Loose Ends (10 page)
Authors: Electa Rome Parks
“Five years ago I was a different man. I’ve changed. I hurt a lot of people, but that was then; this is now.”
“Yeah, this is now.”
We rode, turning down a few secondary roads, passing familiar sights, in a comfortable silence while music played on the radio station.
“What does Kree think about this little reunion?” I asked Brice.
“She doesn’t,” he said nonchalantly.
“Doesn’t what?” I was confused.
“Doesn’t think. Kree does what I tell her to. There isn’t any room for questioning anything.”
“Man, you never cease to amaze me. Unbelievable.” I laughed.
“Christian, I’m sorry if my views about marriage and relationships don’t agree with yours.”
“To each his own. If Kree is cool with that, more power to you.”
“And she is. Women won’t admit it, but they get off having a strong man telling them what to do. They’re like little children; they have to have rules to follow. They like for real men to handle things. Take control.”
“Yeah, right. Tell that to all these independent, black women right here in Atlanta. They’d think that bullshit you’re spouting is something straight out of caveman days and that you’re a mental-ward escapee.”
“Man, you can have any of these so-called independent women. Next they’ll be thinking they have balls and dicks too.”
“Man, you are crazy! I mean crazy. We’ll just agree to disagree.” I threw up my hands in a truce.
“That’s right. When I tell Kree to jump, she’d better ask how high.” He laughed at his own joke. “Just kidding.”
Once again, I wasn’t too sure whether Brice was kidding or not.
About ten minutes later we pulled up in front of the two-story brick house that was my home years earlier. Pleasant memories flooded my mind and hit me square in the face. I slowly got out of the car and followed Brice up the walkway to the front door.
“Man, this still looks the same. Some things never change. God, this takes me back.”
Before we could even ring the doorbell, Vivica, Brice’s moms, opened the door with a smile that could melt the hardest of hearts.
“Christian, baby, come here and give me a big hug and kiss,” she said with outstretched arms.
I couldn’t help but smile and oblige as I wrapped my arms around her petite body. This was the lady who was like a second moms to me after mine had died. Vivica had aged gracefully, with salt-and-pepper hair that was pinned up into a bun at the back of her neck.
“Boy, I’ve missed you so much. Don’t you ever stay away like that again. You hear me?” She gave me another hug and looked me over.
“I’ve missed you too, and I hear you, Mrs. Matthew.”
“Mrs. Matthew?” she asked with confusion on her face.
“I hear you, Moms.”
“That’s better. You look good; you look happy. Now come on in this house.”
When we finally made our way in, Brice spoke. “Oh, I bring Christian by and he gets all the love. No hellos for your dear, beloved son.”
“Is that the son who was supposed to come by the other night with his wife for dinner?” she asked in a teasing voice.
“Moms, you know this business has me coming and going. There is never enough time. Anyway, I called to cancel.” Brice kissed her on the cheek. “Where’s Pops?” he asked.
“Oh, he’s sleeping. He sleeps less and less at night. At bedtime he is so restless. So during the day, he naps. Christian, make yourself at home while I check on our dinner.”
As soon as she said that, I smelled the mouthwatering aromas drifting into the living room from the kitchen. Vivica could throw down on some country cooking. If memory served me right, I was sure she had a big pot of collard greens with okra, fried chicken or baked ham, corn bread, fried corn and tomatoes, iced tea and some type of dessert—probably sweet potato pie.
I walked around the living room, picking up photos of Brice and me as preteens, teenagers and young adults. So many good memories surfaced. Brice was channel-surfing with the remote, trying to find a game on TV.
“Hey, Moms, I’m going upstairs to check on Pops.”
“Okay, baby. Christian, come in the kitchen and sit with me,” Vivica called.
I walked into the cozy kitchen to find Vivica standing at the stove stirring some collard greens in a big black pot as she checked on some corn bread in the oven. I smiled.
“Sit down, baby.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How’s Mia?”
“She’s fine, busy with school. You know the school year is almost over.”
“You tell her to come see me sometime. Both of you.”
“Okay, I will.”
“I mean it.”
I nodded my head.
“Christian, you’ve always been like a son to me. I love you, baby, and I’ve missed you.”
“Thank you, same with me.”
“You take good care of Mia. She deserves some happiness, and I know you can give her that and vice versa.”
“Moms, that means so much to me.” I walked over to give her a big hug.
“Christian, you and Mia have always had my blessings. Brice . . . I love him and he’s my only son, but I also know right from wrong. He wanted to strip that girl of her spirit. He wanted a trophy wife. You know, someone who looked pretty on his arm and doted on him. What he did to that child was wrong. He knows my feelings all too well on that subject.”
I just nodded as she placed a small sampling of her fried corn in front of me.
“I hope he does better with this new wife, Kree. She’s a looker and just as sweet as can be.”
I nodded with my mouth full of food.
“Have you met her yet?”
“No, ma’am, not yet. I’ve only seen a photo of her.”
“She looks like . . .”
We heard Brice walking down the stairs, so Vivica changed the subject and winked at me.
“What’s smelling so good in here?” He checked the pots and pans assembled on the stove.
“Boy, if you don’t get your hands and nose out of my food with your greedy self . . . Sit down like Christian and I’ll give you something to tide you over till dinner.”
I had to laugh. Nothing had changed. This was typical Vivica-and-Brice interaction. The love was definitely there between mother and son.
“Oh, Pops woke up and said he was hungry.”
“That man may be under the weather, but he hasn’t lost that appetite.”
She started to fix him a plate and asked Brice, “Where’s Kree today?”
“She’s over at the salon getting her hair done.”
“Well, has she found a job yet? Didn’t you or she say she has a fine arts degree?”
“Yes, she does, but my wife doesn’t work. Her job is to be my wife. That’s Kree’s full-time job.” Brice looked in my direction.
“Sometimes, baby, that’s not enough,” Vivica said with a sudden sadness in her sparkling eyes.
Brice and I spent a relaxing day at my second home. We talked, did some minor repairs in the upstairs bathroom, watched the game, and had a delicious meal. Of course, Vivica insisted on serving second helpings. So after dinner we were stuffed as we reclined on the sofa and love seat in the living room. I had come home. It felt good.
It was hard seeing the toll Alzheimer’s had taken on Brice’s pops when he was brought downstairs. He didn’t say much, just kinda sat there and stared. I don’t even think he recognized me. He responded to Vivica, though. It was all so sad and unfortunate. It made me realize how lucky I was to have a beautiful, loving wife and an adorable baby girl. It’s funny how far I have come. Years ago, having a family and settling down was nowhere in my definition of a happy life. Now a happy life couldn’t exist without Mia and Lyric. I’d be lost.
Brice
I haven’t been spending much time with Kree lately. I usually rise early and return home late each evening. So, I’d called Kree thirty minutes earlier and told her to meet me for lunch at this little café I’d discovered. It looked like a lot of other customers had discovered it too. The place was packed with a loud lunch crowd. I was seated where I could watch the front entrance.
Kree hadn’t arrived yet, probably because the traffic getting into Midtown at lunchtime was horrendous. So I sat, waited, drank my black coffee and thought about my conversation with Christian a couple of days earlier.
I knew Christian had mellowed out over the years, mainly since marrying Mia. I guess some would say he had matured in a number of ways. I couldn’t believe my man was a daddy. Hell, Christian used to be a wild man who liked some wild women. I was usually right there with him at some bar or club. Christian and I definitely sowed our wild oats and then some. Those were the days! I could tell some stories that people wouldn’t believe. They’d think I was making it all up, but now . . . things are different—for both of us.
I still feel that my boy condemns my views on marriage and relationships. To each his own. That’s, at least one of the reasons why Mia and I didn’t make it. Mia was too damn independent. I couldn’t get her to understand that I was the man of my house—not her, me. Oh, but she soon learned. It took tapping that ass a few times. Mia wasn’t about to run me! I put her ass on lockdown and that was that. I’m not proud of how I handled matters, but, regardless, my views haven’t changed.
Kree, on the other hand, knows the deal. And she likes it, no complaints. As long as I provide the lifestyle she wants, then hey, Kree’s cool. In the years we’ve been married, Kree and I have only had a few arguments. In the end, Kree cries and backs down. I know that crazy mother of hers is always trying to give her advice, but like I said, Kree knows the deal. I still say that’s why her pops is dead and buried in an early grave; Kree’s mother drove him crazy. I’m not about to put up with that type of shit. Hell, no!
As I picked up my cup to take another sip of coffee, Kree arrived and looked around for me. When she spotted me, I smiled. My wife is a beautiful, sexy woman. I admired her as she strolled the short distance over to my corner booth. Judging by the heads that were turning to stare at her as she walked by, I knew that to be the truth.
Today Kree was dressed in a floral-design silk dress, hanging slightly above the knee, that was hitting all the right places as she sashayed over. She pushed her hair behind her right ear, a habit she had along with biting her nails. I noticed the tiny pearl earrings she had on. They were the ones I had given her for our first wedding anniversary.
There was a time when seeing men staring at my wife would have upset me, made me mad as hell. Now I take it as a compliment to me. Other men could caress her with their eyes and imagine how she’d feel in their arms, but at night, she lay down in my bed, in my arms.
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