Feelin' the Vibe (2 page)

Taylor had told me that the guy she was seeing while I pursued her was her high school sweetheart and she’d broken his heart
way back when. But after running into him at their ten-year class reunion, she’d successfully stolen him from his girlfriend.
I’m thinking this dude lived in the Maryland-DC area or somewhere close. Maybe I didn’t ask enough questions, because Jason
was the guy and he lived in Connecticut, and as far as I knew Jason and Akua had never broken up.

While I was shocked that our worlds intersected in such a crazy way, I was pissed to think that Taylor was dissin’ me for
a dude who already had someone. I couldn’t believe the chick that I’d hyped up in my mind was just another dumb girl. I was
mad as shit. I was mad at Taylor for being stupid, and I was madder at Jason, because after all we’d been through he could
have told me he had a chick on the side in DC. Had he done that, we wouldn’t have had this problem.

Taylor made it seem like she realized Jason wasn’t what she wanted and that’s why they stopping dealing with each other, but
Jason claimed he didn’t want to leave Akua. He said that Akua was the better woman and Taylor was crushed when he broke it
off. He thought Taylor might have intentionally targeted me for revenge. Jason and I debated whether she could have known
we were line brothers and if our relationship was nothing more than an attack on him. I tried to explain that I chased her
and she couldn’t have possibly known. He wasn’t having it. Jason was adamant that she’d masterminded this entire situation.

Momentarily, I wanted to believe that she was a snake in the grass. Then my wisdom kicked in: There was no way possible she
could have known we were connected. Taylor was never the type to play the who-do-you-know or what-do-you-do games. In fact,
she hated “status probing,” as she called it, and avoided it at all costs. Not to mention, at the time I was between New York
and DC. Jason and Akua were in Connecticut, and Taylor was in Maryland. What were the chances? Still, my boy looked me in
my eye and told me that no matter if Taylor did this intentionally or not, he really didn’t want any of his boys with her.
Taylor was his girl that got away. So without question or regret, I ended it right there because men don’t expose those kind
of weak feelings for random chicks. I shook his hand and promised him that he never had to worry. There were too many women
out here.

After more bad conversations, more bad dates, more you’re-such-a-good-man-I-want-to-marry-you-now chicks, I broke my promise.
I could search the whole world, which I had, and never find someone to click with the way Taylor and I did. In the most upstanding
way, I let Jason know that I planned to see where it went with her. I told him as calmly and as honestly as possible that
he had a good woman and I didn’t, so I deserved one, too. Me wanting to be with Taylor should validate our friendship, not
destroy it. Hell, it only meant we both had good taste. Initially, he laughed it off and told me to do what I had to do. He
claimed his sideline with Taylor only strengthened his relationship with Akua. We danced around the fact that there would
be no couples vacations or double dates. That would be too much, but still we were boys and that took precedence over any
soft-ass feelings.

Three months later, my ultimate goal of running for United States Congress seemed attainable. My advisors told me that my
chances were greater if I were married. Voters tend to support politicians they see as committed. There was a part of me that
wanted to get to know Taylor better. Then there was the side that said that I’d seen enough already and why not. I contemplated
all of two days before I drove down to Tyson’s Corner and snatched up a 2.7-karat clear-as-hell solitaire in a platinum channel-set
2.0-karat diamond band from Tiffany.

When I asked Taylor, she took nearly five minutes to say yes. My heart pounded and I regretted it for those moments.
This is too much for her to handle
, I thought.
We don’t know each other that well
.

Finally, she shrugged. “Devin Patterson, why wouldn’t I marry you?”

I told her that I wanted it to be done quick and fast. Partly because I wanted to be married for at least a few months before
I submitted my application for the election and partly before I came to my senses. After we set the date, it was time to announce
to the world that I’d found the one again and this time would be for good. That was when Jason lost his damn mind. He basically
called me every bitch-ass, backstabbing, no-good-for-nothing, rich-boy, spoiled-ass, selfish-motherfucker name in the book.
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized the extent of their little fling, but I was in too deep. I was in love, and Taylor
was my only serious girlfriend since my divorce, nearly seven years ago. So I really didn’t have a choice. My only recourse
was to get Jason to empathize with me.

I went up to Connecticut and reasoned with him. He hung his head. “So, you really love her?”

Holding my chest up, I said, “Yeah, man. And you know I haven’t felt like this for anyone since—”

“Clark. Yeah, I know. So, what about her?”

My eyebrows scrunched up. What the hell was he talking about? “Look, man, Clark is a married woman.”

“Nah, I’m saying what would you say if I told you that I loved Clark and wanted to marry your old girlfriend? A chick that
you had mad love for.”

I gazed off for a minute and then stared him dead in the eye. “Look, man, I would shoot you if you even
thought
about dating Clark.” I laughed a little. “If you tell me you feel as strongly for Taylor as I felt for Clark, I’ll call it
off.”

He reached out to shake my hand. “Nah, dawg. It’s not that heavy. Do what you have to do. Taylor would probably work out better
for someone like you.”

“And besides, you got the baddest chick out here anyway,” I said, referring to his orthopedic-surgeon, sexy-ass, love-his-dirty-drawers
fiancée. We made amends that day, and I was cocky enough to ask him if he’d be my best man. He agreed with a smile.

The wedding had become way more than I expected. Taylor and I wanted something simple, but her father was a pastor of a church
with about six thousand members, and her mother was in charge of the bridal ministry. So, in less than five weeks, we had
nearly five hundred invited guests, a host of church members who planned to just come see us exchange vows. It was all too
much for me. The one simple thing that Taylor and I were able to control was we didn’t want a whole slew of bridesmaids and
groomsmen. Her best friend, Courtney, the maid of honor, and Jason, my best man, were the only members of the bridal party.

The fellas rented a Stretch Hummer to drive us from the rehearsal dinner to the bachelor party. As soon as we hopped in, we
started taking shots, drinking beer, talking loud, and just flat out celebrating the biggest decision a man can make. In the
midst of all the noise and the partying in the limo, I didn’t pay attention to where we were going. When we pulled up to my
condo, I was confused. They started spilling out of the truck when the chauffeur opened the door. I looked at Jason and he
said, “The party is here, dawg.”

I jumped out and we poured into my bachelor pad. The place was sprawling with sexy-ass chicks wearing skimpy thongs and those
hooker heels. They walked around feeding us desserts, kissing on us, and making me question whether I was making the right
choice. There were like three chicks assigned to me at all times, even while each girl performed, a girl personally entertained
me. In a quick glimpse at Jason, a dark cloud hovered over his dark skin. His forehead rippled like he was stressed, as he
stared aimlessly at the dancers. I excused myself from the ladies and staggered over to my boy. His eyes were red and steam
was rising from his bald head. The pit of my stomach felt funny as I stood in front of him. Before I could ask what was going
on with him, he looked into my eyes and said, “You always got to jump on something before somebody else gets it, huh?”

“Man, c’mon now. Stop trippin’.”

Jason was always the one who didn’t mind shedding a tear, and it looked like he was about to. I was too intoxicated for that
comical shit. I snickered, and he looked up at me like he hated me. His stood up and rammed into me and my back banged into
the opposite wall, instantly cracking it. After shaking the shock, I punched him in the face.

The dancers, our line brothers, and everyone else watched on in awe. If they hadn’t been so caught off-guard, they probably
would have tried to stop it. It was as if everyone’s mouth was open, but no one spoke. We trampled over furniture; fixtures
and glasses clanked as they fell to the floor. No one even tried to stop me from whipping Jason’s ass. They watched like we
were scheduled entertainment. He kept calling me a punk-ass nigga, but I couldn’t help thinking how much of a punk he was.
He would have been better off saying something months ago. I slammed his six-foot-two muscular body around like I was a Marvel
superhero. I don’t know where the strength came from. Even though we were about the same height, Jason was more bulky than
me. Maybe I would have called off the damn wedding if I knew this clown would act like this. Here I was again, like déjà vu.
Clark had waited moments before I married Jennifer to profess her love for me and to tell me that I was making a big mistake
and that she and I belonged together. Why was I dealing with shit again right before my wedding?

As Jason and I fought all the way into the guest bedroom, everyone shifted from location to location with us. Finally, I threw
his bag at him.

“Get the hell out of my house, punk.”

He slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and stormed from my house. A part of me was concerned that he was too drunk to drive,
but I was obviously not concerned enough to go after him. Everyone was confused, but I wasn’t up for explaining. I looked
at Brandon. “I hope you can fit that tux in there.”

He shook my hand and patted my back. “I gotchu, man.”

I walked into my bedroom and slammed the door. During the fight, I was too pissed to rationalize the situation, but the blood
stains on Jason’s polo shirt and the look in his eyes as I slammed the door haunted me. My mind raced and I really couldn’t
sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about all we’d been through. With the wedding just hours away, I figured I shouldn’t sweat
it. I had too much respect for Taylor to call it off now. If this shit didn’t work out, I wasn’t doing it anymore. I loved
Taylor enough to at least give it a shot. I ran my hand down my face.
Taylor J, you better be worth all this bullshit
.

W
hen are you supposed to come to grips with an anti-climactic life? No one could have convinced me that I wouldn’t be jet-setting
around the world, in mad, breathtaking love, with a bunch of kids, a nanny to help me, and a bottomless spending account.
It seems like all those dreams slipped away in a nightmare nine years ago on New Year’s Day. I was just twenty-five years
old then, and what should have been a celebration of a new beginning marked the end of my best friend’s life. Tanisha and
I had been inseparable from the time we were nine and ten. In a crazed state, her then fiancé, Fred, killed her in a murder-suicide
after discovering she was still sleeping with my brother, Reggie, her kid’s father. I blamed him. I blamed me. I blamed the
world for being so cruel, but nothing would bring her back. My life literally spiraled out of control in just twenty-four
hours.

When I received the call that she was gone, I was in New York and had just begged Devin not to marry Jennifer. He was the
love of my life, and after some ups and downs we had a temporary breakup. In that time, Jennifer got pregnant and Devin decided
it made sense to marry her. I pleaded with him, nearly down on my knees with tears streaming down my face. Still, he looked
me dead in the eye and pledged his love for her. I felt like I wanted to die, too. The two people I loved the most were gone
in a blink of an eye.

My niece, Morgan, was ten years old at the time and she wanted to live with me. My nephew, Little Reggie, was six and he went
with my brother. Considering I was forced into motherhood, I knew that I couldn’t just die or sulk over Devin. Instead, I
sought therapy for Morgan and me. We needed real help. God would have it that Kenneth, my therapist and the director of Agape
Mental Health, would fall in love with me. He, too, was a single parent with a daughter, Mia, a year younger than Morgan.
We could help each other and we did. We married two years later.

It set out to be the ideal marriage, because he believed in family and human services, and I had evolved to be that person,
too. He inspired me to leave the corporate world to pursue helping foster kids. My group home opened five years ago, and Kenneth
and I planned to have a home full of our own kids. But shortly after, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome, which
can cause fertility issues. My doctor insisted that with fertility drugs, I’d be pregnant in no time. We went from fertility
drugs to shots to in vitro fertilization, or IVF, and so far nothing has worked. Our retirement, our savings, all the equity
in our home, is gone as we continue to go broke attempting to bring life into this world. After the last cycle, I was tempted
to tell Kenneth that we should stop, but I could never find the right time to say it.