The Side Effects of You (5 page)

“Well, you were wrong. I was involved, so I wasn't trying to notice anyone. And at first, after the breakup, I still felt the same, until I saw you earlier this evening. I like what I see.” He moved in my direction.

I moved back a little to keep the space between us. I wouldn't dare display that type of behavior in front of my staff or at my business. “Well, I have to close up. So you should go.”

“Okay. I'll let you get back to work. But call me tonight, when you get in.”

“It will be late, Ethan. Sometimes I don't get in until after two.”

“Okay. Then call me tomorrow.”

We burst into laughter.

“I thought you'd have a change of heart,” I said.

“Yes, I'm going home to hit the hay.”

“Good night, Ethan.”

“Good night, Sam.”

He walked out the door, and I watched him climb into his Range Rover. I stood at the door until his taillights had disappeared down the street.

Stacy snapped my attention back to the restaurant. “Are we locking the door, Ms. Sam?”

“Yes. Is everyone gone?”

“Yes, ma'am, and everything is pretty much done. We haven't had a customer in an hour, and we are pretty much done.”

“An hour? Are you sure?” I had been so busy chatting with Ethan that I hadn't noticed.

“Yes, ma'am. The bar is broken down, the floors are done, and the kitchen is almost done.”

Happy to hear my crew had everything under control, I headed to the bar to close out the registers. I managed to get home at 1:15 a.m., which was a first. Once inside, I picked up my phone, scrolled to Ethan's name, and stared at it.

How could I date him, like him, or get close to him, or to any man, for that matter? I had a secret, a big secret. Closing my eyes, I asked God to take it back. I begged him to reverse my condition so I could love again. So I could share my heart, my life, and my body with a man again. I begged him to have mercy on me and to heal me so I could have a shot with Ethan. He was fine, and while chatting with him, I had learned about his job. I was impressed. He was a software programmer, and he worked on phone apps. He was brilliant, and I just wanted to be the old me. The me before Charles infected me, the me who loved life. The me who loved and had sex on the regular.

If he and I hit it off, how could I tell him? How? I went to sleep thinking I should cancel our date. I didn't want to like anyone. Damn. Why did I even get that stupid makeover? If I had stuck with my bun and pressed powder, he would have never asked me out.

I made up my mind. I wasn't going to date him.

“I have an opening at four,” I said to my client, “only because I had a cancellation. But if you need more than a shampoo and a style, I can't squeeze you in. I am already overbooked.”

I had told my receptionist, Octavia, a million times not to transfer a call to me from a client looking to get squeezed in, and I was going to tell her one last time. I gave all the appointment scheduling to her, and if she couldn't tell these women no, I'd have to hire someone with enough bravery to do so.

“I understand, Mrs. Richards, but I'm booked solid. That slot is only open for a shampoo and style. No color, no eyebrows, no makeup. I can get you in for your hair only. I'm sure another stylist can maybe fit you in for everything else.” I rolled my eyes. I had a client in my chair, and I didn't want her to see the ugly, unpleasant faces I was making, but I was highly annoyed.

“No, Andrea. No one knows me like you do. I just need you this one time to make an exception. I'll pay double. I just have an important dinner with my husband tonight that I totally forgot about,” she whined.

“Listen, I will do the best I can, okay? But you have to be here on time.
Not one minute late.
If you are, you won't get serviced.”

“I'm there,” she said.

When we hung up, I hoped she didn't renege on that double pay. If I was going to make another client wait, the money had to be right.

By the time I had finished my day, I was happy I hadn't fallen behind too much. Luckily, even with the additional appointment, my day hadn't run very late. After I let my last stylist out and locked the door, I headed to my office but was stopped by a tap on the front door.

I turned around slowly, wondering what one of the girls had forgotten. But it wasn't a staff member. It was
him
. I swallowed hard and just stood there, so he tapped again.

I finally instructed my legs to move forward and marched over to the door. I unlocked the lock and snatched the door open.

“What are you doing here, Quentin?” I barked.

“I need to talk to you,” he said sadly, looking as good as ever.

I had thought he was good looking back then, but now he was fine as hell. Despite that, I wanted him to stay away. I didn't understand why he had shown up again. He'd apologized, and I had accepted, so he had no reason to be here.

“About what?” I asked.

“Can we go someplace, or can I come in for a minute?”

I knew I should say, “Hell, no,” but I stepped aside. “Come on in.”

He walked in, and I locked the door. This time I powered off the
OPEN
sign. “I have a little more cleaning to do at my booth, so come on back.”

He followed me and took a seat in the chair to the left of my station. I started removing my combs from the sanitizer, waiting for him to speak.

“So this is your salon, huh? It's nice. Upscale, classy. I knew you'd do well.”

I paused and dried my hands. “Thanks, but get to you, Quentin. Why are you here?”

“To be honest, I just wanted to see you again, Andrea. I mean, lately, you're all that I think about, and I can't help but wonder how things would have been if I hadn't . . . hadn't . . .”

I jumped in. “Convinced me to have an abortion and then packed your things and left me alone?” He put his head down. I put my hands on my hips. “Look, Quentin, that was years ago. Even though you're just now apologizing, I forgave you a very long time ago. If I had not, I'd be a mental case right now, instead of a wife, mother, and business owner. You can't keep showing up, because now, all of a sudden, you feel bad—”

He interrupted me. “It's not all of a sudden, Andrea. I've walked around for years, feeling horrible for what I did to you. I was in love with you back then, but I was young, foolish, and focused on the wrong things. Every time I had a moment alone without the team, the girls, and the ill advice of others, who I allowed to poison my head, I thought of you. After I graduated and didn't go into the NBA, like I thought I would, I realized I gave up the wrong person and our baby. I didn't think I could handle that at the time, and I'm so sorry. It hurts me every single day. I can't help but think of the what-ifs.”

I knew he meant well, and I felt he was sincere, but that was over and done with. He had to leave me alone.

“I don't blame you for anything anymore, Quentin. I have long since gotten over all the hurt, so you don't have to come around anymore. You are making all these emotions that I had a handle on resurface, and I don't want to continue revisiting our past. We both made some bad choices. As much as I hated to admit it, I was just as wrong. I didn't have to go through with it, but I did. I think what hurt me the most was I went through with it because you said it was the best thing for us. I trusted you, and a few days later you left. I thought that we were in it together and that we'd eventually heal from it, move on, transition into our lives, get married, and have more babies. But that didn't happen. Now, if there isn't anything else, you should go and not come by here again. I'm married, and you and I are history.”

He sat in silence, with his head down. I turned back to my station, waiting for him to stand and make his exit, but he just sat there. I headed to the back to put the towels in the wash, and when I came back, he was still sitting there.

“Can I ask you one thing before I leave?” he said.

I hoped these would be his last words, because I had to go. “Sure.”

He stood and walked close to me. I took a tiny step back. I knew I should have created a larger space between us. Quentin still made me hot, and I could feel the moisture forming in my center. I had to admit that I was still attracted to him. He looked damn good. I had missed his scent, and I could feel the electricity from his body, which I had also been missing—not just from him, but from a man, period. The closest Jeremiah and I had gotten lately was in a prayer circle, and there were no romantic exchanges there.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

I laughed. “What? What kind of question is that?” That was my way of avoiding the truth. Hell, no, I wasn't happy. I was miserable.

“It's a question that I need to know the answer to. If you tell me that you are happy, Andrea, I will go and will never bother you again.”

With that, I lied. “Yes, I'm happy.” I didn't need Quentin coming around. I was raw and horny and weak. He would only make matters worse.

He backed up. “Good. Good for you. I'm happy to hear that. I won't come by again.” He turned and walked toward the door. I let out the air in my chest and followed him.

Before he made his final exit, he turned to me one last time.

“I'm proud of you, Andrea. You turned out to be the woman I always imagined you would be. I am truly happy for you.”

“Thank you, Quentin,” I said. “Take care.”

He finally made his exit, and I locked the door. I went to my office, finished the daily accounting as quickly as I could, and then left.

As I drove home, a million questions ran through my head. I wondered what he was doing. Was he also married? Did he have kids? Was he was happy?

I shut thoughts of Quentin off when I walked into my house and was bombarded by the kids. After I got caught up on their day, I headed upstairs to bathe and relax. I went to kiss my children good night and reminded Kelly to set the timer on her television. I didn't bother to ask if Jeremiah had been home when I said good night to her.

I went down to lock up and got a glimpse of the kitchen. It was a mess, and I knew Kelly had made breakfast for dinner—because she knew how to make only breakfast food.

After deciding to leave the kitchen as it was, I headed back up and started my bathwater. I undressed, grabbed my robe, and went downstairs again to see if we had any wine left from the last soiree I'd had. We didn't keep liquor or wine on hand, but we did buy it when we planned to have something at our home. Correction, when
I
planned to have something, because Jeremiah never entertained. I had my stylists over every so often for a night of fun.

I found a bottle of Riesling in the pantry and put it in the freezer, then ran up to turn off the water. I decided to clean my kitchen while my wine chilled, and before my task was complete, Jeremiah walked in. A very unexpected surprise.

“You're home. And before eleven,” I commented.

“Yes. I have an early day tomorrow, so I am going to shower and go to bed.”

“What's going on tomorrow?”

“Well, I see you don't check the calendar that Cathy makes out for you.”

With my back to him, I rolled my eyes. “I haven't checked it, Jeremiah. Again, what's going on tomorrow?”

“The men's retreat begins tomorrow. You know we will be gone for a week.”

“It's time for that already?”

“Yes.” He sounded annoyed. “If you'd give the church more of your attention, instead of that worldly place of a salon, you'd remember these things.”

“Well, maybe if you treated me like your wife and the first lady, I'd be interested.”

“Good night, Ann. I'm not for this. I will just do what I always do.”

“And what's that, Jeremiah?”

“Pray for you,” he said, walking toward the guest room. The room that had become his about two years ago.

“Pray for yourself while you're at it,” I retorted under my breath. I didn't want to argue. I just wanted to finish up, pour myself a glass, and soak in my spa tub.

After pouring a glass of the chilled Riesling and taking a sip, I headed upstairs with the bottle in tow. Hell, if I wanted another glass, I didn't want to have to go all the way back downstairs.

In the hot water, I rested my head on my bath pillow. I listened to Jill Scott on my iPod dock, sipped my wine, and thought about Quentin. Now, if he were my husband, he'd be in this tub with me. I smiled at that idea. Tried not to, but my mind went back to the days when we were together in our tiny one-bedroom apartment. Before college life came between us and injured our relationship. How sweet he'd been to me back then. Holding my hand had been a given.

“Lord, please help me.” I sipped and stared at the ceiling. “I believe and trust in you, Lord, and I don't want to do anything against your Word, Lord, so please bring my husband back to me. Back into our bed. Let him love me again. I'm lonely, God, and I shouldn't feel alone in my marriage.” My eyes watered. “Please, God,” were my last words before I sat up to refill my glass.

The next morning I fixed my kids breakfast. Jeremiah had already left, without saying good-bye. He would be gone for a week but hadn't bothered to say “I love you” before he departed. Typical. I was happy he was gone, though. It didn't bother me at all.

* * *

I enjoyed my break from the back-and-forth with Jeremiah by indulging in a shopping trip. The kids had gone to sleepovers, so when I got home from shopping, I had a Saturday evening of peace and quiet before me. As soon as I stepped out of my shoes, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. Imagine my surprise when I heard Quentin's voice on the other end when I answered.