Put A Ring On It (31 page)

Harlow was grateful for his pledge of devotion, but she wondered
if Drake could live up to his promise once he knew the whole story. It didn’t matter anymore. The weight of her dark secret was too heavy to carry any longer. It was time to release it, and let the chips fall where they may.

Drake was careful not to bombard Harlow with questions. They both removed their soiled, and in Drake’s case, torn clothing, without conversation.

When Harlow came out of the shower, there was a pot of tea waiting in the sitting room. Barefoot and dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, Drake appeared comfortable and relaxed with his laptop in front of him. “I ordered tea for you. Thought you might want something soothing.” He raised his glass. “I’m warming up with bourbon.” His mouth smiled, but his eyes were sad.

“Thanks,” Harlow said, turning her back as she poured tea. With her back to Drake, she took sips and slowly gathered her thoughts.

After a few minutes, she felt brave enough to confess. She set the cup down and perched herself on the ottoman facing Drake. He closed the laptop and placed it on a table, his eyes studying her face.

Instead of pushing away the dreadful recollections, Harlow allowed the memories to take shape and form. “To support her drug habit, my mother let her dealer violate me.” Her words came out tentative and shaky. “It all started when I was only about four years old.” She took a shuddering breath. Drake closed his hand lovingly around hers, and then the story that she’d never uttered to another living soul began spilling from her lips.

Throughout the telling, she noticed Drake flinching and
cringing, his free hand tightening into a fist, but Harlow ignored his reactions. Pressing onward, she gave uncensored details of the horror story that was her childhood.

“Damn,” he murmured when Harlow concluded, revealing that she’d secretly purchased a headstone for her mother’s grave and had made a clandestine visit to the cemetery. “You didn’t have to go through that alone.”

“I should have told you about my miserable childhood a long time ago, but I didn’t want you to look at me like I was damaged goods.”

“I would have understood. None of that was your—”

She gestured for him to let her finish. “I couldn’t change my past, and so I mastered the ability to present myself as a self-assured person. I’m such a fraud,” she said bitterly. “Inside, I feel tainted and worthless.”

Drake groaned, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I kept telling myself that with you I could finally let go of the past. Get married; have the family I never had. But I was wrong to think I could erase the past.”

“I heard you out. Now it’s my turn to speak. First of all, I love you. More than anything. Secondly, you’re not a fraud, and pretending that you were okay was a coping mechanism. You didn’t have any other tools to work with. You’ve kept these secrets long enough; now it’s time to seek help from a professional.”

“I know,” she said in choked voice.

“I’m right here with, Harlow. I’m not going anywhere.”

O
n New Year’s Day, Vangie went to her mom’s apartment for dinner. Her mom and her new boyfriend, Mr. Harold, had already eaten and were watching football. They both were wearing Eagles jerseys. Mr. Harold was stretching the hell out of his jersey. His gut looked like he’d swallowed a watermelon.

Her mother was sitting on the edge of the couch as if she really cared what the Eagles were doing. Vangie knew that her mother had no interest in sports; she was fronting for Mr. Harold.

“Make yourself a plate, baby,” her mother said, sounding distracted. “There’s plenty of food left. Cabbage, black-eyed peas, ham hocks, cornbread—”

“Touchdown!” Mr. Harold shouted, cutting her mother off. Her mother joined, whooping and hollering like she gave a damn.

Being a third wheel at her mom’s house was the pits. Vangie lost her appetite. “I didn’t plan on staying,” Vangie said when the noise level decreased in the living room. “Yuri is with Shawn, so I’m gonna fix my plate to go,” Vangie called from the kitchen.

“That’s nice,” her mother responded, disinterested.

Vangie filled plastic containers with enough food to feed her and Yuri for several days. “See you later, Mom,” she said as she headed for the door.

Sitting up under Mr. Harold and grinning like a lovestruck teenager, her mother waved goodbye.

Denise Westcott wouldn’t have dreamed of serving southern-oriented food on New Year’s Day. Her version of a good luck meal was lobster tails, stuffed mushrooms, soft shell crabs, angel hair pasta with shrimp scampi, broccoli and cheddar quiche, arugula salad with vinaigrette, and twelve-grain dinner rolls.

There was tension at the Westcotts’ dining table, and no one knew the cause except Nivea and Knox.

“Most black people eat black-eyed peas and chitterlings for New Year’s dinner,” Nivea remarked with an edge as she observed the seafood spread that her mother set out.

“We’re not most black people and I thank God for that,” Denise Westcott retorted. “We can afford the best, so why would I serve my family pig intestines or any other type of slave food?”

“It’s tradition. A way for African-Americans to stay in touch with our roots,” Nivea said sullenly.

“We don’t need reminders of that that tragic chapter in American history.”

“Now, now,” Mr. Westcott intervened. “It’s time to raise our glasses in a toast to a healthy and prosperous New Year.”

Nivea ignored her father and turned hard eyes on her mother. “Don’t you ever get tired of the burden of being the black bourgeoisie?”

“I don’t make any apologies for being well off. Nothing was handed to your father and me. We earned—”

“Yes, I’ve heard that spiel a thousand times. With your high standards, it surprises me that you don’t have higher expectations for your youngest child? How do you account for her lack of education, ambition, and drive?”

“Me!” Courtney shot a bewildered look at Nivea. “What are
you talking about? I’m marrying a doctor,” Courtney said in defense.

“Right. You’re
marrying
a doctor.” Nivea took her focus off Courtney and gave Knox a fierce stare.

“Are you okay, Nivea?” her father inquired.

“I’m fine. Let’s toast to prosperity.” Smiling contemptuously, Nivea raised her goblet.

Courtney noticed Nivea’s hand. “Hey, where’s your ring?”

“Took it off.”

“Why?” Courtney asked, looking at her parents questioningly.

Nivea set her goblet down. “I called off my wedding. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mrs. Westcott stared at her daughter with disapproval.

“I’m sure you had very good reasons,” Mr. Westcott ventured to say.

“OMG! I’m going to be married first,” Courtney said excitedly. “I mean, seriously…OMG! You’ll be my spinster sister.” Courtney covered her mouth to stifle giggles.

Nivea glared at Knox, blaming him for her predicament and for the insult from Courtney. Being made fun of by her younger sister was the height of humiliation.

Brows arched and spreading his hands in a gesture of bafflement, Knox looked at Mr. and Mrs. Westcott.

Knox’s phoney display of innocence had Nivea seething. She picked up her goblet and splashed red wine in Knox’s smug face.

“Why’d you do that?” Courtney shouted. Cloth napkins in hand, she rushed to her fiancé’s rescue and anxiously dabbed his face and blotted wine from his shirt.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” Mrs. Westcott demanded. “That kind of behavior is not tolerated in this household. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you—”

Feeling satisfied, Nivea grabbed her purse. “Save your breath, Mother. I’m leaving.”

Nine o’clock that night, Vangie unleashed all her rage on Shawn when he brought Yuri home.

“Hi, Mommy!” Yuri said happily. “It was so fun at Daddy’s.”

“Get ready for bed, Yuri,” Vangie said firmly. Yuri didn’t give her any back talk. He could tell that she meant business.

She turned her attention to Shawn. “You have a lot of nerve, bringing him home this late at night. It’s way past his bedtime.”

Shawn rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Stop acting childish. You just want to start some shit.” Shaking his head, he reached in his pocket and pulled out some money. “This is for the day care.”

Vangie counted the money and turned up her nose. “Oh, it’s like that, now?”

“Like what?”

“Being a cheapskate now that you’ve you moved on.” She made air quotes when she said, moved on.

Shawn sighed. “What’s the problem?”

“You’re not going to be handing me random amounts of money when the mood hits you. You’re making a killing at the shop. I need regular child support that I can count on.”

“How much do you want?”

“Four hundred a week.”

“That’s bullshit. I don’t make that kind of money.”

“Whatever,” she said nonchalantly while holding the door open.

Shawn paused in the doorway. “We don’t have to be enemies.”

She made a cackling sound of laughter. “We damn sure can’t be friends.”

E
arly in the morning, Nivea’s cell pinged.
Sorry about yesterday. Can I make it up? The text message from Knox ended with a sad face.

Fuck no!
Propped up in bed, Nivea’s fingers were poised to respond with a scathing message. Then the doorbell rang. It dinged and donged over and over with urgency.
Knox!

It occurred to her to call the police and report that Knox was stalking her, but Nivea didn’t pick up the phone. She hurried inside her bathroom and washed her face and rinsed her morning mouth with a capful of Scope. She told herself she wanted to look presentable when she slapped Knox’s face and cursed him out.

She pulled the door open. Looking contrite, Knox was holding a steaming cup of Starbucks and a bag of croissants. “I thought you might want to wake up to your favorite coffee.”

Nivea took the coffee, but sucked her teeth to express her disdain.

“Look, I know you’re pissed with me—”

“You’re beneath contempt,” she snarled.

“You’re right. My behavior wasn’t very noble.”

“You didn’t open your mouth in my defense.”

“I know,” he said regretfully. “I hated the way your mom was talking to you. It took all my willpower not to leave right behind you yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you, punk ass?” she spat.

He shrugged helplessly. “For appearances, I guess. I had to take Courtney’s feelings into account.”

“Courtney will survive; she has my parents to wipe her tears. I’m the victim here, Knox. You’re fucking me and planning a wedding with my sister!”

“I have to be cautious with Courtney’s emotions; she’s very sensitive.”

“Bullshit! She’s a spoiled brat.”

“I have to let her down gently.”

“How gently? While you’re bullshitting, my mother and Courtney are planning a wedding.”

“It’s not Courtney’s fault that I fell in love with you.”

Nivea’s lips were parted in preparation of firing off a round of stinging insults but she instantly clamped her mouth shut. Feeling herself turning to mush, she thought,
Aw, he loves me.

“I’m not going to marry Courtney. You know that. I can understand your being upset with your mother, but don’t take it out on me. I told you that I’m going to break off my engagement with your sister, but I have to do it in the least painful way.”