They all cheated on me.”

  That sounded pretty sad, but it was the truth. I had been cheated on so many times I’d lost count. I once had a guy who was married, and cheating with me, and another girl.

  “That’s enough to put a person in therapy. Maybe could impact your self-esteem,” DeAndre said.

  “Oh, that’s not why I’m in therapy. I was . . . um . . . assaulted.”

  DeAndre took in a sharp breath and nodded. And like that our transparency turned into a brick wall.

  “I was sexually assaulted. In a swinger’s club.”

  DeAndre reached for the bourbon glass. It was empty, so he drank his water. I knew that was a lot. I hoped it didn’t make everything come to a screeching halt.

  “Which club?” he asked after guzzling his water.

  “Why? Are you a swinger?”

  “No, not at all. I applied to get into this exclusive club—Phenom. They turned me down.”

  I chuckled. “That’s the one. I can get you in if you want. My sorority sister is the owner.”

  “I heard that they had a swinger’s room. I just wanted to be accepted for my law practice. I thought I’d meet people there that could probably use my services. Entertainment law, and maybe a touch of my criminal defense background.”

  “You will meet people there who need both of those.”

  “I’ll let you know if I decide I’m still interested. It’s disheartening to hear you were assaulted there, as careful as they are about accepting members.”

  “I know. My sorority sister is livid. If this wasn’t Atlanta, I’d probably want to press charges.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I don’t want it to be documented anywhere. Atlanta court records are fodder for bloggers.”

  “But you’re not a celebrity.”

  “I’m celebrity adjacent. I’m just interesting enough for a slow news day. I can see the headline now. Atlanta Dentist to the Stars Makes a Freaky Tape at Club Phenom.”

  “You made a tape?”

  “No, but they don’t care about the truth in the headlines. It’s click bait.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. So many of my clients are trying to sue bloggers for libel. All they have to do is put one disclaimer in the article or say allegedly.”

  “And the case has no water.”

  “None.”

  DeAndre pressed another drink order into the machine. “Do you want another drink?”

  “Yes. I’ll take the same thing.”

  “That’s a lot of liquor. Are you going to be okay to drive?”

  I laughed. “We’ll make sure to stay and keep talking until I’m sober.”

  “Or we’ll keep drinking and I’ll get us both a car service.”

  “That works too.”

  “Are we going to have a second date?” I asked. “Because this is a lot for the first time out.”

  “If you’d like to have a second date, and a third, and a fourth, I’m down. You haven’t said anything to scare me off.”

  “Do you think I was trying to scare you off?”

  One side of DeAndre’s mouth teased a smile. “I think so, but I’m not afraid of this.”

  DeAndre checked all the boxes. He was everything I was looking for, down to the blunt honesty. So why couldn’t I relax and just agree to explore?

  It was because, like a unicorn, a man like DeAndre was a mythical creature. He was sitting in front of me, but I had decades of dating experience that told me men like him didn’t exist. Not in real life. It was hard to get my hopes up, when in a few seconds, he was probably going to disintegrate right in front of me. Or worse, turn into the frog hiding underneath the façade.

  But yes, I was going to go on dates two through one thousand if he asked. He had me at serial monogamist.

  Chapter 25

  HAHNA

  Even though Uncle Joe was a cheater, Auntie Sherrie had spared none of my expense for his funeral. His silver casket gleamed at the front of the church. It looked more costly than anything in the building. I remembered the hard pews from all the times my grandmother and aunt had dragged me to Sunday School, revivals, conferences, and Sunday evening services. There were always snacks and pieces of candy slipped to me in a tissue, but the pews still hurt my bottom.

  I rifled through my purse for a mint, and a tissue, to keep my mind busy. I’d already looked at Uncle Joe in the casket. I couldn’t look again. Auntie Sherrie’s friends all said that they’d done a good job on the body. I didn’t comment on that, because I didn’t agree.

  I didn’t know if Auntie Sherrie had gotten up early praying, put a little brown liquor in her coffee, or if she’d taken a hit of one of Tennessee’s joints, but she was surprisingly calm. She sat on the front pew, flanked by Rochelle and Cousin Yolanda.

  Sam sat next to me with his arm around my shoulders. It felt good to have someone with me, unlike at my grandmother’s funeral where I felt a
lone and without any support. Sam kissed my forehead and gave me a little squeeze as the preacher ascended to the pulpit.

  “Dearly beloved,” old Pastor Remington said in his scratchy voice, “we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of our brother Deacon Joe Davis. After we open with prayer, we will have an A and B selection by the choir, remarks by the family and friends—no more than two minutes per person please—and I will return to do the eulogy. Following the eulogy we will have a solo, and a prayer, and the family will follow the processional to the gravesite. After the burial, the family will return here for the repast.”

  Pastor Remington had done the program like we were at a men’s conference where Uncle Joe was the keynote speaker or the special guest. It all felt regimented and planned. I wondered at what point in the service someone was supposed to fall out crying in the aisle. Or when someone was supposed to stand in front of the casket saying Why oh Lord. Take me instead. There didn’t seem to be time allotted for those.

  I blinked slowly and stared at the members of the church who’d I’d known since I was little. I was the success story they told their children and grandchildren about. My Chanel suit, matching handbag, and shoes probably cost more than everyone’s outfit in the room combined. Still, being in the room with all the people from my past filled me with a sense of dread.

  What if somehow, I got trapped here in Shady Falls? What if time went in reverse and I had to stay here in Auntie Sherrie’s house? I squeezed Sam’s hand tightly. Maybe we wouldn’t spend the night at all. We could get on the road after the repast. Shoot, before. I didn’t need any lukewarm fried chicken and spaghetti.

  I listened to selection A and B from the choir. Just like when I was a girl, the choir only had about two good singers and the rest of the folk standing up there didn’t need to have a microphone in front of them. But as long as Aunt Sherrie rocked back and forth with one hand up, it was fine. She was the one who’d lost the love of her life, and this was what she needed.

  In the back of the church there was a commotion that made me and Sam turn in our seats. There was a woman dressed in black wearing a pill box hat with a veil over her face. By the way folk in the church were murmuring and sucking their teeth, I knew this could only be one person.

  “Is this the pickle ho?” Sam whispered.