Merry Ex-Mas (3 page)

Not that it had completely happened that way. I mean, Anthony did apologize and beg and apologize some more. He begged me to come back. He kept explaining that it had only happened one time. I kept telling him that one time was my threshold.

"I really want this," my father pushed through my thoughts. "We're a family, Kendall. No matter what. You, me
…
Sabrina and Anthony."

I exhaled. Their names passed through my mind but never passed through my lips. And it was just as hard to hear them out loud. But my father had just spoken them, and I was still alive. The dagger that I felt in my heart every time I heard my sister's name hadn't twisted and taken my life away from me.

"And," my father kept talking, "of course, you could bring anyone with you that you want."

Now, my father knew that I wasn't seeing a soul. All of my time was invested in my business; that was my life. Plus after what had happened with Anthony
…
and even what had gone down with my mother and father, a good relationship wasn't part of my DNA.

I shook my head, and though I smiled, my father got my message.

He released a small sigh. "I know how much you've been hurt, baby girl," he said, going right back to my pain. "I know how awful it was then, and I know the years haven't done much to soften your heart. But it's my dream. My dream
…
" He left it at that.

On the drive over, I had planned all the words that I was going to say. The same words that would break his heart all over again. "Daddy, you know, I appreciate and understand everything that you're saying
…
." Then I pushed out my final words on this subject, "But, I'm sorry, you're going to have to give me a little more time."

My dad nodded as if those were exactly the words he expected. "Time," he whispered. "A little more time."

He made me frown again. This was the second time that my dad had deviated from our normal conversation. This was the point in the conversation when he was supposed to tell me that it was time to let it go so that I could heal. He was supposed to remind me how Sabrina and Anthony had tried to do right, and how even after I set our divorce in motion, the two had stayed away from each other. He was supposed to convince me that my sister and my ex-husband had given it a heroic try, but the two really were destined to be together.

But my father didn't say any of those things. Something was different. Something felt wrong.

When he stood and moved to the ottoman right in front of me, I knew for sure that something was up. By the time he reached for my hands, my heart was pounding.

"This is not just about Christmas, baby girl," he said, looking straight into my eyes without even blinking.

"What's going on?"

"I don't want to drag this out, so
…
" He inhaled as if he needed extra air to keep going. "I want us to have Christmas together because of what you said. Because of time
…
and I don't know how much time I have left."

That was when the pace of my heart steadied, and I laughed, relieved. For a moment, I thought something was really wrong, but my dad was just being dramatic
—
though, that was not like him. "Oh, Daddy." I swatted the air like I was shooing his words away. "You're fine. You'll probably outlive me."

He chuckled, though there was more bitter than sweet in the sound. He squeezed my hands, tighter now. "I
have
lived a mighty good life."

Okay, my heart started pumping again, because now his words, his tone sounded like a eulogy.

"Daddy
…
"

"Whew! This is harder for me to say than I thought." He looked down, then back up again. "I'm dying, Kendall. The doctors tell me that I don't have long to live."

Between the time my dad's words left his lips and reached my ears, something had happened. Because surely, the words were jumbled. That was the only explanation I had for hearing,
“
I don't have long to live.
”

He couldn't have said that because those words could never be true. There was no way that I could live the rest of my life without my father when I'd already been cheated out of years with my mother.

"Kendall?" my father called me.

I tried to open my mouth to question my dad, ask him what in the heavens was he talking about. But there was something wrong
—
my lips wouldn't move.

"Baby girl, say something, please!"

I wanted to speak because there were a million questions I wanted to ask and a million assurances that I wanted to give.

And then there was the big thing that I really wanted to say. I wanted to demand that my father not die because I'd never be able to breathe without him.

"Say something," my father told me again.

I wanted to obey him, I really did. But my tongue became thick, and my lips were paralyzed. So I did the only thing that I could do.

I burst into tears. And I cried, while through the speakers, Mary J. Blige sang,
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now
…
.

That was my all-time favorite Christmas song by one of my all-time favorite singers. But I would never want to hear that song again. Not ever.

I leaned back in the massage chair and lifted both of my feet into the air.

“
Do you like it, Ms. Asia?
”

I shifted my toes to the left, then the right. The gold polish that was sprinkled with glitter made my toenails glisten as if they were covered with diamonds. Oh, this was all the way good; my feet looked like they were worth a hundred thousand dollars
—
each.

"I love this, Susie," I said to the nail technician who was always on call for me. All I had to do was press her number in my cell and
—
bam! In ten minutes flat, she'd be there. "Just fab. Perfect for Christmas."

Susie Wu gathered her supplies, rinsed the tools in the sink that I had installed in this room, and then placed them into the sterilization chamber. "Okay," Susie said when she finished, "so I'll see you next week?"

"That's the plan, but I'll call you if I need a change before New Year's Eve."

Susie shoved her purse onto her shoulder. "Well, have a merry Christmas."

"Same to you. Go on downstairs, you can let yourself out," I said. "I'm gonna sit here for a few minutes longer and make sure my toenails are really dry." I leaned back and picked up my iPad that had been resting in my lap. But before Susie was even out of the room, my eyes were closed.

This massage chair was not made for doing anything except chill-laxin', and I snuggled into the leather. It wouldn't take much longer for my toes to dry, but there was no reason for me to get up. I didn't have to rush to go anywhere; this was just another day in my extraordinary life.

I pushed a long sigh through my throat. I couldn't be anything but happy; I was in love with my life. I loved my huge condo, I loved my luxury car, and I loved my bank account balance. Not that any of this had come from working a day in my life
—
well, at least not working the way other people defined work. I stayed beautiful
—
that was my job.

"Mom!"

The scream made me sit straight up in my chair. "Dang!" I opened my eyes and looked straight into the eyes of my eleven-year-old daughter. Angel may have been a tween, but she was already five-nine, just an inch shorter than me. She was all limbs, long legs and long arms
—
that part she'd gotten from her father.

She'd started having these major growth spurts when she was just six, and I have to admit, I was really concerned. I mean, I wasn't worried about her height, but what would she look like with those long legs and arms that looked like they could almost drag along the ground when she walked?

But then, my daughter had this face: the best of me and Bobby. She had my almond-shaped, gray eyes and my full lips, and she had her father's thick eyebrows and dimples that were carved deep into her skin.

When I was a child, I knew I was pretty. I mean, all I had to do was look in the mirror
—
I'm not being conceited; that's just a fact. But here's another fact: Angel was beyond pretty. She was simply gorgeous. There was no other word to describe her.

And that was not just me talking as her mother. By the time Angel was eight years old, every agency from Elite Model Management to IMG and Ford Models was trying to make contact with Bobby Johnson's daughter. Angel had been thrilled because she'd always wanted to be a model. And an actress. And a dancer. And a singer.

I wasn't so happy about Angel pursuing modeling so young. I mean, what about just being a kid? I didn't have that privilege; I wanted her to have the real childhood that I had never had.

But Angel and Bobby had talked me into it, and Angel had signed with Ford Models. That was my concession. Their concession: Angel would only do occasional print and catalog work. I wasn't about to let my young daughter get too caught up.

“
Where is the fire?
”
I asked her.

“
Dad wants to speak to you.
”
Angel held out her smartphone to me.

Now see, I had been feeling good, having a great day. And now my ex wanted to talk? What did Bobby Johnson want?

Not that Bobby and I didn't have a cordial relationship. I was his baby's mama
…
and because of that, the former all-star forward for the Los Angeles Lakers made sure that all of my needs were met. So beyond this condo, my BMW, and a bank account that came with a financial planner, I had credit cards with statements that were never mailed to my address. All of that alone made me want to be cordial to the man.

But the truth was, while I had loved him from the tips of my toes at one time, I could never forgive him for making the worst mistake of his life.

Every single moment of that morning was still etched in my mind. That morning when Bobby had come over to the condo so that we could have a special talk. That special morning, six years ago
…

I had been giddy and giggling ever since Bobby called me yesterday saying we had to talk. It had been three weeks since I'd last seen him. Bobby may have just retired, but he was on the road. He'd gone back to his home in Dallas for a week, and then he had meetings all over the country, trying to decide his next move. I'd found out on the news (which pissed me off a little) that he was taking a position with ESPN L.A. But now that his professional future was set, I knew he wanted to take care of the personal side of his life.

So I had already figured out what he wanted to talk to me about
—
we were finally going to be a family: me, Bobby, and our baby girl.

I couldn't wait to see him; I couldn't wait to talk. And so, I made sure that I had dressed the part: a fire-red bra and thong with a matching silk knit kimono. Just as I slipped into my stiletto mules, I heard the beeps from the alarm indicating that the front door had opened.

As I came down the stairs, Bobby waited for me at the bottom, and even though we had been together for ten years, that man still made my heart do that butterfly flutter thang. Everything about that man made me go, "Hmph, hmph, hmph!" From his sculpted chest, to his bowed legs, to the way he held his head, and his lopsided smile. But the best part of him was that face. A face that every camera loved.

"Hey, baby," I whispered, pulling my voice from my throat.

As Bobby's eyes glided over me, I tossed my bone-straight hair over my shoulders and rested my hands on my waist, posing for my man. This was why I worked out; this was why I hardly ate. And this was why I was a perfect size four.

When I thought Bobby'd had his fill, I strutted over and leaned into him. I pressed against him, and I could feel the beat of his heart
—
and other parts. Then, Bobby did something that he never did
…
he eased away from me.

That made me chuckle a little. My man wasn't going to waste any time. He wanted to get right to it.

But when Bobby moved toward the living room instead of lifting me and carrying me upstairs to our bedroom, I frowned and followed him.

He faced me and said, "Asia, we need to talk."

That was when it came back to me. Seeing Bobby had almost made me forget
—
we were about to have
the talk
. I was giddy again and wondered if Bobby had brought the engagement ring already, or were we going to buy it together?

Bobby sat on the couch, and I eased down next to him. After he let a couple of moments pass, he said, "We've been together for a long time, and I never meant for things to go on like this for so long."

I pouted, just a little, but only because he loved it when I did that with my lips. "Baby, it's okay. The past doesn't matter. It's all about what's happening now."

His forehead creased, and that was when I realized that he really thought that I didn't know why he was here.

I laughed. "Baby, I know what you're going to say."

His frown deepened.

I said, "I knew it when you said that you wanted to come over." I cupped my hands over his. "I know this is gonna be hard, but it's best for Caroline."

Bobby flinched, but I knew why. I'd kinda broken the unspoken rule
—
that his wife's name was never to be spoken. But since he was about to divorce her, it didn't matter.

I said, "And this is definitely best for me and Angel."

His eyes narrowed.

I guess I just needed to come out and say it. "Angel is going to be so excited when we tell her that we're getting married."

Bobby snatched his hands away from me and jumped up like he'd been bitten by a snake. "No!" He started pacing back and forth.

"What is wrong with you, baby?" I asked him.

He was breathing heavy when he said, "You don't understand
…
I've decided
…
to stay
…
with my wife."

Okay, now see, I had to figure out why my man had stopped speaking English.

He said, "I'm going to be working at ESPN, and I want to change every part of my life. I want to honor my wife."

His words literally took my breath away. But I had enough air to ask, "What did you say?"

"I want to honor
…
my wife. I owe this to her."

That fool had gone and said the wrong thing! I sprang up from the couch and got right in his face. "Owe it to your wife? What about me? What do you owe me?"

"You'll never have to worry. I'll take care of you."

"You think that's enough?" I could feel my neck rolling with each word. I may have been living the high life for the last ten years, but right now, every bit of my Compton-life-before-Bobby was coming out of me.

"I'll take care of Angel, too."

"Damn straight since she's your daughter." I glared at him. "I cannot believe this. I thought you were coming here to tell me that we were getting married."

He looked at me as if I were the one who was speaking a different language. "I never made you that promise."

That was when I went all the way off. I reminded him that I'd had his baby. He reminded me that he had a wife. I told him that I thought he loved me. And he said nothing
—
just turned his back on me.

I don't know what made me do it. Maybe it was the ten years that we spent together or the fact that he was actually leaving
me
for
his wife
. But my fists started flying, hitting his face, his chest, anyplace where I could connect. It wasn't like I really thought my hands were lethal weapons, but I sure hoped that I would kill him. Or at the very least, I wanted to give him the beat down of his life.

But Bobby was stronger; he held me until I calmed down, but then he was smart enough to back out of the apartment and never take his eyes off of me
…
.

"Mom! You've got to talk to Dad!" Angel said pushing her phone into my hand.

I blinked. It was just a couple of seconds, but with all the emotions that I'd just relived from that morning six years ago, I really didn't feel like talking to Bobby. But with Angel standing there, staring in my face, I took the phone from her.

"Be nice," she whispered.

With a tilt of my head, I painted on as fake a smile as I could.
“
Hello, Bobby," I said in an exaggerated, affected tone that was meant to mimic his wife's.

“Hey, Asia, what’s up?” Bobby said, sounding all chipper, as if he didn't even notice what I was doing.

"Nothing," I said, returning to my own voice. "Angel said you wanted to speak to me."

"Oh, yeah." There was surprise in his tone as if he couldn't believe that I wanted to get right to business.

I understood his surprise. There were some days when I didn't feel like speaking to him, and then there were days when we would be on the phone for hours, making me sometimes feel like he was mine again. Of course, the long conversations were always under the guise of our daughter and her best interests. But when I felt like it, I could keep Bobby talking for as long as I wanted. Which was one of the reasons why I believed that I could get Bobby back if I wanted him.

Except, I didn't want him. At least, not in the way that he wanted me. If I were to ever be with Bobby, it would have to be a full-fledged relationship. All Bobby wanted, though, was a jump-off, and I was not that chick. So I'd gotten over it, over him, and had moved on.

Bobby said, "Well…uh…you know next week is Christmas.”

“
Yeah," I said, as I sat back in the chair and tapped in the password on my iPad. I hadn't checked my Facebook page all day, and while half-listening to Bobby, this would be the perfect time to do it.

"Well
…
uh
…
"

Okay, that made me pause. I knew Bobby Johnson. I knew him as if I were his wife. In fact, that's how he'd treated me
—
as his Los Angeles-based wife, while the woman who wore the real wifey ring stayed behind in their home in Dallas. So from the years when we were together, I knew everything about Bobby Johnson. I knew about the heart-shaped birthmark that was hidden inside his left thigh, I knew how he smelled after sex, and I knew how much of an attitude he had every time the Lakers lost a game. I knew his favorite cologne, his shirt size, suit size, and shoe size.