Sweet Bye-Bye Read Free

woke up my dad, He did it right there with me in the room. And He was helping me to be a better person too. I mean, I knew that I could probably be a little high-maintenance, maybe a little high-strung, but I was starting to feel more peace, and I was really trying to be right.
    “So the solution is to sacrifice my needs for your promise,” said Eric.
    “Well, babe, it’s not like we’re going to go without sex forever. It’s just until we make that next level of commitment.”
    I thought maybe he’d catch a hint and ask me something, but he didn’t. Then he blew out such a sigh that I thought his glass of water would tip over. He spoke very carefully. “Chantell. We’ve already been through this. I know that you made a promise to God, and that’s a good thing. I am not knocking that, but you are going to have to chill out on the pressuring me thing. I mean, we’ve already been having sex. Why can’t we keep doing what we’ve been doing?”
    “Eric, we’re supposed to be more connected.”
    “After two years I think that we are about as connected as we’re going to be.”
    “We can be more connected, Eric—”
    “Chantell,” he interrupted, “just stop, aiiright?”
    On the one hand, I thought Eric was being selfish; on the other hand, I understood. He missed me and he wanted me. I looked up. “Okay. Shh! Here they come. Let’s finish this later . . . Tia! Ron! Over here.”
    “Hi, you guys!” Tia strode over in a powder and navy blue pantsuit that had been tailored to fit her little waistline. Ron was right behind her.
    “Hi!” I said and gave them both a big hug.
    “Hey, how is it going?” said Eric, standing and shaking Ron’s hand and hugging Tia before he sat back down.
    We ordered our drinks.
    “Chantell, how is your father?” That was Ron.
    “Dad is hanging in there. He’s a trouper. On Friday they let him go home, and he was talking about ordering more redwood for the deck out back that he was building but we told him to slow his row.”
    Everyone chuckled.
    “Thanks for the flowers, you guys.”
    “You’re welcome,” said Tia.
    At that table, we all wore something that I think we were particularly proud of that day. Tia’s husband, Ron, a forty-two-year-old real estate developer originally from Naw’leans, wore his traditional smile. You heard it when he spoke, almost more than his drawl. And Eric, my handsome, six-foot-two-inch, twenty-seven-year-old boyfriend, wore a new tattoo that resembled a thick bolt of lightning going all the way around his big biceps. I, Chantell Meyers, a twenty-eight-year-old newspaper executive, wore a black wraparound dress that accented my small waist and ample hips. My best friend Tia, a thirty-one-year-old sistah friend, wore a look of admiration, and love, that showed up whenever Ron was anywhere in her sight.
    Love. As a naive teenager, I used to say that I’d rather meet my soul mate in my dreams than give my heart to anyone else. But by the time I finished college, I’d determined that my prince had pulled a no-show. I decided that soul mates were relative to your situation. For example, if you were a big L.A. Lakers fan and you went to a game and were attracted to another avid L.A. Lakers fan, and the two of you decided that you were going to be together and spend all of your free time going to games and buying Lakers paraphernalia, then, voilà!—you were soul mates.
    That’s why I kept my eyes open whenever I frequented places like the Stoneridge Mall in Pleasanton. I didn’t meet Eric at Stoneridge Mall, though. Nope, I met him at the outlets in Vacaville. He came up to me with those Eddie Bauer bags in hand and told me that I reminded him of a beautiful, exotic butterfly. He said I moved with a grace that was only matched by my beauty. I knew that it was love. I didn’t have to look anymore.
    “Ay, Chantell, tell them. Tell them how looong I, I mean
we,
had to wait before we could get in to see the movie the other