Fool and Her Honey (9781622860791) (7 page)

I didn't believe in purpose. I didn't believe that people were born to carry out a specific mission in life. I was sick of people asking me, “What's your purpose?” Hell if I knew. I thought that if people were honest, they would admit that it was by happenstance that they'd become who they became. I'd heard too many stories of people saying, “I had no intentions on being a pastor, but God had other plans.” Or “When Sister Lettie prophesied over me and told me I was going to be a powerful first lady, I said to myself, ‘She didn't hear from God.' But sure enough, here I am.” They didn't walk in purpose and destiny and all that crap.

And even for people that had an idea of what they wanted to do and what they wanted to become, that didn't always work out. “I tried my best to be a business owner from the time I was sixteen, but it just didn't work out for me.” So I got right irritated when I was sitting in church, minding my own spiritual business, trying to keep my deal with God—although I felt like He played me with that whole Hamilton thing—and the woman on the platform with a wig bigger than her head pointed her finger at me and yelled into the microphone, “You confused because you don't know your purpose!”

I looked around, not realizing who she was talking to, but then she said, “You. Yes, you. Stop looking around, woman in the red blouse.”
Oh, snap.
That was indeed me. “You've got to understand your purpose and what you're here for!” she chided. “Stop trying to be in control and do things the way you think they should be done. God knows what He's doing!” she yelled at me in front of the whole congregation. “You sitting up there, trying to direct God in what to do and what to send you, instead of just doing what He's called you to do.”

Maybe I
would
do what He's “called” me to do if I knew what it was. But I didn't know, and how would I know? How does anybody know? I wanted to yell that back up there to her, but I knew that wasn't proper church protocol. It kind of made me angry, not so much at her, but at God, because I had been praying and asking Him all kinds of questions about why things weren't working out for me, and He wasn't saying anything. Not a single word. So how was He gonna put me on blast like this in front of all these people, like I hadn't asked Him about this stuff privately?

“Come on up here,” the woman demanded. “I'm gonna lay hands on you right now and pray that your eyes be opened and your purpose be revealed!”

People all around me started clapping their hands like I had won some kind of award. I was embarrassed, but I found myself following her instructions and heading for the altar.

“What's your name, sweetheart?”

“Candis,” I stated, darting my eyes around me, feeling a thousand pairs of eyeballs burning a hole in the back of my head.

“Lift your hands to the Lord,” she instructed further. Before I had a chance to do that, two female ushers came rushing toward me and stood at my back, I guess preparing to catch me and guide me to the floor if I should happen to faint. They could have kept right on tending to whatever they were doing before I was called up there to be publicly humiliated, because I wasn't about to lie on this floor.

I lifted my hands, and the big-wigged lady slapped my forehead with a greasy hand. As she yelled out some instructions for God to carry out, like, “Open her understanding, Lord,” “Show her the way, Lord,” “Let the scales fall from her eyes, Lord,” her hand violently shook my head back and forth, like she was trying to hurry up and shake salt onto some food. Then she started pushing me backward—I guess to get me to fall back—but like I said, that wasn't gonna happen. I took a step back, and she stepped forward to maintain the pressure on my head. I stepped back again. Then she started yelling, “Don't fight it! Don't fight it! Yield unto the Lord!” The people around me seemed to get louder and louder, praying along with her. This time I stepped back twice, but she pushed harder, charging forth, determined not to let me go.

That was when I decided to pray for myself.

I must have taken about four more steps before she finally eased up off my head by grabbing my hands instead. “I'm going to be praying for you, sista. You gotta let it go! You gotta let it go!”

Let what go?
What was she talking about? I didn't have anything to hold on to except my sanity. What exactly did she feel I was hoarding? I was silent and tried to look however you were supposed to look when you were being pushed around the church sanctuary in front of a bunch of people. I guess that expression would be respectful, open, and in agreement. Honestly, I felt none of that.

“Ahhhhh!” she uttered, letting out a revealing moan. “You're looking for that man to come a certain way! You got your little checklist ready! Yes, you do. I see it,” she said, loud enough for the people down the street and around the corner to hear. “You done told God, ‘Send me a man, Lord, but he gotta be this tall and he gotta have this much money and he gotta be this color!' Honey! He ain't coming the way you think he should come. Trust me, you don't want what you think you want! Oh yes! Yeah, yeah, yeah! It was the stone that the builders rejected that became the chief cornerstone. Don't reject your blessing! Don't push it away. He might not look like much on the outside, but there's a blessing in there for you if you dig beneath the surface.”

How was that for putting all my business on Front Street? That was what I hated about people doing what church folks called “giving you a word.” All your business was just as good as told. I would have tried to leave right then, but my purse was still in the pew where I'd been sitting, not to mention everyone was still staring at me.

As soon as the benediction was over, I grabbed my purse and tried to hightail it to the car, but of course, there were people who felt the need to reach out and pat me on the arm or back with a look of pity on their faces.

“Be encouraged, my sister.”

Lord, have mercy.
I should have known God would have a trick up His sleeve for me trying to wheel and deal with Him for a man.

I scanned the menu for the cheapest thing listed while Candis and I waited for Dina to arrive. I didn't know why we just couldn't have eaten at Candis's house. She loved to cook and was always throwing some type of social get-together. My wallet sure would have appreciated it. I had only thirty dollars to get me through the next week, and that was before I put gas in the car to get the kids back and forth to school and to job hunt. Being broke was the pits, and being broke but pretending you had enough money to at least have lunch with your girlfriends was even worse.

I'd been out of work for three months now. I couldn't figure out for the life of me why I couldn't nail down another job. I was intelligent, ethical, professional, and I could blow any interview out of the water. I'd chalked it up to the economy, because that was what I heard everyone else blaming their troubles on.

It was only because I had had the sense and discipline to have a little bit of a savings—which Equanto didn't know about—and was able to draw unemployment that we'd not been evicted. I'd also applied for SNAP, or food stamps, as they were called back in the day, to make sure I could feed my babies. I was ashamed to do it, but with three mouths depending on me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I had to put pride aside and do what I needed to do.

E had picked up a job at a fast-food joint to fill in the gap, but things weren't that great between us. I was still bitter that he'd gotten me fired from my job. As for the something he needed to take care of that day, it amounted to him going to damn Las Vegas with a couple of his boys, wasting money, and getting drunk. He didn't get back until the next afternoon.

When I told him I'd been fired for being late one too many times, he shook his head and said, “I swear you ain't worth a damn. I told you to catch the bus.”

We got to swinging and scrappin' and cussin' and throwing stuff and what have you, but when it was all said and done, I still didn't have a job. And I still had a husband that got on my last nerve every chance he got, but he was my husband, and that was what marriages were made of. Ups and downs, goods and bads, ins and outs, and richer times and poorer times. This was definitely a poorer time, and the last place I needed to be was out at a restaurant, spending money on a meal. I should have just found something else to do at home, but since I wasn't currently working and frequently needed an escape from Equanto, getting together with Candis and Dina had truly become the highlight of my week, so I'd decided to scrape my pennies together and go.

“What can I get you beautiful ladies to drink?” asked our server, a young man who looked like he could be working his way through college. Lawd, I could use a drink right now! I waited to see if Candis ordered an appetizer, and lucky for me, she did.

“I'd like a frozen strawberry daiquiri, and can you bring us the sampler platter please? We're waiting on one more person, but we need something to nibble on,” she said.

With appetizers coming, I could skip the entrée and enjoy something other than water to drink. I ordered a drink made of whiskey, peach schnapps, blackberries, mint, fresh-squeezed lemon, and lemon-lime soda. By the time I ate a few chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks, I'd be good.

“How's the job search going, Celeste?” Candis asked.

“Girl, awful. If I don't find something soon, I'm going to need a key to your place,” I said in jest, but really, I wasn't kidding. “My savings is getting sucked bone dry.”

“At least you had the sense enough to have a savings.”

I didn't comment, because truth be told, my savings account was now as empty as a used ziplock bag.

Dina finally made it to the table, looking like she'd had a hard day. “Hey, lovelies,” she greeted.

Candis and I answered in unison, while I slid to the left to make room for Dina on my side of the booth.

“I thought you weren't coming,” Candis remarked.

“I know. I'm sorry,” Dina said, throwing her keys and phone into her purse before she took a seat. “I'm having an emotional day.”

“On a Sunday? That's not like you,” I commented.

Dina let out a sigh, then responded, “Did you two order yet?”

“Just an appetizer and drinks,” Candis stated.

“I wish I knew how to drink. I'd be throwing one back right now,” Dina confessed.

I didn't know what Dina could possibly be going through to make her want to drink, but I was sure it didn't compare to the drama I had going on in my own life. Seemed like when your money wasn't right, everything else was out of whack right along with it, including your love life.

I pushed Equanto out of my mind and tried to enjoy my friends.

“So why the long face?” Candis asked.

“I don't want to talk about it right now.”

Both Candis and I stared at Dina for a few seconds to make sure that silence was her final answer. When she looked at both of us with a weak smile and a mini shrug, we moved on.

“Well, I've got some news,” Candis announced, lifting a chicken finger from the platter and plopping it onto an appetizer plate.

“What? You're pregnant?” I asked. It was my standard response whenever either of them stated they had news to share.

“Gotta be having sex to get pregnant.” Candis rolled her eyes.

Dina and I cut our eyes at her, because we both knew good and damn well that Candis was not practicing celibacy.

“Since when did you become a virgin all over again?” I asked before sipping my drink, which was so delicious, it made me flutter my feet under the table. “Mmm!”

“Okay, you're not pregnant, so what's up?” Dina asked between bites of a mozzarella stick.

“I met someone new.”

“Who?” I quizzed.

Candis paused, then took a deep breath. She was about to answer, but our server interrupted her.

“You ladies ready to order?”

“I'm good. I'm just gonna snack on this,” I rushed to say, motioning with my head to the platter on the table.

Both Candis and Dina ordered something that I thought I might just take a nibble of if they let me.

“So who's the new boyfriend?” I asked.

“First of all, he's not my boyfriend. Secondly, the both of you have to promise not to judge me.”

“He must be married,” Dina said and guffawed.

“No!” Candis exclaimed, immediately denying it with crinkled brows. “Who wants a married man unless he's
your
married man? Been there, done that, and once was enough.”

“Whose husband were you sleeping with?” Dina said with a gasp. That was news to me too, and Candis and I had been friends for years.

“I don't even want to think about it. That was the worst thing I've ever done,” she answered, shaking her head. “Anyway, he's not really new. I've kind of told y'all about him already.”

“Who is it? That SeanMichael dude?” Dina asked.

Candis bounced her eyes between us before she answered, “Yeah.”

Dina shrugged. “What's the big deal about that? You've been talking to him for what? Like two or three months now?”

“Yeah, but that's not the part I need to tell you about.”

“Then what is it?” I sipped more of my drink, starting to enjoy a buzz.

“We met online.”

“Like on one of those matchmaking sites?” Dina asked.

Candis shook her head. “Not exactly.”

Dina and I didn't say another word, waiting for her to spill it.

“We met on Facebook.”

“Facebook? What are you? Sixteen?” I laughed, not taking her seriously.

“I said, ‘Don't judge me,'” Candis reminded us, pointing at us with the tines of her fork. I stuffed more food in my mouth to keep myself from saying anything more, but my lifted eyebrows let her know that I was indeed judging.

“Are you serious?” Dina asked, looking for some sign of a joke.

“Yep.” Candis didn't crack a smile. In fact, her pursed lips and slightly raised brows signaled her honesty.

“Humph.” I commented. “You must not watch Lifetime. What was that movie that they showed not too long ago? The murderer from Craigslist or something?”

“
The Craigslist Killer,
” Dina corrected.

I nodded. “Yeah, that.”

“Cut it out,” Candis begged. “You two are the only ones I can share this with.”

“So what do you know about him?” I asked after a bit of a pause, which meant we'd try not to give our opinions on how dangerous an online-sparked romance could be.

“What are his statistics?” Dina threw in, looking at Candis dead on.

“He's thirty-two, no kids, likes music, kinda looks like Brian McKnight.” Candis blushed as she stirred her drink with a straw, watching the ripples it made in her glass with a dreamy stare.

“Where does he live? You've been to his house already?” I shot back.

“No.” Her grin faded into a more apprehensive expression. “Promise y'all won't trip when I tell you where he lives.”

“Just the fact that you are telling us not to trip automatically means we're gonna trip. You do realize that, right?” I responded with raised brows.

“Oh, Lawd, he's in jail!” Dina blurted out, assuming the worst.

“He is not!”

“The halfway house?” Dina asked, guessing again.

Candis shook her head. “No. Inmates don't have Facebook privileges.”

“Then it must be with his momma,” I concluded before sipping my drink.

“No. He lives in Maryland,” Candis revealed.

Both Dina and I stared at Candis stoically, waiting for her to tell us more.

“Maryland?” Dina asked to confirm.

“Yes.”

“Maryland, like the state? Over on the East Coast, near Washington, D.C.?” I asked. “Where the president of the United States runs the country from?”

Candis nodded. “Yes, the state.”

“Girl, I thought you'd met somebody.” I dismissed her notion with an indifferent wave. “Quit playing.”

“I'm serious. I mean, we haven't met physically, but we are talking.” She paused for a few seconds. “Well, actually, we're officially a couple.”

Dina didn't respond. She was busy checking in with Bertrand via text for the third time since we'd been there.

“That's like dating a ghost, Candis,” I said, rolling my eyes to the ceiling.

“It's not like dating a ghost. It's called a long-distance relationship,” she said, trying to defend herself.

“Most long-distance relationships start when the two people at least see each other face-to-face first and
then
one of them moves away,” I retorted. “You ain't never seen this man. That ain't no long-distance relationship. That's a hot mess waiting to happen.”

“Is it different than the hot mess you have happening in your home?” she shot at me, but those bullets bounced right off, as if I were made of rubber.

“A hot mess is a hot mess, and just because I got one, don't mean you have to get one too. My last name ain't Jones. You don't have to keep up with me.”

Candis fell silent, and I nudged her under the table to look at Dina, whose facial expression had switched from one that indicated she was having a good time with her girls to one that said Bertrand was getting on her last nerve.

“What's wrong with you, Dina?” I asked.

She turned her lips down and shook her head from side to side. “Nothing. I'll be right back.” She slid out of the booth and stayed gone for fifteen minutes, and when she came back, it looked like she'd been crying.

Bertrand was taking her ass through hell. What kind of hell, it was hard to say, but I lived in hell every day at my house, and I knew full well what it looked like.