Sworn off love, they’ll soon discover
As valentines, they’re into each other!
As valentines, they’re into each other!
When radio personalities Selena Cartwright and Trent Moon share their Valentine’s Day trauma stories and why they’ve sworn off love, the gala celebrating singlehood is born! Planning the event has Trent and Selena seeing—and wanting—each other more than just professionally. But if they’re found out, it could ruin their reputations and careers. As the gala approaches, can they overcome past heartache and possibly discover that Trent + Selena = True Love 4-Ever?
Chapter One
Fifty-five days.
Fifty-five days from now, on January 1, Selena Cartwright would be celebrating her two-year anniversary on the Weeknights with Trent and Selena Show. Fifty-five days until she would earn equal pay with her cohost. A right she had fought for, with Trent Moon’s backing.
She fussed with her messy updo and smoothed her brown slacks, making sure not to trip over the large area rug as she exited her dressing room and made her way to the radio booth. Trent and the producer, Carla Smith-Jones, were already inside. She could see the whites of his capped teeth and ran her tongue over hers as a reflex action. She needed to get to the dentist and stop chewing on the fruit snacks she was never without—serving as her lunch and dinner on many occasions. Come to think of it, what she actually needed was to make time in her schedule to eat, splitting herself between the show and her private practice as a mental health therapist.
Carla waved her inside. “It’s about time you got here.”
Selena glanced at the Movado watch on her slender wrist, a gift that had outlived the boyfriend of two years who had given it to her. She had five minutes before they went live. The trip from the Gracie Square Hospital, a facility for psychiatric patients, to the studio on Varick Street had taken the cabdriver close to an hour instead of the usual thirty minutes.
She touched her bangs and responded to Carla. “There was a serious accident and the rain didn’t help. I don’t know how some people get their driver’s license.”
“That’s why I don’t drive in the city unless I have to,” Trent said with a laugh. “I have serious road rage.”
Most days Selena loved the hustle and bustle of New York City but days like today made her consider relocating to Westchester or Poughkeepsie. It had taken her stylist thirty-three minutes to get her droopy curls tamed into a respectable bun. Even though it was a radio station, Selena and Trent were recorded and their sessions posted on social media. Her hair had to be on point—always. She couldn’t afford the sistas coming for her like they had done to Gabby Douglas years ago at the Olympics. Who cared that the young woman was a record-breaking gymnast if her hair wasn’t snatched right? That had been a snarky discussion Selena had engaged in across the airwaves.
“Thanks to cabs and the subway, I don’t need a license,” Carla said, blinking in slow motion.
Was that a carpet on her eyes? Selena mused, regretting talking her boss into getting lash extensions. That fad wasn’t for everyone.
Selena scooted her chair at the long white table and dug in her bag for her ginger mints. She took out five and slipped three to Trent, keeping two for herself. He gave her a thumbs-up before sliding one of the two granola bars by his notepad over to her side.
“Thanks.” She tore the bar open then stretched her legs.
Her black kitten pumps touched Trent’s sneakers. He was dressed in black jeans and a hoodie with the words I Can’t Breathe imprinted in white. Trent was passionate about using his celebrity status as a radio host to shed light on injustice. When she was still a listener, Trent had been one of the first people to interview Colin Kaepernick, the football player who had taken a knee during the national anthem in 2016 and had started a movement.
That was one of the reasons Selena had slashed her private practice hours to part-time and accepted Trent’s offer to cohost. She admired his grit and, though he had the reputation of being a ladies’ man, his integrity. Her move from an impulsive caller giving expert advice to sitting three feet across from him had been surreal. An experience far more rewarding than she could have ever imagined.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, taking another bite of her bar.
“That’s okay. It’s not your fault you’re freakishly tall.” He chuckled, tapping long fingers on the table. She could see he was getting a kick out of messing with her, as usual.
“Don’t blame me that you’re just plain old average,” she countered. He was an inch shy of six feet, and two inches taller than she was.
“If you really knew me, you’d take that back,” he said, waggling his brows and running an index finger across his chin. A signature move that the women found appealing judging by the comments on their social media posts. That, along with his square jaw, brown skin and bedroom-bass voice. Their words, not hers.
“I see you forgot to leave your ego in your dressing room,” Selena teased, sliding her gaze away from those honey-brown eyes.
“It’s my backpack. I take it everywhere I go,” he shot back.
She laughed, enjoying their verbal sparring.
“Save all that love for the air.” Carla butted in before gesturing to the rest of the staff that they were going live in two minutes.
Selena and Trent had a great working relationship. They admired and respected each other as colleagues and, because of that, their ratings had grown each quarter. Viewers enjoyed their banter and comradery. She was the more serious of the two, but Trent’s passion and lightheartedness made for a nice balance on the show.
Only to herself would she admit his fineness. She had told Trent he was a broken-down version of Kofi Siriboe, but what she hadn’t said was how Kofi was her man crush. Or rather, her boy toy. Her best friend, Nadine, had called Selena a cradle robber when she’d caught Selena ogling the actor from Queen Sugar. Nadine hadn’t missed the physical similarities between the actor and Trent, pointing that out to Selena. Besides the fact that she didn’t poop where she ate, Trent reminded her too much of her father. A father who’d called her mother, Helen, his number one…of many. Too many. A father who, when he’d left, had left her mother broken. And Helen was never the same.
So, Selena avoided charismatic men like Trent.
Calm. Safe. Borderline boring. That was her speed.
Glancing at her watch, she finished eating. Soon after, an intern brought them two bottles of water at room temperature, along with napkins. Taking a few sips, Selena wiped her mouth and then reapplied her nude lipstick.
Carla gave them a quick signal before scurrying into the sound booth. She was in her late forties, trim, and moved like she was on a catwalk. Outfitted in an A-line dress and high boots, Selena thought her producer looked confident and gorgeous, especially with her silver-gray hair in a pixie cut.
Selena felt pride in knowing she had contributed to the other woman’s aura and wellness. A few months ago, Carla had been going through a nasty divorce so Selena had offered her confidential sessions. Then, to avoid a conflict of interest, she had referred Carla to another therapist.
Carla spoke through the intercom. “We’re going live in ten…nine…”
Selena straightened as her heart rate accelerated. The anticipation of reaching out to people would never grow old.
*
From under his lashes, Trent studied his cohost, admiring her cream tank top and brown pantsuit. Her signature color scheme. She had completed her look with chunky gold accessories and light makeup. Even her lipstick was a glossy shade of brown. Selena tended to favor muted tones, something he believed she had adopted as a therapist. Trent found her style classy. She had told him once she didn’t want to be sexualized. Or had she mentioned it on air? He couldn’t remember, but with those high cheekbones, full lips, thick lashes and generous curves, there was no disguising her beauty.
She didn’t know it, but his friends James and Dontae had ragged on him for weeks, begging for introductions once they had seen how fine she was. A request Trent had denied. He liked to keep his professional and personal lives separate. In their twenty-two months together, his interactions with his cohost were limited to their airtime and planning for the next day.
He heard the countdown signaling that they were about to go on air and cleared his throat. Then he greeted their listeners and gave an update on the weather before jumping into their first segment.
“It’s time for us to Listen to Our Listeners,” he said and waited as Carla cued the intro.
Once Selena had joined the show, their audience had begun sending emails and letters seeking advice, and their ratings had blown up. To handle the large influx of communication, their assistants read most of the mail and provided Trent and Selena with five letters each to read. They would then choose one or two to share during the show and offer suggestions. Listeners would also call in and express their thoughts. The segment was a huge success.
Carla had already tossed around the idea of expanding their hour to ninety minutes. That’s why he had pushed for Selena to receive equal pay though she didn’t have the ten years’ on-air experience he had.
Selena chimed in. “I have a letter from a listener who calls herself ‘A Crying Heart.’”
Trent tensed with the memory of the powerful visual imagery in the letter. Selena believed an English major had penned the words. Trent had pushed for Selena to read it, though his cohost had felt it too personal. After muting his microphone, he picked up one of the ginger mints, unwrapped it and plopped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes, savoring the strong sensation and listening to Selena’s singsong voice, which depicted her Jamaican heritage. She had migrated to America at ten years old and, though she was a naturalized citizen, had maintained her accent and culture.
Selena moved closer to her microphone and began to read, and he felt everything around him still.
“‘Every year about this time, a sense of dread begins to fill my being. All around me, there is a beauty that comes from the colorful foliage. Families unite over steaming mugs of trendy themed coffees and engage in social activities meant to bring them closer together; end the year with goodwill. I move with the bustle of the crowd, smiling at the appropriate time, voicing the right sentiment, but on the inside, I am withering, dying like a tree left bare after shedding its leaves. I feel alone.’”
His heart squeezed even though he knew the contents of the letter. Hearing the words read aloud evoked strong emotions. Selena’s intonation moved him and their listeners were responding, judging by the flashing phone lines.
Selena took a sip of water and continued.
“‘For the first time this year, I don’t want to pretend. I want to wallow, submerge myself until I am overwhelmed under the grief of being alone especially with Valentine’s Day coming in about three months. The worst holiday of all because it beams on me with the brightness of the sun and I am left alone under the heat of the spotlight, shouting my singleness. My heart aches as I wait for spring and the end to all this madness, where for a few months I can embrace being all right with myself. But until then, my heart bleeds.’
“Signed, ‘A Crying Heart.’”
Selena reached for the box of tissues and dabbed her eyes.
Trent swallowed the last of his mint and turned on his microphone. In a subdued tone, he said, “Wow. I felt every nuance in each word. A Crying Heart, we hear you and thank you for sharing your most intimate thoughts with us. I found your letter honest and raw. How about we take our first caller to get some listener feedback?” He pressed one of the open lines and smiled at Selena, who was giving him a look of gratitude. Her cheeks were a little flushed and her lashes spiky. I got you, he mouthed.
“Hello? Am I on the air?” a woman asked. Her voice cracked and she sniffled.
“Yes, you’re live with Trent and Selena,” Selena said in a calm tone.
Trent admired her professionalism. He focused on the caller.
“I want to say that I’m glad A Crying Heart had the courage to write what I’ve been feeling all these years. I’m happily single and it’s awful that I have to endure my family asking me when I’m going to find someone, giving me looks of pity. Like I’m good for the most part. Except when Valentine’s Day comes around, slapping me in my face. I know that February 14 is all about love but I hate that day with a passion.”
He gave a small chuckle of understanding. “Imagine the irony of hating a day that is supposed to be about love.”
“I know,” the caller breathed. “I feel guilty but I absolutely despise it. It feels so good to admit this to someone.”
“Thank you so much for sharing,” Selena said before taking another caller.
This time it was a young man. “Yo, tell me why, I’m so glad I was turning the dial and heard this. Cuz I’m good, too. My mother is on me to give her a grandchild. But I want to travel. I want to do things.”
And the calls continued.
“I hate being single,” someone said. “I buy myself flowers and chocolates so I don’t feel so pitiful.”
“I don’t like being alone,” another voiced.
“I hate it.”
“I think Valentine’s all about commercialism.”
The comments kept coming. They spent the rest of the hour taking calls, moving with the flow. Trent and Selena could hardly keep up with the outpour and they tabled their talk on pumpkin spice. She had reached into her bag for her phone and had read some of their social media comments.
“A Crying Heart, you started something tonight,” Trent said once they were at the end. “Let’s keep this conversation going. Please send us your comments and stories using the hashtag ValentineSingle and we will continue this tomorrow.”
“Thanks for tuning in with us tonight and until then—
Selena surprised him when she interrupted with, “A Crying Heart, I hope you call in tomorrow before the weekend. I’d love to talk to you because I, too, hate Valentine’s Day.”
His mouth dropped. In slow motion. The holidays brought their biggest sponsors. He avoided looking into the booth, knowing Carla was probably about to pass out. Selena slipped back into her chair with a huge grin on her face, like she didn’t know what she had just done.
Trent evoked every ounce of experience he possessed to keep from stammering through the signature slogan. “Keep your dreams sweet and your hope strong. Good night.” He disconnected his microphone and looked at the woman he had always seen as constant. The woman who sat with her arms folded, holding an expression similar to Angela Bassett’s after setting a car on fire in the blockbuster classic Waiting to Exhale. Then he asked, “What did you just do?”
Chapter Two
This wasn’t a “what” question. The real question was why.
Carla rushed into the room, her eyes wide and her mouth rounded like a puffer fish. “Do you know what you’ve just done?” she sputtered.
Selena stood, knots the size of brambles whirling in her stomach. “I-I don’t know what came over me. I don’t even know why I said that.” Well, she had a good idea, but it wasn’t one she would share. Every time she left after a visit with her mother, it stirred her emotions.
“We might lose some of our biggest investors because of this,” Carla said, running a hand through her short strands and drawing raspy breaths. “Saying you hate Valentine’s Day when we have commercials from contributors like Hershey’s and Dunkin’ Donuts could be catastrophic. Give me some time to strategize and we can talk tomorrow after the show.”
The trio parted ways. During the cab ride home, Selena replayed Carla’s parting words.
It rattled her to see the other woman’s composure slip. Before her on air confession, Selena had been looking forward to binge watching Season 4 of The Crown on Netflix. She had finally started the series and had planned to catch a couple episodes. But Selena didn’t turn on the television. She hadn’t been able to concentrate.
Her upcoming conversation with Carla preoccupied most of her thoughts the rest of the night and throughout the day. When she entered the studio that Thursday night, Trent tried to reassure but all she could think about was how she might lose her job because of her loose tongue.
An image of her mother, Helen, in her room at the psychiatric hospital flashed before Selena. She tightened her lips. Love had shredded Helen’s heart and mind since Selena was a teen. She shuddered on the inside. After seeing her mother in that state, she had sworn off love. For life. However, she knew better than to voice her real feelings on the air. Like Carla said, they had sponsors.
She made it through the show on auto pilot, but the minute it concluded, Selena cornered Carla and apologized.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think what I said was harmful.”
“You didn’t think. Period,” Carla snapped. “In today’s time, words have an impact. One statement could haunt you forever and be the end of your career. Which could potentially affect other people’s livelihood. Mine included.”
Selena’s heart pounded, her guilt intensifying, even though she suspected Carla was exaggerating a bit.
Trent came over to where they were huddled, his phone in hand. “I’ve got a confession to make. I hate Valentine’s Day, too.” He released a breath, like he’d admitted something horrible. “That felt good to say,” he said with a small chuckle.
Carla flailed her hands. “This is not the time for humor. I don’t think you’d be laughing when we’re out of a paycheck.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Trent said, “I’m being honest and you’re being melodramatic.”
Selena caught his eye. “You don’t have to defend me, Trent, by saying that. I know I messed up big-time.” She faced Carla. “Maybe I can tweet an apology.”
“At this point, our public relations team has advised that we do nothing and ride this out.” Carla warned. Her phone buzzed. After reading the notification, she held up a hand. “I’m going to need you both to sit tight. The producer for the next show just called out and they need me to step in. I shouldn’t be long.” She flounced out the room.
Knowing that Carla’s wait time could be anywhere from several minutes to an hour, Selena retrieved her laptop to work on client notes. During that time, Trent either napped or scrolled through his phone.
“I’m getting hungry,” Selena said about forty minutes later. “What about you?”
Trent nodded but she wasn’t sure if he had registered her words. His head popped up just as Carla returned. He held up his phone. “You’ve got to see this. We currently have over 100,000 views.”
Her mouth dropped. “Are you serious?”
“Take a look for yourself if you don’t believe me. Hashtag ValentineSingle is trending.” His eyes were bright. “You’re a sensation, Selena.”
“What?” Selena shook her head. “I don’t understand.” She had been busy with clients most of the day and had avoided social media on purpose.
“We’re not going to lose sponsors,” Trent said with much fascination as he continued to read. “We’re going to gain some.”
“Let me see that,” Carla said, snatching the phone. As she scanned the contents, her worried lines disappeared and soon she began to chuckle. “Oh, snap. What have you started? This is genius.” Handing Trent his phone, she tapped her chin. “I think we can play this to our advantage.”
Selena sagged, biting on her lip to keep from smiling. It was funny how quickly Carla’s demeanor had changed.
“Somebody’s going to remix this and make a song out of it,” Trent said.
Selena raced to get her own phone. A few clicks later, she was on her social media page. Then she pulled up a short clip from their segment and pressed play. Sure enough, there she was, on repeat, saying, “I, too, hate Valentine’s Day.” She groaned at her red cheeks and puffy face, but played it again. “This is bananas,” she muttered.
“No,” Carla corrected, rubbing her hands, “this is an opportunity. And when it knocks, we’ve got to answer the door.” She scurried over to the table and sat in her usual position at the head. “Pull up a seat, guys. It’s time we strategize. Let’s pounce on this.”
Trent looked at his watch. “Let me make a quick call. I’ll be back.”
Selena watched him retret, then eyed the clock and slipped into her chair. It was almost eight thirty. Judging by the excitement on Carla’s face, they could be there for another two hours. But considering minutes ago, she had been worried about losing her job, Selena wasn’t complaining.
“Let’s order dinner,” Carla said, pressing the intercom, most likely to call her assistant. “What do you want? Is Chinese good?”
“Yes, Chinese is fine. I’ll nibble on whatever you get,” Selena said, scrunching her nose. She could never decide on what she wanted to eat when she remembered to eat.
“I’ll get a little of everything.”
When her assistant didn’t answer, Carla left the room.
Selena wasn’t a cook. In Helen’s lucid days, her mother had tried to teach her, but without any success. Selena had burned water. Yes, water. Granted, she had been working on a paper at the time. But still. Helen had given up on cooking lessons after that. Then her bestie, Nadine, had tried to teach her how to make some simple survival meals, but Selena cut her thumb and had needed stitches. Selena avoided the kitchen after that, hating how she had failed.
Once she had graduated from Howard University and moved into her own place, Selena usually kept her freezer stacked with frozen dinners. A month ago, she had started using a meal prep program and enjoyed having healthy meals without the labor—but she kept forgetting to place her orders online and was too busy to schedule one-on-one consultations with the chef.
Trent returned and sunk into the chair across from her. “What did I miss?” His tone sounded lackluster and his brown eyes held worry.
“Not much. Carla’s ordering dinner. Everything all right with you?” Selena asked.
He nodded and hunched his shoulders, signs he was far from okay. Selena found herself filled with concern at his lack of joviality.
“You want to talk about it?” She’d cocked her head and asked in a low tone in case Carla was in the sound booth.
Trent looked at her. Really looked at her. Like he had never seen her before. She squirmed under his intense scrutiny and raised a brow. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, before shaking his head. “Nah. I’m good. How about you tell me why you hate Valentine’s Day?”
*
Trent watched as Selena broke eye contact and lowered her gaze. Her long lashes fanned her cheeks. “I don’t like to talk about it.” She drummed her fingers on the tabletop.
After he had gotten off the phone with his sister Pammie, short for Pamala, Trent had been torn, feeling guilty. He was happy Mindy, her caretaker, had been available to stay later. But Pammie had wanted him to come home and keep his promise to make ice cream sundaes. She hadn’t understood that he needed to work. He hated hearing her cry, found it hard to handle her disappointment. Fortunately, Mindy had bribed her with Oreo cookies and Trent had gotten an “I love you” before the call ended.
So, yes, he had been agitated when he’d reentered the room. For a second, he had wanted to confide in Selena. But he meant to stay in the lane called business. He wouldn’t cross the line into personal. There was a big difference between being personable and getting personal.
He focused on the painting of the waves behind her and changed the topic, turning the attention off himself.
“Really?” he snorted. “You don’t want to talk about it? You’ll have to, because you opened the door to that story when you blurted out how you despised Valentine’s Day.” He exaggerated to jolt her into opening up. He had never seen Selena lose her cool stance and he was intrigued. For the first time since they had started working together, he wondered about her. Her backstory. He wanted to know more than just her profession and that she was a great work partner. He wanted to know what made her…human. Flawed. Like the rest of the world. Like him.
“Despise? That’s a strong word.” She licked her lips before she gave him a challenging look. “How about you go first? Were you kidding when you said you didn’t like the holiday?”
He rubbed his chin and debated whether to answer. It was something he did when he was nervous or in deep thought, a habit he had picked up from his dad. “I don’t know if I can trust you with the story of the biggest humiliation of my life.”
Her eyes flashed and she scooted her chair around the table next to his. “Now you have to tell me. I’m going to bug you until you fess up.” A whiff of jasmine teased his nose. It was light, airy, like the woman next to him.
“You have to promise not to tell.”
She slapped his arm. “The fact that you have to ask is insulting. I’m a therapist and I know all about confidentiality.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a patient,” he said, stalling. He was going to stretch this conversation as long as he could.
“Yes, but I’m a friend.”
With a jolt, Trent accepted she was right. She was a friend. Of sorts. He knew he could trust her. He knew he liked her personality. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “All right, bet. I’m a tell you but you have to swear on your pinky toe that you will never tell another living soul.”
“My pinky toe?” she asked, cracking up. “Trent, you’re so silly, but I promise you on my pinky toe.”
“Let me see it,” he teased, giving her a light shove on the shoulder.
She pursed her lips. “You play too much. My feet have been in these shoes for hours. I can’t take off my shoes.”
“I guess you don’t want to know then.” He shrugged.
They squared off. After a moment’s hesitation, Selena took off her shoe—size nine, if he had to guess—and lifted her foot.
“You sure are nosy,” he teased.
“You best believe it.” She wiggled her foot back into her pump, leaning into him for support. “Now, tell me.”
Carla came back into the room, diverting their attention from their current conversation. “Dinner will be here in fifteen minutes.” She looked ready to jump and touch the roof. “I’ve got some great news. Unbelievable, really.”
“Share it, then,” Trent said.
Selena used that opportunity to scoot back to her usual side of the table.
“A sponsor called to double their advertisement time slots. The higher-ups are on fire. They are even thinking of expanding the show into a two-hour segment.”
“Say what?” Selena yelled. “That’s amazing. Wow.”
Trent’s stomach clenched. Both women had their eyes on him, waiting for him to display his excitement.
He worked hard to appear relaxed and easygoing. But he had a regimented daily schedule. Had to. Ever since he had become his younger sister’s guardian, Trent had made huge changes to his lifestyle. Gone was the bachelor filling his nights with one of the many swarming beauties around him. If he wasn’t working or at the gym, he was with Pammie.
But Friday and Saturday nights were his time to he hang with the boys or treat a woman to a five-star night in a hotel. He never took the ladies home and he paid Mindy double to take care of Pammie. But that was built into his sister’s routine. She was used to it.
Trent hoped Pammie would adjust to his expanded work hours as this would disrupt her routine.
“Well, it’s just talks for now. But let’s ride this wave until our butts slide across the sand,” Carla said. “So, tomorrow’s show, we’ll make another call for Bleeding Heart—”
“You mean A Crying Heart,” Trent corrected.
“Yes, or whatever she calls herself,” Carla said with a wave of her hand. “We’ll see if she calls in. I think we should begin the show by making the plea, and with Selena telling why she hates Valentine’s Day so much, and then, Trent, you’ll share your story.”
“What?” Trent shook his head. “I didn’t announce that on the air. I don’t want to tear open that can of humiliation for all to see.”
“You can and you will,” Carla said in that tone she used when she didn’t want an argument. “I spoke with the execs and, it was only because I told them that their superstar—sorry, Selena—felt the same way, that they decided to get on board.”
Trent dug his shoes into the floor to keep from yelling. He was shocked to discover he didn’t like surprises. Well, he did. But not the kind that interfered with his schedule.
“I’ll share my reason,” Selena said in a low voice. She sounded like the proverbial sacrificial lamb. He couldn’t let his partner put herself out there and not do the same.
“Fine,” he growled. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell my tale.”
“Just remember we have children listening,” Carla advised, eyeing them both with caution, before continuing. “Once you’re both done baring your souls, we’ll take more callers and read another letter or two from the massive number of emails.” She pinned her gaze to the ceiling before looking at them. “Then we’ll end the night with a bang and usher in the weekend on a high note. Got any ideas?”
As if on cue, the intern came in with paper products, utensils, and containers with a variety of dishes. Trent’s stomach growled and his mouth watered. He had leftover steak and potatoes at home, but the sandwich he’d had for lunch and the granola bar snack had worn off. He grabbed a paper plate and added rice, chicken with broccoli and an egg roll. Selena packed her plate with a tiny spoonful of everything.
While they were eating, Selena dropped her fork and snapped her fingers. “I got it. We need to have our very own Valentine’s celebration. Like maybe a dance.”
Carla cocked her head. “A dance?”
“How will that help?” Trent asked.
Selena picked up her fork and twirled lo mein noodles around it. “Let me explain. We need to honor singles. Give all the couples in love the proverbial cut of the eyes. We need to throw a Valentine’s Day dance. But for singles only. No couples allowed.”
Chapter Three
She could smell the curry as soon as she entered the door of her best friend’s third-floor studio apartment in Brooklyn Heights. Nadine had moved here two years ago because of its proximity to the NYU Langone medical center where she worked as an ER nurse.
“I can’t believe you’re cooking at midnight,” Selena said, hanging her rain jacket on the hook behind the front door and wiping her feet on the mat with the words Did You Call First?. The kitchen was to the immediate right, with the bathroom steps away. Tucked in the furthest corner was the queen-sized bed on which they had shared many nights watching the television mounted on the huge half-wall. The wall divided the bedroom from the living room area, giving a small measure of privacy.
“If I don’t cook now, I’ll end up buying junk,” Nadine said, giving her a hug before hastening over to the stove to stir the food. “I’m working a double tomorrow night, so I’ve got to be prepared.” Nadine popped a small piece of meat in her mouth and wiggled her hips. “This curry chicken is giving me life right now. I put a pinch of Scotch bonnet pepper in there so that mild heat hits the back of your tongue just right.”
Selena’s mouth watered. Nadine was critical of her cooking, so if she was saying this was good, then the meal would be off the charts. Her tummy grumbled even though it was packed tighter than sardines in a can. “You know I’m taking a container home.”
“I got you.” Her friend gave a thumbs-up sign.
Placing her purse on the small dining table across from the kitchen, Selena massaged her neck, appreciating the stunning view of the Brooklyn Bridge at night. The bright lights drowned out the sounds of the city, the honking, and the squeals of the trains. That view was the second reason Nadine had chosen this spot, paying over two thousand dollars per month for a thousand square feet of living space. The third had to do with Nadine’s unhealthy crush on Matt Damon, whom she had yet to run into by planned accident.
“I can’t believe you dropped that bombshell on the air,” Nadine said, her metal fork clinking against the stainless-steel everyday pan. The sound was the music that made Selena’s stomach dance. Selena had bought her friend a set of Ironclad, knowing how much Nadine loved her pots.
“I didn’t know you were listening in.”
“I was working last night, but this morning Mommy sent me a clip of you saying you hate Valentine’s Day. I texted you right away.”
Nadine’s parents had low-key adopted Selena as their child. The Johnsons had celebrated Selena’s accomplishments more than her own mother had.
Selena smiled. “Yes, I got your freaked-out emojis but I had a strategy session with Carla and Trent. We’re spinning this whole thing, which will build our brand, expand our hours, make a profit, and give our listeners a chance to party.” She briefly outlined her idea of the singles dance, promising to share more details once she had them.
Selena stretched her neck and yawned.
“Girl, go sit down. You sound like a donkey braying,” Nadine said with a laugh.
Forcing her tired feet to move toward the love seat, Selena sat and propped her legs on the wooden storage bin that doubled as a coffee table and footrest. “Give me a break. I spent hours in a meeting after work when I needed to be sleeping. At least they fed me.” She closed her eyes.
“You’re doing too much. You’ve got to choose between the practice or the show. The show might seem like a part time gig but the PR demands take up a lot of your time.”
She felt weary to her bones. “I know. I know.” She stifled a yawn. “But I like helping people.”
“So, what about helping yourself? Self-care is important. You can’t help people, if you’re not around.”
Nadine’s solemn words sunk in. Selena popped one eye open. Before she could formulate a response, her mouth opened to form a huge yawn. Prying the other eye open, Selena pinned her gaze on her friend.
“You should have gone home instead of coming here. You plopped a fortune into that gorgeous mausoleum on the Upper West Side.” Nadine shook her head. “I don’t get why you bought that townhouse and then refuse to enjoy it.”
Those words jolted her awake. “You know why. You made me buy that monstrosity because I was being featured in Essence magazine.”
“Yes, we Jamaicans are coming up in life.” Her eyes held compassion. “And it doesn’t feel like home because you haven’t made it one. Your walls are bare and your furnishings sparse. You need to put up pictures and add little knickknacks to make it yours.” Nadine turned off the burner before washing her hands and wiping them with a paper towel. She then retrieved her containers. Knowing Nadine, she would have enough food for at least three days. Nadine always cooked too much and Selena’s tummy reaped the rewards.
“What pictures?” Selena pointed to Nadine’s family portrait where she stood between her two doting, smiling parents. “Not everyone has a mother like yours, who is willing to help you decorate. Or a father who will hang pictures twenty times if you ask.” She spoke the words without envy. Since she had met Nadine in ninth grade at Jamaica High School seventeen years ago, she had fallen in love with her friend’s petite parents. The three of them made her feel like a giant. They were small but their love was large.
“Boo-hoo. You can afford to hire someone and you do have pictures.”
Her shoulders slumped, sinking her further into the love seat. For a beat, she watched Nadine’s precise movements as she shared the steaming rice and chicken into the glass containers. Her friend didn’t do plastic. It wasn’t eco-friendly or healthy. Since her father’s heart attack eighteen months ago, Nadine had vowed to change her lifestyle and had been urging Selena to do the same. Slow down.
Selena released a breath. “It’s not the same.”
Nadine dropped the spoon into the pan and placed a hand on her hip. “You can’t press Pause. You can’t keep your life in a freeze frame, waiting for Ms. Helen to turn back into the mother she once was. It’s been twenty years. At some point…” She shook her head and stopped talking. Wiping her brow, she went back to her task.
Selena figured her friend was tired of repeating herself. They’d had variations of this conversation countless times. She sighed. “I can’t give up on her.”
Once she was finished with her meal prep, Nadine would wash all the dishes and clean her stove like Meena Johnson had instilled. Ms. Meena didn’t play that. You didn’t cook in or leave a dirty kitchen. Selena could hear Ms. Meena’s voice in her head. What if visitors drop by? What a big disgrace.
Welp. That was one benefit of not cooking. Selena’s kitchen was always clean. Pristine… Untouched.
Nadine put the pots in the sink and turned on the faucet. Then she continued. “I’m not asking you to give up on your mother, friend. I wouldn’t ask you to do something I wouldn’t do. I’m asking you to live. I’m asking you to take your life out of those storage bins and begin to celebrate your achievements. And, for goodness’ sake, have some f-u-n. Do something unexpected.”
Though it wasn’t the first time she had heard them, those passionately uttered words struck Selena’s heart with the force of a cannonball. She pictured the two large gray bins in her closet filled with pictures of her prom and her graduations, her sorority mementos and her awards. Everything was tucked away. Compartmentalized. Like her life.
Tears came to her eyes and she sniffled. “I went to see her today.” She glanced at the sunflower clock. “Well, technically, it was yesterday. Mommy kept her back turned away from me. She refused to talk to me.” Her breath hitched. “Said I looked like my father and cut her eyes at me. No matter how much I accomplish, I’ll never be good enough. She’ll never see me as something more. That’s why I don’t do love. Look what it did to her. And, if I’m like him, what if I cause this pain on someone else?”
Leaving the pots to soak, Nadine came to sit next to her and opened her arms. Selena scooted low so she could rest her head on her much shorter friend’s chest.
“Oh, honey. You’re a therapist, so I know I’m preaching to the choir, but I’ll say it anyway. You know your mother’s sick. You can’t take her words to heart.” Nadine cradled her close.
“I know. That’s exactly what I tell my patients.” Selena squeezed out the words. Her chest felt constricted. “But this pain is something fierce and every time I think I have conquered it and put it to rest, it rears its head. She hates my father. What does that say about how she feels about me? She thinks I’m just like him though I haven’t left her. I’m here.” Her shoulders shook and the dam to her emotions burst. “I’m here. I’m here. I said that so many times, but she didn’t want to hear it.”
She felt Nadine stiffen beside her and steeled herself.
“You need to quit going to that facility. Your mother is gone. She’s a shell of her former self. All she is now is bitter and all she does is injure you. A parent is supposed to heal not harm.”
Selena straightened and grabbed a tissue from the napkin box on the floor. She wiped her face. “I’ll be all right. I’m just in my feelings. I’ll be back to myself in the morning.”
Wiping her hands on her thighs, Nadine cupped Selena’s cheeks. “I’ll let it go, but I need you to know you’re not your father. You would never desert your family like he did and especially how he did. If you are like him in any way, then you’re the best of him.”
All Selena could do was nod because she wasn’t sure how much she believed her friend. But Nadine wasn’t finished.
“There had to be something good about him or Ms. Helen would have never messed with that man in the first place much less married him. My friend, you’re worthy of love and to be loved. Ms. Helen shunning you is her loss. You’re a great friend, loyal, caring and kind.”
Nadine lifted a finger with each point she made. “You’re working hard to pay all your mother’s expenses. She’s well taken care of. You paid for my nursing school, you renovated my parents’ house, and you surprised them with an all-inclusive package to Jamaica for Thanksgiving. They are way beyond ecstatic to return home and I’m sure that’s all they will talk about for the next twelve days. Even though you didn’t have to do anything because we love you. Period. You don’t have to buy our love. You’ll make a great wife and mother one day because you are not your past. So keep moving toward your future.”
Selena squirmed. She didn’t like when Nadine talked about what she had done for them. Gifting was her love language. She chuckled to lighten the air and to shift the conversation from her generosity. She also needed to skirt away from the dart that maybe she was trying to buy their love. “All this from the woman who is determined to be a serial dater and the life of the party until she’s at least a hundred,” she joked.
“You got that right.” Nadine gyrated. “They don’t make men like my daddy anymore. Love ´em and leave ´em. That’s my motto. I bought the T-shirt, so it must be true.”
She had indeed purchased a shirt with that slogan. In several colors.
“Yet you tell me to settle down? Can’t you see how contradictory that is?”
“Because that’s who you are. You’ve got to be true to you. If I am a serial dater, you’re a serial monogamist.”
“I’ve been single for a couple years. And you’ve never liked anybody I’ve dated.”
“That’s because you go for those boring men. Plaid shirts tucked into khaki pants.”
Selena cracked up. “There’s nothing wrong with a man wearing those clothes. You’re a mess.”
“There is if he has the belt buckled tight, showing an even smaller waist than mine.”
“Whatever.” Selena shook her head. “I can’t with you.”
Nadine cocked her head before changing topics. “Are you going to put your mother’s business on the air?”
“Why not?” she shot back, her voice edged with bitterness. “It’s not like she’ll be tuning in anyway.”
Nadine lifted a brow.
Selena rubbed her temples. “I know I sound…snarky. I only plan on telling how I feel about Valentine’s Day from my viewpoint. What happened to my mother affected me. My childhood. I’m speaking from that perspective. That’s my experience. My truth.” She lowered her voice. “Get this, Trent’s sharing, too. Turns out he’s not too fond of the holiday, either.”
Nadine’s eyes went round. “What? Mr. Smooth Operator doesn’t do Valentine’s? That’s hard to believe.”
Selena nodded.
“Why, though? Did he tell you?”
She shook her head. “No. He’s spilling the tea on tomorrow’s show.”
“Oh, you best believe I’ll be tuning in. Me and the parents.”
*
Trent stood by Pammie’s bed, watching his sister’s five-foot frame rise up and down while she slept. He reached down to take the JoJo Siwa bow out of her hair before pulling the pink unicorn covers up close to her chin. Then he smiled.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you make sundaes. I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” he whispered before kissing her on the cheek. He could hardly believe she was twenty-one years old now. When his parents had brought her home, Trent had showered her face with kisses. Her tiny hand had wrapped around his hand and his heart. That had never changed. His sister had been born with Down’s syndrome and, from the moment she’d arrived, Trent had been her protector. They had been inseparable until he’d left for Yale University. His parents had made him attend. Trent had been willing to turn down the full ride and commute to Queens College to stay close to Pammie. He would never forget her little body shaking as she’d sobbed when he had pulled out of the driveway to begin his journey to New Haven, Connecticut.
That’s why he had moved Pammie in with him instead of placing her in a special home after their parents’ deaths. Trent was grateful to be in a position where he could afford to provide her with the best.
Turning on the Disney night-light in case she had to use the bathroom during the night, Trent hoisted the giant unicorn off her bed and placed it in the corner of the room. Her pink bedroom was a blend of the child and woman that she was—featuring movie posters of her favorite films along with her stuffed unicorn collection.
His cell buzzed. It was Dontae.
Trent sped out of the room so he wouldn’t disturb his sister and answered the phone. “What’s up, man?”
“Yo, please tell me you’re not about to do what I think you’re about to do,” Dontae said.
“I am. I’m laying it all out there tomorrow.” He could hear the wind blowing in the background. Dontae must be calling from his truck.
“Bruh, don’t go out like that, man,” Dontae pleaded. “Don’t do it. I was fixing a busted pipe when I got your text. Then I got an emergency call about a broken toilet or I would have called you sooner than this. But the entire time I was working, you were on my mind. I couldn’t wait to call you. You know Renee and Keyshaun might be listening in. She don’t need her head swole, thinking you still want her or something after all these years.”
Trent gripped his iPhone at the mention of his ex-fiancé and ex-friend, and walked to his living room area. He sat into the U-shaped sectional and pulled the large ottoman into the space to close it in. “I’m over it. And her. This is about building the bank account. Adding more zeroes to my name.”
“All right, man. That girl hurt you like nobody’s business. She was wrong to the umpteenth power, on so many levels. I don’t want you going down memory lane and getting all depressed again. Black men don’t do therapy and this woman had you laid out on that couch for months.”
“I did therapy. And I’m black. My parents died not too long after that, don’t forget.” Trent sighed. He hated talking about his parents’ deaths. He didn’t think he would ever get over losing them both in a car accident. He also hated how he sounded defensive about seeking much-needed help. “Don’t feed into that stereotype. That’s why so many of us are hurting and lashing out because we don’t handle our pain the right way.”
“Man, ease up with that. I didn’t mean to get you started on that soapbox. You see how I handled my issues. My fists landed me behind bars. I lost my track scholarship because of all that nonsense. It was like I couldn’t leave the hood behind. It’s soaked deep in my DNA and though I’m proud of my heritage, I needed a better life. If it weren’t for you, I’d be… I don’t even know where I be right now. You know I’m just messing with you about that whole therapy thing. Truth is, I wish I’d had the guts to seek help when my brother got shot.” He paused a beat.
Dontae had told Trent that he had been there to see his brother take his last breath. Shot because he had stolen a pack of gum from the corner store on a dare. A pack of gum. That stuff stayed with you for life.
“Yep. I needed to sprawl on somebody’s couch,” Dontae said. “Especially if my therapist had looked like yours. Cuz that lady was fine as all get-out.”
The men shared a laugh. Trent didn’t add that he’d asked her out after their sessions had ended, but Mariana Adams hadn’t been about to break protocol and date her former client.
“But back to this whole Valentine’s thing. Did you tell James yet?” Dontae asked.
Trent tensed. “No. Not yet.”
“You’d better give him a heads-up. You know he’s not above acting the fool. He might call the radio station. Or worse, go knock on Keyshaun’s door.” The background noise stilled and Trent heard a door slam, signaling Dontae was home.
“I’m counting on you keeping him cool.”
James’s temperament was suitable in his role as a bouncer, but he could be a hothead when it came to his friends. A hothead with King Kong-sized fists. Add that to a Superman complex… Let’s just say Trent had ended up pleading for Keyshaun’s face—and life. Keyshaun’s nose would be crooked as long as he stayed on this side of the earth, but according to James, Keyshaun should give thanks he was still breathing.
“I’m on it. I already plan to be there with him when you go live. We plan to listen in at Ms. Yancy’s house.”
“Good plan.” The only person tougher than James was his mother. They had each felt the tip of her wooden spoon at some point. She wielded that thing with more skill than a Samurai.
“You sure you go’n do this?” Dontae asked again.
Trent wiped his brow. He didn’t want to look like a chump but he didn’t want Selena putting herself out there and not do the same. He released a huge breath of air. “I’m sure. Maybe it will help somebody.”
Dontae snickered. “If telling yourself that helps you tell the tale, then all right.”
Trent’s phone buzzed. “Hang on. Let me check my cell real quick. I got a message.”
It was from Dontae. He had texted Trent a picture of a hangman during their conversation. “You too old to be playing games.”
“It’s your funeral, but I got your back,” Dontae joked. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“I don’t need luck. I make my money talking, and tomorrow will be no exception.” Trent ended the call. Despite his brave words, unease swirled through his insides. He questioned the sanity of revealing his truth and opening himself up for ridicule. Then he hunched his shoulders, remembering his father’s advice when he had been teased as a youth. Laughter was just air. Wind. It would fade.
And build his bank account.
Excerpt from The Valentine's Do Over by Michelle Lindo-Rice. This material is protected by copyright
