Feelin' the Vibe (12 page)

“Hey, Devin,” she said, reaching out for a hug.

“What’s going on, Bae?”

I held her extra long, allotting myself more time to get my head together. When we pulled apart, it could have been my imagination,
but she pierced through me like she knew I’d done something. She frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”

I laughed off the guilt and jokingly said, “Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”

She looked at the watch. “Uh. Kind of surprised you’re home so early. I’m happy to see you, though.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right, Mr. Patterson.”

I smiled at her, but my mind was on the other side of town, and I definitely couldn’t explain to her that I had a meeting
with my girl that got away. I headed down to the basement and Taylor called from the top of the stairs. “Devin, are you going
to eat?”

“In a minute.”

I stood in my home theater, gazing at all the movie posters in the light boxes hanging around the midnight walls. Every heroine
in the pictures momentarily resembled Clark. I put my hands over my face and shook my head. The disappointment and hurt in
her eyes just wouldn’t leave my mind. I wished I could give her a baby. I wish she had mine.

“Devin!” Taylor yelled, as she entered the room. She paced slowly around me, her face balled in confusion. I jumped, hoping
she couldn’t telepathically hear my thoughts. She tilted her head. “Are you okay, Devin?”

I took a deep breath and slouched into the red velvet love seat in the last of the three rows of seating. Before sitting beside
me, she pushed the door shut, making the room pitch-black. I could talk without her really being able to see my expressions.

“You know, I really want to win this election. And I…” I paused and wrapped my arm around her. “I know this is hard for you
and I know you said you’ll support me, but there are going to be days that I need complete solitude. Sometimes I have so much
on my mind that I just want to explode, and like, today, I canceled everything and came home just to think.”

“Devin, I understand. I knew it would be this way. That’s why I didn’t want you to do this, because I wanted to at least have
you for the first year of our marriage. I just thought we’d be having fun, traveling, celebrating.”

“Taylor, there’s more to life.”

“Really?” she responded sarcastically, and shook her head. And there was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Finally, she
stood up. “Well, Devin, I’ll give you solitude.”

She walked out and headed upstairs. Moments later, I heard her walking overhead, on the phone with Courtney. They took cackling
hens to the extreme, laughing loud, talking about nothing, but I appreciated it. Their relationship allowed me the moments
I needed to steal away. I reclined in the chair and stared at the ceiling, watching the reel of my life. After nearly an hour,
I walked upstairs. The house was dim, and soft R & B played through the upstairs speakers.

When I entered the bedroom, the lights were still on and Taylor was sitting with her back against the headboard, wearing a
sexy pink bra-and-panty set. She flipped through the pages of one of her little relationship books, which obviously made her
horny. She looked up at me and reached down to play with herself. Usually, that would get me rock hard, but I was hardly aroused.
I stood on the side of the bed and watched, coaxing my dick to get with the program. It just wasn’t interested. She turned
her body to face me and positioned me between her legs. I wrapped my arms around her and prayed that she would kiss it. She
unbuckled my pants and finally I felt the blood rushing to join the party. She yanked it out my pants and I throbbed in her
hands. She wrapped her soft lips around me like she loved to taste me. Finally, I was spiritually home with my wife. Some
things are better left in the past. The worry and stress in my head disappeared as she soaked up my frustration. My hands
clamped on to her hair and my breathing increased. Seconds away from my damn climax, she abruptly stopped. I looked at her
and frowned. She yanked on my shirt. “Devin, where the fuck have you been?”

My penis hadn’t completely gone down; instead, it, too, formed a question mark. My face twisted. “What the fuck?”

“You got makeup on your damn shirt!” She pushed me and stood up. My pants dangling around my ankles forced me to stumble backward.
She grabbed the right side of my electric blue shirt in her fist. Shaking it up and down with every syllable, she said, “Whose
makeup is this, Devin? Why do you have smeared makeup on your shirt?” Her voice quivered and the hurt lingered long after
the last word.

My mouth was open, but I was like a retard. Incoherent sounds escaped and my tongue slightly dangled. Suddenly, her hand struck
me across my face and I snapped out of it. I grabbed her arm and looked sternly into her eyes. “Taylor, calm down.”

She yanked away from me. “Calm down? Tell me where the hell you’ve been to get makeup on your shirt first.”

I reached down to pull my pants up, because this wasn’t going so well and I didn’t need her having the advantage over me.
As I buckled my pants, I tried to appear calm. “Look, I’m running for office and—”

“Devin, don’t talk to me like I’m crazy.” Her eyes shot at me. “I’m not crazy. Where did you go from the time I had lunch
with you until you came home?”

Damn, this shit was really blowing me. Maybe this is why I was never the cheating type. This was too stressful. It was like
she knew from the moment I stepped in the door. She just needed proof, and here I was with the evidence smeared all over me.

“Taylor, baby?”

Tears filled her eyes.
You gotta be fucking kidding me!
I thought. This was too much emotion for one man in one day. I smirked and looked at her. “I went to the teachers union meeting
at four, and those ladies were in there talking about their salaries and how the kids are delinquents.” I took a deep breath.
“Things got emotional. I hugged a lot of women. Honestly, I don’t know whose makeup this is.”

I dropped my head and huffed like I was frustrated. When I looked up, she looked embarrassed, confused, and convinced. It
was bunch of emotions, with the cloud of woman’s intuition provoking her actions. She felt vulnerable, so I reached out and
pulled her to me. She lay on my chest and I stroked her hair.

She asked, “Are you sure that’s what happened?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Her reluctance lingered for a several minutes longer, but finally, she said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me when
I looked up and saw that makeup.”

“Shh. Don’t worry, baby. We all make mistakes.” I repeated, “We all make mistakes.”

She nodded on my chest, and I hoped she couldn’t feel my heart beating. I said, “Taylor J.”

“What?”

“I love you. I didn’t get married to cheat. I got married to have a partner through thick and thin. Right?”

“I guess.” She laughed a little. “I guess, Devin.”

I held her shoulders and pulled back to see her face. “You know I’m right. I’m not stupid enough to come home with makeup
on my shirt. Don’t compare me to losers. I’m not a loser.”

She pushed me and climbed back into the bed. I sat on the side of the bed and massaged her back. For the first time, I looked
down at the makeup. Clark was still a part of me.

I
begged my mother for years to move in with Kenneth and me in hopes that she could help me out with Morgan and Mia, especially
when we initially started trying to have a baby. It seemed she gave me every excuse in the book why she couldn’t do it. But
when my brother, Reggie, divorced his wife and moved back to Maryland from New York, she immediately put a
FOR SALE
sign on her lawn with no reservations. She claimed he needed her help more than me, because it’s not intuitive for men to
raise kids. Little Reggie was doing fine with his father the entire time they were in New York. I concluded that mothers have
a different type of connection with sons than they do with daughters.

I called Kenneth to see what time he planned to come home. Of course, he was working late. So I headed downtown to Reggie’s
townhome on the pier of the Baltimore Inner Harbor to see my mother.

When I pulled up, I parked on the street. For a two-million-dollar home there should be more parking. Reggie lived in New
York for eleven years, and when he moved back he wanted that same metropolitan type of lifestyle. He could have had a sprawling
estate for the price. Instead, he had a four-story brick townhome and a two-car garage, with minimum street parking.

I rang the doorbell and looked through the keys as if I’d be able to find the right one. Finally, my mother opened the door.
I barely saw her face. The back of her flowered housecoat swished from side to side and her slippers slid on the ebony hardwood
floors as she rushed back upstairs.

The charcoal leather couch and large artwork that hung behind it was the first thing I saw when I walked up the short flight
of steps leading to the grand living room. Cream pillows accented the neutral decor. The wall in between the living room and
the family room had various-sized cutouts with glass sculptures in each. Reggie hired an interior designer to do it all, and
it was obvious. The floors glowed, the white speckled granite countertops sparkled, and the glass accent tables were dust
free and squeegee-clean. Reggie believed in doing it big, and each time I came here I was reminded of how little I could do.
I needed a decorator and a housekeeper, too. Instead, all my money went to something that should cost nothing.

My mother had propped herself back on the long olive couch in the family room and pulled her many remotes from her pocket.
She was hypnotized by whatever was playing on the fifty-inch flat screen. I stood at the edge of the room for a moment and
delighted in her lax, lush lifestyle. Reggie had come back to Baltimore and lifted every burden she had. And she loved helping
him raise Little Reggie and simply enjoying her retirement. Her hairdo was even worry free since she’d recently got all of
her hair cut off, exposing her natural salt-and-pepper curls. She didn’t have to do anything but wet it and go. It worked
well with her naturally sun-kissed bronze complexion. She giggled at the show and finally turned to acknowledge me.

I smiled. “Ma, is this all you do?”

As I leaned in to give her a hug, she replied, “No, I cook dinner.”

“Wow.”

“Wow, nothing.”

Little Reggie walked into the room, slugging down a Monster Energy drink. I gave him a hug. “How’s my superstar nephew doing?”

He was a sophomore at the Gilman School, and he excelled in everything—sports, academics, and anything else. His average height
and caramel brown skin reminded me so much of Reggie when he was fifteen. Although Little Reggie was quite a bit more muscular
than Reggie had ever been. In between running with women, Reggie had done an outstanding job with him. I always prayed that
Little Reggie never inherits that womanizer trait. Trying to take the Monster from his hand, I said, “You know you don’t need
to be drinking that.”

“Why, Aunt C?”

My mother frowned at me, and I explained the problem: “Because some kids are drinking these and claiming it makes them feel
drunk.”

“Clark, you’ve been so uptight lately.”

Little Reggie smiled, exposing his cosmetically engineered teeth. “That’s the same thing Morgan said.”

I opted not to debate with them. After all I’d been going through, they’re lucky that I’d only been uptight. My mother asked,
“What made you come over here?”

“Just felt like I wanted to see you and Reggie. Where is he?”

“Probably out to dinner.” She used her fingers as quotes. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to infer that he was on a date or
out drinking. Fact was, he wasn’t here and I needed his energy at that moment. My brother was the life of the party, the funny
man who managed a bunch of money. He was always out wining and dining rich clients. So there is no wonder he was always in
a great mood.

“So, whatchu cook, Ma?”

My stomach growled, but I didn’t want to swallow. I just wanted to think about Devin and imagine my life if we were together.

“We had leftover fish.” I frowned and she scrunched her eyebrows. “Well, that’s what we had.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Clark, you crazy, girl. So what brought you down here?”

I asked Little Reggie to go upstairs, and he bopped away in his baggy sweats and large T-shirt. I needed to speak to my mother
alone. By the time he hit the stairs, my mother sat up and lowered the volume on the television. “What’s wrong? Is Kenny okay?”

I chuckled a little. “Why you ask that?”

“I mean, Morgan said that when she calls home, he’s been working late and acting strange.”

“I mean, yeah, he’s been acting that way since I told him that I refused to keep putting my body through this. That was like
two and a half months ago, and—”

“Clark, that’s not a decision you can make by yourself. Did you ask him?”

I sighed, “Ma, it’s my body. He doesn’t understand, but honestly, that’s not what I came here to talk about.”