I don’t even want to think of the number of times I’d heard my father pull the “bitter” card on my mom whenever she would rail against his cheating. Even still, she would take the time to remind me not to become bitter like she was, as if she hadn’t had a legitimate reason to feel the way she did.
“You might have a point,” he conceded. “Let’s eat in the dining room,” he gestured toward the area.
I obliged, following him to the room off from the kitchen that housed the long, black modern-style dining room table and chairs.
“Imighthave a point?” I continued as we sat down.
“That’s what I said.”
“I’ve only been a woman for thirty years, but Imighthave a point.” I scoffed.
“Whatever. You know more about being a woman, yes. I won’t argue, but don’t downplay shit men go through.”
“I wasn’t,” I countered. “I’m just saying, men and women both hold onto hurt from past relationships, but it seems more acceptable for men than women. How many rap songs do men scream ‘fuck these hoes’ or ‘I’m not here for love’? Hell, even R&B nowadays is these young dudes singing about how they just wanna smash and pass. There’s no more crooning to their lover.”
“What, you mean like Keith Sweat’s begging ass?”
I laughed at that.
“Maybe not that much begging,” I answered. “I’m just saying, it’s okay for men to be more callous about relationships than women.”
“A’ight. But,” he started, picking up his fork and pointing it at me, “that doesn’t mean you get to treat me like I’m some other nigga. I wasn’t the one who fucked up in the past.” He leveled a heavy gaze at me. I had to fight to keep from fidgeting in my chair. I wasn’t treating him like he was one of the dudes from my past, was I?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chanel
My stomach tightened as my hand pressed on the glass door to push through it. My ears were hit with the typical buzzing office sounds, murmurs of busy professionals bustling about, copy machines running, phones ringing followed by the cheery sounds of the receptionist answering. Anyone stepping into this office could see that the owners had done well for themselves. The glass door I’d entered proudly readLaw Offices of Combs & Combs. The immaculate outer office space with hardwood floors, glass tables with legal journals and gossip magazines for waiting guests, leather office furniture, and the running waterfall in the corner all spoke the success of the firm.
In the last few weeks, I’d been in this office more times than I’d ever been during my childhood. Thankfully, I’d managed to avoid seeing my father on my previous visits, but as my eyes landed on the dark pair of shiny Ferragamos that rounded the corner, I knew my luck had finally run out.
He walked next to some famous entertainer who’s name I couldn’t place, hand on his shoulder, laughing at some joke only they could hear. My father was no doubt charming the pants off this man whose job it was to entertain others. He was good at that, making other people in his presence feel as if they were the center of the universe. At least, I guessed that’s what they felt like when his attention was on them. I never really had the luxury of finding out. I swallowed down those ugly emotions at the same time his eyes landed on me, widening for a nanosecond.
“Chanel,” he breathed out. “Can I help you?”
Both men came to a stop in front of the receptionist’s desk.
“I have a meeting with Robert.”
My father nodded in understanding, a light seeming to dim in his eyes. “Josh, this is my daughter, Chanel,” he introduced.
“Well, well, well. Elliott, you never told me you had such a beautiful daughter,” Josh said, lifting my extended hand to his lips. I suddenly remembered where I knew this guy from. He’d been on a popular daytime soap opera that’d gone off the air a few years earlier. His perfectly square jaw, hazel eyes, and blond hair all looked as perfect in person as they did on television.
I grinned and dipped my head in an attempt at bashfulness. “Thank you. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, beautiful.” He tossed me a playful wink.
“All right, Josh, I’ll get those papers to you to look over, and we can move forward from there.” My father’s voice held a bit of an edge as he moved to usher Josh out, placing a hand on his back. I was a bit thrown off by how quickly he seemed to want to get away from me, but didn’t have time to think about his motives. I was going in for yet another deposition with Robert and his client. Thankfully for her, Michele didn’t need to attend.
I donned my professional tenor when speaking to the receptionist. “Chanel Richards for Robert Lang, please.”
“He’ll be out in five minutes. You can have a seat. Would you like any coffee, tea or water?”
“No, I’m fine.”
She went back to what she was doing on her desktop.
“Chanel.”
