'Til It Happens to You Page 4

  I sat up in my bed and stretched my arms above my head. “Thank you heavenly father for waking me up this morning, and allowing me to see this day you created just for me,” I prayed out loud. I didn’t actually think God created the day just for me, but I was claiming it anyway. That’s how I felt.

  I took all week to work on my bedroom, putting each peace of furniture in its perfect place. I still had a few bits and pieces to add here and there before I could say I was done. A trip to T.J.Maxx had made it to the top of a to-do list I had created only in my mind. There was still so much to do, starting with figuring out the quickest route to my new job at the hospital. I’d heard about the traffic in this area, and sitting idle in morning congestion wasn’t my idea of an early morning commute to work. I needed to shop for groceries, get a new work wardrobe, and spend some time downtown scoping out restaurants. Trevor had already warned there were plenty from which to choose.

  I was about to roll out of bed and pull myself together when my cell phone rang. I was a bit startled. I started searching for the phone, which I thought I had thrown into the chair in the corner of the room, only to find it under my pillow, where I would usually put it after talking to Trevor late into the night. Then I was just too lazy to get up. Now it was just habit.

  “Hello,” I answered after looking at a number I didn’t recognize.

  “What happened to my phone call?” Devaan began as soon as she heard my voice. In my last conversation with my sister, I promised her I had a plan. What I didn’t share with her were the details behind the airtight master plan Trevor and I had devised.

  “Good morning to you, too, beautiful,” I said with a smile on my face.

  “Oh, don’t even give me that. I waited a whole week to hear from you, and I had to call. What’s that about? Why haven’t I heard from you?”

  “I planned on calling you today, but now I don’t have to,” I began, walking downstairs to the kitchen with my phone pressed against my ear. I opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of spring water. I twisted the cap on the bottle, walked over to the breakfast island, pulled out a chair, and sat.

  I loved talking to my sister. After my father left, it was always just the three of us—me, Devaan, and my mother—until Mr. Kirkwood made the trio a quartet. I didn’t think we needed a fourth person. My sister and I had a special bond. We had been to hell and back, hell being our parents’ divorce.

  “So, tell me about this new man in your life?” Devaan suggested. “How have you been? Are you all right?”

  “Hold up, big sis. Which question do you want me to answer first?”

  “I don’t care. Just start talking.”

  “Trevor isn’t that new. He’s been around for two years.”

  “So why am I just hearing about him? And I’m going to assume Mother doesn’t know too much about him, either.”

  “I haven’t told her much of anything. It took us, Trevor and

  me, two years to get to this point. We had some kinks to work out.”

  “So is that where you went when I couldn’t find you on some weekends? You could have let us in on your plan. We wouldn’t have judged.”

  “This is Devaan I’m talking to, right? When have you not judged?”

  I told Devaan about the house, about my relationship with Trevor, and that I had already begun to feel like part of the family around Trevor’s father and his father’s fiancée. I told her the story about Gavin and that I needed to get away in order to maintain my sanity. I told her about the lies Gavin told, and how I believed everything—all the bullshit he dished out. It took me a long ass time, but I finally got tired. I got tired of spending Saturday nights alone wondering if the man I wanted to be with wanted just as much to be with me. I got tired of waking up Sunday mornings wondering why he didn’t love me the way I thought I needed to be loved. And I got tired of having all these damn feelings and never doing anything to stop myself from feeling that way.

  With my revelation, Devaan had only one other question for me.

  “How’s Trevor treating you? He’s not hurting you, is he?” she asked with an I’ll-kick-his-ass tone in her voice.

  “No such a thing,” I responded in my best Harpo imitation, the voice I used when trying to make her laugh. A better question would have been how was I treating myself.

  “Listen, Jackson. I’m sorry you had to deal with the heartache Gavin caused all by yourself,” she said, sounding more sincere.

  “I appreciate that. I also appreciate the lessons I learned. I know what not to accept the next time. Most importantly, he led me to Trevor, who has shown me every chance he gets what love feels like. Sorry for keeping such distance between us. I just needed to figure some things out.”

  I knew my sister was there to listen to me. Sometimes though, you have to accept that people have things in their lives they have to figure out. You have to force yourself to work through the many things that causes you pain, even if it causes you more pain. Sometimes that is part of the process.

  “And it sounds like you have. Your happiness and sanity is all that matters to me, and if it means moving as far as you can away from pain, that’s what you have to do.”

  I had told Devaan about the new important person in my life, and now I had my own question for her too.

  “So, who’s the new guy adding to your happiness?”

  “Well, there is this person…”

  “You’re calling the new man in your life ‘this person’?” I asked, taking another sip of water. She chuckled. “Tell me about him. And I assume Mother doesn’t know about him yet, or else she would have said something to me. Who is he?”

  “Oh, Jackson, you’re going to love him!”

  Hmmm. I’ll make that decision for myself. You’re not going to build me up to let me down, I thought. “Is that all I get? Does this love interest have a name? You know I have to give him the once-over to make sure he’s right for my big sis,” I said jokingly, but I was serious.

  “His name is Telly.”

  “I can’t wait to meet this Telly person.” I removed the phone from my ear and looked at the screen. A call from Trevor’s office had chimed in. I ignored it and continued my

  conversation with Devaan.

  “I can’t wait for you to meet him, either. And when will I meet Mr. Trevor?”

  “Soon, I promise.”

  “All right, baby brother.”

  “You’re going to have to stop calling me that real soon. I love you.”

  She laughed. “I love you, too.”

  7

  When You Really Love Someone

  Trevor...

  I was adding a few items to the bottom of an already long to-do list when his picture appeared on my cell phone screen. I had received a text message from him earlier, but between talking to Wesley on my way in, sending Jackson a quick text, and then talking with Caela about lunch reservations, it had slipped my mind to respond to him.

  “Hello,” I answered, placing the cap on my Waterman élégance black and silver pen. The pen was a gift from my father. “Every serious designer needs a good pen,” my father had said as I anxiously tore through the wrapping like a kid expecting a gift from his wish list in a letter to Santa. Don’t you mean every good writer deserves a good pen? I thought, but I wasn’t going to correct him. I had just finished signing my first contract after cutting the ribbons from the doors of my vision, officially opening the glass doors to The Harrison Agency.

  Double R Architectural and Interior Design had exclusively become The Harrison Agency, and had a name that was now synonymous with success. Ventures with mogul Curtis Millington that culminated in two lucrative projects had brought notoriety. Notoriety came with a price and a clientele that now included developer Lew Wolff and Investor Jeffrey Picower. We were just waiting for Donald Trump to come knocking on our doors or ringing our phones. I sat back in my chair and attempted to give the caller my undivided attention.

  “Too busy to even return a text?” Dext
er asked, but I knew he was joking.

  “Not true at all, man. I planned on responding, but I got sidetracked,” I said. I hated that I had just described my conversation with Jackson as a sidetrack, even if it were just a text message. “What’s going on in your world, my friend?”

  “I can’t call it,” Dexter said, his usual response when he had something on his mind but isn’t exactly sure if he wanted to talk about it.

  “Everything okay with you and Giovanni?”

  “Gio and I are fine, for the most part.” Dexter paused. For the most part, I thought. Wasn’t that codeword for shit isn’t going the way it’s supposed to be? I wasn’t sure if he was waiting for a response, or if he was collecting his words to continue. Regardless, I remained silent. “I got another phone call from him yesterday,” Dexter continued.

  “From Patrick? Did you…”

  “Of course I didn’t accept it,” Dexter interrupted, “But something inside me wanted to. I just don’t want to step back into the past. I’ve finally gotten to the point where I can think about what happened and not get upset or angry at him. I’m where I have forgiven him, although he doesn’t know it. Can I ask you something, Trevor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is it possible for love to stay the same, even though people change?”

  “It’s quite possible.”

  “Then that’s my fear. I don’t know that not talking to him, if not seeing him means I’ve stopped loving him. And I’m afraid him knowing I’ve already forgiven him will put some crazy idea in his head that there’s some possibility of reconciliation.”

  “After two years, do you think he still thinks like that?” I asked.

  “You don’t know Patrick, and if his messages are any indication, yes,” Dexter confirmed, and with that, he was silent again. This wasn’t the conversation I was expecting to have with Dexter this morning. He didn’t talk about Patrick often, but when he did, I didn’t have a problem listening. It was because of what Patrick had done to Dexter that had led to our chance meeting.

  There was one question I needed to ask Dexter. “Do you love Giovanni?” I could almost see Dexter’s face deep in thought, playing the question in his mind. I don’t think he had even asked himself that same question, and if he had, he’d never answered.

  “I want to be….”

  “It’s a yes or no question, Dexter.”

  “I want to be in love with him.”

  “If you want to be in love with him, leave Patrick in the past where he is. Leave him wondering about what he did to you. Leave him feeling how he feels now that he has lost you. Don’t make the same mistake I almost made. Don’t hold on to someone who’s already had his chance. Love does a lot of things, but what it doesn’t do is wait.”

  The conversation had reached another level. I was asking someone to live by words I heard from so many. Damn, they were right. Hindsight is 20/20.

  “Okay,” Dexter said. That was all he said.

  “Listen, I have a staff meeting in thirty minutes that I need to finish preparing for. Why don’t we have dinner this weekend?”

  “We?” Dexter questioned

  “Yes, as in you, Giovanni, me, and Jackson. You can check with Giovanni, and I’ll check with Jackson, but we’ll talk. And listen…” I demanded.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Leave Patrick in yesterday. Even if you still love him, he doesn’t need to hear that in your voice, or see it in your face. Got it? He’s had his chance.”

  “I got it. Have a productive meeting.”

  “And you have a great day, my friend.”

  8

  Press Pause on Life

  Jackson …

  I was sitting in my newly furnished office space, surrounded by walls painted in Wasabi, and trim the color of Vintage Wine, my new favorite colors. I still felt exhausted from moving furniture and hanging artwork. I was eager to occupy my new place. I didn’t want to make the same mistake I’d heard so many others make, friends included: meeting some guy they barely knew, and after a few months of telephone conversations, even nights where phone calls went unanswered and whereabouts went unexplained, moving with no job or home on an empty promise of love and relationship. I just wasn’t ready to spend most of my nights sleeping in this house by myself, especially since Trevor and I were closer now.

  Trevor had spent the first few nights with me in my new house, a luxury we didn’t have with miles of Eastern real estate separating us. He didn’t mind waking extra early on workdays to make the forty-five minute drive to The Harrison Agency. Even with the unemployment rate slowly creeping upwards, the stagnant climb of the stock market, The Harrison Agency was still thriving, which allowed him to keep his staff employed. The projects he completed for Curtis Millington was done under budget and about two months ahead of schedule, and he had agreed to head another project for Charney Copeland Enterprises, Curtis’s cousin whom he was introduced to when the Millingtons invited him to a celebratory dinner.

  Trevor now owned his architectural and interior design company outright after buying Kelvin out of the partnership. He was no longer doing business as Double R Architectural and Interior Design, a name he and Kelvin created by combining the first letters of their middle names, Rene and Rasaun, which Kelvin rarely used.

  The excitement in his voice was intoxicating when Trevor called me with the good news. That was the last thing keeping him connected to Kelvin. Fortunately for Trevor, buying Kelvin out of his share came easier than falling out of love with him.

  I still had some large and small pieces of furniture that sat untouched in one room or the other. Those were the ones I kept hiding from Mr. Robert since he insisted on assembling anything that came with screws and directions. I don’t know if he thought I had left my tool belt or ability at my mother’s house. He also insisted I stopped calling him Mr. Robert. I thought it would be disrespectful, but Mr. Robert thought we were all adults. I didn’t argue with him.

  I still had one more day before I started my new job as a Clinical Pharmacist at the University Hospital. Although I had many other things I should be doing, I poured a glass of Joseph Phelps Insignia and retired to what I had decided was one of my favorite places in the house.

  I was sitting on the natural Tigerwood hardwood floor with my legs stretched out in front of me. I don’t know why I found sitting in this position so comfortable. I picked up my Moto Q and dialed in to Trevor’s office.

  “Don’t tell me you miss me already,” Trevor answered, laughing, his voice sounding more awake now. By now he already had a fresh cup of caffeinated Columbia flowing freely though his veins.

  “Aren’t you full of yourself? But to answer your question, of course I miss you.” With Trevor, I had no shame in telling him exactly how I felt.

  “Oh, before I forget, my dad and Natalie have invited us to dinner on Thursday. Are you free?”

  “Sure. I’m looking forward to it already.”

  “Good. I’m sure one of them will call you, but I promised I would mention it to you.”

  “Listen, do you have time to grab lunch today?” Trevor asked. It wasn’t 10:00 am yet. He’d barely finished breakfast and he was already thinking about lunch.

  “But of course I do. Do you have a place in mind?”

  “I didn’t think beyond you saying yes. I’ll ask Caela to make reservations and have her call you with the details.”

  “Cool. I will see you then. Enjoy your morning.”

  “Enjoy your last day of freedom. I love ya.”

  “I love ya too, Trevor.”

  A few moments after ending my conversation with Trevor, my cell phone rang. Since I didn’t recognize the number displayed on the screen, I allowed the call to go to voicemail.

  “Junior,” the familiar voice called out as I listened. “If you’re there, please answer,” she demanded. Click. Click. The caller hung up.

  I hadn’t spoken to my mother in a little more than three days. I hadn’t heard from her since
leaving my new phone number on her voicemail at work. Calling her back was on my to-do list, right after calling Devaan and my friend Colton.

  When I returned the call to the unfamiliar number, I was greeted by a generic voicemail. Now we’re playing phone tag, I thought, and attempted to call the only other number I had for my mother. The number had been changed to a non-published number, and I was instructed to check the number I had and dial again. I wasn’t going to do that. I was certain I had dialed the right number.

  There was a sense of urgency in her voice, and being the concerned son I was, I needed to make sure my mother was okay. I walked from my office to the kitchen, poured a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and removed my planner from the briefcase. I dialed my mother’s office number, and after several rings, a male voice unlike any I’ve heard before answered.

  “Hello. Mrs. Bradley, please.” After a few seconds of silence, my mother spoke.

  “Mother!” I said in a cheerful but equally concerned tone. I had been calling Mrs. Bradley “Mother” since I was a little boy. Some people thought it was some wealthy, uppity thing I had picked up. I was already too damn old to be calling some woman “mommy.” Anyway, my way of addressing my mother didn’t bother her.

  “Yes dear,” she replied with equal pleasantry. “Junior, is everything all right?”

  For as far back as I could remember, I couldn’t recall Mother calling me by any other name. I was born Jackson-Chase Demetrius Bradley. Jackson was my maternal grandfather’s first name. Chase was my daddy’s father’s middle name. Demetrius Bradley belonged to my father. I could never explain why she called me junior except that she saw me as a small piece of the men who came before me. Or maybe she was trying to appease my father, as if he was ever worth appeasing. She did call me Jackson when I got into some trouble I had no business getting into, which rarely happened.