In Love with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 2) (26 page)

“Gimme de pan. Yuh gwan burn yuself, yuhnuh!” Ms. Remah scolded. “Mi dun’t nuh what’s so funny.”

“Ezra doesn’t love me, Ms. Remah,” she corrected, wryly. “The only thing that comes close to an attachment in terms of what he feels for me is what I have in between these hips, woman. Outside of that, I’m no more to him than the strangers he ministers to.”

“Tuh!” Ms. Remah snorted again.

A pang coursed my chest. Why would she paint such a morose picture of my feelings regarding her? I cared very deeply for Alexis.
She’s my wife, for Christ’s sake
. The eye is attracted to what appeals to it in sight; the mind opens to what properly feeds it. Both of those elements in me were drawn to her. Once again, I was left feeling like I’d been neglecting essential aspects of our relationship.

Less than two hours later, Alexis and I were outside on the deck, eating with my parents. My father seemed to ruminate—and I suspected he was stewing on something—and my mother, particularly buoyant and loquacious. My beloved may have appeared collected to the unknowing, but it was absolutely clear to me she was packed with anxiety. I recalled her quip of my parents being bourgeois and wished I’d dispelled that notion, if only to calm her for the purpose of this event.

“So, Alexis—”

“Lex,” I cleared my throat, unable to look my mother in the eye after correcting her.

I did manage to find Alexis’ questioning and admonitory regard directly on me. I sighed, “Mother, Alexis prefers being called by her informal name.”

“But
you
call her Alexis,” my mother pushed. “I would like to be familiar with my daughter-in-law, too, Ezra.” She smiled genially at Alexis.

“That’s because I take pleasure in joshing my wife. However, the name is rather foreign to her.”

“It’s okay,” Alexis attempted to mitigate.

“It isn’t,” I asserted, reaching for the salad bowl.

I was projecting my frustrations from what I’d heard from Alexis earlier and I knew it. I also felt incredibly protective of my wife. This luncheon was not typical fellowship. My parents had strong-armed their way into our home after not being invited since our return from Kamigu. Their inspirations may not have been the same, but their motives married.

“At any rate, there’s a
Girls Not Brides
fundraising gala going on in a few weeks.
RSfALC
always participates through donation and attendance. I’d like for you to attend with me.” My mother smiled politely again.

My father’s eyes shifted toward Alexis in scrutiny.

Alexis’ jaw dropped and she rubbed her thighs underneath the table, stalling her response. I gave her a moment. “
I-I
…I don’t have anything to wear. I’m not sure I’ll be able to go.”

“We can arrange for that, beloved,” I murmured, mostly to her as my eyes remained on my plate. Never did I want Alexis to feel inadequate. The matter of her wardrobe was none at all.  

“Well…” she continued to hesitate. “Sure. I’ll go. I’ll just need the information, I guess.”

“Oh, wonderful!” My mother clapped and fastened her pecan hands together, bringing them beneath her chin and lifted her shoulders.

I caught my father’s lips twitch sinisterly.

“Were you at the First Lady’s Brunch the other week with Pastor Carmichael, ‘
Lex’
?” my father asked.

I caught the inflection. It was the snarl in his undertone. His eyes were filled with contempt and this time dripping with antagonism.

Alexis’ bemused eyes raked over to me.

“You know that’s an event you’re going to be expected to attend, an organization you should belong to, young lady,” he opined, tastelessly.

Alexis swallowed, telling of her intimidation. “I’m not familiar with it.” Her wide eyes returned to me for assistance.

I patted her knee and murmured. “We’ll discuss it.”

“Or Precious can orient her. She’d back her up when she’s unavailable, you know.”

He’d aimed and shot his first missile. I’d been expecting it. What he hadn’t been anticipating was my lack of tolerance when it came to my wife’s feelings. Bishop did not want to displease me: I had him clutched where he could feel it. The problem with the sensitive and fleshy ego is that when it’s flared, it eclipses good judgment and wisdom. My father didn’t want to bark up the tree that shaded his transgressions. But in this moment, he was so blinded with anger for me confronting his lifelong mistress he couldn’t see how ultimately I was untouchable, considering his need of my services as senior pastor at
RSfALC
.

“Speaking of events, mother, why were you absent from the brunch this quarter?”

My mother’s expression turned crestfallen immediately. “I came down with another headache the night before and thought it was best for me to relax. I’d just left a prayer retreat the day before, and days earlier, I presented at the marriage ministry summit in Virginia. It was too much.” She shook her head before going back to her plate.

“You’re bringing that up as though it’s a major issue, son,” my father noted. “Your mother’s preparing to retire. Maybe that’s something ‘Lex’ here needs to be grooming for. We can start with where she sits during morning worship—both of them.”

“No. I believe we can revert back to the event in question and ask why was Sister Graham there.” I spoke evenly while cutting into my chicken.

“Because she was asked to stand in as proxy for your mother.”

My eyes met his. “Why? She’s no first lady. Last I checked, they’re not associates and mother herself was not on the agenda. So, again, why was Sister Graham there?”

“It was okay, honey,” my mother assured. “She attends most times. And as long as we had representation from the church for this one, it is well. I was told you brought forth a mighty Word in that prayer you did. The women were referencing and expounding on some of your prayer points the entire day, First Lady Johnson from First Baptist told me. I was proud.” She beamed at me in that very manner.

Alexis turned to me with a smile similar to my mothers. Her timid hand hovering over my thigh.

Christ, Alexis! I may not need the validation of my calling, but you may very well touch me!

Now
that
annoyed me. My father may not have been able to get me out of sorts, but Alexis… She could disrupt my resolve by a mere glance my way, be it a glare or sign of need. My eyes roved over to my mother, who maintained her smile while tending to her plate. My father, on the other hand, was far more interested in a sight other than his food.

Alexis.

He watched her like a pillager, desperately ready to pounce on any unholy imperfection to spill from her mahogany lips so he could expose her. I wanted to protect her from him. Alexis was mine to dissect, enjoy, correct, nurture, and grow. She was none of his business. My mother, in all her rather genuine beseeching of my bride, was a threat, too. I needed to protect Alexis from my mother’s mentality of spousal sharing. I didn’t want my wife remotely aware of the culture of infidelity that ran rampant and deep in this organization, starting with the great bishop sitting on our deck.

Ms. Remah came out onto the deck, carrying another tray of deviled eggs and frittatas. Alexis smiled brightly, clearly comforted by her mere sight. As she placed the trays in the center of the table, my mother gathered the empty ones to make room.

“Everything is divine, Ms. Remah! I
really
enjoyed those frittatas,” my mother praised. “What’s the cheese?” She piled two more of the fresh batch onto her plate.

Ms. Remah paid Alexis a stare, fighting back her amusement. I had to hold back my own. I was in on their ‘insider.’

She grunted and nodded her head toward Alexis.

“Lexi recipe. Good though, yuhnuh!”

My mother’s pleased eyes landed on Alexis. “Well,” she sighed. “Is that a recipe passed down from your mother?”

Alexis swallowed, her eyes downcast. “No. A classmate made them for one of our study sessions last year. I really liked them.”

Even my father cast his regard on Alexis at the inflection of her voice. It was clear the mention of her mother sent my beloved somewhere bleak. Even more, was why she considered them ‘bourgeois,’ because someone in academia cooked them? If so, that was patently incorrect. My mother had only obtained an associate’s degree, and my father had no formal schooling at all.

“Well, this place is beautiful! I love seeing a woman’s touch in my child’s world,” my mother declared cheerfully.

She’d only been to visit the property twice before today, and had only seen the construct on the second trip.

“This is all Ezra,” Alexis replied, shaking her head. “My roommate has top taste.”

Our eyes met as Ms. Remah moved to leave the deck for her suite, huffing her disproval before going.

Come again?
I demanded with my eyes.

“She your help?” my father asked. “She didn’t want to stay and join us?” There was that admonishing tone again.

“Okay, so she’s not the help,” Alexis clarified, exposing her teeth just a bit. “She’s my family.” Her eyes pierced into his to be sure she was clear. “And in spite of being ill, she offered to help with today when she should be resting.”

“Oh, I have full faith in her complete healing. We can join in a word of prayer with her before we go,” my mother offered.

“Who’s her pastor?” the Bishop questioned. “That’s who should’ve been praying. Him or the owner of the property she’s living on.” His contemptuous eyes rolled over to me.

Alexis glanced at me again.

“So because she’s not your parishioner, you can’t offer her prayer, or is she only guaranteed healing when prayed for by ministers?” Alexis asked.

And similar to Ms. Remah, my father huffed and turned back to his plate as I eyed him with a glacial scowl. 

“Of course not, Lex. We can do it together before we leave,” my mother waved my father off, trying to assuage. “We don’t know the next time we’ll see her.” She cleared her throat, covering her neck with splayed fingers.

“Who knows when that’ll be? As it appears, we would’ve never received a proper invitation,” my father noted with blank eyes.

“I’m sorry about that." Alexis looked between my parents and me. “Things have been crazy with me looking for work and—”

“And me resuming my duties at
RSfALC
unexpectedly,” I interjected. “Life isn’t filled with conveniences even for clergy, Bishop. But one thing that can be guaranteed is the continuation of your leadership at the church—officially and unofficially—seeing you have so many grievances. It would be of no loss to me to have the freedom of a layman after being laicized. Long days of intervening in trivial parishioner quarrels, preparing lectionaries, and liturgical enforcement can appear daunting on most days,” I warned.  

My father’s eyes flew to me, and my mother’s chin met her chest. My beloved may not have fully caught the threat, but my parents heard it as though it was shouted directly into their ears. I would not be disrespected for not tolerating his lover, neither would I allow my wife to be taunted.

“I think it’s time to go,” my father announced, snatching his linen napkin from his lap and rising to leave the table.

“Jesus,” my mother cried under her breath.

I could feel Alexis’ eyes burning the side of my face as I rose to my feet.

“Already?” my mother demanded. “We’re hardly done with our meal…only been here for about an hour.”

“Mary, I said we’re leaving! Now let’s go!” my father howled. Though I’d heard it from him before, it wasn’t a tone he took with her often.

Mumbling under her breath, my mother gathered her things and followed my father toward the front of the house. Alexis timidly fell into my footsteps. We were all led by my father: very figurative of his lifestyle. He’d always led by false emotion.

Inside the kitchen, my mother’s delicate frame spun around. “Oh!” she cried. “Ms. Remah! We have to lay hands on her.”

At least she held some level of spiritual decorum. My mother was a servant, even to the jackass she married.

“That’s okay, Mrs. Carmichael,” Alexis politely declined. I could hear the trepidation in her choppy tone. “She’s probably sleeping now anyway.”

My mother’s face fell once more and she nodded in understanding, continuing out the room to catch up with her livid husband.

It took what seemed like minutes to make it to the front door. My father said nothing as he blustered through it, heading straight for their SUV. My mother did stop and offer us a somber expression of regret. That response, I had been accustomed to from a child.

“I’m sorry, Lex. I was really looking forward to breaking ground with you.”

Alexis’ eyes mushroomed upon receiving my mother’s sentiment. She danced from one leg to another while fidgeting with the material of a long black sleeveless maxi dress that clung neatly to her modest breasts. It almost appeared as if my beloved was trying to find the words to say.

“We’ll have our chance at the
Girls Not Brides
gala, right?” Alexis sputtered, recalling the name of the event precisely. “I’ll be ready, right, honey?” she delivered with a warming tone that was plausible even to me.