Missed Anniversary..

Her legs were crossed indian style on her california king amidst the vast space of her downtown Boston condominium.  The tears that rolled her cheeks barely escaped soiling her lips and instead fell harmlessly to the pillow that she held onto tightly. Today was January 28, 2011. She would never forget it. This same date had life altering relevance 5 years ago. 

The memories never left her, nor did the box of pictures, letters and small artifacts that she collected leading up to that day. She never forgot the phone call that came in from the Boston Police Department. 

Eric was 24, vibrant, spontaneous, loving and all of the great traits anyone would search for in a fiancé. He embodied it all to Kenya. The police sheriff described him in a slightly different light. The shoot out he was involved with 3 hours prior to the phone call laid out a scene of horror, anger, and mischief. Even the local news department didn’t use the most flattering words. She remembered watching channel 4 the next morning and reading the words “Homicide Avenue” burned across the screen, describing the very street she lived on. The report said that a young man, named Eric Sampson, or as the streets called him, E- Class, had murdered four people, including a child in cold blood before later being shot by police as he attempted to flee.

She didn’t care about their portrayal. To Kenya, he’d always be her E bear.

It always seemed to rain on January 28. Today was no different. Moving on was difficult. The first three years were nearly unbearable. Eventually the tears went from hourly to daily. Daily to Weekly. Weekly to Monthly. Monthly to annually.

Dave helped.

His arrival in her life couldn’t have come at a better time. As a level headed family man, he didn’t provide the same dramas that Eric did. He was a welcome change.

He strolled through the bedroom door after a hard day at the job. The Chinese food he picked up on the way home saved Kenya from having to cook a meal. His smile went from wide to tight in seconds, filled with concern. He dashed over to her and nearly spilled his food in the process.

“You Ok, baby? What’s goin' on?” he asked, genuine worry filled him throat.

“Nothing.” She replied. Her answer was harsh. Short. Curt.

His eyes led him to the box. The various pictures from the small photo booths throughout Boston were scattered across the bed. Eric’s hand written notes were opened and unfolded revealing a love that was supposed to last forever. The barrette Eric bought her with his last $5 sat untouched next to a stack of movie ticket stubs which were gently rubber banded together. The magazine that had wedding gowns circled and vacation trips planned went untouched and the mystery black 8mm videotape remained alone and nondescript.

The box of Kleenex stumbled to the floor as Dave stood up. It was a complete accident. Although not one he really regretted. He left it there on the floor as he walked back towards the kitchen. Suddenly the urge to eat and be with his woman changed.

If a woman can’t be completely with you on an emotional level, is she really with you? He wondered as the remote control rest in his hand. Atlanta Housewives lost some of its luster as he listened to her shed additional tears through the thin walls. His jacket wasn’t far away and with an anger building in his chest, neither was the local bar.

IS DAVE WRONG TO FEEL A CERTAIN WAY?

HOW LONG IS KENYA’S GRIEVING ACCEPTABLE?

Nevada Nightmare..

I’ve never been one to feel bad for people who do foolish things, whether to themselves or to others. Foolish is as foolish does. In the same sentence, selfish is as selfish does. Everyone is described by their actions.

So as I read a CNN report of “embattled” Councilwoman Donna Fairchild and the violent crime she committed, I could only see the selfishness in her, and likely in women as a whole.

Your wife always tells you, I’m sure that it’s better to do things together than alone.

Let’s go to the mall together, she likely says.

Let’s go visit my mother together, is what I’m sure she decrees.

Let’s go to the bank together to check our balance, she says just to remove you from whatever comforts you have found.

But our friend Donna here, takes that a bit further.

Beloved…. I’ll pause while you catch the sarcasm…. Councilwoman Fairchild decides that not only are the mall, bank, and heinous mother in-law visits joint ventures, but that death should be included in the list.

Police Chief, Douglas L Law. of the Mesquite, NV police department was called by Donna and informed that there was a murder suicide in her home. Of course, Donna didn’t mention that her husband, likely just after that visit to mothers, was laying on the floor with a bullet wound to his head courtesy of Donna herself who would soon after pull the gun on herself.

Motive?

How dare he not want to go to the mall together and watch me try on 13 pairs of shoes but buy none. How dare he want to only call the bank rather than take the 30 minute drive down and physically see a bank teller. How dare he complain about driving 6 hours to visit mother and then complain more when my mother offered him advice on how to live his life.

The audacity.

Wait, no. The article goes on to say that the embattled politician was under investigation for code of conduct violations for drum roll please…

..“filing the $94.60 mileage reimbursement request with the city for a January 4 Nevada Development Authority board meeting she allegedly did not attend”

According to an item on the council agenda.

Mileage reimbursement? Really?

I sometimes like to pause for dramatic effect, but it’s always lost on a blog.

So let me get this straight. Woman does wrong at work, thought she got away with it, got caught, had an emotionally jarring breakdown because of being caught, killed husband and then herself in that order.

Remind me again of the errors of the husband?

I remember, it was marrying a woman like Donna.

A woman who is selfish, as evidenced.

Crazy, as evidenced.

A manipulator, as evidenced.

Now tell me why a selfish, crazy, manipulative woman can possibly get married? Wait, sorry, it happens every day.

Find me ONE woman that doesn’t embody at least 2 of these 3 traits.

Don’t worry, I’m patient.

Until then, I hope the remaining members of this family wake up from their Nevada Nightmare.

Halle..

Of Course I’m sitting down, with my fork stuck in a piece of exotic fish resting over rice and ironically a film comes on with the same name. A simple symbol to watch. I, of course being a simple man, don’t ignore the signs. The scene I first noticed was riveting.

Hugh Jackman walks in on a woman who is slowly peeling herself out of a form fitting brown dress. Inch by inch revealing to the viewer a little more than what his wife likely wants him to see. Being the average Joe, of course I stay tuned.

The woman’s hair? Immaculate.

Eyes? Sultry.

Lips? Luscious.

Body? Toned to perfection.

Voice? Lets describe it as 1-900 esque.

Hugh asks the same question any man would ask.

“Who are you?” he says as his eyes never leave her.

Hugh, I know you’re the big time Hollywood actor here, but let me help you out. Her mother calls her “ my baby”, Eric Benet probably has a different name for her, so I’ll summarize for them both. She is what we like to call around here, “the perfect woman.”

Hugh says, “I’ve had a pretty shitty day,  looks like it just got worse.”

You know something, Hugh. You’re right. Here’s what happened.

You’ve realized that your wife has become irrelevant.

Your sisters innocent beauty is now a vague memory.

Even your mothers inner beauty has been morphed and forgotten.

You’ve come to the realization that every woman on the planet has already come to.

She is flawless.

With the pre mentioned collection of attributes, how can anyone argue.

And an even more glaring question  is, how can any woman on the planet compete. The bar is set to Neptune- esque proportions.

Her golden brown skin crushed the hopes of all members of the feminine regime.

The curves on her hips make even Blackberry envious.

Her walk insinuates that she was runway material from birth.

Anyone associated with the XY chromosome pattern was , since conception, already a step behind.

So what can you do as a woman? You can cut your hair in a similar manner. Good luck with that.

You can hit the gym four hours a day, In hopes that your abs crunch better than a Nestles chocolate bar. Again, Good luck.

You can even pay $1000 a week to a voice coach, praying to put your vocals somewhere on the map between lust craving and sensual.

I’m starting to run out of good luck wishes.

You get the point.

Perfection is exactly that.

Perfection.

No duplicates.

No carbon copies.

Many have tried to test her.

Monroe.

Theron.

Lisa Raye.

Jolie.

Kardashian.

Gabrielle Union.

The problem with the greats is that deep down inside, you know you will always be only competition. When you look at yourself and aspire to be a legend, you’re reaching. Hoping for a miracle. Hoping to come close.

John Travolta walks in on the scene, with his hair gelled back in the villain role and sees them together. She standing there undressed and Hugh speaking in tongues. Jackman was obviously shell shocked so Travolta stepped in with an obvious statement.

“This looks friendly.”

Of course we see the unveiling of the million dollar smile from the million dollar woman when she says in that voice,

“I’m a friendly girl.”

Stop thinking about it.

You don’t come close.

Find me ONE woman that does.

Don’t worry, I’m patient.

Until then, I’ll have more of this Swordfish. I’m not quite full.

Taken While Mistaken..

Their family living room was tattered and destroyed. The couch was flipped exposing its ugly underbelly and the beautiful family portraits which 20 minutes ago adorned the cream painted walls were now bunched in a corner as if they were yesterdays trash. The Comcast remotes were thrown against the wall and would never work again, while the house phone lay on the street corner after being thrown from a window. Doors were slammed and screaming commenced.

Arguing back and forth was futile Dwayne decided and kept quite as he began to reconfigure his dismantled living area.

Her voice could still be heard from the bedroom as she packed her bags.

“And I’ll tell you another thing, asshole. I’m not coming back this time. Don’t call me. Lose my number.”  Candace yelled out making sure the neighbors in their condo took notice.

Dwayne nodded his head and hoped she was telling the truth. He was tired of arguing. Them being separated was for the best. When it got to the point where you are fighting in this manner, and you don’t know what you did wrong, there was no way to go but down.

He ignored her voice which infuriated her even more.

She stormed out of the room dragging a Louie Vutton suitcase behind her.

“Why Dwayne?! Why?! You got me looking like a damn fool with these chicks!” she barked as she stood 3 feet away from him.”

“Yo, I don’t even know what you’re talkin about Candace. That’s real talk. But I ain't gonna sit here and argue with you. The neighbors will think we’re crazy.” He said in a calm voice which only added lighter fluid to her flame.

“You’re stupid and you think I'm stupid too. You know you had some bitch call you late last night! You was sleep and I just happened to hear your phone ringing in your jacket. I answer and the bitch was like “ Can I speak to Dwayne?! Speak to Dwayne for WHAT?! At 3:00a!??” her words were news to him.

He honestly didn’t hear the phone ring and certainly wasn’t messing around with anyone.

“Why are you going through my phone? Where is my phone?” She pulled it from her purse and threw it at him. His catch was miraculous and he quickly opened it to see a name that he recently added.

He looked back at Candace and back at his phone.

“Yo, you’re crazy. Regina?? This is my cousin! We just reconnected on Facebook. She lives in California which is why she called at that hour. There’s a time difference!” he responded honestly.

“Enough!” the tears of anger poured down her face as she stormed up against him inches from his face.

Everything happened so quickly.

The palm of her hand connected squarely against his jaw and rocked him back at least two feet.

The slaps continued and quickly transformed to punches.

He felt himself snap as he grabbed her by the throat and pushed her up against the wall. The colors changed in her face as the sirens pulled up, thanks to a neighbors call.

He released her and watched as she ran for the man dressed in a blue uniform. The man quickly reached for his handcuffs and headed for Dwayne.

The tears were enough but the pointing did more to convince the officers that she was a victim.

She smiled as he was pushed past her towards the squad car.

Who is the victim here? Was Dwayne wrong? What’s the public perception of a situation like this and is it the right one?

Support System..

He pushed away from the computer briskly as the frustration built on his face. The words weren’t coming together as he’d wished and he was certainly less than satisfied with the mixture of words which haphazardly designed the previously blank white page. The multitude of destroyed copies littered the floor beneath his feet and the third opened red bull can signified a long night ahead. His well lit apartment cast a great glow down upon his work station, but cast very few ideas.

Martha watched him pace around the room while she simultaneously watched the Heroes marathon playing in front of her on the large HDTV dangling from the wall. She tried to focus on her favorite characters movements as to not get overly involved in his project. His incessant pacing gradually and likely purposefully pulled him directly between she and the NBC series she’d been waiting weeks to see. The State Farm commercial caused her to speak as she dashed for a can of orange soda in the nearby kitchen.

“Something wrong, Ant?” she said, knowing the answer but trying steer clear of the conversation. She knew he wanted to discuss it.

“Well, now that you ask. There is. I just can’t piece this together. I’ve been struggling with it for weeks now.” He thought back to the novel he’d been working on and wanted it to be just perfect.

With the safety of the ceramic wall dividing she and Ant, she rolled her eyes with confidence. She opened her big mouth months ago in pushing him to try something that his heart desired. Although he had dreams of becoming a New York Times best seller, his writing ability didn’t match the ideas that filled his head. She strolled back around the corner, with a semi smile on her face.

“I was hoping maybe you can give me some inspiration or something, you know.” Ant wondered about his next steps. He’d always sought her tips to salvage his confidence in taking on this project. Months had gone by with very little to show, and his stronghold on fulfilling his secret life desire was waning.

With one eye focused on the commercials playing on network television, she dashed over to his computer and read the few words that were scattered on his page. Some levels of amazement set in as the words entered her thought process.

                               “ Jeremy was scared. He didn’t not know what he shoulda did and he didn’t know anybody that would help him. He needed help.

                                He jumped in his car and press the gas. The gas made his car go fast. The wind went into the car because the window was down.”

She wanted to smile at his amateurish attempt at novel hood, but forgot that she was part of the reason he’d entertained this idea in the first place.

Chase your dreams, she said. You can be anything you want, she said. Now she regretted even uttering the word, book.

“Honey this is great, keep up the good work.” She watched the smile come across his face, as she jumped back to the couch just in time to catch the next segment of her favorite show.

He pulled his chair back up to the desk and continued to write.

Can you positively support someone in a venture, that they are obviously not good at?

Who should take the burden to inform someone that what they want to do, they probably shouldn't?

Is Martha right in pushing him to write or should she have shut him down?

ARCTIC SOUL OR ACTIC SOLE?

The atmosphere was stunning as the white and pink flowers decorated every square inch of the Morton Avenue Baptist Church. The three hundred family, friends and guests sat humbly in their seats as and read through the small pamphlets they held in their hands. The church organ played a beautiful hymn while the group of seven pink gown cloaked women stood off to Stacy’s side. The men dressed sharply in their black tuxes complete with pink vests stood behind Jamal , acting as a support system for a man who’d chosen to sacrifice his days of singlehood for a life of holy and eternal matrimony. Jamal’s custom Sean John suit cost a pretty penny as did the ring that weighed down the box in his best man’s hand. Neither met the cost of Stacy’s custom pure white Vera Wang wedding gown which contained over ten feet of train, complete with an elaborate yet simple veil which seemed to at the moment be perfect for shielding the tears that poured down her face on the day that she’d always dreamt of.

Jamal spoke into the Mike as the church watched on.

“ I stand here today as a lucky man.” His voice was deep and booming by nature. The microphone only magnified it.
“Last month, my little sister gave me a button which said, I love you.
Last week, my grandmother gave me a photo album from her wedding back in 1943 which brought tears to her eyes.
Last night my mother gave me a childhood collage I made when I was 10, which documented how I wanted my wedding to look.
And today, you give me the piece that I needed the most to add to all of what I’ve already been given.
The love of an innocent child, the blueprint of a perfect life, and the experience of a wedding that’s lasted over 60 years.
Today you give me the wife in which to share that all with.
I love you.”

The tears in the room seemed to flood the aisles as the best man passed him the box containing the princess cut diamond ring weighing just under 2.5 carats.
The pastors voice was calm, humbling even.

Stacy’s I do’s went quickly. The smile on her face would stay forever.

As the pastor turned towards Jamal, he felt it.
The trepidation in his voice was apparent even before he spoke.
The hesitation in his voice was apparent as he spoke.

“Do you , Jamal Collins, take Stacy Morris to have and to hold, till death do you part, as long as you both shall live.”

His pause immediately caught Stacy’s attention.
Cold feet was an understatement.
Standing in Greenland with flip flops would have been more comfortable.
He finally felt the 600 individual eyes baring down on him.

The sweat gathered on his forehead and under his arms.
He close his eyes and hoped God would force the right words to come out.

I do, would have been perfect.
What he said was anything but.

“Umm.” He said.

“UMM, What Jamal!? “Stacy said as she watched him, the Devil making himself present in her eyes.

He wanted to whisper to the pastor. He wanted to whisper to the best man. HE wanted to whisper to someone.
There was no one to whisper to.

He wasn’t sure.
He was stuck.


CAN JAMAL CONTROL COLD FEET? SHOULD HE BE CONDEMNED IF HE CHANGES HIS MIND? HOW CAN HE GET OUT OF A SITUATION LIKE THIS?

IS HE WRONG?

Sweaty Sex Statement..

“Nathaniel?”  Folisha whispered as she pushed her cheek deeper and deeper in his bare chest as they both lay sweaty on his California King sized bed. His booming deep voice rumbled through his chest and out of his esophagus before it reached her earlobes.

“Yea, baby girl” he responded.

“You know I love you right?” she said, uttering the 4 letter word for the first time during their relationship.

Four years ago, yesterday, they began a torrid sexually affair, complete with desires, fantasies and erotic dreams. It was always solely about that. Never a mention of relationship status. Never a mention of monogamy. Never a mention of an isolated friendship.

It was sex. Nothing more, nothing less.

The room paused around him as he tried to gather his thoughts.

He looked down at the red white and blue polo sheet that was tossed during their second round of foreplay a mere 40 minutes prior. He looked over at the brown shoes that were tossed in the corner of the room along with her  Prada loafers haphazardly as they tried to undress as quickly as possible. The television remote control was resting comfortably near the bed, a battery less as it had been thrown from the bed during one of the many position switches over the course of the last few hours.

He was unsure how to answer and was thankful that Earth had seemingly stopped to allow him time to think.

“I love you too baby doll.”

The smile that blanketed her face was of pure emotion. Nothing was sweeter than the first time hearing someone say that they love you.

Nathaniel had a different point of view.

In some ways, his answer wasn’t false.

The interpretation was false. Absolutely false. He didn’t love her. He HAD love for her, but wasn’t in love with her.

Luckily for him, she didn’t ask for the interpretation.

He didn’t bother to give it.

He closed his eyes, hoping his answer suffice.

What are your thoughts about this type of situation?

Celebrity Fit..

Antoinette sat on the couch repainting her nails as he strolled in with a large cheesy smile on his face. The crisp suit and tie Adrian wore hugged his body close and highlighted every amazing feature about him.

She could watch him all day. Just sit there and look at him and never move. He was her fantasy in every word. She loved that she could claim him as her own.

“Hey babes, what’s REALLY good!?” he was more than excited as he placed his briefcase down on the floor near the extra large plush couch.

“Nothing much Adrian, got off early, came home to catch Maury. Sounds like you had a good day. “ she replied as she stood up to kiss him on the cheek.

“Damn sure did!” he said as he pulled a bouquet of daisies from behind him.

“Happy Thursday” he said softly.

She jerked back in surprise.

“Wow, thanks babes. Now tell me what you want…” she replied.

“Why it gotta be all that?” he asked in a mock surprise.

“Cuz don’t nobody know you better than me.”

“Ok, well there is something HUGE that came up today. Peep game.” He sat her down and looked deep in her eyes. Every following statement was true from the heart and genuine.

“You know I love you right?”

Her eyebrow arched as she responded.

“Mmm Hmm.”

“Well I got tickets to a show tonight.  A play downtown.”

“Good news, babe. So what you don’t want me to go. It’s cool, I know you probably wanna go with you boy or something.” She said trying to be understanding.

“Nah nah, it’s not that. Well kind of . See, I won them from a radio show. It’s the show with Gabrielle Union and they said I get to meet her backstage!”

Her mind wandered as he spoke.

“Remember that conversation we had when we were first dating about what celebrity we’d LOVE to have sex with if the chance ever came up?”

She just looked at him.

“If that chance comes up, I wanna take advantage. Will you be mad about it? I mean it won’t be anything besides that. Just that.”

Her mouth creaked open as the words came from her heart.

What would your response be? Should he have even asked?

Romantic Expectations..

Her T-Mobile pressed against her cheek as she fought with her make up trying to make herself look as amazing as possible for the special night. The gown she bought last week was a little more than what she wanted, but it would be worth it. He had a surprise and she was all for a memorable night for their memorable night.

“Girl, so what the hell are y'all gonna do? Don’t be at home making more babies!” Layla said from the opposite end.

Melissa rolled her eyes into the phone and Layla felt it.

“I’m just saying, you know how Shawn is. Y'all will mess around and be home making it a red box night.”  Layla continued.

“Noooo, it’s our 5 year wedding anniversary and he said we’re gonna do something special. You know I went back and bought that Vera Wang right?” Melissa continued as she peered into the mirror and admired the reflection that stared back at her.

“Damn, chica, that dress was what $550 plus?!”

“Yea, but it’ll be worth it. Hopefully we go dinner and dancing like the old days.” She smiled as she spoke. Things had been rough between she and Shawn financially. The recession hurt them both more than they cared to admit and being a family with a small baby didn’t leave much room for romance and relationship development.

“He asked me what I wanted to do, but I told him to surprise me. I wanted him to have control. He said we’re gonna do something old school, so I already know what it is.” Excitement spilled through her cheeks. “We’re gonna go to Chez Louch’s downtown and then there was that Cirque De Soliel show that I been hinting about seeing. I can’t wait.”

The keys rattled at the door as she finally finished with the mascara.

“Girl, he’s home, I’ll holla at you tomorrow. I will be BUSY tonight!” she laughed.

“You better be.” Layla said as she hung up.

Shawn turned the corner in his worn brown UPS uniform with less than a smile plastered across his face.

“Hey babe.” She sang, twirling in her expensive Nordstrom’s purchase. The Jimmy Choo heels matched to perfection.

“Hey pun ‘kin.” He replied. “You look stunning.”

“That’s how you keep a man.” She replied.

He was dressed and showered within the hour and the jeans and sweater combo he pulled out didn’t impress her but she promised herself not to complain about a single thing the entire night.

The 38 minute lead them to a remote location she didn’t recognize.

He pulled in a dark parking lot and put a CD into the player. Her favorite tunes from Gerald Levert and Tank leaked from the speakers.

He kissed her cheek and dashed to the trunk only to return with a brown picnic basket filled with fruit and sandwiches.

The card her presented her with was handwritten and as she read he whispered “Happy Anniversary.”

She looked down at the expensive dress, compared the price tag including the just as expensive shoes. The cost of her hair multiplied by the cost and time she spent at the nail salon and divided that by the number of years they’d been together. She always felt he was slipping. She always felt he undervalued her.

And now he, the husband of five long years, chose to spend their anniversary in a remote park eating turkey and cheese in the passenger seat of his old Toyota Camry.

“Shawn, I know you’re not serious right now! Do you know how much I spent, how much I went through. It’s our damn anniversary! And this is all you could come up with?! Our love doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Shawn’s confusion was evident and with that came anger. It was all he knew.

The argument that ensued lasted through the night and culminated their anniversary.

Was Shawn wrong? Did Melissa overact?

Joint Decision

The 28th of the month was notoriously always the same for Victor and Angel. It miraculously always turned out to be a day where Victor sat on the couch with a Sony Playstation controller in his hand while she sat at their too small dining room table orgazining and paying their monthly household bills. The routine was seconds nature to her and all too foreign to him.

Part of her wanted to complain about the division of priorities. Part of her wanted to leave it alone and avoid yet another debate on their roles.
Victor stayed focused on his Madden NFL football game for all but two occasions: snack breaks and sex. Even frequent runs to the restroom were delayed until he was finished.

She scanned through the latest bills: Comcast and their latest and so called extra special important NFL package as atop the list at close to $250.00. The more she added the more frustrated she got. The rent was already excessive and that didn’t include the heat and hot water that they needed to survive living in the always chilly South End of Boston. The parking at their condo was another $75 a month and the gas alone on his Escalade was enough to nearly push her over the edge. Outside of her getting her hair done once a month and her nails, on occasion she spent very little. He however had a live for the moment spending habit, which made it damn near impossible to cohabitate.

“Victor.” She said, deciding one last time to inquire. She figured she’d work her way up to the big conversations.
“Can we finally just get a joint account?” her voice was hushed but big enough to get over the voice of the screaming announcer who was going crazy over yet another touchdown scored by Victor’s opponent online.

“What’s the need for a joint account, babes?” he said, never looking in her direction.
“Well, for one, it would save me the trouble of having to transfer money from account to account every month so that we get the bills paid in time.” She laid out her pre thought reasoning.
“It will also help us save a little bit. You know I want to get a house in the next few years or so.” She continued until she realized he never was truly focused on the conversation.
“VICTOR?!”
“Yea yea.. I heard you…. Umm.. I think everything is cool as it is, honey bunches.” His sweet talk during Madden never translated well.
“You know, ordinary people do it all the time. They cohabitate and they have a joint account as part of the cohabitation process.”
“Lucky we’re not ordinary huh, babes.” He said as he smashed the buttons on the black controller.
She sighed deeply as she chased the true root of the problem.

“It will also allow us to cut back on some of the extra fluff that we’re spending.” She said with trepidation.
She knew he would play ignorant, which he did, oh so well.

“What kind of fluff? You only get your hair done once a month. That’s not fluff babes.” He replied.
“I wasn’t talking about my hair.”
“We should be talking about your hair.” He laughed.
“Can we be serious. I spent $70 total last month on myself. $50 on my hair and $20 on my nails because we had that event. I saved everything else for our future. What did you save?”

He paused the game, now fully understanding her point.
“Ohhhh, now I see why you wanna get a joint account. It’s so you can monitor my dough. Don’t worry babes. I give you enough money to help with the bills, and everything else I keep. We don’t need to match dollar for dollar here. It’s no competition. I don’t want a joint account. End of discussion.”

“$300 on video games last month alone Victor…”
“The new Madden came out, and I needed a few new accessories.”
“A headset with the Madden logo? A custom made controller with your name burned in the back? A wristband that allows you to call augables?”
“It's called audibles.”

“I don’t care what it’s called. It’s unnecessary.” She said before she raised from the table and headed towards the bedroom for an hour of Golden Girls therapy.


Is Victor wrong? Is Angel being a nag? What’s the solution that can bring them both a bit of happiness?

The Necessary Third Wheel...

He stood over her, with more than six inches to spare. His deep brown eyes bore down on her with an anger that she’d never witnessed from him before. Warren’s words were overflowing with pain. Oversaturated with heartache.  Kiana’s stance was firm, one that she couldn’t change. One that she wouldn’t change. Not for a man. Even if the man was as important to her as Warren was.

“You said you loved me, you said you cared about me” his words charged from his mouth like horses chasing a rabbit from a starting gate.

“You know I do.”

“Then what’s with the bull? Why do I have to keep seeing this dude around here.” His question was justified. Monte’s presence was daily. Whether it was Monte dropping Kiana off at home, or Monte picking her up for a meeting, or Monte meeting her at the local elementary school a few blocks away. It was guaranteed that they saw each other daily which certainly rubbed Warren the wrong way.

“We’ve been dating for 2 years now.” He continued “I’m sick and tired of these daily meetings with him. Obviously I know the situation between you two. Obviously I understand that he has to be around. But what about me! What’s obvious about me?!”

Kiana was caught between a rock and a hard place.

On one hand was the man she’d grown to love over the past 24 months. The man who’d been there for her when times were hard and life seemed uncertain. The only man who really seemed to even genuinely care for her. The wedding proposal two weeks ago was something she’d waited her entire life for and it was an eternal dream for her to be call Mrs. Warren Wallace.  His happiness was the second most important thing in her life.

The first was Kialana. The female that shared Kiana’s eyes, Kiana’s lips , Kiana’s large forehead, and most importantly, Kiana’s residence. This was the first time in her life where having an 8 year old daughter seemed to pose a problem in her relationship with Warren. Warren had done a masterful job of stepping in as Kialana surrogate father, in her real fathers absence.  Of course, now that her father, Monte was back and trying to make amends, someone would be left in the cold. The finger of isolation was beginning to be focused on Warren.

Monte fought valiantly with Kiana to be in his daughters life and when she finally agreed a burden was lifted from his shoulders. That same burden however was placed on Warren shoulders. Monte met with Kiana every day it seems, at least in Warrens’ eyes. Whether it was for doctors appointments, school meetings, park ventures, or random dinner requests, it was too constant for Warren’s liking.

His slid his coffee brown leather jacket over his large arms and headed for the front door. Kiana was left in his wake.

His last words were poignant before the door closed behind him.

“Eventually, you’re gonna have to choose. I can’t live like this. Either you’re my girl, or you’re his. Let me know.”

Is Warren wrong for feeling a way? Who is the Villain here?