Choose Me (23 page)

“Who says I want to get married?”

“Don’t wait too long. Don’t wait ’til you’re old like me.”

I wanted to tell him that he was alone because he wanted to be alone. It was always easier for a man to find a woman willing
to marry than for a woman to find a willing man. Not to mention that he was at that age when some men took younger wives.
But as always, the things I wanted to tell my father stayed in my mind, unspoken and buried.

“Pop, I don’t know if I want to get married again.”

“It’s not good for women to be alone.”

“But it’s okay for men?” I challenged.

“It’s different for men.”

Yes, of course it is,
I thought, thinking of all the double standards I had heard all my life. It was okay for men to have sex with many women
but not vice versa. It was okay for men to wait until forty to get married, but not women. It was okay for men to be alone,
but not for women. Of course, in God’s eyes, I knew none of these standards was acceptable for men either since Man had corrupted
God’s words and His original intentions as man had with many other things. It was the secular world that had set the standards
that were deeply ingrained in our society and difficult to eradicate from even the most open-minded thinker.

“Pop, I got to go,” I said, suddenly sleepy. “Good night.”

*   *   *

The following Sunday, Pastor Zeke, as was his practice, reiterated the preceding Bible study and Youth Night topic with a
similar sermon: “Spirit Versus Desire.”

I shifted in my seat, my arms, butt, and legs sore from overdoing it at the gym. Maya and her sons sat to my left, but Alex
and Simone were no-shows. It was my turn to host the Sunday brunch, but when service ended, Maya said she had something else
to do.

“What?” I challenged.

“Uh … I’m meeting ‘L’,” Maya said cautiously as soon as Marcos and Lucas climbed into the SUV and out of earshot. She knew
it was no use lying to me. As part of the reparations for reconciliation, Maya had demanded that Alex replace their minivan
with a Lexus sports utility vehicle.

“Maya. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about … ‘L.’ I don’t like this. I don’t like him. I’m telling you this because I love
you. You need to let him go.” I tried to pick my words carefully, not be judgmental and self-righteous.

“We’re just having breakfast, that’s all,” Maya said, looking around desperately as if someone were listening in and could
decipher our conversation. She didn’t understand that the only One who mattered was everywhere and He heard and saw all.
What you do in the dark shall be revealed in the light.

“I already know how you feel,” she continued. “But I can’t help it. Haven’t you ever loved someone so much it hurt when you
couldn’t be with them?” she pleaded.

I looked at the anguish on my sister’s face and I tried to understand. “No,” I told her honestly.

“How’s Adam?” she asked.

Immediately, my face grew hot, but I quickly recovered. “What I feel for Adam is not love. Sure, there’s an attraction, but
not seeing him doesn’t hurt. Maybe it’s confusing now that I had a small taste, but it’s not painful. Our situations are entirely
different.”

Each day that Adam didn’t call was a confirmation that God was interceding on my behalf, protecting me from whatever “evil”
could happen if he did call me, to tempt me to eat of his “delicacies.” I was safe as long as I was being enriched by the
Word and in the company of others who were struggling spiritually like me. But once I left the sanctuary, I was at the mercy
of the world and my own carnal thoughts. And that was not love.

“Eva, I envy your commitment to celibacy; I wish I had that kind of commitment for my marriage. But I’m not strong like you—”

“Yes, you are. You’re stronger. Staying with Alex after what he did. Putting your children before yourself and staying in
your marriage. That takes more courage than leaving. You are a good person—”

“Stupid is more like it. I should’ve left when I had the chance. I could have been with ‘L’ now.”

“Sweetie, he’d still be with his wife.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” she retorted, then looked around at the church members walking to their cars, talking, hugging, and blessing
each other. It was too noisy for anyone to hear anything. She opened the driver’s door, but before she could climb in, I embraced
her. “Don’t go,” I whispered in her ear. “Come over and we’ll talk.”

She pulled away. “I’m a grown woman.”

“I’m your big sister.”

“By one year.”

THE PARTS OF
the Bible that have stuck in my mind are the stories that were sensationalized by Hollywood:
The Ten Commandments
and
The Greatest Story Ever Told,
or the phrases that were quoted and misquoted over the years in everyday conversation and popular media:
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Pride goeth before the fall.
Although I had witnessed the transformation of people who had found Jesus, I did not fully understand what it meant to be
saved, to have a personal relationship with Him. Of course, I was “brought up in the church”—went every Sunday—where I was
compelled to memorize passages and scriptures that were indoctrinated into me much the same way as the alphabet was until
the Word was as logical as “B” came after “A.” When I was twelve, I was asked if I accepted the Lord as my personal savior,
and I answered yes, even though I wasn’t sure what it meant. All I knew was that Mama and the Sunday school teacher told me
I wouldn’t go to heaven and that was all I needed to know. When you’re twelve, going in the opposite direction is a very scary
thought.

But knowing the Word was pretty much meaningless without role models who lived by it. My mama of course set a good example
as a God-fearing woman, but she was, after all, a woman, and what I needed was a male role model. Growing up, nobody told
me my father wasn’t supposed to be perfect, so I believed in the myth that he was infallible, invincible. To me, he was like
a god who could do no wrong. I cherished and worshipped him and when he fell from grace, it just about shattered my belief
in anything good.

“Today’s your father’s anniversary,” my mother reminded me on the phone. For the past nineteen years, at the same time of
the year, we had the same conversation. She would call and remind me it was the anniversary of my father’s death, then ask
me to come with her to the cemetery. I would decline, she would try to change my mind, I wouldn’t, and then she would give
up and go with my sister and her kids. “Are you coming to the cemetery?”

“No, ma’am.” She knew that when I used that expression it wasn’t about being respectful, but facetious.

“You know your father accepted the Lord before he passed.”

“Funny how some people do that when they know they’re going to die. After they’ve done all their sinning.”

“Some people got to see the light before they see the light. You got to learn to forgive as God forgives.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So, you’re not going?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Alright, I’ll go with your sister.”

“Alright. Bye, Mama. Love you.”

“I love you, too. Your daddy loved you, and the Lord loves you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After I pressed the “off” button on the phone, I pressed “talk” and began dialing Eva’s phone number, then hung up before
the last digit.
God, what is wrong with me?
I thought. Lately, I had been doing that off and on, sometimes without thinking. I wanted to call her, but at the same time,
I wanted to forget about her.

I went into my office space and tried to pick up where I had left off the weekend before with my screenplay. When I talked
with Eva about my writer’s block, she suggested I incorporate spirituality into the theme, re-read some Bible passages like
that of the Prodigal Son to get some insight into the father-son relationship. I told her I knew more about that particular
relationship than I cared to. She said a lot of literature and films, even pop culture, borrowed from the Bible, only they
hid the spiritual message underneath rhetoric, action, violence, and sex. When I sat down and thought about it, I realized
she was right. As I sang along to
The Best of Kool & the Gang
on the stereo, I began revising the synopsis for my screenplay, writing for several hours.

When the phone rang, it startled me out of a nap on the sofa, where I had moved with my laptop. I prayed it wasn’t Luciano.
When he told me he was going to give me a break and crash at his brother’s for a while, I had to try very hard to hide my
elation.

“Hey, favorite-Big-Bruh-wonderful-uncle. Feel like watching your niece and nephew tonight?”

“Where are
you
going?” I asked Jade, yawning.

“To a movie.”

“With?”

“This guy.”

“I want to meet ‘this guy.’ What’s his name?” It was the third time she had asked me to babysit so she could go out with “this
guy.”

“Akil McClaren.”

“A-kill? What kind of name is that?”

“It’s
A-keel.
It’s Arabian and no, he’s not Arabian. He’s Black. Stop acting like my daddy.”

“I’m worse than your daddy. I’m your worst nightmare: a brother without a love life.”

Jade laughed, whining,
“C’mo-o-on.”

“If I don’t meet him, I don’t babysit.”

Akil was a medium brown-skinned brother sporting the beginnings of an Afro and wearing an earring. He didn’t appear nervous
to meet me but he didn’t overcompensate by trying to impress me. I shook his hand extra hard and kept shooting guarded looks
at him to warn him that my sister was very precious to me. He seemed like a decent enough brother, but like any big brother,
I was suspicious of any man who dated my sister. I didn’t want Jade’s heart broken since she was on the rebound, having been
through a turbulent marriage and a bitter divorce. Furthermore, I didn’t trust a man who went out with a divorced mother of
two young children. It is a well-known fact that when a man wants a vulnerable woman, single and divorced mothers make the
easiest prey. I had dated a couple of single mothers myself with the same intentions; it wasn’t something I was proud of,
but like most men, I didn’t see the errors of my ways until the tables were turned and it was my sister who was being played.

I thought of Eva and determined that she didn’t count as a vulnerable divorced woman since her children were grown. She didn’t
need a man for the essential things since she had her own career, a house, and possessions, and it appeared she was determined
to stay single if she couldn’t find a man who shared her beliefs. Based on what I had seen, she didn’t look like the lonely
type, but a woman who enjoyed having her space, as I did. According to Eva, she wasn’t looking for a husband. Then I thought,
maybe her celibacy was a cover-up for her ultimate goal: marriage. Maybe marriage
was
her ulterior motive.

Babysitting at night was easy because by the time Jade dropped the kids off, they were usually tired from preschool if it
was a week-night, or from running around with her all day on weekends. Because they watched enough cartoons and videos and
didn’t get to see their father as often as they should, I always played old-fashioned games with Kia and Daelen, games like
Horsey, Tea Party, and Wrestle Mania. Before I knew it, I was carrying them off into the bedroom, one over each shoulder.

Afterward, I searched through my video and DVD collection, looking for a movie I hadn’t seen in a while. When the phone rang,
I picked it up absentmindedly, answering, “Yeah.”

“Hey,” was all I heard, but I knew it was Eva.

“What’s going on?” I said, trying to sound casual. It had been a couple of weeks since I had gone to her house, washed her
hair, and kissed her. The memory made my stomach muscles tense up and I rubbed my torso to ease their tightness.

“Not much. What’re you doing?”

“Looking for a movie to watch.”

“Hmmm.”

I waited for her to speak, to tell me why she was calling. When she didn’t, I filled in the empty space. “I was working on
my screenplay earlier. I thought about what you said, about adding some spirituality into the theme.”

“And?”

“And I decided to make one of the characters really religious while the other one is struggling with his spirituality. Both
of them are at different stages of fatherhood and they go on this road trip to confront their fathers who abandoned them.”

“Sounds good. Much rounder than ‘two buddies go on a road trip to visit the fathers who abandoned them.’”

I laughed at her recollection of my one-line, rough-draft blurb. “You want to take a look at the new synopsis? Tell me what
you think?”

“Yeah, e-mail it to me. My address is on my card. Have you come up with a title?”

“I was thinking about ‘Prodigal Sons,’ but I’m still debating.”

There was a long pause as I waited for her to get to the reason for her call. She cleared her throat.

“I want to ask you something,” she finally said.

“Okay,” I said, pulling the leather footrest up to the entertainment center and sitting down.

“Do you think you could ever be with a woman, I mean, be in a relationship, and not be intimate?”

I scratched the back of my neck, speechless. My first impulse was to laugh, but I knew it wouldn’t be appropriate so I cleared
my throat.

“It’s not a difficult question,” she said. “It’s either yes or no.”

“Let’s just say, the last time I did that, I was, like, fifteen. Maybe fourteen.”

“I thought so.”

“Why do you ask?” I inquired, even though I knew it was obvious.

“Because before I got saved, I went out with men and, you know, had these empty relationships. Not a lot of men, but enough.
And having … having sex with men without a purpose, without it leading somewhere, took a lot out of me. Like I said, I don’t
know if I ever want to get married again, you know. I’ve been there and almost got married again. So, since I don’t know if
I ever want to get married again, and I can’t have sex outside marriage, I have this dilemma.” She paused and I thought,
Yes, you do,
but I didn’t say anything. “I like you and I liked kissing you, but I don’t know how long that would last before, you know
… you want more. Or I want more. You know what I’m saying?”