“Safe sex or no sex?” J.T. asked.
Another round of snickering ensued. Stanley’s normally pale face bloomed a bright red. Still, it was amazing no one called his Irish friend out or ragged him about trying to date across the color lines. Derrick suspected it was because Stanley was not only a friend of his but was also a member of the Kappa Psi Kappa fraternity. The only white boy to do so.
Being a Kappa man gave Stanley mad respect in the neighborhood since the fraternity did a lot for the community.
“Shoot,” J.T. chuckled. “It just don’t feel the same with a condom.”
“It’s gonna feel worse when you catch something you can’t get rid of,” Herman huffed, and then added under his breath, “Lawd. Lawd. Please help these knuckleheads running around here.” He clicked on his razor and started grooming Derrick’s edges.
Minutes later, Bobby finished sweeping, Stanley was rapt into the NASCAR race and everyone else returned to their little pockets of conversations. However, Herman’s thoughts were apparently still stuck on the previous discussion.
“Let me ask you something,” the barber asked suddenly. “Are you happy?”
“Pardon?” Derrick asked, not sure whether he understood.
Herman turned off his razor. “Are you happy?” he repeated.
Again, Derrick didn’t really know how to answer. “I, uh—”
“Uh-huh.” Herman clicked his razor back on and went back to edging up Derrick’s sides. “Let me tell you something while you’re ‘not ready to settle down.’ Men and women were put on this earth to procreate. Marry and multiply. It breaks my heart to remember all the things we as a race had to overcome just for the next generations to become more lost than they ever were.”
Derrick squirmed in his seat.
“All anyone talks about is money, fast cars and loose women.” Herman tsked again. “We used to come in here and talk about how to advance the race. Now everyone’s just hustlin’ and only thinking about themselves,” Herman said.
“I’m far from being a hustler,” Derrick laughed, trying to lighten the old man’s mood. “You know how long I’ve struggled to make a success as a political strategist, bouncing back and forth to Washington. It’s a lot of hard work, long hours.”
“Uh-huh,” Herman said, unimpressed. “Nice slogan to put on your gravestone. Much better than something like: Derrick Knight—a wonderful husband and father.”
Derrick swallowed.
“Let me tell you something, son.” Herman clicked off his razor and turned the chair so that their eyes would meet. “There’s nothing on earth better than the love of a good woman. You think you’re a success now? Man, that’s nothing compared to what you could do with a soul mate in your corner. Someone to hold you up when you don’t think you can stand any longer. It’s not about who has the deepest curves or the thickest backside, but someone who, when you look into her eyes, her soul speaks to you down in here.” He thumped Derrick’s chest, indicating his heart. “Love like that is better than some fancy job or fast car. Love like that is what it’s truly all about. I know it and your father knows it, too.”
Derrick’s parents, now retired and living it up in Florida, shared a love that inspired everyone who knew them. But none of this changed the fact that Derrick had never experienced this ground-shaking love his parents shared.
Never.
“You didn’t tell him,” Keri accused, marching into Isabella’s apartment. “I should’ve known you would chicken out.”
Isabella cringed and shut the door behind her steaming best friend. “I was going to call him...I just couldn’t figure out what to say.”
“You say: ‘Sorry, Randall, but I can’t marry you.’ See? Simple,” Keri said.
“Simple for you maybe.” Isabella shuffled from the door and into the kitchen. She opened and slammed cabinets, while she prepared her morning coffee.
“I don’t know why I even bother. You’re never going to grow a backbone.” Keri slumped into a chair at the kitchen’s island. “From now on you’re on your own. I’m keeping my two cents to myself.”
“C’mon. Don’t be like that.” Isabella turned to her friend. “I need you in my corner more than ever.”
“Need me to do what? Watch you throw your life away and marry the wrong man simply because you’re too afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings?”
“That’s not what’s going on.”
Keri lifted a dubious brow and crossed her arms.
“Okay, it’s sort of like that.” Isabella turned toward the coffee maker and hit the brew button. In truth, up until now, she really hadn’t minded her parents making all the decisions for her. Mainly because at twenty-seven Isabella still didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up. How crazy was that?
In a sense, her parents gave her the much needed direction in life. As it turned out, Isabella was a damn good tax attorney. Maybe—just maybe, her parents really did know what was best for her—including who she should marry.
“I’m going to do it,” she said softly, making a decision and ignoring Keri’s narrowing gaze. “I thought all night about it and...well, I do have some feelings for Randall.” She nodded more to convince herself than her best friend. “We’re good friends and plenty of therapists and psychotherapists say that’s the foundation for a strong marriage. Love will come.”
“Nothing like putting the cart before the horse,” Keri said.
Isabella’s chin thrust forward while her intense gaze leveled with Keri’s.
“Oh, God. You’re serious.”
“Love isn’t like the movies,” Isabella said, and then added in a sullen whisper. “At least not for me. If I turn this down, there’s a strong possibility that I could end up an old maid.”
“Oh, stop it,” Keri snapped. “There’s no such thing anymore. We’re the same age. You don’t see me rushing to the altar with the wrong man.”
“That’s because you have options. You’ve dated more men this year than I’ve dated my entire life. The rules for beautiful people are different from the plain Janes of the world. Beggars can’t be choosey.”
Keri stepped forward and placed a hand against her shoulder. “Izzy—”
“Don’t.” Isabella drew back, breaking contact. “I’m not trying to put myself down. I’m just facing facts. And the fact of the matter is: a proposal from Randall Jarrett is like winning the marital lottery. He’s handsome, successful—”
“Okay. Okay.” Keri said and threw up her hands. “Stop trying to sell him to me. You’re marrying him not me. I’m just going to buy a big-o tub of popcorn and watch this fiasco from the sidelines.”
“Keri—”
Her hands ascended higher in surrender. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”
“Good.” It was an obvious lie, but Isabella lacked the bravery to call her on it. But there was one thing she needed her best friend’s help with. “Uhm,” Isabella drawled and then swallowed the gigantic lump lodged in the center of her throat. “I, uh—”
Keri lowered her hands, but then crossed her arms while her eyebrows played a game of see-saw. “What? Surely this can’t get any worse.”
Isabella jabbed her hands onto her waist.
“I