All the Things I Meant to Tell You

by Tiffany L. Warren

Genres: African American; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Kimberly. Hahna. Twila. Three successful forty-somethings who broke all their dating rules. They found more straight-up satisfaction—and commitment—than they ever believed possible. But with their bold choices have come unexpected challenges …
At last, shy Kimberly has the love she’s longed for—complete with a lavish destination wedding. But her fiancé’s past relationships, and her own personal baggage, are about to turn their special dream day into a perfect nightmare. …
Meanwhile, a shattering business reversal has all-about-the-money Hahna at odds with the young boho writer she loves—and tempted big-time by the man who got away. … And Twila is still reeling from a sexual assault—and out for revenge, no
matter what the personal cost. Now the trio must push their sisterhood bonds to the breaking point to hold on to their sanity—and their hard-won happiness.

Release date: April 27, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Coffee, then meditation, and next my morning run. This was the ritual.

I stretched outside my brownstone, basking in the sunlight, and not giving a damn who admired my behind in these leggings. I inhaled moist air and exhaled. Mid-September, and summer’s humidity hadn’t gone anywhere. It was going to be hot as hell by ten, but at seven there was only the promise of the excessive heat.

I inhaled and exhaled again. Gave myself my morning pep talk, because there was a moment, right before every run, where I almost changed my mind and went back in the house. A little voice from somewhere deep down inside whispered, You don’t have to do this today. You ran yesterday. You’re good.

But I knew if I listened to that voice, even once, it would be easier the next time. And the next. And then I’d look down and see cellulite in place of my lean muscles. I’d end up looking like my mother and brothers—short and round. Shoot. I was fighting against generational curses and genetics. Principalities and freaking powers.

So, I quieted the tiny voice. Shushed her lazy ass. That shushing was a ritual too.

I took off, slowly at first, building momentum and dropping into my cadence. I didn’t listen to music while I ran. I counted in my head. Eight footfalls to cover three blocks of pavement.

As I hit the first hill, I picked up the pace. Still counting. A little faster. Two hundred and forty footfalls to the top of this one. Passed Karen (her real name) and her shiatzu, so I shifted right, but kept going.

Down the hill was my first resting period. On autopilot, I eased up on the speed to control my forward trajectory. My body knew this path. I’d run it every day for the last five years.

I rounded the corner, taking me to the front of my subdivision. The big Crystal Acres sign was the midpoint of my run. There was a car on the corner that I didn’t recognize. Probably someone’s Uber or Lyft to drive them to work before the Atlanta traffic got too thick.

At the corner, I prepared to cross. But a door opened across the street. A man laughed. The laugh made me stop in my tracks. Paused the count at three and dropped my foot to the ground in a thud.

I recognized that laugh.

My legs froze, then trembled with my entire body. A scream struggled to escape, but in my ears it sounded like a tiny whimper. I touched my waistband. The taser was there, but gave me no solace—not when my hands were shaking too badly to unholster the weapon.

Without warning, I was thrust back to the night at Phenom. The night that had changed me. The one I’d tried to forget.

He laughed again as he walked toward the car. His red hair was the same and so were the freckles. He looked somehow smaller than he had on that night, but I was sure it was him.

The man who’d raped me at Club Phenom waved to a woman and little girl as he got in the car with his briefcase, probably on his way to work.

I couldn’t move until the car pulled off, but when it did, I broke into a full sprint. No quiet voice now, no counting, no footfalls. Just pure adrenaline and terror as I raced back to my brownstone.

Getting behind my locked door did nothing to relax me. I couldn’t stay here. Not today, maybe never again.

I grabbed a bag and shoved random clothing inside. Not even sure what came next.

But I had to leave. My sanctuary had been invaded.

My office sanctuary had been overtaken. By Corden. And by Corden’s reports.

I tried centering myself by looking out my bay window at the magnolia trees and the lake. It didn’t work. Corden was still there, and so were his reports.

“Are you even listening to me?” Corden asked.

“I think it’s obvious that I am not.”

Corden leaned back in his chair and sighed. “You been like this ever since you and Sam got back from the motherland.”

“Like what? Peaceful? Not worried?”

“Unbothered is the word I’m thinking about.”

Corden was right. I was unbothered. I was trying to stay exactly where I was for two months in West Africa. I had explored all the places that contributed to my genetic blueprint. I’d gone to market with women who could’ve been my cousins and aunties. I’d tried foods that were seasoned in a way that was familiar, confirming that the Black women in my family had these cooking skills passed down through generations.

And the entire time I didn’t think about saving my company. I didn’t think about data breaches or The Data Whisperers at all. There were no strategy sessions or murder boards or plots or plans. There was rejuvenation, restoration, and relaxation, not to mention mind-bending, soul-rending, spirit-molding sex.

I needed someone to take me back to that oceanside rental and away from Corden.

“You preferred the frantic version of me?” I asked. “The one who was breaking down every five minutes?”

“No, but I need a version of you that wants to save this company. Me and Sylvia don’t have millions in the bank, you know.”

Corden was right. I was being selfish. Corden and Sylvia were my only two employees. Aliya, the one who’d caused the data breach, was long gone, and we were the ones left to pick up the pieces. Except I could go on trips for two months, while Corden and Sylvia had to make do with a combination of reduced pay checks and unemployment benefits.

“Okay, you’re right. Tell me again about the government contracting.”

“Well, we’d have to go through the process to get our certification, but there is a lot of money there for the taking.”

“We haven’t done anything in that space, though.”

“But we have,” Corden explained. “We’ve done financial analytics, human resources, customer relationship management and more. They need all of those things under the federal umbrella.”

I started the pitch in my head. Big government, big data, and how we could help their efficiency and effectiveness—especially since the government was always trying to save money.

“And they’re willing to pay our rates?” I asked.

Corden nodded. “From what I’ve researched, the federal offices are paying more for quality analytics than big corporations. And you know we’re magicians with our stuff.”

I laughed. “We are indeed magical.”

“Just let me start the work on it, and if we decide it isn’t for us, then we won’t do it.”

I smiled at Corden. He was a genius, and a godsend to me. He and Sylvia were the only ones I completely trusted with my life’s work. If I had listened to him about Aliya and fired her when she first started slipping, we wouldn’t be worried about generating revenue. Corden was the real deal, and I was grateful for him.

“Well, that’s settled,” Corden said. “Now what about my other idea?”

“To rent out our downstairs offices? To strangers? I don’t know, Corden. That is . . . I’m not ready to go there yet.”

“It’s premium office space, in Buckhead. Centrally located and full of high-end décor.”

“How much could we charge someone?”

“I’ve done the math. At fifty dollars a square foot for the two office spaces and conference room downstairs, we could charge over eight thousand dollars a month.”

My eyes widened. “That’s the mortgage and Sylvia’s salary.”

“Exactly.”

“I hate that you’re right about this, but we really could use that money just to float us between these low revenue engagements.”

Corden looked pleased, probably more about me saying he was right than his actually being right. He loved when he could bring me around to one of his ideas, especially when I had opposed it at first.

“How does the rest of your afternoon look?” Corden asked. “I want to give you a break and then go over some more reports and projections.”

“Ooh, let’s do it tomorrow. I’m taking the afternoon off, because we’re having a bridesmaid’s meeting at my house this evening.”

“Oh, for Ms. Kimberly’s wedding?”

I nodded. “It’s our line sisters mostly.”

“This is gonna be a Gamma Phi Gamma affair, huh?”

“It is. Pink dresses, pale blue flowers in the bouquets. All of that.”

“I know Kimberly is gonna go all out. All those new millions she’s working with.”

If anyone other than Corden had said that, I would’ve thought there was shade attached to the statement. But Corden was just being honest. Kimberly wasn’t poverty-stricken before, but the money she’d earned with her distribution deal for her hair care products, CurlPop, had certainly come in handy for her wedding planning.

“Not just Gamma Phi Gamma. It’s Omega Phi Gamma too. Big Ron is our frat.”

“Y’all gonna be stepping and hooting and hollering. I can hear it now.”

My cell phone buzzed on the table. Twila’s name showed on the caller ID.

“Hey girl.”

“Hey. I’m at your house. Where’s your spare key?”

Twila’s voice sounded wrong. Panicked, worried, or frightened. Or maybe all three. Twila was the warrior of our group. She was the kick ass and ask questions later friend. I had never heard her sound afraid.

I looked at Corden. “Can you give me the room for a second?”

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I shrugged but verbalized nothing. If there was something wrong, I didn’t want to spook Twila into not sharing.

“Hahna? You there?” Twila’s voice shook even more.

“I’m here. What’s wrong?”

I could hear Twila’s ragged breathing, but she said nothing. Whatever Twila wasn’t sharing had her speechless.

“I’m not ready to talk about it,” Twila finally said, “but I need to stay with you for a while. Is that okay? Will Sam mind?”

“Sam doesn’t live with me, so I’m sure he doesn’t have a say as to whether my friend can stay.”

“You’re a damn boss,” Twila said, almost sounding normal, but not quite.

“The key is in the lockbox on the side of the house.”

“What’s the code?”

“Four, two, three.”

“April twenty-third. The day we crossed.”

We’d been so happy that day. Our sisterhood in Gamma Phi Gamma had been solidified. There were seven of us who’d pledged and seven of us had crossed. The numbers in our crossing date added up to seven—the biblical number of completion.

“I’ll never forget that day,” I said.

“Me neither.”

“You might want to change the sheets in the guest room. I may have spent the night in there with Sam.”

Twila chuckled. “Y’all just had to be freaks all over the damn house.”

“I am unashamed.”

“Well, then you’ve learned something from all our years of friendship. I’m proud of you.”

“My housekeeper, Lauren, is on her way over. She’s going to tidy up before the bridesmaid’s meeting.”

“Oh shoot,” Twila said. “I forgot that was tonight. I’m totally not in the mood for those heffas.”

“We can just drink and eat.”

“Okay, girl.”

“Twila, are you all right?”

“No. I’m not. Hurry home, okay?”

Twila disconnected the call, and I shuddered. This couldn’t wait until after Kimberly’s bridesmaid’s meeting. It sounded like a sister emergency.

Kimberly loved watching Big Ron eat. She’d been cooking for him at least four times a week since he’d proposed, and in those two months her man, who was usually thin, had put on weight. Kimberly had also, but she didn’t want to think about that, or the inevitable diet she’d go on after the holidays. For the wedding.

The wedding where all her thin friends would be bridesmaids. Especially her two besties, Hahna and Twila. She wanted to lose fifty pounds by June, and she wouldn’t officially start until after Thanksgiving in a few weeks. But she didn’t want to tell anyone about her goal, not even Big Ron. Kimberly didn’t want workout partners, diet tips, positive affirmations, or boot-camp style kicks-in-the-pants.

“You like the waffles?” Kimberly asked Ron as he happily chewed a mouthful. “I used a vanilla waffle mix from my friend Chef Tam’s collection.”

“Do I know Chef Tam? It’s really good.”

Kimberly shook her head. “No. She has a restaurant in Memphis called Chef Tam’s Underground Café.”

“We’ll have to visit then.”

“That’s one of the things I’m looking forward to when we get married. Taking random road trips, just to find something yummy to eat.”

Ron smiled. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you Kimmie Kim, and yes to yummy food.”

“Speaking of, I have been looking into caterers for the wedding. I think I want to bring someone to Jamaica with us.”

Ron nodded, but gave no opinion like he did every time Kimberly tried to talk about the wedding plans. He loved talking about their plans for life after the wedding, but he never had an opinion about anything about that day.

“Ron, why do you never weigh in about the wedding plans?”

Ron placed his fork on the table and took a deep breath. Kimberly felt her stomach drop wishing that she hadn’t posed the question.

“Do we really need to have a wedding?” Ron asked.

Kimberly glared at her fiancé. She picked up her bourbon punch and took a long swig, all while maintaining her glare.

“I guess that means yes?” Ron asked.

“Unless you don’t think it’s important for all of our friends and family to see us declare our vows, before God.”

Ron sighed. “I’m just thinking about the cost of it all,” he said. “We spend a hundred dollars a person feeding folks . . .”

“A hundred? Does that include alcohol and the cake?”

“Okay, one hundred fifty dollars a person feeding folks, for them to give us a tacky little gift. We have some great photos and end up with a bill. Make it make sense.”

Kimberly balled her fists under the table so Ron couldn’t see how furious she was. She bet he’d given his ex-wife—that white woman—a wedding. So why would he even think to steal this moment from her?

“First of all, there won’t be a bill. We’re paying for this out of pocket.”

“I can think of a lot of good uses for forty grand that don’t include doing the Cupid Shuffle.”

Kimberly put her fork down. “Ron, have you had a wedding before?”

“I have had two weddings, babe.”

“And do you remember how happy the bride was on that day? Do you remember her family and bridesmaids cheering for her joy?”

“I remember.”

“Well, don’t you understand that I want that too? I want to feel that joy and experience it in front of everyone I love.”

Ron reached across the table and took Kimberly’s shaking hands in his. He gave her a sad smile.

“I want you to have that, Kim. It’s just that this will be the third time I stand in front of my family and friends and say, ‘til death do us part.’ I’m ashamed, I guess, about my divorces.”

Kimberly blinked back tears. She heard the sadness and shame in Ron’s voice, and wished he didn’t have those feelings. She didn’t want anything to detract from their joy at finding one another again.

“If you had done what you were supposed to do in college, I would’ve been your first and last wife.”

Ron chuckled and kissed Kimberly’s hands. “You’re right babe, but you could’ve let a brotha know something.”

“Did you have your frat brothers as groomsmen in your other weddings?”

Ron shook his head. “I didn’t. With the first, well, that’s kind of obvious. No one knew about the baby and her mom that I’d left behind while I was in college. And, the second one . . . well, I thought someone would object to her being white. I didn’t want to hear that.”

“So, then this is perfect,” Kimberly said.

Ron sat back in his seat and seemed to mull over the idea.

“It would be kinda fun. Your sorors. My frats. Maybe the twins can be little flower girls or something.”

Kimberly plastered a smile on her face. She’d have to consider having the twins in the ceremony, but she wasn’t going to say anything to steal Ron’s excitement—not when she’d just convinced him of the idea.

“Yes! It’s going to be fun. And I think your family who saw you get married the other times just want you to be happy.”

“They do. My mama is so excited about you. She hates Sabrina. I mean everything about her. Especially her cooking.”

Kimberly laughed. “She puts raisins in potato salad?”

“Worse. She’s a vegetarian. She asked my mama about meat-free options at a barbeque.”

“Was that when you knew?”

“Knew what? That I needed to come on home to my sistas?”

Kimberly nodded. Ron was still laughing, but Kimberly’s laughter had subsided.

“No, it wasn’t her cooking, even though it was bad. It wasn’t anything about her whiteness. We just weren’t good for one another. I definitely don’t think she cheated on me with her ex because I’m black.”

Kimberly took another sip of her bourbon punch. It was difficult hearing about Ron having had other loves before her. Not that she hadn’t had romances, but it was never anything that had felt like love. Ron had loved and lost.

“We can have a wedding, Kimmie Kim. I want you happy. And I’m not going to take this away from you because I made mistakes.”

Kimberly smiled at his words, but mostly the love and kindness in his eyes.

“Don’t worry. It will be your last time walking down the aisle.”

She believed every word.

When I got home from work, Twila had already started with the wine. She sat on the leather sectional in my family room, guzzling red wine out of a huge goblet (not one of mine, so she must’ve brought that from home), and watching a movie. I sat next to her. Didn’t say anything, because I wanted to see if she would share first.

“That Lauren is a beast. She cleaned the hell out of your house in less than two hours,” Twila said.

“She’s in and out. That’s what I like about her.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I asked her to take a little extra time in the guest room.”

I thought back to the fun night where Sam and I had anointed the guest bedroom and grinned.

“That was probably for the best.”

Twila sighed and drank some more. “When is everyone supposed to be getting here?”

“Six, but you know Kim is the only one who’ll be here on time. Everyone else will show up between seven and seven thirty.”

“I don’t really feel like doing this tonight, but for Kim I will.”

My phone buzzed, and I read the text.

“It’s Kim. She’s here already.”

“It’s not even five thirty.”

“She probably wants to help me set up. You wanna help too?”

Twila rolled her eyes. “Of course, I want to help.”

I knew she didn’t. When Twila was going through something, she liked to stew on it alone until she came up with a solution. We usually didn’t even find out something was bothering her until after things were solved and her life back intact.

Twila went straight to the kitchen, but I stopped at the front door to let Kimberly in. We embraced, and I got a nice whiff of Kimberly’s natural hair care products. Whatever she was using this week smelled like lemon meringue pie.

“Twila’s already here?” Kimberly asked. “Is Jesus coming back?”

“She got here hours ago. With a suitcase.”

Kim stopped and grimaced. “A suitcase?”

“She’s going through something. Don’t know what yet.”

“Oh, okay.”

Kimberly marched into the kitchen, arms swinging, head high, and on a mission. I should’ve let Twila tell her she was staying with me, because unlike me, Kimberly didn’t play coy. Direct was the only way she knew how to be.

“Hey girl,” Kimberly said to Twila while hugging her. “Hahna said you’re staying over here. What’s going on?”

Twila glared at me. “Big mouth.”

“Sorry.”

Kimberly tossed her purse on a barstool and washed her hands in the sink. She opened the refrigerator and started pulling out food.

“What all are we having Hahna?”

“All those trays. I got a sandwich tray, pasta salad, a fruit tray and a sushi tray.”

Twila’s eyes lit up. “You sprang for that fancy sushi tray? These girls don’t deserve that.”

“Yes, they do. This is the first bridesmaid’s meeting,” I said. “We’ll make them bring potluck for the rest of the meetings.”

“Twila, I’m not going to drop this,” Kimberly said. “You can’t just say you’re staying over here when you own a whole ass brownstone.”

Twila took her glass of wine and plopped down in a barstool. “I saw someone today, from my past, in my housing development. It spooked me.”

“Spooked you? Not, I-know-a-dozen-ways-to-kill-a-man Twila,” Kimberly said. “What gives?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to share the rest of the story,” Twila said. “Why can’t you just let me do this in bits and pieces?”

“You can take your time, but we just want to help,” I said.

“I know you do, and I love you both, but I’m going to see my therapist on Monday.”

I locked eyes with Kimberly. Twila hadn’t brought up her therapist in years. I thought she’d stopped going. And if she had stopped, who from her past could make her go back again?

Twila climbed down from the barstool and refreshed her wine. “It looks like y’all got this kitchen thing. I’m going back into the TV room so I can get my mind right for the rest of y’all line sisters.”

“Our line sisters,” Kimberly said.

Twila took her wine and a piece of cheese from one of the trays and sashayed out of the kitchen. I was just about to say something when we heard Twila’s voice from the other side of the wall.

“Y’all heffas better not be talking about me.”

“We’ll talk about you later,” Kimberly said.

I nodded in agreement as I covered up my mouth to stifle my laugh. We’d have an extensive conversation about this later, whether I wanted to or not. Kim wasn’t going to let this go.

“In other news,” Kimberly said, “can you believe that Big Ron thought he was going to talk me out of having a wedding?”

“He doesn’t want one?”

“He didn’t, but I helped readjust his thinking on that.”

I pressed my lips together and let the air slowly out of my nose.

“What?” Kimberly asked.

“What if he didn’t want his thinking readjusted? Did he tell you the reason why he didn’t want a wedding?”

“He did, and the reason was invalid. Just because he’d already exchanged vows twice in front of his family. He’d said ‘til death do us part with two other women, and was feeling some kinda way about it.”

I didn’t think his reason was invalid at all. I understood what he meant. Big Ron had a southern church family like mine. They didn’t take too kindly to divorcing and remarrying. Even to the point of inviting all the ex-wives to all of the family functions. It was weird at Christmas when Bobby had two of his babies’ mamas, his ex-wife, and his current boo all vying to make him a plate.

“You know Big Ron’s family in North Carolina all go to the same church. They probably all have the same pastor.”

Kim shrugged. “He gave that white woman a wedding, so he’s giving my ass one.”

Oh. That was what this was about. Poor Ron was going to spend the rest of his life apologizing to Kim about marrying a white woman. It wasn’t enough that they’d gotten divorced and that Ron had clearly not sworn off black woman because of his choice. It also wasn’t enough that Ron had chosen Kim. He had a lifetime of penance ahead of him.

“Well, if he’s okay with it, good,” I said, not wanting any friction with Kimberly ahead of this bridesmaid’s meeting.

I needed Kimberly to know that I was clearly the choice for Maid of Honor. It was always going to come down to me or Twila, but our soror Samantha Pike seemed to be making a play for the coveted spot. I wasn’t at liberty to trash Samantha, because she’d written the article in the Atlanta Star that cleared my name and The Data Whisperers’ reputation of any impropriety. So, Kimberly was going to have to see, on her own, that I was the best woman for the job.

“We decided on a destination wedding in Jamaica,” Kimberly said.

“Oh, I thought y’all wanted to do Atlanta.”

I certainly wanted Kim to get married in Atlanta. Her status would bring out the black elite, and I could’ve used some referrals or some business.

“I want a beach, and he wants a small crowd.”

“I know the perfect venue. It’s a castle in Negril.”

Kimberly stopped unwrapping the sandwich tray and laughed. “How do you do that? You’re like google. My own personal search engine.”

I laughed with her. “I was looking for my own venue when I was dating Torian, but you know how that went. I was thinking of marriage and he wasn’t.”

“He might’ve been, before he got cancer,” Kimberly said.

I had no clue what Torian had wanted out of our relationship, but his ghosting me was the best thing that ever could’ve happened to me. Because he disappeared when he got his cancer diagnosis, I was free to find the real love of my life—Sam.

“Well he’s in the past along with those wedding plans, so I’ll send you the link to the castle.”

“You sure? You might want to use it with Sam.”

“Sam wouldn’t want that kind of wedding,” I said. “He’d want something minimal. Probably just the two of us and a minister.”

“That wouldn’t bother you?” Kimberly asked. “You love a party.”

“Well yes, I do, but I love him more.”

“Loving him doesn’t mean you have to give everything up, though. That’s not fair.”

She was right, but there were some things that I didn’t mind giving up. Sam had given up a lot for me too. He had to go on expensive trips, hobnob with rich people, and pass the time in my renovated mansion.

Wait. What was he giving up again?

“Enough about me and Sam,” I said, not wanting to pull that thought thread any more than I already had. “Tonight is about you and my frat, Big Ron, and announcing the Maid of Honor in your wedding.”

Kimberly laughed. Why was there laughter?

“I said something funny?” I asked.

Kimberly gathered the remaining plastic from the food trays and placed it in the trashcan. “I think I want two Maids of Honor. You and Twila. Why would I choose differently? You’re my best friends.”

“Oh, ’cause I heard Samantha called you wit. . .