The Nick Of Time

by San Culberson

Genres: Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

Life Is More Than A Celebration

Newly divorced attorney Fiona Daniels is determined not to make the same mistake twice. Or wallow in self-pity. Instead, she decides to celebrate her newfound freedom at a divorce party, where she proudly unveils herself as a DFL (divorcée for life). It's a status that allows her to make the kinds of decisions she avoided in what has now become her past life. . .

But after one night with chef and restaurateur Nick Nathaniel turns into a series of increasingly passionate encounters, Fiona begins to wonder if she's made the right choice after all. Despite her insistence that their encounters add up to a non-relationship, a woman as smart as Fiona may still have some lessons to learn--about betrayal, forgiveness, and the redeeming power of love. . .

San Culberson has been an avid reader her entire life and feels privileged at the opportunity to share her imagination with others. She shops, writes, and lives in Houston, Texas.

Release date: November 1, 2008

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

The invitation was a little bold, I admit, but it was the start of a new beginning for me, a new life, like my girl Patti sang, “A New Attitude!” I was 29 years old and newly divorced. Played and put off by a man who had stood with me before God and my family not six years before and promised to love, cherish, and honor me….

This may be a little off the subject, but I think the grooms are not really grasping the true meaning of the marriage vows. It may prove beneficial to all interested parties if the wording was a tad more specific; something like, “Do you promise to bring your paycheck home? Do you promise to consult me before you spend $400 on DVDs at Best Buy? Do you promise to at least try and wash your ass properly?” And most importantly, “Do you promise to fuck me and only me for as long as we both shall live?” I’m just saying a little clarity would be nice.

So anyway, I decided that I was not going to let one big D adjective (Divorced) allow a lot of other little d adjectives to define me. Words like “disheartened,” “disillusioned,” “down,” “dirty,” “destructive”…you get my drift. I refused to be those things.

I knew the papers were coming—the final divorce papers. I thought I was ready for them, so I was surprised at the lump that had worked its way to my throat when I opened the envelope. I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time that evening, holding the papers and thinking about Fiona and Wilson Lawson (me and my ex), the way we used to be. By the way, in the future, he (Wilson) will only be referred to as my ex-hole (a combination of ex-husband and asshole). I made that word up, and I’m really thinking about contacting Webster’s to find out how I can get it included in their next dictionary.

Like I said, I sat there for what seemed like hours reminiscing about the way we were; then suddenly, I remembered how that asshole looked me straight in the eye not two days before I found out for real that he was fucking that whore, excuse me, that woman…no, actually, ho is a more accurate description.

Time out. In case you haven’t noticed, some aspects of my marriage and divorce continue to be a sore spot, so I’m going to do us all a favor and get some things off my chest so that I can get on with it.

First of all, every woman knows that one of the easiest things to have in this world is another woman’s man (at least temporarily), and one of the hardest things is to make it work with your own man once the first petal has fallen off of the rose. Therefore, I can only conclude that she is a lazy bitch and that my asshole ex-husband is easily had. I’m through. That’s all I have to say about them. I have better things to talk about.

On with the story. I stood up from the bed, went to the mirror, and thought about the good in my life. What I concluded was this: I still had my good looks (Angela Bassett arms and a Halle Barry waistline), my law degree, an excellent chance for advancement at the law firm that I had been with for two years, money in the bank, a new condo in Case City right outside of Durham, my good health, and friends and family who loved me to no end. I had more than one reason to have a party.

 

With the help of my best girlfriend, Nicole, I planned the party in twelve days. We found the spot, hired a caterer, and invited the twenty-six most fabulous women that we knew. Nicole and I had been friends since before we stopped playing hopscotch, and during the past year she had kept me from doing all kinds of crazy shit.

The day before the party my mom called my office and asked me to stop by after work. She told me that my sister had told her about “some party” that I was having. There was a question in her voice that I didn’t want to answer. I knew I shouldn’t have invited Ramona. Remember I said that we invited the twenty-six most fabulous women that we knew…Well, my sister was number 27. She had moved back to Durham only five months before.

We didn’t have anything in common except our parents and our failed marriages. But I had to invite her because she was my sister. I don’t know what Ramona had said to my mother, but whatever it was, I could tell by the tone in my mother’s voice that she had some advice for me.

Dutiful daughter that I am, I got to my parents house around seven o’clock, even though I was drop-dead tired. My mother opened the door for me and pulled me into the hallway. She looked me up and down before speaking, “I made a cake for your party, carrot, your favorite, though I don’t know why a bunch of women would get together and have a party because your marriage failed. I hope these women are not a bunch of bull daggers.” She said what she had to say with an even mixture of concern and disgust.

I followed her to the kitchen at the back of the house and sat down at the table. I was not offended. I was amused. There are two inarguable facts about my mother: one, she’s beautiful, and two, she’s a loony toon. The first has undoubtedly kept my father from having her committed at some point during their thirty-six-year marriage.

“Well…?”

“Well what?” I asked her.

“Are they bulldaggers?”

“Mom, I believe the more appropriate term is lesbian. And to answer your question, I assume that they’re mostly heterosexual women, but I couldn’t swear to it in court. Thanks for asking.” I looked appreciatively at the two cakes on the counter. Another thing that had probably kept my father from committing her was his sweet tooth. My mother’s carrot cake was so good that it was almost otherworldly.

My mother took milk from the refrigerator and poured a glass. She cut into one of the cakes and placed the slice and the glass of milk in front of me. I smiled at her thankfully, cut into the cake with my fork, and waited for her to continue. She sat across from me and fixed a look of motherly concern on her face.

“Baby, I know this thing with Wilson has twisted you all around inside, but you need to be careful.” I didn’t have to say anything. I knew she would elaborate. “You have to watch out for those bull…lesbians. And don’t go turning into one of those man-hatin’ women. A woman needs a man. I know you young girls think all you need is a pocketful of money and one of those vibrators, but you can get hooked on those things.” She whispered the last part.

“What?” It was my policy not to ask my mother questions when she was giving advice, but she caught me off guard.

“You can get hooked on those things…your sister did.”

“Mom, how would you know that?” I had to ask.

“Well, remember when I went to visit your sister in Atlanta after her and Pierce got divorced? She had one of those vibrators sitting up on the couch. It was a big green one. She introduced it to me; she was calling it Derrick. Saying she was going to have ‘him’ fitted for a custom suit so he could start going with her to social functions.

“Before I went to sleep that night she apologized because he didn’t speak to me. She said he had laryngitis. I think she brought that thing back to Carolina with her. You know she hasn’t had a date in three years.” She stood up from the table and patted me on the back.

“All I’m saying is, get you some real dick, honey.”

Like I said, my mom is crazy…crazy like a fox. I kissed her smooth brown cheek without comment. I knew from experience that one sarcastic comment from me and I could kiss my carrot cake good-bye. I took my empty plate to the sink and picked up the uncut cake.

“It’s not enough cake to share with everyone at the party so I’ll probably just take it to work with me tomorrow and share with some of the other associates.” She walked me back to the front door where I kissed her again. “Tell Dad I said hi.”

“Think about what I said!” I heard her shout out just as I was pulling away from the curb.

I felt it was imperative that I look like a million dollars at my divorce celebration. Therefore, I am pleased to report that when I walked into Ray’s that night the door man wouldn’t take my money, the dj stopped the music when he saw me, mouths fell open as I walked by, and I got four indecent proposals and two marriage proposals before I made it to the room where my party was being held. Okay, that didn’t really happen…but the doorman did let me in at no charge (something about it being ladies’ night), and I looked damned good!

Nicole was in the private room giving last-minute instructions to the female bartender—we had decided that it would be best not to invite any men to the party, because at some point there was bound to be some male bashing (good-natured, of course). I walked to the free-standing bar in the back corner of the room and greeted my friend with a hug. She hugged me back tight and handed me the glass of champagne that she had waiting for me.

“You look good,” she told me as I took a sip from the glass. I twirled around in my knee-length red jersey dress, pulled the thigh-high split to the side, and positioned my size eight—okay, size nine—silver sandal so that she could pay proper homage to my entire ensemble. She laughed and grabbed me so fast for another hug that I almost spilled my champagne. “I take that back, you look great.”

“So do you.” Nicole and I could have been sisters except we had different parents and our looks were totally opposite. Nicole was about five feet tall and had been blessed/cursed with a Betty Boop body. She wore her naturally curly hair cropped close to her head, and dimples were on each of her golden brown cheeks.

I’m five eight, have skin the color of 2% chocolate milk like my mama, honey-colored eyes like my daddy, and a thing about getting my hair cut like my grandmother. I usually wore my hair in some sort of sophisticated updo, but for the occasion of my coming out party, I let the black curls hang past my shoulders. Nicole and I didn’t look like sisters, but as far as I was concerned, we were.

“I want you to look at the buffet.” She motioned for the bartender to top off my champagne before I followed her to the buffet. It was perfect—fruit, cheese, vegetables, dips, and crackers. I lifted the lid of a beautiful sterling chafing dish to discover shrimp etouffee (one of my favorites); another chafing dish was filled with chicken breast and vegetables in a delicious-smelling cream sauce. Soft-looking rolls were piled high in a straw bread basket.

“Everything looks great, Nicole.”

“Check out the cake.” She gestured to a small table at the very end of the buffet. On it was an elaborate pink and white cake with GIRLS RULE…BOYS DROOL written in fancy script in the center of the cake. The childish truism made me smile. I turned to my friend again and was surprised to feel tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

She took both of my hands in hers and smiled brightly at me. “I know, I know.”

“I know you know, but I’m going to say it anyway. You’ve been such a blessing to me during the last year. I don’t know what I would have done without your support. You have single handedly kept ex-hole out of a casket and me out of prison.’’ She laughed like she was supposed to, but I was serious.

“I think you’ve spent more time with me this last year than you have with Anderson. When you get home tonight, tell your husband that I am officially giving him his wife back.” I looked around the room again, then back at Nicole with gratitude. “And helping me throw this party together on such short notice…What can I say? I love you, girl.”

“I love you, too, Fiona. You know you’re my sister.”

A tear spilled down her cheek and got caught in one of her dimples. I started to go ahead and give in and let my emotion flow down my cheeks, but my foundation cost $45 a bottle, and hello, we were having a party. “Suck it up,” I told her, “my first guest has arrived.”

 

A couple of hours later, the twenty-six most fabulous women that we knew, several that we didn’t know, and my sister were feeling “nothing else to drink for me because I have to drive home tonight” mellow. I was feeling “not only will I not be driving tonight, I won’t be going into my office tomorrow morning, so I can drink whatever the hell I want” mellow. We were all having a great time. The buffet was almost down to the bare bones, but the cake was still intact, waiting patiently for someone to cut into it.

A couple of women, Renessa from law school and Toni, my best office buddy, had expressed their condolences to me because of the sudden death of my marriage. I informed them without missing a beat that the party was a celebration and condolences were out of order. My sister was sitting in a corner talking to a woman we had grown up with. Her name was Beverly, and Ramona knew that I didn’t like her, which was probably why she had invited her to my party. The fact that my sister doesn’t like me is not at all worrisome to me, because the truth is, she doesn’t like anyone.

I didn’t like Beverly because she had stolen my first boyfriend. Well, Terry wasn’t exactly my first boyfriend, but he was the first boy who I had seriously considered having sex with. I guess I considered too long, because before I could say “yeah” or “nay,” Beverly just stepped up to the plate—or to be more accurate, the north side of our high school building—and gave him what he had been begging me for.

I took the last sip from the champagne flute that I was holding and stared at Beverly long and hard. It seemed to me that sisters had been interfering with my love life since before I really had one. I went to the bar for a refill before I allowed my somber thoughts to clear my head. I was swaying to the beat of the music and enjoying watching my friends enjoying themselves when I noticed Nicole making her way to the center of the room.

She lifted her glass up and tapped on it with a fork that she had removed from the buffet. “May I have your attention, ladies?” When she didn’t get everyone’s attention, she repeated the words a little louder. “Ladies, please, your attention.” When nearly everyone was quiet and most eyes were focused on her, she started to speak.

“As you know, we have all gathered here at the request of our friend, our dear friend Fiona.” The waitress or someone filled my glass again without being asked. I continued to sip (gulp, if you want to know the real truth) the sweet champagne as I looked toward Nicole with anticipation and amusement. Even in the dimly lit room I could see that she was up to something.

“Fiona is newly divorced. It is a widely publicized fact that Fiona’s husband was screwing around. Don’t pretend to be surprised, ladies, they all do it at some point. Well, not my husband.” Everyone in the room laughed at her exaggerated denial. “But then Fiona doesn’t know how to please a man like I do.” Everyone laughed harder at the joke, including me…because believe me, it was a joke.

“Some of us feel that Fiona should have known a long time before she actually admitted it to herself that Wilson was cheating on her. Right now, ladies, we will review the goings-on the last few months of her marriage in something we will call ‘Fiona, you should have known he was cheating when…’” Nicole took a good look at me before continuing. I could tell she was trying to make sure that I was okay with her little game. I was, so I smiled into my glass and nodded my head for her to go on.

“I’ll start and then I’ll open the floor to you, ladies.” She cleared her throat dramatically to signify the start of the game. She shook her head, feigning sadness. “Fiona, you should have known he was cheating when he came back from his fraternity reunion and you found condoms in his luggage. He told you that the condoms weren’t for him, but for the brothers who didn’t practice safe sex. Whenever he saw one of them going off with some skeezer, he would offer them one. When he offered you up that bullshit, you should have known he was cheating.”

There was more laughter in the room before Lenny, another long-term friend, spoke up. “You should have known he was cheating when you woke up one night and discovered him having phone sex in the kitchen.” The laugher continued as more women said their two cents’ worth.

“You should have known he was cheating when you found that black bra and panty set in his briefcase and he told you he didn’t know how it got there.”

“You should have known he was cheating when you found a receipt in his pocket showing that he had bought women’s underwear on his credit card and he told you that his secretary had started her period at work and he let her use his credit card to buy what she needed instead of letting her go home.” The “should have known’s” got more outrageous. And I was laughing so hard that tears were running down my cheeks.

“You should have known he was cheating when his secretary called you at home and said, ‘Are you stupid, bitch? I’m fucking yo’ husband.’”

“You should have really known he was cheating when you received a certified package in the mail from the secretary. The note said, Enclosed you will find a picture of me fucking yo’ husband, and the picture was of her fucking yo’ husband!”

“You should have known he was cheating on you when you asked him, and he said, ‘Baby, I would never cheat on you.’”

“You finally did know he was cheating when you walked into his office and said, ‘What the hell are you two doing?’ and the secretary looked up and said, ‘We’re screwing, what does it look like?’” It took about ten to fifteen minutes for everyone who had something to say to say it. I don’t know if it had something to do with the unusually large volume of champagne that I had consumed, but that shit was funny to me. Not all of it had actually happened, but enough of it had happened to prove the saying “Hindsight is 20/20.” I was not the only one in the room doubled over with laughter.

After the last “You should have known,” Nicole brought the focus back to her. “You know we love you, girl.” She wiped tears of laughter from her eyes before continuing. She held out her hand for me to join her in the center of the room. When I was able to get myself together I did.

“Fiona, you’ve been through a lot these last several months, and you hav. . .