Chapter One
Astalia
A December Wedding
December 7, 2019
“Now, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor says, officially joining my cousin and her new husband’s lives together forever. My mother, who is sitting next to me, chooses that moment to rub her finger over her wedding band. Mom then reaches over to take my hand into hers, and a tender moment passes between us as she looks into my eyes.
I know this reflective gaze, have come to know it very well over the past six months. The agony of losing my father has become a part of her, a part of us. This pain is always somewhere lurking in my mother’s eyes. I never know when it will manifest and bring us both to tears. Watching Rena on her wedding day has sent a freefall of tears to Mom’s timeworn gray eyes. The permanent hurt she has tried to mask with smiles, makeup, and a beautiful dress stares back at me. My heart tightens.
Thirty years ago, my father vowed to love my mother faithfully, until the end. And he did exactly that. James Morgan Sr. was, and will always be, my everything. From grade school to high school, he was my rock. I can’t recall a time in my life when my father wasn’t there for me. He was the loudest person in the stands when I was on the dance squad. Many people thought he had a son on the football team with the way he loudly and aggressively cheered for me at the home games. His excitement made me dance harder, more precise, and with pride. His encouragement brought me through high school drama, college woes, a master’s degree, and a verbally abusive relationship in my senior year. He gave me sound advice and genuine love through good and bad times. Then, three months after my college graduation, he fell asleep at the wheel while driving home from work. This fatal mistake ended his life and forever changed my world.
I squeeze Mom’s hand, my small way of letting her know she’s not alone in this journey back to normalcy. She smiles back at me, looks at Rena and Keith, and wipes away another tear with the tissue in her hand. I don’t know how, but I know my mom will make it through this. My father left big shoes to fill, so I hope her heart will at least heal.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Mom whispers.
“Yes, she is. She looks gorgeous, Mom,” I admit. The glow around Rena is unlike anything I’ve ever seen on her. Her high cheekbones, light complexion, wavy hair, and the perfect pouty lips women pay good money for are some attributes of her natural beauty that are on full display today.
“You’d be even prettier up there,” Mom says and winks at me with a small smile that reminds me of the itty bitty fib I have been telling her.
I drag my eyes away from hers, fearing she’ll be able to see the deceit on my face. “Mom,” is all I say in response.
Today is one of those days where I should be able to simply be happy for my cousin, but I have to sit here and contemplate my issues with finding love. Mom and I made it this far in the wedding ceremony without her mentioning my love life, but now, it’s time to grin and bear the discomfort of her wanting to know when I’m going to get married. As soon as I find a man, Mom. Let it go, like for real.
“Soon,” I tell her instead of what I’m thinking. I’ve gotten so good at telling her what she wants to hear that it comes out of my mouth effortlessly.
Satisfied with the fake hope of planning a wedding soon, she squeezes my hand tightly and smiles at me as if I have made her day. Thankfully, for the remainder of the wedding, she sits beside me quietly. I’m glad when the wedding is over. Events like this make her press me harder than ever about getting married.
I drive us to The Rooftop Downtown, a beautiful venue where Rena’s favorite light pink colors light up the building. Entering the reception hall, the first thing I notice is each table covered with this beautiful shade of pink and rarely designed brown bouquets sit in the center of each table. Pink drapery hangs from the ceiling, covering the room as if we’re sitting outside under a fairy-like canopy. The majestic feel Rena desires is so alive in this place that I start to believe the lies I’ve been telling my mother. Maybe, my day with a tall and dark chocolate man built like Idris Elba is coming soon.
When I was a young girl, Mom said every woman should have a love, at one time in life, as meaningful as the one she shared with my father. She still carries that love for him even as his soul rests in heaven—a love that transcends Earth.
Deep down, I want that, all of it.
Looking at Rena and Keith work the room, I know my cousin has found it. He looks at her like she single-handedly hung the stars. She stares back at him like she’s willing to be his forever and one more day. I normally shy away from watching people’s public displays of affection, but I can’t take my eyes off the newlyweds as they walk around the room, meeting and greeting everyone. Their affection is natural, not forced. I will accept nothing less, which, according to the men I’ve met in Alabama and Atlanta, is why I’m single.
Mom and I find the table with our names on it and sit down beside Aunt Carla. I reach over and hug Aunt Carla. She is a dear heart, she is Rena’s mother who is my favorite aunt, and I’m her favorite niece. She makes me feel like I’m good enough just the way I am, has made me feel this way all of my life—always loving and caring, uplifting to a fault. Sitting by her, I feel total comfort and at ease with being who I am—a young, smart black woman who hasn’t found love, and well, hell, it hasn’t found me either.
I don’t even have any prospects, and I giggle silently at that truth. The irony of Mom thinking I’m near marriage in my single situation is damn near satire. It makes me a little sad that I don’t feel nearly as comfortable sitting next to my mother as I do with Aunt Carla. Expectations are always looming with Mom. I’m not saying she’s wrong to have expectations of me—I am her only daughter. However, sometimes, I just want to sit next to her and not feel under siege.
She treats my brothers completely the opposite. No matter what they say or do, they get cheek tugs, smiles, and hugs. Then, she sends them back out into the world to wreak havoc on women’s hearts and live half-assed. Well, at least that’s the truth for my oldest brother, James Jr. My twin—Micah and younger brother, Jacobi, treat their women like they have a heart, but James Jr. can give zero cares about his woman. Still, neither of my brothers can do any wrong in Mom’s eyes.
I glance over at the table where James Jr. is sitting with his fiancé, Melz. He just ‘allegedly’ stopped being a playboy after he turned thirty last month, but the jury is still out on this one. Time will tell. Oh, and did I mention he’s a father of four? Yeah, he bumps that Offset ‘Father of Four’ album as if it’s an accomplishment to have knocked up the sweetest girl I know four times and then proceeded to run around town with all of the hoochies he can find while she’s incubating and mothering his children.
Looking at my brother, I can see why women let him get away with his games though. James takes after our father. He’s a tall and dark glass of hot chocolate who’s always been able to simply crack a smile and melt hearts. His looks are where his similarities with our father end. He uses women for his gratification and never thinks about what’s best for the family that he keeps adding babies to. My father would never treat a woman the way his earthly twin and carrier of his name does.
Melz sits beside James Jr., stroking my eight-month-old niece’s back. While she holds Cambria with one hand, she’s feeding two-year-old James III with the other. James Jr. is talking to Jacobi and one of his friends, enjoying a beer and laughing as if he doesn’t have four, stairstep children that Melz could use his help with. I think about going over to help her, but James Jr. has already tol
d me to stay out of their business. Since I know it will be impossible for me to go over there and help without asking him what’s his problem, I stay seated. My eyes go back to the kind-hearted girl who birthed his stable of children. Melz is the definition of a good woman. However, she’s the kind of good woman I never want to become.
To his credit, James Jr. did finally ask her to marry him a few months ago, and she said yes. She has been with him for over a decade, since their junior year of high school. She hangs in there, waiting for her wedding band for close to twelve years—longer than I would have, for sure. Four children—and a whole lot of dramatics—later, she’s getting her prize. The ring. Whoopie!