True Confessions. Electa Rome Parks

the dining room.”

      “I’d rather eat in here.”

      “No. You need to get up and about. It’ll do your soul good, Kennedy.”

      “Mother, I don’t feel—”

      She held up her hand. “Kennedy, I don’t want to discuss it any further. Now, let me go and prepare our breakfast. I’d like for you to get up. Now.”

      “Sure. All right,” I stated in resignation. “Mother, thanks for running my bath water.”

      “You’re welcome, baby,” she said, turning to leave.

      “Mother?”

      “Yes, honey?”

      “If Drake calls, I would like to speak with him.”

      Mother started to protest, but I stopped her this time before she could continue.

      “Mother, I want to speak with him.” I didn’t dare mention how I needed to speak with him. “Okay?”

      She didn’t answer, just continued to walk out with a stiff back.

      “Mother?” I called out again.

      She paused in mid-stride, but didn’t turn around. I barely heard her next words.

      “Kennedy, I heard you the first time.”

      Chapter 7

      Dear Journal,

      It’s already day three of my discharge from the hospital and today has been very productive for me. I feel somewhat stronger, physically anyway. I got out of bed and dressed, plus I plan to call my best friend Taylor back. She always places a genuine smile on my face and sometimes I wish I could be more like her. I envy the carefree way she breezes through life. Her motto is: “Life is too short not to live it to its fullest.”

      Right now, I am really pissed at Mother. In fact, internally, I am simmering. Mother thinks I’m a little girl with no mind of my own. I am not a child. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old grown woman and I wish she would wake up and realize that. Mother can’t continue to go through life trying to protect me from everybody or everything that she deems evil or unsuitable. She has a good heart and means well, but she has to realize I have to learn to fight my own battles. Mother can’t conquer them for me.

      I can’t believe she refused to let Drake talk to me earlier this morning. From what I heard, she even raised her voice to him, and Mother rarely raises her voice to anyone. She just nags, nags, nags. She is the queen of nagging. Even when she and Daddy were going through their divorce, I never heard her screaming or shouting at him. Now, crying was another story. I heard plenty of sobbing and witnessed many tears shed. However, that was water under the bridge because they have both gone on with their separate lives.

      Mother is fully in charge of her life now and has been since she and Daddy divorced over five years ago. During their long marriage, she doted on Daddy so much that she almost smothered him to death. She had good intentions, but it was suffocating to him. He said Mother choked the life out of him slowly but surely. One day, out of the blue, he simply left. According to Daddy, he couldn’t take any more. Now, I receive that un-orthodox love from her. Up until now, living in separate households made it bearable.

      I knew it was a mistake telling Mother some of the cruel comments Drake had said to me. Sometimes I would start talking, without thinking, and all the negative emotions and feelings would flow freely from my loose tongue. Two Sundays ago, Mother caught me during one of those rare moments on the phone. I didn’t tell her everything, but I told her enough, too much in fact. Now, she can’t stand Drake’s ass. If she knew the entire story, she’d want to kill him with her bare hands.

      Let me tell you about the man I loved. Notice “love” is past tense. Drake is such a handsome man. He has movie-star good looks and can have any woman he desires. Yet, he chose me. In the beginning I was flattered, then I realized he sensed something vulnerable in me that he could control. Drake thrives on control and he’s an expert at identifying a person’s weaknesses. That is something I would learn further down the line.

      The first time I set eyes on Drake was a year, two months, and a day ago. I can break it down to the hours, minutes, even seconds if you asked me to because I recall it just like it was yesterday. If only I had known or sensed in some way that he’d be trouble. Trouble with a capital T. If it’s too good to be true, then it probably is, and all that glitters isn’t gold. Drake was more like fool’s gold.

      I was delivering business reports and correspondence up to the sixth floor to one of the managers, Bill Walker. Mr. Walker managed some of the top-tier clients that I serviced. We were engaged in the usual cordial how’s-the-weather chitchat in his spacious office. Not much of anything was really being said. Then Mr. Walker asked me the question that changed my entire life—for the worse.

      “Kennedy, have you met our new manager, Drake Collins? He came to us by way of California roughly two weeks ago.”

      “No, I haven’t.”

      “Well, come and let me introduce the two of you. You’ll probably work with him periodically on accounts and assist in getting him up to speed.”

      We walked out of Mr. Walker’s corner office and strolled four doors over. I envied management. They all had large, stately offices that had floor-to-ceiling windows and were privileged to a spectacular view of Atlanta and could see as far away as Stone Mountain. Me, I had a tiny cubicle that didn’t have a door I could conveniently close for privacy, and I definitely didn’t have a view of the city. My view was the grayish wall of my cubbyhole.

      With my degree in business administration I could be in management, but I didn’t have the desire to play the political games that were necessary to be successful in corporate America. Honestly, I didn’t know what I wanted to do.

      Whenever I complained to Mother, she encouraged me to go back to school for my MBA. Sometimes I thought it was a good idea, but other times I wasn’t feeling another two or more years of professors, studying, and exams. With a full-time job, when would I have the time or energy?

      As we walked into Mr. Collins’s office, sitting with his back to us and talking on the phone was an African American male who spoke with authority and power. He signaled with his finger that he would be just a moment. We patiently waited for him to end his phone call, and I quickly checked out his office space with curiosity.

      Everything was neat, in place, and very efficient looking. There were not a lot of personal items such as photos or anything of that nature. So, I wasn’t sure if he was married or had any children. This new manager had a few colorful framed prints and affirmations on his wall and credenza. I still hadn’t gotten a good look at Mr. Collins, but I was secretly thinking about all the work waiting for me.

      Finally, he turned around and stood up to address us, and I stumbled head first into his soulful eyes. Standing before me was the absolute most gorgeous man I had ever seen in my entire life. My breath caught in my throat. He was almost flawless; almost too perfect. Drake was the perfect specimen of a strong black man, on the outside anyway. The only imperfection I saw was a small scar, barely noticeable, right below his perfect bottom lip. I wanted to reach out, touch his cheek, and see if he was real, because the man standing before me had to be an illusion.

      He was a six-foot-two god with slightly wavy close-cropped hair, light brown eyes, smooth dark brown skin, and a thin mustache that framed his beautiful smile. Even through his business jacket, I could make out the six-pack that was beneath his dress shirt. It was obvious he worked out at a gym because he was tight. I figured he was around thirty, no older than thirty-three. Yes, he was all man because just his presence was affecting me.

      I was truly shocked that I hadn’t heard the women on my floor talking, gossiping, and placing claims on this manly specimen. You couldn’t miss Drake. When he walked in a room, he was the kind of man who made you pause in whatever you were doing and just drool. He commanded attention. I had merely blocked out my coworkers’ comments regarding him, or maybe they hadn’t bothered