Page 3 of Someone Like You

I really didn’t. I had difficulty understanding why so many of my brothers were more attracted to a white woman than they were to their own sisters.

The crap about them being intimidated by their female counterparts did not settle with me, nor did that piss-ass excuse about us giving our brothers hell and white women being subservient.

No, I knew my black brothers were strong and not in the least intimidated by their black sisters.

The issue was more convoluted than that, and it had its roots in the Willie Lynch letter.

African American people, especially women, had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker and had no clue.

Oh yes, some of them thought they had a clue.

Some of them had heard of it, but how many had taken the time to read it?

And of that number, how many truly understood the implications of it?

And of those who understood, how many of them had analyzed their own lives and behaviors in conjunction with it and allowed the reversal of said thinking and behaviors to be enacted in their lives in such a way that they built the black nation strong or even starting within their own families?

“As long as you know what you mean, Mr. Perez, that’s what matters, right?

Were you truly attracted to her for her beauty or for what you imagined she could do for you?

Bethany Huffington-Bradwell was no stranger to most people, and surely, when you met her, you knew who she was.

What were your true intentions when you became involved with her, Mr. Perez? Or marrying her?”

The worried expression that took over his face was unlike the usual confident and composed expression he displayed on a normal day.

“What are you saying, Dr. Champagne?”

“Mr. Perez, I’m merely suggesting that if you want to determine if your marriage is worth salvaging, you not only point the finger at your wife but assess your motives.

Did you know who she was and her personality before marrying her?

If so, and you chose to go forward anyway, then it sounds like you have vows to uphold. ”

From the contemplative look on his face, I could tell that although he did not like my words, he knew they were true.

Unlocking my iPad, I made a series of notes that would later be transferred to the file I kept on the Perezes.

One of those notes included a reference to Dr. Amelia Childs.

It was high time that I referred the couple to another counselor.

One who wasn’t as prejudiced toward this case as I had become.

Dr. Childs was in her mid-sixties, married for more than forty years, and as sweet as they came.

For me, my feelings had become too involved for me to remain professional and unbiased.

Casimir

I pulled up in front of my three-story home in Cherokee Springs, Georgia, specifically in Cherokee Falls, the wealthiest part of the city.

The home that I hated. It was nothing more than another showpiece for Beth, a talking point.

It wasn’t a home; it was a museum, as far as I was concerned.

At just under 10.5 million dollars, the eleven-thousand-plus square-foot monstrosity was bought and paid for by her maternal grandfather as a wedding gift.

Initially, I was mad as hell at the extravagant display of wealth.

It felt like a pissing contest, as the men in her family wanted to show me what I could never give to her.

Her father had already purchased her a custom Bentley that year.

But my father urged me to accept the truth for what it was, and the sooner that I did, the sooner I could just live my life and say fuck them.

It was the rich man’s symbolic gesture meant to convey what Kendrick Lamar said, “they not like us.” And my family wasn’t like theirs.

No matter how much wealth we obtained, we would never be on their level.

Beth and I had experienced our first argument as a married couple about this house.

I had wanted to get something that was more along the lines of what we could afford at the time.

Something that I had purchased with my money and that did not include a guest house, an in-law suite, a formal and semi-formal garden, and not one but two in-ground Olympic-sized swimming pools and one indoor pool.

Even now, with the position I held, I would not purchase something that costly.

We had no children who would leave toys strewn around and fill the bedrooms. There weren’t any sounds of little feet running through the house and leaving handprints all over and spills for us to clean up.

A smirk tilted my lips when I thought about Beth’s response to that point I made.

“Why would we have to clean their messes, Casimir?”

“Who else would do it, babe? Surely, you don’t expect our children to clean certain messes.”

“No, that’s what housekeepers and nannies are for.”

Laughing, I replied, “Look, I know you grew up in a certain manner, but my kids won’t have strangers raising them. That’s what they have two loving parents for.”

“Well, of course, it won’t be a stranger, Casimir. It would be a family member from one of our house servants who would take care of our family.”

“Beth, that’s our responsibility. Besides, that’s what makes a family—all the ups and downs and the challenging times. It’s what built my bond closer to my parents.”

Bethany made a scoffing noise and shook her head. “Casimir, there’s still so much you have to learn, sweetheart.” She gave me a quick peck on the lips and straightened my tie. I was getting ready to leave for work, but I wanted to slow up and have a sensual morning of lovemaking.

“Well, we might not agree on that, but I know we can agree on how we go about making those little people,” I said, grabbing her behind.

Beth reached around and smacked my hands. “What are you talking about, Casimir?” I hated it when she adopted the whiny voice.

“Girl, we’ll have lots of fun getting you pregnant.” Her face had grown pale as she jerked out of my hold. “What’s wrong, Beth?”

“How can I say this?” she pondered, pulling the belt on her silk red robe tighter. “I thought perhaps we could adopt or maybe hire a surrogate.”

“Why would we want to do that? What’s wrong, baby? Are you infertile?”

“Heavens, no!” she balked. “I just don’t understand why I would want to take my body through something of that nature.

Look at me. My figure is perfect. I don’t want any blemishes or imperfections.

My hips are not made for carrying a child, and I cannot begin to imagine having stretch marks on them. ”

I laughed at first because I thought she was playing.

“You’re silly.”

“No. I’m serious,” Bethany stated hotly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked, staring at my wife as if she had grown two heads.

“What have I told you about that language, Casimir?” Beth chided.

“I’m not your child, Beth. If you want to boss someone around, I suggest you have kids, or better yet . . . call one of your house servants and get them to do that shit.”

I turned around, grabbed my keys, and stormed from the house.

That had been five years ago, and there were still no children. That remained a point of contention between us. She was starting to become interested in having one child, and I wanted a few children, but we could not agree on how to have them.

I thought it was an idiotic idea to hire someone to do something we could do perfectly fine on our own. If either of us had an issue procreating, then I would consider the option, but Bethany had drawn the line in the sand.

Sighing, I thought back to my meeting with Dr. Champagne.

I had no idea what it was about her that made me want to share my true feelings the way that I had.

Admitting those things about my wife had been troubling when I first said them, yet so freeing.

Not once had I ever bashed Bethany or spoken down about her to anyone.

Instead, I was always the first to come to her defense, and only in private did I dare confront her about her behaviors.

That was what a husband was supposed to do, right?

The confession about Bethany’s behavior had only been the tip of the iceberg.

Perhaps the more astonishing deviation from my typical behavior had been discussing love.

Not once had I ever indicated to anyone that Bethany did not love me.

Not even to myself would I admit it. Yet today, I had.

Today, I longed for what I had known existed but something that I did not have.

I longed for something that eluded Beth and me, but I refused to acknowledge it. Today, my heart yearned for the love of a good woman, the love that would build me strong and recognize and acknowledge me for the man I was, not the one she thought I should be.

And then, not for the first time, I wondered what it would be like to come home to a woman like Dr. Champagne.

A woman who made no apologies for who she was.

Her intellect, her pride in her ethnicity, and her love of her culture as evidenced in the paintings hanging in the outer sanctum of her office.

It also showed in the way she styled her beautiful hair, which was always twisted, braided, or in a natural afro when not pressed out.

Dr. Champagne wore beautiful African-inspired scarves boldly around her neck and other ethnic clothing.

She was a woman who laughed when I shared my corny jokes rather than roll her eyes.

Often, I would slip a joke in, here or there, simply to see Dr. Champagne’s full lips turn up in a smile, revealing that slight overbite.

The joy I received from that would be short-lived as soon as Beth spoke up and chided me for wasting the good doctor’s time and making me look foolish in front of her.

I finally turned off the ignition and prepared to go into what was supposed to be my sanctuary.

The only peace that I would find beyond those doors was if Bethany was out.

No matter where I was in the house, she would find me to nag me about something.

It didn’t matter if I was in my man cave or on the toilet; Beth would hunt me down to complain about something.

I had not bothered to pull around to the four-car garage.

It would make for an easier and quicker escape if she were home.

This way, I could simply run out of the front door, hop into the car, and find a place to get a brief reprieve from her nagging.

And yet, if she were not home, as soon as she arrived, she would be nagging me about leaving my car parked out front like a common servant.

I chuckled when I realized I no longer cared as much.