Never Say Never (42 page)

He said, “It hasn't been easy, but we're working it out. We're in counseling.”

“I'm glad,” I said. “Because you and Emily . . .” I paused and shook my head as I remembered all those years ago when she'd barged into my room talking about this man. We were only nineteen and she'd known then. “You and Emily were meant to be.”

“Thanks for saying that.”

Then silence stood between us. We stared, we looked away, we shifted, then turned back to each other.

Finally, he said, “Well, I should be going so you can get moving.”

“Yeah.”

His eyes were back on mine again. “Have a wonderful trip. Have a wonderful life, Miriam.”

My lips began to tremble, so all I did was nod.

“We're going to be in touch with you, and the boys. Junior's still our godson.”

Now I could speak. “He wants to be called Chauncey now.”

“Yeah,” Jamal replied. “I talked to him last week when they first got to Phoenix.”

“Oh, they didn't mention that. Well, thank you. I want him, and Mikey and Stevie, to be in touch with you . . . and Emily.”

“We're going to find a way to be there for them. We're going to work it out so that we can be there for you, too.”

“Thank you,” I said. That was all that would come out because my throat was starting to ache, as if a big cry was coming on. But I wouldn't cry. At least not in front of him.

“So,” he said.

“So,” I said.

Then we stood there in the most awkward moment of my life. How were we supposed to say good-bye?

Jamal took a step forward and I did, too. He wrapped his arms around me and I held him. When he didn't back away, I closed my eyes and held on tighter. I hardly breathed because I didn't want anything to interfere with me locking every inch of Jamal Taylor into my memory. I wanted every second of this moment inside my mind.

We held our embrace and I began praying. Praying about what would happen next. What I wanted to happen—Jamal leaning back, Jamal smiling, and Jamal kissing me for one last time.

Time began moving like I imagined. Jamal leaned back, smiled. But then he simply walked away.

I stood in the center of my living room, watching him, willing him to come back.

But he just kept going and when he got to the door he didn't even turn around.

That was when I realized that I was standing in the exact spot where we'd had our last kiss. If I'd known that was the last kiss, I wouldn't have let it end. I would've kissed him straight into eternity.

It wasn't until I heard his car door slam that I whispered the words that I'd wanted him to know. “I love you, Jamal Taylor. I don't know if I always have, but I do know that I always will.”

46

Emily

December 15, 2012

I
rolled over, so I could hold up my hand in the December morning light and appreciate this new gift on my finger. Even though I held my hand steady, the kaleidoscope of colors from the diamond ricocheted from the ring to the walls, creating a rainbow in our bedroom.

Turning back over, I was surprised when I was met by the open eyes of my husband.

“Good morning.” I smiled.

Jamal pulled me into his arms. “This is more than a good morning. It's the best morning that God has ever created.”

Gently, I kissed his lips. “Welcome home, Mr. Taylor.”

“I am so happy to be here, Doctor Harrington-Taylor.” He grinned. “So, I saw you checking out the ring to see if it's real.”

I laughed. “Not at all, though you know I've checked out the color, clarity, cut, and carat.”

He laughed.

“But even if it wasn't the perfect diamond,” I said, “this is one of those situations where the sentiment is what matters.” I held up my hand again. The light didn't hit the diamond at the right angle this time, so the colors stayed on the stone. But it was still amazingly beautiful.

I said, “You know you didn't have to buy me this, right?”

“Okay, well then”—gently, he pulled at my finger—“let me take it back.”

I snatched my hand away from him. “If you want to live to see your next birthday . . .”

We laughed together before I settled back into his arms. It had been a long way to here, though some might say that ten weeks wasn't that long at all. But for me and Jamal Taylor? It was an eternity.

My husband had described it best in our first counseling sessions. “Not being with Emily is like being held captive in some corner of hell,” he said.

It had been exactly that way for me, though at the time, I didn't tell Jamal or Pastor Ford. I'd wanted them both to believe that I was fine and that I was hardly suffering without my husband. But if the walls in my bedroom could have talked, they would have told the truth.

We were back together, though, all because of Jamal. Because my husband never gave up or gave in. Before counseling and during counseling, his faith was in me and our marriage. And now we were here.

Another beginning.

In our first counseling session, I'd told Jamal that I wasn't ready to live with him. I was willing to go to counseling, but I wanted to be separated.

That didn't make him happy, but Pastor Ford suggested that we use our time apart to date each other.

“Keep it open and easy,” she'd said.

I took that to mean that we could keep the sex out of it, which was fine by me. I didn't want to connect with Jamal in that way. Not with Miriam still dead-center in my thoughts.

So Jamal and I met for walks on the beach, coffee at Starbucks. We had brunch at the Cheesecake Factory and hooked up for drinks at the Martini Bar. One day, we pretended that we were tourists and checked out the Hollywood Walk of Fame and Grauman's Chinese Theatre. We hiked together, biked together, jogged together.

We became friends all over again, just like we'd done the first time. Every day, my heart swelled with love, leaving little room for unforgiveness, even though there were days when I wanted to hold on to that. But I couldn't. Love nudged the grudge aside.

That's why I'd decided to cook dinner last night. We'd been eating out and I wanted us to have more space to talk. We were a long way from getting back together. At least, that's what I thought.

Maybe subconsciously, I'd wanted something to happen. But in the best of my dreams, I didn't think it was going to be something like this . . .

I didn't know
why I was so nervous. It wasn't like Jamal had never been here. We'd shared years of happiness inside these walls. And the shrimp creole that I'd made was one of his favorite dishes. So why did this feel like a first date with a stranger?

Before I had a chance to reflect any more, the doorbell rang. Even though Jamal had his key, he was respectful of the boundaries we'd set.

“Hey, you,” he said when I opened the door and he greeted me with a bouquet.

“Hey, yourself,” I replied, taking the flowers. “And thank you.” Turning away from him, I added, “Dinner's almost ready,” and I headed toward the kitchen to get a vase. “I made one of your favorites.”
Looking over my shoulder, I expected to see Jamal following right behind me.

But he was still by the door. Only he wasn't standing. He was bending down; at least, that's what I thought at first. Actually, he was down on one knee.

I was just about to ask him what he was doing when he said, “Emily, I have always loved you. From that first moment, when you opened the door for Chauncey, our hearts connected. And like we always say, it took us a little while to find each other, but we did. And I've been so happy.”

He paused, and I hoped that he didn't expect me to say anything. I had lost all ability to think, so speaking wasn't possible.

“I've always been happy, Emily. You have to know that. I have loved you and our life together and if I could, I would pay any price to take back—”

I didn't let him finish. I knelt down in front of him and looked him in his eyes. “I know you would, Jamal. I really know that now.”

Without taking his eyes from me, he reached into his pocket and held up this glistening thing. At first, that was all it was to me, until he took my hand and slid off the ring I was wearing. Then he slipped the new diamond onto my finger.

I had to suck in a big gulp of air to keep breathing.

He said, “Will you do me the honor—”

“Yes!” I exclaimed.

But he shook his head. “I need to finish this. I need to say it all.”

“Okay,” I said, through the lump in my throat.

He cleared his throat, took a breath, and exhaled the words slowly. “Will you do me the honor of showing me what true love is? Showing me what can happen when a man falls down and truly repents. Showing me a heart of forgiveness. Would you do me the honor of allowing me into your life and your love once again?”

When he stopped, I didn't say anything and he frowned.

I said, “I just wanted to make sure you were finished this time.”

“I am. So . . .” Then he swallowed, as if he was now concerned about my answer.

Was this man kidding? After all we'd been through? All the painful counseling? Learning that while what had happened was all Jamal, there were so many things I could've done better, like not expecting my husband to be like Superman? Yes, Jamal was strong, but there was nothing wrong with weakness at times, and there had to be room for that. That was the greatest lesson that I'd learned from Pastor.

I was so looking forward to getting to the good part—the next eight, and another eight, and another eight, and another eight years of a wonderful marriage.

“Yes!” I shouted, and threw my arms around him.

And while we were on our knees, we kissed. A kiss that felt so spiritual, maybe because we were on our knees . . .

We didn't have dinner last night. At least we didn't have the kind of nourishment that added inches to the hips. Instead, we burned so much off that I'd be able to eat anything I wanted for a week.

“So,” Jamal began, breaking into my thoughts, “last night you said you'd be my wife.”

“Of course I did.”

“So, that means—” He jumped up and out of bed so fast, he startled me. And standing there in all his naked glory, he said, “There's going to be a wedding.”

“What?” I sat up, pulling the sheet over me.

He sprinted into his closet and came out with a garment bag. “Now, I haven't seen this,” he said. “Pastor Ford and Michellelee took care of it, but this right here”—he grinned—“is your dress.”

“What?”

He turned around and dashed back into the closet. “Everything I need is in this garment bag and this bag here,” he said, holding up his duffel bag.

“Jamal, what are you talking about?”

This time, he kissed me before he ran away.

None of this was computing, and just when I was about to zip open the garment bag, he jumped out of his closet, dressed in a jogging suit. Moving quickly, he grabbed his garment bag, duffel bag, gave me another kiss, and said, “I'll see you in a little while, babe.”

He turned and dashed out of the room, leaving me sitting there. But I didn't have to wait long before I heard his footsteps coming back toward our bedroom.

Only it wasn't Jamal. It was Michellelee.

“What in the world?”

Michellelee put her hands on her hips. “What're you still doing in bed?” Before I could ask what she was doing in my apartment, she said, “Now that your man is gone, what are you still doing in bed?”

“Will you tell me what's going on?”

“Didn't your man tell you? There's going to be a wedding today.”

It had to be my blank stare that made her sigh.

“Didn't he ask you to marry him again?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“Well, you're getting married again . . . today.”

“Huh?” I knew I sounded like a dummy, since I felt like one.

“Silly girl, you don't even know what today is.” She shook her head. “Today, nine years ago, you married Jamal Taylor, and you're going to do it again. Now, will you get your happy behind up so that I can get the bride ready?”

Slowly, I smiled, and it all became clear to me.

I got it. Finally, I really, really got it.