prologue.
cyn
Anniversarynumber four is the one that will change things around for us. I’m sure of it. It will get us back to where we were years ago – the time after we said our vows and promised each other the world. Brixton and I sat down last weekend and discussed the recent state of our marriage. It wasn’t all bad, but like any other marriage, it could use some tuning to make it better. A lil’ WD-40 to fix the squeaks. Most of our problems centered around work – more specificallyhiswork. He’s a highly-esteemed, highly-regarded physician here in Christenbury Hills, North Carolina, and rightly so. Brixton is brilliant. Patients love him. People in general love him.
Ilove him.
I love him in ways I’ve never loved anyone else, which is crazy considering when he first introduced himself to me, I wanted nothing to do with him. His presence was an annoyance. It didn’t matter how good he smelled or how fine he was, and goodness gracious, he was fine. But I wasn’t in a place where I was interested in a friendship, a relationship, or anything that resembled either of those. I was flying solo – had been doing so for years after breaking up with a guy I thought was worth my time, until I found out he was only with me because I fit the description of what a wife should be. He wasn’t necessarilyattracted to that. He wanted someone wilder while stringing me along until he decided he would change his ways and settle down.
I wasn’t about to be nobody’s second-place anything.
Once I was done with that situation, I didn’t think twice about dating. It left a bad taste in my mouth, and I mean abadtaste like black licorice. I’d even met some nice guys along the way, but I wasn’t interested in anything beyond a simplehelloandgoodbye. Nobody couldn’t disturb or shake my world if I didn’t allow it to beshook.
I moved to Christenbury Hills for a new start. There was a new steel plant opening – Black River Steel – and they were paying top dollar for accounting positions. It was around that time that the well-dressed doctor walked into my life, and while I didn’t receive him cordially at first, I eventually gave in to his charm. We hit it off, dated, got married, honeymooned and loved on each other.
Life was good. No, it was better than good. It was amazing! But somewhere along the line, the magic smoldered, and it wasn’t my fault.
I was present – always in attendance. He was absent – well, from the marriage, he was absent, but for his patients, he wasverymuch present.
In the beginning, I made excuses for him. I married a doctor – what should I expect? I knew I’d have to share his time, but doggone – I didn’t think I’d have none of it! At the end of the day, it just became too much. I was living the married-single life, and that is a lonely existence.
BUT ALL THAT WAS GOING TO CHANGE TONIGHT.
“Oh, I’m so excited,” I say to Faith, Brixton’s mother. She helped me with this surprise anniversary party, the guest list,the decorations – all of it. His father, Dean, is here, too, along with his best friends, some people he knows from work and this vibrant community in general. My parents, my cousin, and a few of my friends are here, too. This fully-catered, surprise anniversary party was my way of letting Brixton know that I was serious about us working through our issues and giving our marriage the boost it desperately needed. If this didn’t do the trick, I don’t know what would.
Our home has literally been transformed into a magical ballroom. Roses line the banister. Red, black, and gold balloons are everywhere. There are red tablecloths, ivory candles, a champagne bar, and a make-shift dance floor. Everyone is dressed in formal suits and gowns. It’s magnificent. It’s fancy. It’s right up Brixton’s alley. He loves attending galas and functions. Attending one celebrating him is going to put the biggest smile on his face.
I glance at the clock. It’s a little after seven. After our talk a few weeks ago, Brixton changed his schedule, so now he usually gets home around six-thirty, but some days he doesn’t make it home until around seven. He should be here any minute now.
“Cyn, where your man at, chick?” Evie asks. “I’m hungry.”
“I don’t know why you’re hungry. You been over there sneaking them chicken wings since you got here.”
She grins. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“Mmm, hmm,” I say with a smirk.
“I’m ‘bout to go get some more. Dang. Are you sure he’s coming?”
“Yes, he’ll be here. Just a few more minutes, okay?”
“Sure.”
She sighs and switches toward the champagne bar.
“Dear, did you call him?” Faith asks, approaching me from behind, resting her arms across my back. She looks worried, orperhaps she’s as hungry as Evie is. Black people don’t play when it’s time to eat.
I tell her, “No.”
She digs down in her bra real deep like she’s pulling a raffle ticket out of a bucket, takes out what I presume is a sweaty-boobed phone, and says, “I’ma call him.”
“No, Faith. If you call him, he’ll know something’s up, and that will ruin the surprise. I’m trying to wait it out.”
She sighs, drops her arm, and says, “Oh, okay. Well, everybody’s just sittin’ around.Waiting.”
She says it like it’s my fault when we’re waiting onherson. I want to say,you do know this is your son’s fault, right, but instead, I look around at everyone, reading the room a little. It seems the initial excitement is wearing off because nobody likes waiting, myself included, especially when their stomachs are touching their backs. But here we are – waiting for Brix.
“Come on, Brix,” I say quietly. “Don’t let me down. Not this time…”
