“No. I didn’t expect to see you here. I was just stopping by to make sure Zola was all right.”
“Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you paying for her dress?” Zena asked.
“It’s a gift. And why not?” Adan answered.
“Because.” Zena slid her hand onto her hip and furrowed her brow to bring the past into the discussion.
“Because we haven’t spoken?” Adan asked.
“That’s the understatement of the century.”
“But this is about Alton and Zola. I want to support them. I thought we both should. That’s why I want to talk to you—to find out where your head is on Bali and everything.”
“Oh. That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?” Zena asked. Just then, the heat had gotten to her. She felt sweat rolling down her back, her underarms moisten. The anxiety in her gut was bubbling up. She wanted to scream at Adan. Did he really think he was going to show up and just talk about Zola’s wedding? Without talking about what he did? Without talking about how he left her apartment in Florida that day just two weeks before her graduation?
“Yes, I want to talk about the wedding,” Adan confirmed. “What else would I want to talk to you about?”
Zena rolled her eyes.
“Look, what about the wedding? What do you want to talk about? That it’s stupid? That these two have no grounds to get married? That they’ll be divorced in two years? That you’re wasting your money on this dress and God only knows why?” Zena listed. “Because if those aren’t the key points of your conversation, I don’t know what else there is for us to say to each other.”
“Why shouldn’t they get married?”
“Because we’re a mess. Because we’re not ready.”
“We?”
“What?” Zena was confused.
“You said, ‘we,’” Adan pointed out.
“I said they.”
“Well, I disagree. I think they’re ready. As a matter of fact, I was the one who told Alton to propose.”
“You’ve got to be joking. You planted this seed?” Zena snarled.
“Yes. I think it will be good for Alton. Give him a little motivation. He loves Zola. He’ll do anything for her—you know that. Maybe having a family will help him focus on his dreams,” Adan explained.
“Focus? What about Zola’s focus? What about her dreams? She’s not ready for a family. She was just about to take the Bar. Do you know she’s not taking it now? Not taking it because of this wedding?” Zena asked. “Wait! Was that your idea, too?”
“She can take it next year when they get settled,” Adan said.
“She’ll be pregnant by next year. And did you wait a year to take the Bar? No. You were focused. Right, Adan?” Zena charged. “You kept your ‘eyes on the prize.’”
“Where’d that come from?” Adan looked as if he hardly remembered saying that to Zena.
“It came from you. How could you possibly forget?” Tears gathering in her eyes, Zena turned and walked quickly to her car.
Chapter 4
A little after 6:00 p.m. and Zena was laying in the center of her bed, praying for sunset and sleep. She wanted nothing else to do with this day. Too many hours had been spent living in the past, and she’d convinced herself that the future would be better. Though she hadn’t been to church in over a year, she was humming notes of Yolanda Adams’s rendition of “This Too Shall Pass” while forcing her eyes closed and imagining her new day at sunrise. Then, she’d run five miles and meet the sun at the top of Stone Mountain. She’d get home in time to watch the news, answer all emails and voice mails, and indulge in her two-hour beautification regime before leaving the house in a perfectly tailored black suit that captured the correct ardor and acumen of her business style. She’d zip through traffic to work in her sparkling, freshly waxed Porsche—she would’ve stopped by the car wash on the way home from her run—to find her designated parking spot empty at the office. Malak would have anticipated her arrival and had all necessary files and information needed to have the perfect day stacked in a neat little pile ready for Zena’s entry. There would be no Zola and Alton, no Mommy and no damn Adan. Everything would be back to normal, back to perfection in the morning—if only she could get there.
The bright sun outside her bedroom window sure wasn’t helping. The loud rush-hour traffic buzzing past her building didn’t help the situation. Neither was her praying and gospel singing. Not even the four shots of whiskey she’d downed like Kool-Aid. Nothing, in fact, was working. And the biggest setback of all: Zena’s own heart. It just refused to cooperate. While her mind had the plot and plan to return to business as usual, her heart was a mess of business unfinished. And what was that? So many emotions she’d convinced herself to toss aside or bury deep down inside. So many complicated emotions she’d successfully hidden away that were now springing forth like those blooming perennials in her mother’s garden. The worst thing about emotions springing forth from unfinished business of the heart was that the more Zena tried to take control, the stronger these emotions became, the louder they became, the freer, the wilder.
It was Adan’s scent. How it had interrupted everything inside Lucille’s Lace and had whispered something to Zena she couldn’t understand or recall? And it wasn’t his cologne or his aftershave. It was his real scent. The actual scent of him. The one she knew. The one she’d inhaled through so many nights and woken up to on so many mornings. It was his aura. His entire being collected in free aromatic notes set for olfactory seduction. And that was it. Straight seduction. After all these years, Adan had walked into Lucille’s Lace and seduced her with his scent. How could she have been so stupid? Have fallen for this trick? It was a trick, right? Why hadn’t she covered her nose? Held her breath? Pulled one of those gas masks soldiers wore in those World War II movies out of her purse and run for cover the moment Adan walked into the store?
But, no, it wasn’t seduction. Seduction would mean she’d been seduced. That she’d fallen for the trick. That Zena wanted Adan. That Zena wanted anything from Adan. And she didn’t. Right?