Choose Me (26 page)

“It amazes me how people use God’s name so carelessly but are so afraid to use it in praise as easily,” I told him, not caring
if I sounded high and mighty.

He slowly stepped in front of me. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just that you make me so … crazy. Here I am opening myself to you
… If you think this is a cheap attempt at getting you to change your mind, to get you to have sex with me eventually, let
me tell you, I don’t have to work this hard. There are women out there I could have, easy.”

I looked at him askance. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to feel grateful or jealous by his last statement.

The wind was picking up in intensity, and without my hat to keep my hair in place, it blew wildly all over. He reached out
to brush it away from my face, but when I crossed my arms, he stopped. He gripped the railing instead and continued. “But
I don’t want that. What I’m trying to say is, I’m willing to make an effort to have that kind of relationship with you and
whatever happens, happens. But don’t assume that you know what’s going to happen, ’cause you don’t. Nobody knows. You’re not
a psychic or a prophet.”

“You don’t have to be a prophet to see the future.”

Adam leaned against the railing with weariness and held up his hands as if in surrender. I grappled with my inner voices.
Is this man for me, God? He said he’s willing to try. Should I believe him?
I didn’t have to wait long, because the answer came in the wind.
Yes, yes, yes.
Or maybe I thought I heard it.

Nervously, I peeled myself away from the corner and stood in front of him. He looked at me with what seemed like tired, lifeless
eyes. I reached up and attempted to cup his face with my hands, but this time, it was he who pulled back in defense, as if
I were going to hurt him. As I pulled his face down to mine, he still looked suspicious, his thick brows furrowed. With my
thumbs, I stroked his eyebrows, taming the wild hairs that were sticking out, easing their tension.

“
Adán,
you’ve been on my mind, too. A lot.”

And then our lips touched.

THE DANTÉ CONCERT
was in a small club called God Search, a sort of spiritual “Star Search” for religious artists who were
looking to succeed in the Christian music industry. Apparently, Danté’s drummer was related to the owner of the club, who
had arranged for them to play a benefit. The place was jumping just like a real concert, complete with people raising the
roof, albeit in praise, and holding up cigarette lighters. The way the crowd was yelling and clapping and dancing gave the
impression that they were high on drugs or booze. Maya caught me eyeing them suspiciously and explained that they were high
on the spirit. While I was feeling the music, swaying to the reggae beat along with everyone else, I didn’t feel the same
holy fervor that Eva and Maya seemed to be feeling as they lifted their hands in worship, their eyes closed in reverence.
Even with gospel, my main choice of worship music, I had never felt truly “blessed” and I found myself envious of their open
devotion.

When Maya heard I was taking Eva to the concert, she bought two more tickets for her and Luciano. But Luciano backed out at
the last minute, claiming he had to do something for his mother. He didn’t tell Maya the truth, that Lisa had finally called
him because she was ready to talk. The night of the barbecue, he had deliberately gotten drunk and made a fool of himself
because he couldn’t bring himself to tell Maya. Things went according to his plan when Maya left my place angrily, making
it easier for him to go back to Lisa. In his place, Maya invited Simone, neglecting to tell her that Danté was a Christian
band, evidenced by the skin-tight zebra pantsuit she was wearing. Though Luciano’s comments comparing me to a loyal dog at
the party angered me, I had dismissed them as the words of a jealous and intoxicated man.

After the concert, I saw Maya grab Eva’s arm with desperation, leaning against her as they walked ahead together toward the
parking lot. Eva looked back at me helplessly. I had no choice but to walk with Simone who, from the little time I had known
her, seemed to be a very self-assured sister in need of much attention. Although she had two men in her life who apparently
supplied her needs, she didn’t seem happy or satisfied. But since she had been Eva and Maya’s friend since high school, something
kept their friendship intact.

“How did you like the concert, S’Monée?” I asked, remembering how she had corrected Maya’s pronunciation of her name when
we were first introduced.

“I could kill Maya for inviting me,” Simone said furiously, hugging her jacket around her.

I smiled. “I’m guessing she didn’t tell you they played Christian music.”

“Did
you
know?”

“Yeah. I heard them before. I like the music.”

“Man, it just seems like everywhere I turn these days, somebody’s trying to get me saved. I mean, I go to church—every once
in a while. I’m a good person—most of the time. I’m happy with my spirituality. Why can’t people just let people believe what
they want to believe, you know what I’m saying?”

“It must be hard to be the friend of two sisters who are so close,” I said, gesturing toward Eva and Maya who were whispering
and clinging to each other as if they were privy to a conspiracy.

“Sometimes. I have two sisters but we’re not as close. They were always so jealous of me when we were growing up. Maya and
Eva are closer to me than they are. The only area we don’t see eye-to-eye is this salvation thing. Oh, and Eva and I definitely
don’t agree on the topic of men.”

When I didn’t answer, she continued.

“Like I don’t think one man can satisfy one woman’s needs and vice versa. And I don’t believe you necessarily have to love
someone to have sex with them. Eva thinks sex outside of marriage is a
sin,
.” She said the word “sin” like it was a curse word.

I smiled evasively and didn’t say anything since she really didn’t ask me a direct question.

“What do you think? You think you’ll change her mind or will she change yours?”

I took the Fifth once again, knowing how women talk and that anything I said would almost certainly get back to Eva.

She laughed. “Alright, it’s none of my business. Did you know we call her Evileen?”

“To her face or behind her back?” I asked, trying not to show my amusement.

“Both. ’Cause she’s such a man-hater.”

“I don’t think she’s so much a man-hater as she is selective.”

She looked at me skeptically. “Are you one of those saved people?”

“Well, officially, I did accept Jesus as my savior when I was twelve, but I guess they’d say I’m a backslider since I don’t
go to church regularly and all.”

“
Et tu,
Judas?” she asked.

I was surprised with her astuteness at mixing Shakespeare and the New Testament, and I guess it showed on my face because
she laughed again and nudged me.

“I’m not just a pretty face and a great body,” she teased.

Her coquettishness made me a little uneasy and I was glad when we reached Maya’s SUV in the parking lot. Maya hurried somberly
into the passenger side of the truck.

“So, what’s up for the rest of the night?” Simone asked as Eva walked up.

“Maya wants to go home. She’s kind of upset,” Eva explained.

“Why?” Simone asked. Eva gave her one of those surreptitious looks women give each other that only they can understand. I
looked away pretending I was invisible and waited. Maya had picked up Eva and Simone in her SUV, so I knew either they would
all go with Maya and have a therapy session, or Simone was going to draw the short straw and have to play the role of chauffeur
and nursemaid. Although I was looking forward to having dinner with Eva, I also knew I was the new guy and could easily be
the first casualty.

“I’m not ready to go home,” Simone said stubbornly. “I’m hungry.”

Eva gave her a harsh look and then pulled Simone’s jacket sleeve, dragging her toward the rear of the truck. I could see they
were arguing and I decided to do the right thing and make myself scarce. I walked up to them.

“You guys go on ahead. We’ll talk later, Eva.”

“No. Simone’s going to take Maya home,” Eva said firmly, looking grimly at Simone. “She’s in no condition to drive.” I glanced
toward the truck and saw Maya’s face puffy from crying. I felt slightly guilty but at the same time glad that Eva wanted to
be with me as much as I wanted to be with her.

“What is she, drunk?” Simone asked bitterly.

“Good night, Simone,” Eva said.

“S’Monée. Why can’t you respect my wishes and call me by my name? Adam did,” Simone demanded, her eyes blazing. She opened
the driver’s door. Then she turned back around. “Hey, how am
I
supposed to get home?”

“Tell Alex to drop you off. Or spend the night. Figure it out, S’Monée,” Eva retorted.

As we walked toward my car, I began to wonder if it was a good idea for us to have dinner since Eva seemed so irritated, not
to mention that during the concert, I had noticed her wincing and surmised she had one of her headaches, although she didn’t
complain. I didn’t want her to take it out on me. When she had leaned against me during a slow song, I could smell the mint
massage oil on her temple combined with her usual rose oil scent.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” I offered. “If you want to go with your girls …”

“No, I’m fine. I’m just tired of being everyone’s therapist. Everybody thinks I’m supposed to be this strong person and I
have all the answers. But then they don’t like the answers I give them.”

My car was parked several spaces away in the lot. I surmised that Maya’s meltdown had to do with Luciano, recalling how Maya
had excused herself several times to go to the bathroom, clutching her cell phone. I caught the look of exasperation and disgust
growing on Eva’s face. We both knew she was trying to reach Luciano on
his
cell.

“She finally got hold of Luciano,” Eva said after we rode in silence for several blocks. “She knows he wasn’t at his mother’s.”
I still wore my poker face but she didn’t call me on it. “She could tell by the way he was talking that he was with his wife.
You know, cagey, whispering. She thinks he was in bed with her.”

“Well, she
is
his wife.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Of course she is. Maya’s strong. As long as she leans on God and stays away from Luciano, she’ll be fine.”

I didn’t respond.

“She’ll be okay,” Eva said as if trying to convince herself. “I’ll call her later.”

We had reservations at Buono Dio, one of the many restaurants that were sprouting up in the increasing gentrified areas all
over Chicago. The restaurant boasted a neo-Italian-American cuisine. I ordered my staple steak and potatoes with a pesto salad,
while Eva ordered whitefish with garlic vegetables, the sauce on the side. She always insisted that all her condiments be
served, “on the side,” which usually elicited rolled eyes or blank stares from the waitstaff. It was something that would
have driven me crazy in any other woman, but not with Eva.

She looked cool and chic in a paisley print pantsuit, the jacket long to her calves and a backward Kangol beret on her head.
Her hair was gathered in a relaxed ponytail, loose tendrils hanging from the sides of her temples. In the last two weeks,
since the night she confessed her feelings for me, we kept in contact via phone calls and almost daily e-mails. I had kept
the compliments and endearments to a minimum, trying to play the cool brother, knowing she would see through my radar. But
every once in a while, I slipped. I called her “babe” a couple of times over the phone or inserted rose icons into my e-mail
messages.

We had met for lunch or dinner a few times in the weeks before the concert, and went to the movies and cultural events on
the weekends, during which I noticed many things about Eva. For example, she wore only Indian or African costume jewelry.
She never wore dresses, something I had always thought was characteristic of Christian women. When she wore skirts, they were
long, almost to her ankles. Her blouses covered her arms and hid even the slightest cleavage. I was dying to see her legs
and arms and I wondered if maybe she was concealing some flaw, or scars, but I refused to dwell on the negative. On one unseasonably
warm day, she wore capris with high-heeled sandals, and the sight of her small perfect bare feet with pearl-polished toes
and smooth veins distracted me to the point where I lost my train of thought.

The previous Sunday, she had talked me into going to church to hear a visiting pastor. The pastor, who had a thick Brooklyn
accent and must have been a former stand-up comedian, told jokes throughout his sermon, and had the whole church in stitches.
He had an awesome testimony, which included an abusive childhood, drug addiction, and a prison stint where he found Jesus.
I was humbled by his journey, amazed at how far he had come. When altar call was announced, I expected Eva to nudge me or
glance my way, but she didn’t. I sneaked a peek at her and noticed that she was praying fervently, her eyes closed, and I
wondered whether she was praying for me.

“What did you pray about?” I asked her afterward. “Or is it like birthday wishes, it won’t come true if you tell someone?”

“I prayed for everything.” Then she smiled secretly and added, “And everyone.”

“You want me to get saved?” I then asked, knowing I was treading precarious, sacred ground.

“That would be great. But you should come to the Lord for yourself, when you feel the spirit, for the right reason. Not for
anyone else.”

But sometimes I felt like she was trying to convert me subliminally, on the sly, slipping under my sinner’s veneer like a
spy, using buzzwords like men used pickup lines to woo women.

I had actually contemplated taking the walk up to the altar, saying the words, wondering if it would make a difference in
our relationship. But since I knew I’d be doing it for the wrong reason, it was a little too sacrilegious even for me. To
me, her pious world was a whole other culture, a whole other dimension.