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Authors: Candice Dow

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BOOK: Tappin' On Thirty
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10
TAYLOR
M
y administrative assistant ran into my office. I peeped behind her to see if she was being chased. My forehead wrinkled. She blushed and fanned herself. “Taylor, girl.”
“What?”
“The man of your dreams is downstairs in the conference room.”
“Katherine, just because there's a single man in the building does not mean he's the man of my dreams.” I chuckled. “Where have you been all day?”
She clenched her teeth together. “Downstairs, girl. You need to get your butt down there.”
“What have you been doing down there?”
“I had to fill in for the damn legislative admin.”
“You're a trip.”
“Girl, this man is fine. Trust me.”
“I've trusted you before.”
She lifted her glasses and looked at me. “Don't even try it. I told you that young boy was cute. And I saw you . . .”
She laughed. I shooed her. “Whatever.”
“Taylor, I know you better than you think I know you.”
“Anyway. Are you done downstairs?” I huffed.
“No, we're meeting until three. Come down there around one-thirty so you can meet Mr. Patterson.”
“Katherine, I'm not thinking about Mr. Patterson.”
She turned to leave my office. When she reached the door, she leaned back in. “He's finer than the last guy I told you about.”
“Good bye, Katherine.”
At quarter of three, I got the urge to go downstairs and just check out what Katherine was raving about. I went into the conference room corridor. I peeped in all the closed doors. Finally, I saw her. Through the slim windowpane, I surveyed the room. There weren't even any black men in the room. Who the hell was she talking about? I saw two white guys that I didn't recognize. Now, she must think I'm desperate. Just as I was about to walk away, it looked like they were adjourning. I stood in the hall waiting for Katherine.
I jokingly said, “We need to cut out right now and go to happy hour, because you are crazy.” I pointed into the conference room. “Who in there is supposed to be my dream guy?”
“Taylor, you really think I'm crazy, don't you?”
I stretched my eyes. “Yah!”
“He left early. He had to go back to New York with his daughter.”
“His what?”
She grabbed my arm. “C'mon let's walk to the break room.” She continued, “His daughter.”
I frowned and she added, “What am I going to do with you?”
“Leave me alone and stop trying to find me a man.”
“Trust me. This one is fine.”
As I perused the vending selection, I said. “And he has a daughter. I don't even deal with my own niece and nephew. Hell if I'm trying to play stepmom.” I chuckled. “I don't even know if I want kids of my own.”
She nodded. “Yes, you do. All women do.”
“Don't put us all in a box. Some of us are different.”
She ignored my declaration of independence. “Taylor, I really do want you to meet Mr. Patterson. I think he'll be back tomorrow.”
“I'll be out of the office tomorrow and Thursday.”
She gasped. “Dang! You're going to miss him.”
11
SCOOTER
S
peaking in an unacceptable decibel at five o'clock in the morning, Akua stood over top of me, “Why did you leave the television running all night?”
My purpose for sleeping on the couch was so she would not wake me when she left for work. Couldn't we discuss this when I got to the hospital at seven? I covered my ears. She grabbed my jeans from the floor and stomped away. She spoke to herself loud enough for me to hear, “He doesn't think. Does he even look at the electric bill? This is ridiculous.”
I pulled the quilt over my head. Like, really. How much does it cost to run the television all night? It's easier to ignore her, than to respond. Slinging things around the room, she continued to argue. Finally, I yelled out, “Akua, shut up! I'm tryna sleep.”
She stormed from the room. “I wanted to sleep too, but you”—she pointed her index finger at me—“left the television on all night.”
I sprang up. “Are you satisfied now? Are you happy that I'm up?”
She stormed back into the room. “That's not the point. I want you to pay attention to what you're doing.”
Does she even realize how ignorant some of the things she says sound? I stomped behind her in my mind. In reality, my knees conked out and pushed me back onto the couch. Lacking the energy to bicker, I dropped my head in my hands. Slowly, I wiped my face. “What makes you think I'm not paying attention?”
When she didn't respond, I knew my voice was too low for her to hear. After a few deeps breaths, I staggered into the room. “Why don't you come out there and cut it off for me if it bothers you that bad?”
I plopped on the bed. She stomped around me throwing her scrubs and clean underwear on the bed beside me. Her neck moved in the same zigzag motion as her pointed finger. “My man shouldn't be out there every night. You should be in here with me.”
Too exhausted to sympathize with her, I stretched out on the bed and huffed, “Akua, don't even try it.”
She headed to the bathroom and yelled, “Go to hell!”
I chuckled at her last words. She slammed the bathroom door, and I was asleep by the time she finished.
 
When I got to the hospital, my head was still throbbing. As I reviewed my charts, I winced. My attending physician stood beside me, “Is everything okay?”
I nodded. Damn. I had two surgeries with Akua. Her nasty moods last all day. I sighed. The first surgery was scheduled for 9:30. I checked the clock on the wall. Should I try and catch her between surgeries just to settle our beef? As I got into the mix, time slipped away. Akua and I ran into each other, both running a few minutes behind schedule.
She surprised me with a stiff peck on the lips. “Hey, Doc.”
“Hey, baby.”
She laughed. “Did you turn the lights off in the house?”
“Don't start that shit with me this morning.”
After we scrubbed down we headed into the operating room. I thought she said something, so I asked, “What?”
She smirked. “Don't
start
with me.”
I put my finger up to my mouth. Last thing we needed was to walk into the OR in the middle of a squabble. I smiled. She didn't. The nurses had already prepped the patient. I asked my required questions and told the patient what I'd be doing. Finally, I did my part, and the patient drifted off into a deep slumber. My attending physician gave me a nod of approval. I nodded back in appreciation.
It takes a certain kind of arrogance to perform surgery. Every time I watch her with that scalpel, it scares me. Her adrenaline pumps through her veins, but her hands remain steady and focused. This was one of the few things that excited her. I stand there studying her and she doesn't even realize I'm here. She and her patient are the only people in the room.
Nearing the end of the surgery, the patient squirmed. Akua's eyes pierced through me. Without exchanging words, I knew she was furious. I bit my lips.
C'mon, man. Stay asleep for five more minutes
. My fists tightened, as I prayed. Thankfully, Akua said, “All done.”
I uncrossed my fingers, my legs, and my arms. That was a close one. As we exited the operating room, I heard someone with an accent say, “You need to get your shit together.”
I turned around to my girl's stony look. I frowned. I can respect her style, but not in front of my colleagues. I'd obviously misjudged his weight and didn't give him enough to last the length of the surgery, but did I really need her smart-ass mouth? That had nothing to do with getting my shit together.
On my way into the second surgery, she chuckled, adding, “Don't mess up in here, too, Doc.”
I frowned at her and didn't comment. During the surgery, I found myself reflecting on how we'd gotten to the point that Akua felt she could say whatever she wanted to me. Why did I settle? Maybe I concluded I should take the good with the bad, but is her bad really worth her good? When the surgery was done, we scrubbed down and I still didn't say anything. I couldn't help thinking about Taylor.
12
TAYLOR
T
he phone startled me as I coasted down the highway in a daze. I looked at the caller ID. I smiled when I saw my little sister's name. “Hey Turi. What's up, girl?”
If she hadn't dialed me, her monotone voice would have made me question if she even wanted to talk. “Hey, Tay.”
“When you coming home?”
She sighed. “Dunno. Maybe Thanksgiving.”
“Maybe?”
She snickered. “Yes. Maybe.”
“So, are you trying to disown us?”
“Look who's talking.”
“They disowned me. What am I supposed to do?”
She laughed again. “Nobody has disowned you.” She kidded, “They're just concerned about your spirituality.”
“Whatever, Turi.”
“For real. They pray for you like you're the devil himself.”
“Shut up. Just cause I don't go to their church doesn't mean I'm a devil.”
“You're right,” she agreed. “Enough about that, you know they love you all the same. What's going on in your life?”
“Nothing.”
“I heard that you been talking to Scooter.”
“Who told you that? Mommy?”
She teased. “I can't reveal my sources.”
“It had to be Mommy.”
“Psych. It was Toni.” She laughed. “She said you would have thought God walked in the church when they saw Scooter.”
“Stop playing, Turi.”
“Look, I'm only telling you what I heard.”
I laughed. “What did she say?”
Why are the religious ones the biggest gossipers? She hummed to expand my curiosity. I begged, “What did she say?”
“She said he was fine as ever.”
I gasped. “Tell me about it.”
“So have y'all hooked up since he went to church?”
How was I to explain I'd been awaiting his call for over a month? Acting as if it wasn't so serious, I said, “No. You know he lives in Connecticut.”
“Between Mommy and Toni, they got all the info. They know all his vital statistics. Mommy got you on the prayer list.”
“Turi, Mommy is crazy.”
She laughed. “Taylor, don't miss your blessing. You better start praying, too.”
“Whatever.”
“You better recognize the power of prayer.”
“All right, Daddy Junior.”
“Whatever, I'm on my way to Bible Study. I was just calling to see if you want me to add you to our prayer circle.”
I snapped, “Turi, I'm not a charity case. I don't need y'all praying for me to find a man.”
“A husband, Taylor. We're not praying for you to just find a man.”
I laughed. “I don't believe y'all.”
“Contrary to what you believe, we love you.”
“I never said y'all didn't love me. I know
you
love me.”
“So does Toni.”
“Yeah okay, Mother Theresa.” I chuckled. “I guess that's why you're the one who was called into the ministry.”
She laughed. “Yeah, cause my big sisters are crazy.”
“Forget you.”
Just as I was pressing the END button, my phone beeped. Assuming it was Courtney, I didn't bother checking the caller ID. I clicked over and said, “Hey.”
“Hey. It's Scooter.”
Oh shit. My heart dropped. I looked at the cloudy sky. Powerful was an understatement, prayer was the bomb! Before I could respond to his greeting, I mouthed, “Thank you, Jesus.”
Then I took a silent deep breath and cleared my throat. “Hey Scooter. What's up?”
He immediately began to spit excuses as to why he hadn't called. “I've been under a rock since I got back from Maryland. They have me working like a slave.”
Just as I was tempted to roll my eyes, I thought about the Angel that called to forewarn me that my blessing was coming. I responded pleasantly, “Yeah, I know how it is. I've been working a lot lately too.”
He sighed. “Plus . . .” He paused.
My mouth hung open, waiting for him to crush me. When it didn't come out fast enough, I snapped, “Plus what?”
“It's kind of hard to call you when, you know . . .”
I knew what he was saying, but I refused to accept it until he explicitly verbalized it. I huffed, “No. I don't know.”
Without hesitation, he said, “When my girl is around.”
Again, my bottom lip dangled from my face. As all my blood shot to my head, my right foot was left without enough energy to press the gas pedal. Going about forty mph, cars zoomed past me. I crawled into the right lane. Maybe I should surrender. If a man claims his woman like that, nine times out of ten, he has no plans to leave her. I absorbed feelings of defeat. Then, I confidently asked what I was afraid to ask when we spent the night together, “So, it's like that?”
“Like what?”
“I mean, are you two like always together?”
He seemed hesitant, but he said it, and I wanted to faint as I swerved off on the Ardmore/Ardwick Exit. “We live together.”
As I slowed to stop at the red light, I finally released the breath that I was unconsciously imprisoning in my lungs. What was Plan B? How could I move in on a chick that he slept with every night?
Despite all of those people praying for him to be my husband, I decided to throw in the towel. As Scooter went on to explain how tied at the hip he was with his girlfriend, my decision became much easier.
“Plus, she's a resident at Yale, too.”
Not only did they live together, they worked together. It was clear that Operation Sneaky Devil was over. With disappointment dribbling from my lips, I pretended to sound friendly and unfazed. “Oh. That must be nice.”
“Not really.”
Though I was awfully tempted, I didn't feed into his downplay of his obviously troubled relationship. “Yeah, I'm sure it could be stressful, but all relationships are stressful.” I quickly switched topics before he gave me an excuse to justify pursuing him.
“Guess what happened to Courtney today.”
As I pressed my garage door opener, he interrupted me before I got too into the details. “Tay-Bae.”
I paused to shake off the strong attraction tingling in me. Then, I said, “Yes?”
He laughed. “I used to hate when you said ‘yes' like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like Mrs. Cleaver or something.” We both laughed and he proceeded to end our conversation. “I'm on the hospital phone. I'll call you when I get home.”
“What about your girlfriend?”
“She's working nights for the next two weeks. So I'll call around nine. Is that okay?”
I wanted to say no, but my mouth spoke louder than my brain. “That's cool. I'll talk to you then.”
When I pressed END, I shouted loudly in the confines of my garage. “Damn!”
I'd already opened myself up to entertain a man with a live-in girlfriend. Shit! And I was already anticipating nine o'clock. I grabbed my cheap boxed wine from the shelf, rushed upstairs and poured a tall glass.
I flicked through the channels and
Entertainment Tonight
happened to be telling me what I wanted to hear. “Pictures of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt back in LA months after the birth of their daughter . . .”
As if it would make the television louder, I scooted closer to the screen. I was inspired. I found myself praising Angelina for having the skills to conquer such a happy home. Just a year ago I was angry as hell to hear about the Brad and Jen breakup. What kind of woman have I become? What could be the cause of my distorted state of mind?
I showered and got into my bed. My slight intoxication sedated me and I slipped into a light nap. The loud sound of my cordless blazed in my ear. My head sprung from the pillow and I rubbed my eyes. Who was calling me in the middle of the night? I cleared my throat and pretended to be awake as I answered. Simultaneously, I glanced at the clock. 10:12.
I quickly pressed TALK. “Hello.”
“Are you asleep?”
His soothing voice calmed my pounding heart. I took a deep breath and lied, “No, I'm up watching the news.”
“I remember you used to hate watching the news.”
I laughed. “I know, right?”
“That's why you claimed you'd never do criminal law.”
He seemed to remember just about everything about me. Could it be that memories of us were as fresh in his mind as they were in mine? I said, “You got it. You know I hate crime. I ain't trying to work those long hours and prosecute them for no money. And you know I could never defend them.”
He kidded. “You're still bourgeois.”
“Call it what you will. I have to pay my loans off.”
We both laughed. He said, “Courtney looks like she's doing okay.”
“See, Courtney was born to prosecute criminals. I was just born to make a lot of money and shop.”
“I love that you haven't changed,” he said, laughing.
Was that a good thing or a bad thing? I smiled nervously. He snickered and repeated, “I love that.”
If he loved it, it couldn't possibly be a bad thing. I was lost for words, but he saved me. He continued, “It's really hard to find women who are focused, but still youthful.”
“What do you mean?”
He searched for the words to explain the term youthful. “Women.” He paused just as he realized he was attempting to lump us all into one category. “Most professional women are uptight.”
Needing the encouragement, I asked him to explain. “I know y'all think it's hard for women to find men, but it's just as hard for men to find women,” he said.
“Whatever.”
He laughed. “Trust me. You got the fun women who don't have anything going for them. Then you got the women who are tight on paper but boring as hell. It's not every day that you find women like you and Courtney. It seems like y'all handle your business and still have fun. It just doesn't seem like you guys let age or responsibility get the best of you.”
Instead of taking the opportunity to gloat about how Courtney and I were “Ride or Die” chicks, I took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. “So which kind of woman is your girl?”
He laughed hard. “She's the smart, boring chick.” His humor subsided. “All her friends are uptight, too.”
He'd left his front door wide open and I was ready to go in and clean house. “Are you serious?” I gasped.
“Yup.”
“I can't imagine you with an uptight girl.”
As if he didn't believe it himself, he grunted, “Yeah, I couldn't either.”
“So how did y'all get together?”
“She was persistent.” As if he needed to correct it, he added, “And consistent.”
Men make the craziest decisions. I rolled my eyes. “And . . .”
“And she's attractive.” My heart sank. I wasn't sure if I could handle the rest. He continued, “She was someone I could learn from as well. You know, I was tired of dealing with the fine, dumb chick.”
“You used to mess with dumb chicks?” I grunted.
“Not like that Tay-Bae. I had a girl all through medical school, so I didn't have to deal with dating. We tried to couple match,” he explained.
“Huh?”
“That's when you and your significant other get into the same hospital for residency.”
“Oh, okay. Go ahead.”
“Anyway, we didn't match together. She went to UCLA, I ended up here. We knew going in that we couldn't make it work.” He sighed. “She was the fun, smart type.”
Good thing I wasn't competing with her. I nodded as he continued with his relationship journey.
“When I got here, I realized fun and smart isn't always a package deal. I had to choose. I either had to go with fun or smart. Like a dummy, I chose fun.” He chuckled again as if he explored his wild side. “I figured I would make enough money to compensate for her shortcomings.”
Damn. Was being fun that valuable? I looked at the receiver in disbelief.
“I was just sowing my oats. The fun chick was cool for that, but not for raising my kids. When I got serious about settling down, I changed my thinking. My girl was right there all along watching me chase the dumb chicks and I knew that I'd rather marry smart and boring any day opposed to fun and dumb.”
BOOK: Tappin' On Thirty
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