Ever After
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
About the Author
Copyright Page
To Mom and my very own Jasmine—
she knows who she is.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THIS IS THE hardest part of writing this book because there are so many people to thank. I apologize in advance if I missed any of my family, friends, or supporters of the novel.
I’d like to give a big shoutout to all the many people who helped produce this novel, including but not limited to: Houston Drayton for the investment; my business partners in promotion, Curtis Midkiff and L. Joi Collins at JCM; my mother-agent, Janell Walden Agyeman of Marie Brown Associates; my manager, Trevor Engelson at Oz Films; and my editor, Melody Guy at Random House; along with the good people who will help me promote this book.
Friends and family, including but not limited to: Greg Colleton, Mondella Jones, Melissa Potter, Desiree Tucker, Kevin Wyatt, Tim Malone, Kyle Leonard, Kit and John Malone, Adrian Fortman, R. Terrell Alexander, Carlton Epps, Nick Bassey, Khalisha Banks (and only because you bought one), Kiahnna Patton (that goes double for you), Kathy Banks (and her lovely daughter), Karen Bennett, Karen Bowes, Karen Lee (that’s a whole lot of Karens, huh?), Sabine Point du Jour (the real Mother Hen) and all the YBPs, Tremaya Bradley, Natasha Munson and Darnella Ford, Kevin Gardner, Aunt Pearl and my New York fam, A. Ryan Leslie and Shana Taylor of NextSelection, Celita Hughes, Nkenge Harmon, Penney McGuire, Suzette Nubie, LT, Her Shortness, Larissa Staples, LAG, and the GQ Lounge.
Bookstores, book clubs, and supporters, including but not limited to: the Tabahani Book Circle (thanks for the mug, ladies!), Journey’s End, Stacey Turnage and the Pages Readers of LA (good lookin’ on the chicken), UCSD, Morehouse College, Sister Schaunita and the wonderful buffet ladies of the Global Greetings bookstore (Lafayette, Indiana), the Howard University Bookstore (D.C.), Jenn Nemec, the Nubian Queens (Inglewood, California), the Reading Room (Atlanta), DARE Books (Brooklyn, New York), the Hue-Man Experience Bookstore (Denver), Tenaj Books & Gift Gallery (Fort Pierce, Florida), Nu World of Books (Beaumont, Texas), Basic Black Books (Philly), the Medu Bookstore (Atlanta), Waldenbooks Crenshaw Plaza (LA), Borders Mission Valley (San Diego), the Shrine of the Black Madonna (Houston), the Funky Buddha Lounge (Chicago), the Jazz and Java Café (Chicago), and Vickie Williams of the Life Enrichment Bookstore (Seattle).
Contemporaries, including but not limited to: Lolita Files; Eric Jerome Dickey; Karen E. Quinones Miller, the hardest-working woman in the game; E. Lynn Harris; Timm D. McCann; Fathiyah Shepard; Tajuana “TJ” Butler, Travis Hunter, Tracy Price-Thompson (we free!), and all my other Villard Books/Strivers Row imprint-mates.
Mentors: Drs. Jackson and Rahming of Morehouse College, the finest English department in the Diaspora; and Pearl Cleage, from whom I draw incredible inspiration through simple observation.
I would like to thank the NAACP ACT-SO program for inspiring thousands of black youth to triumph academically and for gathering the best and the brightest of this nation every year. Because it is such an inspirational environment of African-American achievement, I can honestly say that ACT-SO saved my life.
I would also like to thank Morehouse College for continuing its tradition of producing outstanding black men and leaders, the city of Chicago for giving me limitless material (both good and bad), the city of Atlanta (I luh y’all!), and the city of Seattle, the most beautiful city in the Union.
And last, most especially, I must acknowledge, thank, and genuflect at the feet of my mother, the strongest black woman I know, and ever want to know. Your strength, patience, support, quiet leadership, and inspiration are the only reasons I am here today and will be here tomorrow. Thanks for pushing me out that October 18 so many years ago; I appreciate it. And I love you.
If I missed anyone, my bad! But enjoy the book anyway!
Edwardo Jackson
EverAfterANovel@aol.com
1
PERFECTION IS AN ideal, not a person. But if perfection ever were personified, it would be Jasmine. Never before had deep, maple-syrup-brown eyes looked so cool and reserved as they did with Jasmine. When she looked at you, her eyes sliced through all of the bullshit you fronted and right to the doorknob of your soul. She was not cold but she was very controlled. When inspired, she radiated warmth; when offended, she seethed with venom. For every ounce of her beauty, she was equally as dangerous.
And she was beautiful. Jasmine was so damn fine it made no kind of sense. Her body was an ode to geometry. Bathed in light brown, caramel-colored skin, she stood a tall, long-legged five feet nine inches of pure eye therapy. Enjoying her slim, athletic frame to the utmost of societal decorum, she lived up to her nickname—Jazzy—by her flamboyant, sexy style of dress. Tight riding pants masked a pair of taut, smooth legs bound with muscle. Her toned arms peeked out of a fitted black halter top that bared her sculpted midriff, which was garnished with a small tattoo sporting “Jazzy” in cursive. Blessed with magnificent high cheekbones, slanted Asiatic eyes, tailored eyebrows, slim cheeks with a set of shy dimples set around a broad, Nubian nose, Jasmine emulated black beauty.
Problem was she knew it. Most of her boyfriends couldn’t handle it—her combination of sass and smarts, intelligence and irresistibility, passion and presence. But this one was different.
Nick was special because he loved her. He really loved her. Anonymously each week, a greeting card would appear in her box at school. It was always one of those beautifully done Mahogany cards, featuring black love in its many facets. He would never admit he left these cards—and she would never bring it up—but she knew it was him. It was always signed “I love you” in his unmistakably neat handwriting. On any given day, he could show up at her apartment with a rose in one hand and his heart in the other, just to stop by and say hi. He was the most gentle man she had ever been with. Nick would draw warm bubble baths for the two of them in his tub. An excellent cook, he thought nothing of making her breakfast in bed. Back massages with warm scented oil from Bath & Body Works were the norm on frigid, snowbound Friday evenings. Nick was a perfectly romantic man.
Which explained the cabin. The upcoming weekend was Nick’s turn in an exquisite log cabin nestled away in the Vermont wilderness. Barely accessible by Nick’s two-year-old Toyota 4Runner, the cabin lay hold to an immaculate interior—glass-block shower, step-down Jacuzzi master bath, and a $10,000 entertainment system. To top off the whole experience, this would be Jasmine’s first trip to the cabin.
Audibly, the loving couple crunched their way through the foot-deep snowy winterland between the truck and the cabin door. A fluffy, dispersed snow fell lazily around their shoulders. Jasmine looked so cute, like a honey-glazed chocolate snow bunny. Playfully, Nick wiped away a flake of snow that sat on her nose. In thanks, she cast a playful, loving, longing look back. Aroused, he fumbled in his pocket. Damn, where were those keys?!
Finally inside, Nick removed her scarf, tenderly, sliding it around her neck, allowing it to slip to the floor. Now it was his turn to grin. They took their time undressing each other, playing out the sensuality of the moment to the hilt. Before too long, the pair stood across from each other completely nude—his darkness complementing her lightness. If he did not act like such a “man” all
the time, Nick would have cried. Jasmine was beauty itself. She rewarded his gentle hand up to her full lips with a kiss. He returned the favor by caressing her cheek. And so it began.
An hour later, they were splayed out around the edges of the tub. Beads of sweat forged their way down the sides of their faces. Limp with an intoxicating melange of sexual satisfaction and exhaustion, Nick reached out to straighten a stray piece of hair on his lover’s face. As he withdrew the hand, Jasmine gave it a peck.
“I love you, mami.” He sounded so sincere.
She floated a kiss at him. “Right back atcha. Papi.”
“Jazzy,” he said lazily, “have you ever thought about marriage?” Jasmine recoiled sharply, watching him carefully. This sounded suspiciously like a trick question. Reassuringly, Nick shifted in the bathwater, gazing upward, with his arms spread out on the edge of the tub nonchalantly. “Just wondering.”
Go ahead. Play it off, boy, Jasmine thought, grinning to herself. Maybe he was being serious. She’d humor him. “Sure I’ve thought about it. I mean, I’m twenty-four. I’m not getting any younger.”
A sly smile. “Right.” Absently, Nick played with the bubbles.
Jasmine reached for her glass, refilling it with wine. She whisked away a stray bead of sweat lazily dragging itself down the side of her face. After a sip from her glass, she asked him, “Why do you ask?”
“We’ve been going out for more than two years now, right?”
“Yes.” Another sip from her glass. She eyeballed him closely. So many times in the past he had started off sounding so serious, only to break off into laughing fits, playing with the gravity of a moment that usually warranted a proposal. Jasmine wasn’t buying it.
“And you love me, right?” For whatever reasons, his assertion lacked conviction.
“You know I love you, boy,” she answered easily, playfully, splashing him slightly.
“I love you,” he said meaningfully.
“What are you trying to say, pooh?” Jasmine awaited the punch line with lazy, relaxed speech.
“Will you marry me.” Nick blurted it out so quickly, it rather seemed a statement than a question.
Shocked, Jasmine collapsed against the side of the tub. Never before had the hot tub generated so much heat. This brotha was serious. He was proposing to spend the rest of his life with her. Only her. Wow. She loved him, but she was not ready for all this.
With trepidation, Nick sought out her eyes. Well? they asked for him.
Seriously, she gave him her eyes. “I have to think about it.” Nick slumped against the side of the tub.
“She ‘has to think about it’?! Dayum!”
“I just knew you’d be a bastion of support,” groused Nick. “Man, just take your shot.”
Malloy took his jumper. Brick. “And what did you say?”
“I didn’t say shit,” answered Nick sourly. “I just leaned back against the side of the tub and closed my eyes, hoping I’d disappear.”
Disapprovingly, Malloy shook his head. “Now she knows she’s got you whipped, son.”
Pausing before his shot, Nick glared at him evenly. “Gee, Mal, I just proposed to the girl, and you’re trying to tell me that closing my eyes is gonna tell her I’m whipped? Ya think? Nigga please!” He took his shot—and made it.
Malloy rebounded the ball back to him forcefully. “All I’m sayin’ is how you gonna propose to a woman and not get a yes? That’s not the kinda question you wanna ask without knowing the answer to.”
“Who you tellin’,” Nick muttered, missing his shot. “So what do I do now?”
Mal shrugged indifferently as he sized up his own shot. “You single, man. Do whatever you want to do.”
“In name only, brotha.” Nick sighed defeatedly. “I’m worse off than a married man—I’m single but taken, without a legally binding contract. It’s worse than a contract—it’s a woman’s trust.”
Malloy grunted. “I heard dat. But something must be rotten in Denmark if old girl is frontin’ on most women’s dream. What’d you do with the rock?”
“In my sock drawer,” he said bitterly. “Take ya shot and quit runnin’ ya mouth.”
Malloy laughed as he sank his jumper. “Eh, man, don’t be takin’ it out on me ’cause your girl don’t have good sense. Like I said, you’re single. Do what you want.”
“You didn’t say yes? Girl, is you trippin’?”
“Mia, I told him I’d think about it,’ ” she reiterated calmly, looking around nervously at the other patrons at the soul food restaurant. Luckily, the din and clatter of frenetic cooks, attentive waiters, and people smacking their gums drowned out their conversation. “It wasn’t a no. It was a maybe. A woman has the prerogative to change her mind.”
Mia shoved aside her cup and angled closer to her girl. “Don’t you love him? I mean, what’s the problem?”
“Of course I love him, but this is on some forever-type shit. It’s not a question to be taken lightly.”
Disgusted, Mia flipped several strands of her auburn-colored braids behind her shoulder dismissively. “I know half a dozen old maids who would jump at the chance to get married and here you are bullshittin’ with one of the more decent brothas around! What up with that?”
Jasmine shrugged noncommittally. Mia’s eyes narrowed. “Hold up, girl, hold up. Does this have anything to do with that freak Jacque?”
Again, betraying nothing, Jasmine cut her eyes at her. “Jacque,” she announced emphatically, “is in the past.”
“Good,” approved Mia, nodding her head. “Let’s hope that nigga stays that way. I never saw what you saw in that fool in the first place.”
The two women glanced at each other simultaneously. They both knew what Jasmine had seen in Jacque. He was a six-three, lean, muscular chocolate freak. The man had played basketball his freshman year for Columbia before a season-ending, and hence career-ending, Achilles tendon injury. Sidelined for half of the season, Jacque had become serious about his Business Management major and scrapped all designs on a future in hoops. Having concentrated his energies solely toward his degree, Jacque had graduated in the top 10 percent of his class. On top of all of that, Jacque had also been her first love.
“Jaz, talk to me now,” her friend implored, damn near on top of the table in order to seduce a confidence out of her friend. “You still in love with that dude?”
“Hell naw,” she blurted defensively. “But he was my first everything.”
“Girl, you need to get off of that shit. This man here loves you—”
“And I love him,” Jasmine interrupted. “But we’re talking about forever. I’m only twenty-four. That’s a big commitment we’re talking about, and I want to be sure about it. I’m only getting married once.”
“And what is wrong with your boy Nick? He’s tall, dark, and handsome. He’s got a degree, a job that pays, and an undying love for you. Shit, girl, if you don’t marry him, I will,” Mia warned.
Jasmine tucked the edges of her black hair behind her ears. She sighed audibly. “You’re right, you’re right, you’re right. But I’m not gonna be pressured into marriage—not by you, not by him, not by anyone. I want to be sure.”
Mia leaned back, thoroughly examining her friend while sucking her teeth gently. “Alright, girl, you ‘be sure.’ But if you take too long, you just might lose him.”
Their embrace was real. For a long, tender moment, Jasmine and Nick made love a very tangible thing. It was as if they had melted into each other’s arms like cold slabs of butter in a hot skillet. And it was that warm, gentle, hot buttery love that Nick took away from the hug as he painfully, reluctantly let go of her. He feared he may never feel her so close and dear to him again.
Drawing her in greedily yet slowly, employing almost the eyes of a voyeur, Nick observed Jasmine intimately. She was wearing a gray hunter’s cap with the flaps down, the one she affectionately called her Elmer Fudd hat. A dark blue scarf secured her neck from the snow and cold and a dark gray wool c
oat obscured her body from the elements. Against the rapidly darkening skies and the glistening of lazy snowflakes descending to the earth, her carmel skin radiated gently like a candy apple—both brown and reddish at the same time.
Normally, by this point, Nick would have desired—and received—a kiss. For some unspoken reason, he demanded none and accepted none. Without so much as needing a word, their whole relationship was suddenly different.
She could sense it, too. Jasmine had to give Nick an answer tonight, for that was the entire reason she had requested to see him. She loved him and did not want to lose him. But by the same token, she was not ready to marry him. Yet no man could survive such a tremendous blow to the male ego as a marriage rejection. No man could. But this was her man. She loved him so much she did not want to make a mistake for which he could end up hating her for the rest of his life. There were so many glossed over, unresolved feelings regarding Jacque, Jasmine had to be one hundred percent sure she could spend the rest of her life with Nick. In her own way, Jasmine was assuring their eternal happiness by not jumping the gun based on their present bliss.
How do you explain that to a man who has risked everything emotionally by putting his heart in your hand? God, she wanted him so much in her life. Without a doubt, he was her best friend. Nick was so loving, so centered, so balanced, she turned to him more than she did to her own mother. And now she was about to lose him. There is no good way to lose the one you love.
Wordlessly, her eyes began to water and spill over. Two steady streams rolled down her cheeks. She loved him so much, she loved him so much. How could she possibly explain to him that she couldn’t marry him right now?
She didn’t need to. Upon seeing her cry, Nick engulfed her with a compassionate hug. Although he did not know the particulars, he could feel what she could not bring herself to say. So his decision was easy. “Jazzy . . . I’m moving to Chicago.”
Hiroshima! “What did you say?” she demanded, tears stopping abruptly.
Nick searched her face. “I’m moving to Chicago. I’m quitting my job here and going to grad school. There’s a position for me at Harris Bank as a credit analyst. Same thing as I have here but they’re paying me more. Also they’re giving me a tuition waiver at DePaul University so I can get my MBA and advance within the bank. I’m leaving, Jasmine.”