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“Thank you, Rachel,” Scarlet said, jumping up and falling over on the floor to give me a hug. “I knew you wou
ld understand.”
A week before the wedding and I was hiding out. I’d turned everything over to Krista and used the excuse of focusing on Alarm Clock and Donnica’s big day to get away from Ian’s calls and e-mails. I stopped answering the phone. I couldn’t face him. Not with what I knew. With what I was feeling. I had to keep my distance. I was afraid to say anything to him, thinking everything would just come out of my mouth in one embarrassing ramble.
I felt like I was about to burst, though. I had no outlet. Journey hadn’t signed on to video chat in weeks. She was probably moving around and dealing with Dame’s schedule. Sometimes I wondered if she resented him, how she had to keep his career first until he had a break and she could get back into the studio to start singing again.
I started sending her e-mails to keep her caught up on my drama. I figured she could at least read them and send me good vibes from wherever she was in the world. Scarlet had already moved in with Ian and she’d told Krista that they were talking about turning the office I’d decorated into a nursery. A nursery? For what?
One night, after looking at pictures of Ian and me in our FAMU yearbook, when I was about to get into my car and drive over to his place, my computer started ringing on my desk in the living room and Journey in her newly twisted dreadlocks showed up on the screen.
“Thank God!” I said, sitting at the desk. “I was about to do something crazy.”
“Yeah. I finally got to sit down and read your e-mails. We’ve been on the road,” she said.
Dame was walking around in the background rocking Apache in his arms. He was wearing basketball shorts and a white tee. It was always interesting to see rappers, who appear larger than life in music videos and on magazine covers, living and just moving about in their everyday lives. They were fathers and husbands. Sons and brothers. Just like everybody else.
Dame handed Journey a Pampers. “I think Apache needs to be changed. You smell that?”
“Yes. Change her.” Journey rolled her eyes at me and tried to hand the Pampers back to Dame, but he wouldn’t take it.
“I’m holding Apache,” he said.
“Then you can change her.” She tried to hand him the Pampers again, but Dame backed up.
“I don’t change diapers. That’s the agreement.” He bent down over Journey’s shoulder. “Oh hey, Rachel! Wassup?”
“I’m good,” I said. “How are you?”
“Being a black man in the world. It’s a hard job. Got my wifey over here trying to emasculate a brother by making me change diapers.” When Journey and Dame got married, he had locs down his back, but now his head was shaved clean. He looked a little older.
“Your kids’ diapers!” Journey exclaimed. “Your kids that you made. Why is this so hard?”
“A man wasn’t meant to handle doo-doo,” Dame said, backing up.
“So a woman is meant to handle doo-doo?” Journey asked.
“Someone has to do it. What do you think, Rachel?”
“I don’t know,” I said, holding up my hands defensively. “I’m not getting into it.”
“What she meant to say is go and change your child’s diaper. Damn!” Journey held out the Pampers to Dame again.
He snatched it roguishly and walked away.
She leaned into the camera and whispered, “It’s like I have four kids sometimes.”
“I heard that,” Dame hollered in the background.
Journey repositioned herself and took a deep breath.
“So, Ms. Winslow, enough of the woes of a roadie housewife. What’s up with you? How are you holding up?”
In one of the e-mails, I’d told Journey about the car ride in Social Circle and that rose dress.
“I love him,” I said. “I’m in love with Ian.”
“Finally, we have full acceptance!” Journey cheered. “So what are you going to do?”
