Page 22 of Her Baby His Gift

“Girl, I know. I certainly could. Carter could get it. A man in a suit, and he does that George Michael thing with his beard. And Carter’s lips . . . gaaawd they look like they can–“

“Okay. Okay!” Harlem put up her hands. Charisma was giving her a visual that might burn her retinas. “Please. I get it. You’re going to make me vomit over here.”

“I’m just saying. You should hook a sista up!” Charisma was only half-joking.

“You know Harlem. She ain’t going to introduce you to Carter because he’s white.” Mesha took a sip of her drink.

Harlem couldn’t believe that. “What? Are you serious? Y’all know Carter has the worst reputation. If he were black I still wouldn’t try to set you up.”

“I don’t know, Harlem. You’re not the most flexible person. I’ve never known you to entertain the idea of dating outside of your race.” Charisma also took a sip of her drink.

“First, Carter would date anyone wearing a dress. I’m not sure he has a type. I think his only criteria is that the woman is hot. Both you and Charisma fall in that category.” Her friends were very attractive women. Drop-dead gorgeous in Harlem’s estimation. Although Mesha was the shortie out of the trio, standing only at five-foot-two, she was the curviest. But what she lacked in stature, she more than made up in sass and style. Mesha wore her hair opposite Harlem. She wore it natural, cut low, and white-blonde. It was striking with her ebony complexion, rounded face against the backdrop of a smile that Colgate commercials couldn't touch. She also had a small waist and a nice ass that Harlem would kill to have.

Charisma wasn’t tall or short. She was of average height and stood around five-foot-six. She had been wearing her hair in locs since forever. They had grown so long that they now hung down her back. Mesha considered herself enlightened, but Charisma was the earthy one out of the group. She was the girlfriend that saged the house of negative energy, sent affirmations, was a vegan, chanted, and meditated her way to self-fulfillment. Harlem wondered if that’s why her brown skin was always so radiant. She also was what some folks called thick. Charisma more than embraced it. She was one of the most confident women Harlem had ever met. Her friend certainly lived up to her name. Charisma had it in spades.

“Second, I am flexible.” Harlem pursed her lips and sat back in her seat with her arms folded as if she’d put a period at the end of this conversation.

Mesha and Charisma exchanged mischievous glances but remained silent as they held back their laughter.

It was clear they disagreed. “I am,” Harlem said more forcefully.

“You remember Rob Donnelly?” Mesha asked.

Harlem nodded. “Of course, I remember him. He was class president of our freshman and sophomore years of high school.”

“He had a huge crush on you.”

Harlem waved them off. “No, he didn’t. He was just super nice.”

“Oh, my god! Yes, he did.” Charisma still couldn’t believe Harlem was clueless. “Everyone knew it except you. It didn’t even enter your brain.”

“That’s because it’s not true.”

Slowly, Mesha shook her head in disagreement. “That’s where you’re wrong. Robbie asked me to hook you up with him.”

“He did not.” Harlem didn’t believe it. “Did he?”

“He did,” Mesha confirmed. I didn’t try to make a love connection because you, under no circumstances, would have dated that boy.”

“Probably not, but it wouldn’t have been because he was white.”

“Harlem!”

Mesha and Charisma said in unison.

“You were adamant about dating within your race.” Mesha reminded her.

Harlem continued to push back. “I don’t recall that.”

“You don’t remember telling us that you wanted your very own Morris Chestnut or Blair Underwood. The mere thought of entertaining anyone not a shade above Michael Jordan wasn’t even a remote possibility.”

“We ain’t mad at ya. It’s your preference. You’ve found your perfect guy in Damian. He checked all the boxes on your list. We admire your dogged determination and perseverance.” Charisma said.

“Wait,” Mesha reminded them. “The wedding board. That’s what started this entire conversation. You planned your entire wedding at thirteen. When do you think that might happen? You and Damian celebrate five years as a couple next week, right? I want our kids to grow up together.”

Harlem shrugged nonchalantly when she was anything but. “We’re in no rush.” Marriage was important to her, but Damian detested the entire idea. They were coming to a crossroads in their relationship because of it. He was ready to start a family, and Harlem couldn’t imagine having children outside the confines of marriage. More importantly, Harlem couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel as connected to him as she thought she would. Harlem loved Damian. She just wasn’t sure if she was in love with him. “This weekend isn’t about me. It’s about you and us enjoying our last bit of your singledom before becoming Mrs. Jackson Lewis. As a matter of fact, let’s toast to that!”

The three of them raised their half-empty glasses in a heartfelt congratulatory toast.

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