If It Isn't Love

by Dwayne S. Joseph

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Jean Blige is the wife of a highly respected minister. She is also the mother of three successful children. To the outsider, Jean is living the good life, but unfortunately, Jean’s life is anything but high. Her marriage to her husband, Stewart, has never been a happy one due to his numerous extramarital affairs, and her relationships with her children Monica, Karen, and Jeff are strained so badly that she barely speaks to them.

She has wanted to mend the wounds with her children and demand loyalty and respect from Stewart, but she ’s never done so. But after her doctor tells her that she only has six months to live, Jean refuses to move on to the next life without raising her voice

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Release date: April 24, 2012

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

Monica was running late. Again. She was always doing that. She couldn’t show up anywhere on time. School, weddings, dates, work; Monica was late even by CP (colored people) standards. But she wasn’t taking the blame this time. It was Karen’s fault that she’d slept through her alarm clock and its incessant whining, and woke up with a splitting headache that she prayed the four Advil she’d taken would get rid of. Monica hadn’t meant to stay out so late. But after Karen dropped her unexpected bomb, going home early had become out of the question. Older by two years, her sister was pregnant. Monica was going to be an aunt.

Never one to overdo alcohol, when Karen delivered the news at the Cheesecake Factory, Monica and their girls Tatiana and Natalia took more than one celebratory toast of champagne. No longer able to drink with the best of them, Karen had water.

Monica threw clothes around her disheveled bedroom and searched frantically for her car keys. As she did, the festivities from the night before with her sister ran through her mind.

“I’m pregnant, girl,” Karen had announced with a smile.

Stunned, Monica said, “Run that by me again.”

Rochelle, the loudest of the bunch never gave Karen a chance to repeat. “She said she’s pregnant!” she screamed.

“How many months?” Monica asked.

“Two months going on three. I had no clue because I only just missed my period.”

“Oh my God!” Monica screamed, hugging her sister. “When did you find out?”

“Today.”

“What did Alex say?”

“I didn’t tell him yet.”

“Why not?”

“I want to wait for the right time. You know he has that baby mama drama going on with Mariah. I have to make sure he’ll be okay with this.”

“Sheeit,” Tatiana interjected. “He better be okay with it. You gon’ be a mommy, girl!”

The ladies screamed as Monica hugged her sister again. “You sure you’re ready?”

“Ready? I’m twenty-nine. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

Monica smiled again and gave her sister another hug, then put her hand on Karen’s belly. “I’m going to be an auntie!”

The ladies screamed out loud again and lifted their glasses for a toast. They didn’t care as the other diners looked at them with annoyed glares, although Tatiana, the most ghetto-fabulous of them all, took a brief moment to say out loud: “Do you people mind if we celebrate without y’all being all up in our business?”

It may have been bold and borderline rude, but that was Tatiana, and she got her point across because the staring ceased.

The recollection of the previous night faded when she finally located her keys beneath a small pile of clean clothes sitting on the floor beside her dressing table. She had a meeting at ten o’clock and she had to brief her team on the plans beforehand. She grabbed her makeup bag as she bolted into the bathroom and hurried to apply her makeup. When she was finished and satisfied with her rapid beautification process, she grabbed her black blazer from her unmade bed and slipped into it. Before rushing out of the room, she checked herself out in the mirror. She had to admit: she had it going on. She was attractive even without the makeup. Her C-cup breasts were perky and her ass was tight. To make the package even sweeter, she was educated, independent, strong, and earned one hell of a salary. No wonder Bryce was hooked.

Monica blew a kiss to her reflection and took a quick disappointing glance at her room in the mirror. Clothes everywhere, bed unmade, random things scattered on the floor, dressing and night tables. She had to get her room and the rest of her apartment together when she got home. She hurried out of her room, closed the door behind her, and swore to do that, just as she had for the past two months.

Keys in hand, coat grabbed from the back of her sofa, Monica was about to run out of her apartment when the phone rang. For a moment she thought about letting it go to her answering machine, but then figured it was Bryce calling to wish her good luck, which he usually did before big meetings. She moved to the phone, grabbed the phone from the base, and hit the talk button.

“Hey sexy!”

“Excuse me?”

Monica snapped her head back a bit. “Mama?”

“Is that how you answer the phone?”

“I thought you were Bryce, Mama.”

Her mother hmph’d. “Bryce or not, you should still answer with a hello.”

Monica rolled her eyes and cursed herself for not looking at the caller ID first. “Mama, I don’t mean to rush you but I was just on my way out the door.”

“Hold on, girl. Can’t you spare a few minutes for your mama? We haven’t spoken in three months.”

“I really can’t, Mama. I have a big meeting today.”

“You puttin’ work before me, girl?”

Monica sighed. She didn’t need this right now. “Mama ... it’s a big meeting. The biggest of my career.”

And it was.

As a creative director for one of the biggest advertising agencies in Washington, DC, the meeting she was going to have, was a very big deal. With top draft picks, a new coach, and a new attitude, the owner of the Washington Redskins wanted a new advertising campaign. With a fresh approach, he and his partners wanted every home game to be sold out, and they wanted to double what they sold in merchandising. If Monica and her team delivered the way everyone had been counting on them to, then chances were very good that the Redskins account would be placed in their laps. It was an extremely lucrative opportunity that the CEOs of her company had been solely focused on, and that excited Monica.

At five foot five, and 128 pounds, she loved a challenge. She always had. The bigger the obstacle, the more determined she was to conquer it. She’d gotten that trait from watching her mother succumb to the challenge of her father, a man she spoke to once, maybe twice a year. Without ever meaning to, Monica’s mother showed her and Karen what type of shit they weren’t going to take from any man. And it didn’t matter if he worked for God or not. A dog was a damn dog, and Monica never liked pets. The fact that her mother put up with the dog that called himself her father, and everyone’s minister, bothered Monica to no end. She loved her mother, but didn’t respect her, because her mother didn’t demand it for herself. And that created vast distance.

Monica’s father was the reason she and Karen didn’t go to church. Why should they go and listen to a minister spread the word and talk about how wrong it was to sin, when sinning had been second nature to him? No. Monica would not play the good daughter for the sake of her father’s appearance. So once they were of an age when they were no longer forced to go, Monica and her sister stayed at home while their mother played her part of the fool. Only their brother Jeff went. But he took after his father, and going had never been about the message for him; he went for the women. He never cared about God or what good He could do.

“It’s a damn shame when your own children have no faith in what you preach to everyone else,” Monica had said to Karen one day.

“I hear you, girl. Just knowing the bullshit that man practices is what keeps my ass at home. Why should I go to his or any other church for that matter, just to listen to a hypocrite?”

Hypocrites.

Her father; who she and her sister called “minister”, for being an ordained gigolo.

Her mother; for living a lie, pretending to be happy, when everyone else around them knew that she wasn’t.

Hypocrisy.

Monica’s life was filled with it. That’s why she followed in Karen’s footsteps, left North Carolina, and went to school at the University of Maryland. That’s why she never moved back home. She wouldn’t be forced to be a hypocrite for anybody.

“I really need to go, Mama.”

Her mother exhaled. “OK, OK. Fine. Obviously work comes before family, so I’ll just do as you wish and make this short and sweet. You’ve probably forgotten, but my birthday is next month.”

“I know, Mama.”

“I’m surprised, seeing as how you never remember to call.”

Monica held her tongue. She didn’t want to get into anything with her mother. She didn’t have the time and more importantly, she didn’t have the desire. The last conversation they’d had, Monica had been bold enough to ask why her mother had stayed with a man who never respected her enough to be faithful. Her mother felt the question had been disrespectful. The why hadn’t been anyone else’s business but hers. After a few minutes of yelling, the conversation ended with both women hanging up the phone, angry about the truth of their words.

“Anyway,” her mother continued, “I’m plannin’ a birthday dinner for myself, and I want everyone to be there.”

“Mama, we should be cooking for you. It’s your birthday, after all.”

“Exactly girl, which is why I want to cook. Now are you comin’ or not?”

“Of course, Mama.”

“Make sure you bring Bryce with you.”

“I will.”

“How is he doing, anyway?”

“He’s fine, Mama.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing him.”

“I’ll tell him you said that. Look, Mama ... I really need to get going,” Monica said, looking at her watch.

“OK, OK. Just one more thing.”

Monica sighed. “Yes, Mama.”

“Don’t stress-breath me, girl. I know I raised you with better respect than that.”

Monica shook her head. “Sorry, Mama.”

“Anyway ... I just want you to know your father will be there, and I expect you to respect him. Don’t call him the minister. Call him by what he is ... your daddy. Is that understood?”

Monica mumbled a soft, “Yes Ma’am,” and didn’t say another word.

“Go on to your meeting, girl. Make sure you and Bryce don’t forget about my dinner.”

“We won’t, Mama.”

“OK. I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.”

Monica hung up the phone, surprised by the tenderness at the end of the call in her mother’s voice. For some reason, she had the feeling those three words had meant much more. She raised both eyebrows, then checked her watch again. The conversation had cost her another ten minutes. She grabbed her laptop case and hurried out the door. On the way to her car is when she realized that Bryce hadn’t called.

Bryce opened his eyes and thought about the dream he’d had. Perhaps nightmare was a better word for it.

He’d just come home from a night out with his brother, Nate, his coworker and major player, Justin, and his soon to be brother-in-law, Alex. They’d gone to the Latin Palace in Baltimore near Fells Point to get their salsa groove on. Alex, the only Latino of the clique, had turned Bryce on to salsa and merengue, when they met three years ago, which is how long Bryce had been dating Monica, who was Alex’s sister-in-law. It was Alex’s idea to go to the club. Their ladies were having their own night out, so after Alex suggested the place, Bryce called Nate and Justin, and it was on.

Neither Nate nor Justin were hip to salsa, but they couldn’t argue the fact that Latin women were beautiful to look at. And for Nate, who was married, looking was about all he could do.

After downing a couple of beers, Bryce and Alex, who refused to be relegated to just looking, danced and twirled with as many Latinas they could find, while Justin ran “mack” lines and practiced what little Spanish he remembered from seventh grade. Nate chilled at the bar. He was determined to stay out of trouble’s way.

Nate was a lean, but muscular six foot six, and resembled Michael Jordan; only with a faded beard. He looked more like thirty than his actual thirty-nine, and because women found his looks appealing, chilling by the bar was his best bet. Although he was faithfully married to his high school sweetheart, Felicia, he was still a man, and temptation was a beast.

At thirty, Bryce resembled Nate, only he was six inches shorter, and instead of a shaved dome, he had naturally curly hair kept low and faded at the sides, and unlike his big brother, he didn’t have facial hair. “Pretty Rickey” is what most people called him.

Bryce’s parents were responsible for his attitude and style. Growing up, he and his brother had never been allowed to leave the house looking any kind of way. Their shoes had to be tied, their pants crisp and held up with a belt, and their shirts ironed and tucked. If they didn’t adhere to those rules, then they weren’t going anywhere. Bryce never minded the fuss. He’d always liked to look sharp; his father always looked sharp. And as Bryce learned early on, women paid attention to a man who could dress. Unlike his younger brother, Nate never cared about fashion and style. He was a blue-collar kind of guy and he liked the blue-collar style of clothing. While Bryce preferred expensive clothing and designer labels, Nate opted for the clearance section and wore no-name brands. He didn’t see the sense in spending an arm and a leg. Nate believed that, contrary to popular belief, the man made the clothes, and not the other way around. And because he never had any problems attracting women, he never spent more than he needed to. But that didn’t mean that h. . .