Never Say Never (34 page)

“But if I give in to them, who will I be? I love you, Jamal. Now, if you don't love me, then you can walk out that door. But if you stay, know that I'll never leave you.”

He kissed me. “Then let's do this thing together, forever.”

We had figured out our life, without my parents' money. And in fact, because of them, we'd married sooner, just four months later, over the Christmas holiday. A call to Pastor Ford, telling her what my parents had done and what we wanted to do. Then, with just six people in the sanctuary, we became husband and wife.

It was the best day of my life. And with the gift certificate from Pastor for a two-night stay at the Westin, it was the best night of my life, too.

Through the academic struggles, the financial struggles, the working struggles, we were so happy. We had each other and we had love. Unconditional love. A love that I'd never known. A love I thought I'd have forever.

But forever hadn't lasted very long. And now I didn't have anyone in my life who truly loved me.

I was alone. And alone was such a scary place to be.

34

Miriam

B
efore God had made me a wife, before He blessed me with my children, He had given me friends.

Friendship was not a relationship I ever wanted, and I definitely didn't need it. At least, not until I walked into the suite that I'd been assigned at USC.

I'd been so apprehensive when I found out that I had to have roommates. The full scholarship I received from Upward Bound paid my tuition, fed me, and gave me shelter, but that promise of a roof over my head didn't include having my own room.

I completely dreaded the prospect of having to live with two girls.

Until I met them.

In a letter, I'd been told their names: Emily Harrington, from Jackson, Mississippi; and Michelle Lee, from Omaha, Nebraska. The two of them were already in the townhouse when Chauncey drove me to the school, sitting in the middle of the floor, with their legs crossed and one of those supersize bags of barbecued potato chips between them. When I walked in, they were chatting and laughing like old friends.

Within minutes, though, I found out that this was just how Emily and Michellelee were, and they drew me into their circle, literally.

“We've been waiting for you,” the white girl said as she jumped up to help me with my bags since Chauncey had gone to find a parking space. I figured she was Michelle, the one from Omaha.

But then the other one, who was gorgeous enough to be a model, said, “Hi, Miriam. I'm Michelle Lee. But that was my Midwest name; now that I'm in LA, my new name is Michellelee.” She fanned out her hands in the air, as if she was setting her name in lights.

“Isn't that cool?” the white girl, who I now figured was Emily, said.

“Uh. Yeah, Michelle Lee.”

“No! Michellelee, it's all one word,” Michelle explained. “I figured that since I'm going to be famous one day, I need a single name. Something like . . . Oprah.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, knowing for sure that she was a little weird.

And the white girl said, “I'm Emily. Just Emily.” She laughed as if she'd told a joke. And Michellelee laughed, too.

Both of these girls seemed kind of special in a they-might-have-to-be-committed-one-day sort of way. But they weren't lazy. Before Chauncey had the chance to park, they'd helped me drag my three bags into the first-floor bedroom that they'd left for me, and then we went out for pizza.

“Since Chauncey has a car, he can take us,” Michellelee said, as if she was the boss of all of us.

“Yeah,” Emily piped in. “And I'll pay for everything.”

It was fine with Chauncey, so it was good for me. By the time we got back to our townhouse, we really were friends.

Michellelee made us laugh, Emily was so generous, and they both embraced Chauncey. We started off that day as strangers, but
by that night we were friends, and before August turned the calendar to September, Emily and Michellelee were truly the sisters I'd never had.

Talk about having each other's back. They'd been by my side when I'd stumbled into the townhouse after the trauma of my first Statistics exam. When I received a D in Biology, Emily tutored me even though she'd only received a C. And it was because of Michellelee that I auditioned for the drama club, and after my performance in our first play, a rendition of
Fences
, she demanded that I change my major to theater arts.

We had cried together, laughed together, studied together, and made it through one of the best colleges in the country together. And our after-college life was just as connected. They were with me when I married, gave birth, and now, had been with me through Chauncey's death.

Always by my side, and I'd let them down, especially Emily.

I needed to fix everything, but I didn't know how. For the past three days, I'd just been walking through life, filling the hours with housework, breaking up sibling fights, watching TV with my children, and preparing four-course dinners that looked a lot like Thanksgiving.

But though I'd worked hard to fill my time, nothing filled the void left by not speaking to Jamal or Emily, or even Michellelee.

Fear had me working like a madwoman during the day and then that same fright kept my eyes open at night. I wasn't sure if I'd had five hours of sleep in the last seventy-two hours, and there was no way I'd survive another night without answers.

So, I did the only thing that I could. I called Michellelee.

“Hi,” I said, sounding weak and scared even to my own ears. “It's Miriam.”

“I know who it is,” she said, sounding like she wasn't quite sure if she should've answered the phone.

I ignored her tone. “I really need to talk to you.”

“Okay,” she said. “You know how it is with us, speak.”

“No,” I said. “I need to do this in person.”

“Well, I'm already at the studio, and with a full news day, I won't be able to come down there till after work and that might be pretty late tonight.”

Inside, I groaned. It was only ten in the morning; I'd never make it through the rest of the day. “What if I come to you? Would you have just ten minutes to talk?”

It had to be my desperation that made her say, “Sure,” without hesitation. Michellelee was in the middle of a hectic workday and she wasn't anywhere near happy with me. Yet she was going to make time. Sisters. A gift I didn't deserve.

“Okay, I'll be there in”—I glanced at the clock—“thirty minutes. And I promise it'll only be ten minutes.”

Michellelee told me to meet her at the coffee shop around the corner from the studio, and before I hung up, I had already grabbed my purse. It wasn't until I was in the van that I realized I should've changed my clothes. These jeans and this T-shirt, my standard Mommy gear, made me grossly underdressed. But it would have to do. What I needed to learn was far more important than what I was wearing. So I hit the freeway, tuned the radio to KJLH, and tried to bust the speakers. I figured that if I gave myself a headache I wouldn't be able to focus on what was in my head.

Thirty-five minutes later, I swerved into the parking lot, then hurried inside to search for Michellelee. When I didn't see her, I ordered a green tea, then chose a table far away from the bustle of the front of the coffeehouse.

I wrapped my hands around the cup, soothed by the warmth. When another five minutes passed, I had a moment of doubt and
wondered if my friend was going to show up. But just seconds after that thought, Michellelee glided into the shop.

It only took her a moment to spot me, then several minutes to make her way through the patrons who stopped to say hello, snap a picture, and one who asked for an autograph. I studied her as she made her way to me, trying to see signs, anything that would give me a hint.

By the time she made her way to the table, she'd used up almost five minutes of the ten that I promised her. She stood over me for a little while, then finally she leaned down and hugged me. “How you doing, girl?”

I nodded. “Thanks for seeing me. I didn't think you would after the last time.”

She laid her hand over mine as she sat down. “Miriam, I was mad as hell, but we're friends, no matter what.”

“Thanks for saying that,” I said, though I wondered if those would be her sentiments if I told her the truth. Then I looked down at the tea in my hands. “Michellelee, did you . . . say anything?”

“About what?”

My eyes were still lowered, but I knew hers were on me.

“Did you say anything . . . about what you asked me the other day?”

“Was there anything to say?” She added, “Is there something going on with you and Jamal?”

Just like the last time, I burst into tears, making Michellelee lean back in her chair. When I looked up, I knew there was no longer the need to play this game of chicken.

As the tears rolled down my face, I said, “I don't know how it happened. I don't know . . .”

When she stood up, I thought she was so pissed that she was just leaving me there to cry. But she was back in a second, with a couple of napkins from the dispenser.

“Thank you,” I mumbled as I wiped my face. “I am so sorry. You don't have any idea.”

Michellelee shook her head slightly. “I don't understand how this could happen.”

So I told her the story. Of how it started on that Saturday. Of how my tears had come first, and then our hug, and then I told her how we'd found ourselves in bed. I didn't leave out a single detail, though the way Michellelee finally held up her hands let me know that I may have given her too much information.

“Okay, I get it,” she said. “It started with him comforting you.”

“Yes, and me comforting him.”

“And it ended in bed.”

“It never should have, but yes.”

“More than once?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did it happen more than once?”

Slowly, I nodded.

She groaned. “It would've been hard, but I could've understood once, but more—”

“It always happened for the same reason,” I sniffed. “It was never planned, and now I don't know what to do.”

“I can tell you what to do: stay away from Jamal!” she shouted. Then, when she saw people looking at us, she lowered her voice. “What you did was jacked up.”

“I know, but it's over. That's what you walked in on Tuesday. Jamal was telling me we couldn't see each other anymore.” I paused and added, “And I agreed.” That last part was a little lie. I mean, I did agree with Jamal in my head. I just didn't agree with him in my heart. “And I haven't heard from Jamal since, but I'm really scared 'cause I haven't heard from Emily either. Have you spoken to them?”

She shook her head. “No, I've been so busy with the election and
the arsonist's trial. And frankly, I didn't want to see either of them until I decided what I was going to do.”

“Well, thank you so much for not telling Emily, but I still feel like something's wrong.” Then I spoke my greatest fear. “Michellelee, suppose Emily knows. Suppose she found out some way?”

Michellelee bobbed her head up and down, slowly, as if she were pondering my words. “That would be tough, but we're not going to go there yet. Let me find out what's going on before you start having a nervous breakdown.”

“Okay.”

“I'll give Em a call and see if she knows anything.”

“Okay.”

“And then, if she does, we'll figure it out, but if she doesn't, I'm not going to say anything.”

I'd been prepared to get down on my knees right here and beg Michellelee to keep quiet. Then she said, “I'm not doing that for you. I'm doing that for Emily. Because I'm not trying to blow up her marriage . . .”

The way she let her words trail off made it sound as if Michellelee thought that's what I was trying to do. But I wasn't . . .

She said, “Now, Miriam . . . are you sure—”

I didn't even let her finish. “Yes, yes, yes! It's over.”

“Good!” She gave a quick glance at her watch. “I'm sorry, but I've got to get back.”

“Oh, I know, go. I just appreciate you meeting me.”

“Wish it could've been longer.” She stood. “But I promise I'm going to find out what's going on.” She hooked her purse strap onto her shoulder and added, “I don't know how we're going to do it, but we'll find a way to be all right. We have to.”

All I did was nod, because I didn't want to tell Michellelee how ridiculous it was for her to think that Emily would consider me anything
but an enemy after this. If Emily knew or if she ever found out, I'd be lucky to escape with my life.

I was just about to get up, but Michellelee held out her hand, stopping me. Instead, she leaned over and gave me another hug. “Love you,” she said.

“Mean it,” I whispered back, because right about now, I wasn't sure that I deserved her love.

Then Michellelee sailed through the crowd again, stopping every few steps, leaving exactly the way she came in.

I sat alone for quite a long time, thinking. Could it be possible that even if Emily did find out, she could find forgiveness in her heart for me?

I didn't dare wish, I didn't dare hope. I just closed my eyes. But as much as I tried, I still couldn't pray.

35

Emily

T
he October breeze wrapped around me while the sand tickled my toes. It was chilly, but I strolled on the edge of the Pacific, taking in the sounds of Saturday in Santa Monica. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had an afternoon like this. It almost felt like a day off, though I had worked this morning. One client, just LaTonya.

Once that appointment ended at ten, I had to deal with my own life, and I'd come home. It didn't take me long to realize I couldn't spend another moment in that condo, staring at the antique-white walls. So I'd trudged outside to enjoy the afternoon in a way that Jamal and I loved, walking along the beach.