The EXchange

by Nikki Rashan

Genres: African American; African American Urban

Synopsis

"What's done in the dark eventually comes to light."
When delivered by his pastor, those words stir up memories of guilt and shame for Jerome Thomas. In the early years of his marriage, Jerome made several mistakes—neglecting his family, struggling with bouts of alcoholism, and wasting money. But the one mistake he regrets the most is cheating on his wife.
Every morning before she opens her eyes, Taylor Belle says a quick prayer for forgiveness. The guilt of the affair she had and the lives of the people she hurt weigh heavily on her heart. She knows that she needs to settle things with Jerome before God will lift her burden.
Several years have passed since the affair, but there is still unfinished business between Taylor and Jerome that could destroy their families. What will happen when the repercussions of their last intimate encounter catch up to them? Will God mend old wounds and restore the love and peace they once knew, or are Jerome and Taylor destined to suffer the consequences of their past sins for years to come?

Release date: July 1, 2013

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 272

Sample

“We broke up.”

“You broke up?” I repeated and immediately stood to close my office door. I sat back down in my chair. “What happened?”

“She said I was too much.”

“Too much what?”

“Too much everything. Too loving, too helpful, too willing to sacrifice myself for her.”

“Angie . . .” I paused, uncertain what to say next. “That doesn’t make sense. Who says that?”

“Deidra, apparently. She said I was too involved in every aspect of her life and she had no independence.”

“Well, you’ve been together a long time. Of course, you’re supposed to be involved in her life. Asia and I involve each other in everything we do.”

Angie sighed. “She told me she feels suffocated. That she has no room to breathe and be herself. She said I’m just too much.” She sighed again.

Angie was my ex-girlfriend. Well, let me correct that statement. Angie and I used to “spend time” together, which meant we shared a fiercely intense intimate relationship. But we were never an official couple. We met shortly after my move to Atlanta, just as I was embarking on a year-plus-long deep voyage into Atlanta’s sea of gay women. I had laid my head on pillows across metro Atlanta, from Kennesaw to Morrow and every suburb in between. During that stage, Angie had been my only constant lover. Most of my interactions had been one-night stands or short-lived trysts. It was only when I had grown weary of my own behavior and had met Asia that I ended my extended fling with Angie.

Ironically, Deidra just happened to be Asia’s ex. We ran into each other over eight years ago, and after an awkward reunion, the four of us became fast friends. Although it took a while for Asia to warm up to of a friendship with Deidra—she had learned that Deidra was seeing Angie before she and Asia officially broke up—they had grown to tolerate each other’s company again in a cool, platonic manner. We were an odd bunch: a foursome who had all directly and indirectly slept together. We had survived the “ex-to-friend” transition and had maintained trusting connections ever since.

From what I knew about Angie, she was indeed a giver, a pleaser. She wanted nothing more than to see to it that her woman was happy. In fact, the more I silently thought about it, the more I realized that was part of the reason I didn’t settle with her myself. She wanted to “take care of me,” and I wasn’t the right woman to fill that need for her. I could imagine that after a while I would lose my independence owing to her protective nature. She wasn’t controlling, but she did want to be active in all areas of her woman’s life, from the simplest gesture of opening a car door to supporting her woman’s every need, emotionally and financially. Who wouldn’t want that? I didn’t. In the end, Deidra didn’t, either, despite the love she had exhibited toward Angie over the years I had witnessed their relationship.

“I’m sorry, Angie. I never would have seen this coming.”

“I think I did,” she confessed, to my surprise. “Ever since we got her beauty shop up and running, she’s been extra busy, spending more and more time at work or hanging out with the other stylists. Her wallet got thick, and her friends expanded. She didn’t need me anymore.” The way Angie spoke with such clarity and indifference, it was almost as if she were opining about the end of someone else’s relationship and not her own.

I thought about the number of engagements we were supposed to attend as a group over the past several months but didn’t. Angie backed out because Deidra could not attend. We hadn’t realized those were signs of the beginning of the end.

“Why don’t you come over tonight? Asia and I will be having an American Idol evening. Join us.”

“You know I don’t watch TV,” she replied. I knew that as true. Before Deidra, Angie had one unplugged television in her apartment. When Angie wasn’t giving her attention to work, she was giving it to her woman. Why should she waste time gazing at a television when she could gaze at her woman? Damn, maybe she was too much. When Deidra moved in, two new televisions were added to their space, with cable channels and all.

“One night of tube watching won’t kill those nerdy computer brain cells of yours,” I joked.

She acquiesced with a slight chuckle. “Okay, I’ll come over.”

“I should call Deidra.” Asia closed the cabinet door harder than necessary and opened the box of noodles she had retrieved from inside. She was making spaghetti. Again. It was a quick and easy dish and her favorite to make when we had guests. Only, she made it far more often than that.

“You should,” I urged her. Asia hated to “not know” something, and already she had become irritated that Deidra hadn’t mentioned her veered feelings about Angie.

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”

“Why would she tell you?” I asked. “She knows you’ll just tell me.”

Asia placed the noodles in the pot of boiling water. “Say she did, and I told you. You would have told Angie, right?”

“I doubt it.”

“See, she could have told me, then,” she concluded.

“That would have put us all in a weird position, so I’m glad she didn’t.”

Asia squinted at me with her dark, beautiful eyes. She still handled me with calm aggression. She was always direct and to the point and didn’t allow me to shuffle my thoughts and feelings under the rug when we were in conversation. That was the main reason I hadn’t mentioned my boredom to her; she would eat me alive. I had already played the conversation in my mind.

“You’re bored because what, Kyla?” She would ask, speaking in a cynical but gentle motherly tone.

“Because we do the same thing every day.”

“What do you want to do differently?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you tried to do anything differently?”

“Not really.”

“We have jobs, so we really can’t change that,” she would state.

“I know.”

“We have to eat, and we’ve already been to nearly every restaurant in the city.”

“I know.”

“Do you want a new car?”

“I just got one last year.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. You just seem to need to liven things up a bit. I didn’t know if that would help.” Her eyes would look at me quizzically. “New house?”

“Come on, Asia. No,” I would answer with a grateful look around our four-bedroom home.

“New clothes? More money?”

“No and no.”

“Do you miss your family? Want to see your niece and nephew?”

Years ago, my sister, Yvonne, had gifted me a niece, Gladyce, now ten. Since then she had had another child, James, who was six.

“My trip home is already booked for the spring.”

“So you’re happy with your house, car, job, clothes, and family. That leaves me.”

Another stare standoff while she awaited a response to a question she didn’t ask. Of course I was happy with her, I would think. I just wanted something—anything—exciting.

“I’m more than happy with you.”

“I see. So the problem is what, then, Kyla?”

The imaginary conversation always ended with that question because there was no way to explain the antsi-ness I felt inside and, worse, to cure it.

Asia acquiesced with a soft sigh.“You’re right, it’ll be awkward because one of our couple friends has broken up and now we’re friends in the middle.” She paused for a second. “Let’s see if it’s really over first. Maybe there’s still hope for them.”

“Sure,” I agreed.

Asia stirred the boiling noodles and dismissed the subject. “How was your day?”

And so we began our nightly rundown of what had happened during our day. Asia’s home health care business had expanded over the years, and to handle the increased patient count, she had hired a growing list of nurses and case managers. Asia’s love for personal care hadn’t diminished, and she still assigned a few special patients to herself.

I actually held the position of my former boss, Gary, and was the purchasing manager at the department store I had worked at since my move to Atlanta. Gary’s love for young music sensations had eventually benefitted us both. Gary had jumped at the chance to leave his position five years ago, after his daughter, Missy, joined a girls’ singing group, A-LIVE, and experienced local fame. Gary became the group’s manager, and when I last spoke with him, A-LIVE was still performing at various small venues in metro Atlanta.

Oddly, now I understood why Gary had always been so relaxed and easygoing in the office, while his buyers stayed frazzled. Most of the work he delegated, and those underneath him worked harder than he ever chose to. I, however, empathized with the buyers in my department and took on certain tasks Gary never did. I still took advantage of the less strenuous hours and left the store no later than 5:30 P.M. most days.

Most of the buyers I worked with were wonderful, particularly Andrea, my former assistant, who filled my position after my promotion. Andrea had married her love, Santino, and Asia and I were frequent guests at their family’s events, including the quinceañera of Andrea’s niece and the wedding of Santino’s cousin. Andrea remained wise beyond her years, and I continued to rely on her natural instincts in times of need.

It was Erika, a sassy, brassy East Coast know-it-all, who got under every inch of my skin. She was an arrogant young thing who thought Manhattan was the Garden of Eden and Atlanta the devil’s paradise. So why didn’t she move back to New York? I had asked her that very question on a number of occasions. She had no real explanation, other than she had moved here with a guy friend and didn’t want to leave him by going back home.

On top of her relentless arrogant attitude, Erika hated two things: black people and gay people. I found that insanely amusing, considering the city in which she lived. Her expression became pinched like a pug-nosed dog when I was introduced as her boss. She looked at my skin as if she hoped someone had played a cruel joke on her and in just one minute I would reveal myself as a blue-eyed, fair-skinned woman dressed in black face. Our relationship never had a chance to develop and only went downhill from there.

Every day I would have at least one Erika episode that I shared with Asia. But now the stories, though at times slightly varied, had begun to sound uninteresting.

“Erika rolled her eyes at me today, when she thought I wasn’t looking.”

“Erika made a snide comment about lesbians when she knew I was within earshot.”

“Erika asked to be reassigned to another department so she wouldn’t have to work under me anymore.”

Asia’s responses had gone from “Girl, she needs a good slap upside her head” to “Same old stuff, huh?” to the reaction she gave me after that day’s story—a simple “Mmm-hmm” that screamed, “I’ve heard this before.”

We silently waited for Angie.

With the spaghetti we drank wine, and with the wine came giggles. By the end of the first hour of American Idol, we were a slurring threesome. Angie’s demeanor was so light and carefree, I had begun to wonder if she had fallen out of love with Deidra herself. She smiled when she told us that she and Deidra hadn’t been intimate in three months. She laughed as she said Deidra would be moving out in a couple weeks. And she nearly fell on the floor in amusement, unable to catch her breath, when she stated that Deidra planned to reimburse Angie for all the money she had put into Deidra’s shop, Beautiful You, and that she wanted back Angie’s keys to the salon.

Asia and I laughed nervously with her, confused by Angie’s joyful state. But not for long. When Angie came up for air, her giggles turned to whimpers, and her tears of laughter transformed into tears. Her usually cool demeanor shattered, and she broke into a shoulder-shaking cry. I looked at Asia and she at me, until our natural instincts kicked in a few seconds late. Asia lifted Angie’s chin and placed a hand on her back and another on Angie’s chest when it seemed Angie was unable to exhale and breathe properly. I ran for tissues from the guest bathroom and returned to wipe Angie’s eyes and wet nose. I sat in front of Angie, with Asia to her side, and we remained in that position while Angie released the suppressed hurt from within.

We consoled her simultaneously.

“It’s going to be okay, Angie,” I softly told her.

“These things take time,” Asia added.

“We’re here if you need us,” I assured her.

“Are you sure it’s really over?” Asia asked.

I pinched Asia’s ankle. I couldn’t believe she had asked that question while we sat together and observed the anguish Angie suffered.

“Yes,” Angie breathed heavily. Then sniffed. “It’s really”—double sniff, then whining exhale—“over.”

Asia and I caught each other’s eye again, and though she gave me an apologetic look, clearly she was satisfied to confirm the demise of the relationship. For several more minutes we consoled Angie in the way most friends do: we took her side.

“It’s Deidra’s loss,” Asia said bitterly, seemingly still perturbed by the way Deidra had abruptly ended their relationship.

“If she doesn’t appreciate all you have to offer, you’re better off without her,” I declared. It was odd, though, considering that Angie had offered me all of her and I had declined as well. I began to feel hypocritical bestowing worthiness praises upon Angie when I had not wanted her in a relationship capacity, either.

Angie accepted our encouragement with nods of her head and soft “mmm-hmm” moans of acknowledgment and agreement. Eventually, her tears slowed, and she regained her typical relaxed composure. As that happened, her expression swiftly switched from one of sorrow to one of red-faced discomfort. She seemed embarrassed to have lost control and revealed her vulnerability. I knew Angie to be sensitive, although I had witnessed her sensitivity only when she was trying to be nurturing, not when she felt injured.

Angie wiped dry the tears on her crimson skin and let out an awkward chuckle. “Damn wine.” She half smirked. “I think I’m going to go.”

“You don’t have to leave,” I quickly told her. I didn’t want her to feel like she wasn’t welcome to express herself in any way she needed.

“No, really. I think I’ve ruined your American Idol party.” She looked at Asia, knowing the American Idol show wasn’t necessarily my idea.

“It’s okay. There are seven more weeks of the show.” Asia gave Angie a small smile.

Angie stood, anyway. We stood too.

“Let me go on and get out of here,” Angie repeated.

“Well, come by anytime, okay?” Asia requested.

“Sure, I’ll do that.”

Asia tilted her head at me, a slight gesture that advised me to walk Angie out.

“I’ll go with you to your car,” I told Angie.

Asia and Angie exchanged a hug before Angie dragged herself solemnly toward the front door. I grabbed a jacket from the hall closet and followed. The late February night had lowered the temperature into the unwelcome twenties. Outside we stood next to Angie’s car.

“You sure you’re all right?” I asked her.

“I’ll be okay. Guess I didn’t realize I had such deep feelings about all of this.” She stared at me, and in her eyes I caught a glimpse of something I hadn’t seen in years. “More than you really know, Kyla.”

“Breakups are never easy,” I offered.

“No, they’re not. Not when you really love someone.” She didn’t blink when she spoke those words to me. I knew exactly what she was implying, and I chose to ignore it and assumed her heightened emotions had got the best of her. There was no way Angie could seriously flirt with me on the day of her breakup, and right outside of my house.

“We’re good?” she asked after I disregarded her statement.

“What do you mean?”

“We can still be friends even with me and Deidra not being together, right?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Good.” Though Angie’s tears had dried, her face reddened again. “Don’t leave me hanging, you hear?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you did before. I don’t want to lose you again.”

I raised my eyebrows at her but avoided responding to that statement as well. “Get home safely. Text me, and let me know you made it.” I reached for a hug. She wrapped her arms around me tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m so glad I have you.”

When we released each other from the embrace, I looked directly into her eyes. “That’s what friends are for.”

It seemed every time I turned around, Kyla was on the phone with Angie. If I called her while I was driving, she would have to put me on hold while she ended her conversation with Angie. When she walked in the house from work, her cell phone was to her ear. She would hold up her finger to me and delay our interaction until they finished their exchange. In the evenings, as we watched television, she would excuse herself to have periodic five- and ten-minute conversations with Angie. I respected her willingness to aid in Angie’s healing, though at times it was excessive. Didn’t Angie have any other friends to lean on during the breakup?

“How’s she doing?” I asked Kyla several nights after Angie’s visit.

“She seems to be okay. In some ways, she’s okay with the relationship being over. But it also seems like she doesn’t trust Deidra’s reason for wanting to end it.”

“What? She doesn’t believe that Deidra felt suffocated?”

“Right. I mean, she admits she wanted to be a part of everything Deidra did, but she won’t accept that as the sole reason for the breakup.”

“Does it even matter?” I asked. “If someone doesn’t want to be with you, does it matter the reason why?”

“Of course it matters,” Kyla countered.

“I disagree. What matters is that the person doesn’t want you. The reason why . . . who cares?”

Kyla laughed. “So if I told you I wanted to end our relationship, you wouldn’t care to know the reason why?” she teased.

I smiled. “Don’t go turning this into something personal.”

“Just asking. Hypothetically speaking, you wouldn’t care what the reason is?”

I turned down the TV volume. “Well, of course I’d be curious about why. What hap. . .