“That’s why I fucks with you, Rachel!” Alarm said. “See, baby, you gotta think about where we going!”
Donnica nodded and then asked, “Whatever . . . well, what about the horse and carriage? I always wanted to have a horse and carriage at my wedding. You know, with one of those pumpkin carriages that lights up—like in Cinderella?”
“What the fuck?” Alarm fell back, deflated, in his seat.
“What? What the fuck is wrong with that?” Donnica snapped back at Alarm. “It’s my fucking wedding. She fucking asked. Fuck! I don’t understand why we got to be answering all these fucking questions anyway. Uggh.” Donnica sucked her teeth, rolled her neck, and looked out the window in disgust.
“Well, Donnica, the thing is, I work on inspiration. You tell me what you like and I use what I know to finesse it into something you’ll love. Something you’ll never forget.”
“Fuck. I don’t see why we couldn’t just get married in Miami anyway,” Donnica said, getting up from the chair and walking to the window with a sad, pouty face.
“Oh shit.” Alarm sank farther and spoke so only I could hear him. “Here we go with this again.”
Donnica started crying and went on about wanting everyone in Liberty City to see her marry her prince charming. And how it wasn’t right that all her cousins couldn’t be there.
Alarm was shaking his head at first, but then he started looking at her like he was a man in love. He got up and went over to the window.
I sat back and watched the drama unfold. Planning a wedding is very emotional. Most of my clients, even the best ones, have these moments right in front of me. It’s usually best to just sit back and let it happen.
He grabbed for her. She pushed him away. He kissed her shoulder. She cried some more. He kissed her chin. She shuddered. They started kissing like that was how you had an orgasm.
Just as I was about to throw my bottled water on them, Krista, my assistant who’d probably heard the overuse of “fuck” a few minutes ago, poked her head into the doorway and announced my next consult.
A. J. Holmes had quickly become the most popular black face in news when he got his own show on CNN. Everyone was sad that he’d replaced the network’s first black female to have her own show, Sasha Bellamy, after she got a little power hungry and ended up getting fired, but A. J. was to news what Obama had been to politics—what everyone wanted to see, when everyone wanted to see it. Somehow, even through television, you had a sense that you knew him, that you liked him, that he was a great guy who really cared about the world.
I was more than excited when one of my clients called the day before my meeting with A. J. to request what I call a “trade out” with A. J. Because my calendar is booked for three years solid, many clients who aren’t engaged yet but pay annually to keep their spot “
trade out” as a gift to a newly engaged friend. In return, the client gets the first next spot available on my calendar and a refund of the money they’ve paid, so long as the new client pays in full before the consult.
While I was in a NyQuil coma, A. J. had asked his fiancée Dawn to marry him on national television during a CNN taping of the ball drop at Times Square. Getting him on my list as a trade out was a godsend. The space he was taking was promised during the fourth quarter of the year. The winter wedding of CNN’s darling star. The press would be all over it. I’d be booked for three more years now. But that wasn’t what interested me most.
“So how did you two meet?” I asked, looking at A. J. and Dawn in my office.
When they’d walked in, his hand was on the small of her back. He waited for her to sit down. When Krista offered them something to drink, he asked Dawn what she wanted and then requested two of the same.
Dawn didn’t look like what I’d expect A. J. to go for—a man who literally had his hand on the remote control to the world. She looked a little homely. Had on a respectable Target dress with actual flesh-toned stockings and blush on her cheeks. But still, just by looking at her, it was easy to know what he loved about her. “Going for” someone and “loving someone” were two different things. Being in this business for so many years, I’d learned fast that there was no formula to explain how and why people made their choices in love. Sure, the rappers and newly famed actors and ballplayers typically went for the Barbie types, but the ones I found who were truly in love at the altar picked what you must have thought they’d want their mother or some version of her to have looked like when she was their age and getting married. Soft eyes. A humble smile. Shoulders not low or high but right in line with his.
“I was married before,” Dawn said, pursing her lips like she was in confession. “And right in the middle of my divorce, this man came in and threw me a life vest. He saved me.” Dawn put her hand on A. J.’s knee.
“Well, that was after she beat up one of my coworkers,” A. J. said and they laughed like she’d just said something I wasn’t supposed to hear.
“I did not beat her up!” Dawn’s eyes and smile were on A. J. and then she turned to me. “His coworker, my college roommate, who shall remain nameless, was having an affair with my husband. . . and I came to the job to gently ask her to back off.”
“Wow!” I said. “Sounds like some drama there!”
“Yeah, it sure was, but even through that, I saw my baby and was like, yeah, she’s what I’ve been looking for. What I’ve been missing.” A. J. lifted Dawn’s hand from his knee and kissed it. “See, I was dating at the time, but none of those relationships seemed to be going where I wanted them to go. A few dinners here. A movie. A play. Whatever. A broken promise. It just didn’t feel right. But as soon as I saw Dawn I just knew. She was everything I was looking for. She loves her children and she loved her marriage enough to put everything on the line to fight for it. You don’t find that nowadays. And she was just like me. Real. No pretense. I know everything I need to know about her by looking into her eyes.”
There was quiet while I was trying to catch my breath as I thought, “Is he for real?”
“Wow,” I said again. “I guess you just answered my second question, A. J.” I grinned and turned to Dawn. “What do you love about A. J.?”
Dawn’s eyes pooled with tears, as though she and A. J. were at the altar and I was officiating. A. J. rubbed her back as she wiped a few tears sneaking from the corners of her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was fractured and honest.
“I didn’t think this was love. I can’t explain it. I just didn’t even think this was what love was,” she said. “Like everyday. Someone who cares and listens to my needs and, my God, takes me seriously. Holds me. And doesn’t stop. It’s every day. I don’t have to ask. He showed me that love isn’t connected to power. That it should be free, and accessible, and honorable. And that gave me the permission to give him all of that back and not even think about the result. He’s given me a real love that I can give back. And being through what I’ve been through, that’s more than a reason to say I love this man.”
My eyes were as glassy as Dawn’s. I was without words again for the second time after sitting with this pair for less than ten minutes. Was she serious? This was it. This was why I was doing what I was doing. People always ask me what the difference is between couples who make it five months and those who make it a lifetime—well, here it is. Honesty. Surrendering your heart.
A. J. and Dawn explained that they wanted a small wedding. One that Dawn’s twins could enjoy and remember. Nothing too fancy or exotic. But they wanted the best. And they heard I could give that to them.