It was an hour before I was supposed to meet Preston at the Four Seasons for dinner. I hadn’t even decided if I was going. In fact, I was leaning against it, but then I got the e-mail from Jamison and with my blood steadily boiling, I decided that I had to get away. I couldn’t believe he thought some sad e-mail was going to bring me home.
I didn’t know what I was doing by going out with Preston, but I knew I had to get away from Jamison’s mess to avoid getting any more angry at the world. The only problem was that Tyrian wouldn’t take his eyes off me. He wasn’t even two months yet, but that boy had the eye coordination of a tennis player. From his baby swing, his eyes followed me around the room as I got dressed. Most parents would’ve been excited that their child was showing such strong motor skills at an early age, but the circumstances and the fact that he was beginning to look more and more like Jamison every day was making me feel a little guilty. But guilty about what? Yes, Preston was fine. Yes, Preston was rich and smart and clearly a changed man. But we were just going out for dinner. I didn’t owe him anything; he didn’t owe me anything. But . . . Why was I so nervous? Why was I getting so dressed up? Why had I lied to Aunt Luchie and told her I was going out for drinks with Marcy? Why wouldn’t Tyrian stop watching me?
“Mama is coming back,” I said, trying to calm him before he started crying.
He looked at me and I swear that baby narrowed his eyes and then rolled them in disgust.
“You’re looking mighty fancy,” Aunt Luchie said from the bedroom door. “I guess you girls need some excitement. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Yeah, we’re just eating though, so there will be no excitement.”
“I’m sure,” she said with a hint of speculation in her voice. After staying with her for two weeks, I came to the realization that Aunt Luchie was so much like my mother in her constant desire to investigate the lives of others. The only difference was that my mother had a problem holding her tongue when it came to her inquisitions. She ruled with cutting questions and biting advice. Well, Aunt Luchie’s style was much more subtle. She chose the question-without-a-question route. It was all about polite suggestions and silence. Even in the politeness and silence, she was working her magic. But I was on to her now and determined not to crack under the pressure. She wanted me to break down and come clean about where I was going. But there would be no breaking down here. The last thing I wanted or needed was more advice.
“Great,” I said, kissing her on the cheek before slipping on my coat. “There’s plenty of milk downstairs and after his next bottle he’ll be out like a light for the rest of the night.”
“I know how to care for this boy,” she said. “I know when he eats and sleeps, don’t I?” She looked over at Tyrian for an answer and that little boy nodded his still-soft-on-the-top head.
“Wonderful,” I said. “One big happy family. I’ll be back no later than eleven.”
When you’re married and have children, you forget just how busy the rest of the world is outside of your circle. Other than dinner with Marcy and Damien, annual parties, must-be-seen-at events, and business functions, Jamison and I seldom got out of the house. But driving to the Four Seasons, I realized that apparently, everyone else was. Peachtree was packed with cars carrying people here and there, smiling faces peeking out of car windows, excited about what was waiting for them inside the growing city. No matter that it was a weeknight; no matter that it was an unusually frigid night. They were out for a night on the town. Every day, the small city where a single name was once able to open many closed doors was seeming bigger and bigger. It was considered progress to many people, but to my people, it felt more like an invasion. No one knew who anyone else was anymore. The old special names were fading fast as more money and more lineage came in from other cities. “It started with that Coretta,” I heard a woman say once at one of my mother’s book parties. They’d sit and talk for hours, gossiping about who wanted in and who would never be in. Coretta Scott was one of their favorite topics. As nice and sweet as she was, these women, who were her age, seemed hell-bent on keeping her at an arm’s distance just because she wasn’t a true Atlantan. “She came here thinking she’d already be inside because she was married to Daddy King’s son,” she added. “Ha!”
Driving through the traffic, and thinking about this old practice, I thought of just how ridiculous it was. The city was growing and changing and while I was taught to disdain the growth, it seemed unreasonable to believe that we could keep the secrets of Atlanta to ourselves. Yes, after Coretta, more blacks from outside of Atlanta did come into the city, but why not? Why shouldn’t the city grow and change? There were some bad things about the city, but there were also some wonderful things. Maybe the old way wasn’t the only way. What were we protecting anyway? Access? This was the kind of thinking that had troubled Jamison and added to the stress in our marriage for so long. Even with my name attached, it kept him out of certain contracts. Constantly made him feel like he wasn’t enough. And while I tried my best to chalk i
t up to “the way things were,” that way was wrong. I could admit that now.
“I was about to leave,” Preston said when the hostess led me to the table where he was waiting. He stood up immediately to pull out my chair and I could see that he was dressed handsomely in a navy blue suit and white shirt. I also noticed that he’d gotten a haircut and was freshly shaven. He looked like he’d just walked off a movie set, and I had to admit that he made me look rather undressed. I’d decided to wear a pair of black slacks and a fitted, red sweater. My hair was curled loose and pushed back behind my ears. It was attractive, yet not overdone. I didn’t want to send the wrong message.
“I am not that late,” I replied. It was just ten or so after seven.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to forgive you anyway. You look lovely,” he kissed me on the cheek and went back to his seat.
“That’s an overstatement,” I said, laughing.
“Why do you always do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Not take compliments,” he said. “You did that this morning when I said you looked nice.”
“You know, I don’t know,” I said, trying to remember if I’d actually been doing that. The baby did have me feeling a bit less attractive, but I’d never thought about it.
“You’re a beautiful and desirable woman, Kerry. And your husband is a lucky man for it.”
“Thank you,” I said. “So what’s good on the menu this season?” I picked up the menu to avoid talking about Jamison.
“I asked the chef if he would make us a little something special,” he said grinning.
“What?” I asked. He looked like he was planning something.
“Well, I do recall one beautiful black woman tearing through a meal on a date I’d taken her on. She even broke her rule of etiquette, eating the last bite and saying it was the best quail she’d ever had.”
“I did not,” I lied. I could feel myself smiling. I didn’t even remember that until he brought it up. The moment had been eclipsed by the infamous crotch grab.
“Well, we’ll put that in the history books, but we both know how it went down that night,” he said jokingly.
“So you ordered the quail?” I asked, half-excited he remembered what I ordered that night and a bit peeved that he’d ordered for me. That was a bit presumptuous. Was this how folks dated nowadays? No, no, no! I wasn’t on a date.
“Now, I know that might seem a bit forward and old school of me to order food for you, but I have a reason,” he said, looking into my eyes. “Right now in my life, I’m all about moving forward and letting go of the past.”