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Why did I believe her? Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to maneuver through traffic. I had no idea where I was rushing to. I didn’t want to go home and I had no place else to go.
Mekhi was blowing up my phone. He’d been sleeping when I left. By the time he got up and went for a run, I expected to be back home. Now I almost wished I had never gotten out of bed. I pushed the button on my phone and sent him to voice mail.
I slammed a fist on the steering wheel. When had I been a woman who didn’t want to know what I was dealing with? Since when didn’t I want to know the truth? I was a turning into some dumb housewife who had delusions that she’d been married to her man for years and years and he’d been faithful. No side-chicks, hookers, or even quickies in the restroom at the office. Delusional. All men cheated. All men lied. All men were dogs.
Right?
I raised my hand to wipe tears again and had to hit the brakes. I barely stopped before sliding into the back of an SUV in front of me. Traffic was at a standstill and I hadn’t noticed. I was going to kill my fool self trippin’ on Mekhi and Benxi.
Mekhi texted me.
I am worried.
I texted back.
YOU LIED TO ME!
My phone was silent. I could see him standing there scratching his head, trying to figure out what I was talking about, or maybe even trying to figure out which lie he’d been caught in.
Men. I hated them.
Traffic moved and I pulled into the exit lane and got off the Interstate. I traveled through on backstreets until I reached my destination. The West Village. Retail therapy had always been the right medication when I was sick. I’d get a bag or some shoes or something that would remind me that I had money. Money made it okay.
I pulled into a parking spot and willed myself to get out of the car. I looked at my phone. Mekhi hadn’t texted back. He was liar and he knew it. He didn’t even have anything to say.
I spent hours browsing racks through blurry vision marred by heartsick tears. My mother wasn’t speaking to me and Ebony didn’t understand me. I didn’t have anyone in my life if I didn’t have Mekhi.
No Mekhi.
The thought made me sick. I rushed into a fitting room, locked the door and sat. I cried. I cried because I was scared. Scared of jail. Scared of losing my man. Scared because I didn’t have a plan.
“I know the plans I have for you.”
I turned my head. Had someone uttered something in the booth next door? I was still as I listened. The booth was empty. There was no one there.
I repeated the words in my mind...I know the plans I have for you. I recalled that was part of a scripture. I reached into my bag for my phone and pulled up a Bible app. I keyed the words and searched. Jeremiah 29:11 popped up.
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.
I raised my head and bit my lip. God has a plan for me. I looked back down at the screen. I didn’t even know for sure what that meant, but I wanted it. I wanted a future. I wanted hope.
“Tell me what to do, God?” I whispered. “I don’t know how to trust you. I don’t know how to trust Mekhi. I don’t know how to trust anyone.”
An image of my father pushed through my memory into my mind. I pressed my eyelids closed against the pain from the first man who’d broken my heart. Was I going to have some kind of psychotherapy right here in the fitting room? I didn’t want to. I wasn’t ready to bleed from the gut. This was about Mekhi and needing something to hold onto when I stepped behind those bars. I looked down at the screen again and cried, “Tell me what to do. If you tell me...I’ll do it.”
My cell phone vibrated. I swiped at the screen. There was a text from Mekhi.
I love you. Come home.
Come home. I repeated the words in my head. Home was with Mekhi. That’s what he felt like every time he put his arms around me. But we were going to talk, possibly fight. There was no way around it. I stood and wiped my eyes. God had spoken. I had promised to listen, so no matter the outcome with my husband, home was where I was supposed to be.