Page 14 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

“Yup,” added Murch. “Robyn would be impressed.” Robyn? Harper hadn’t expected the mention of his ex. Murch never failed.

“With what? The menu or the fact that Harp is solo?” And neither did Quentin.

Laughter and smiles returned to the table even as Harper rolled his eyes.

When they were together, Robyn was certainly the connective tissue that made these social connections all work with ease.

She compensated for Harper’s shortcomings.

When he drifted away, she was present. Particularly tonight, he felt her absence.

He was here alone with no date for distraction, on Candace’s milestone birthday, among all the friends they used to share—being here without her felt like having an amputated limb.

“She sends her love by the way,” Harper remarked. “Robyn. She texted right before I came in.”

“She’s so sweet.” Candace’s face lit up as she spoke of her friend. “She gave me a birthday FaceTime today.”

But too busy to text me back? Harper thought. Hmmph.

“She looks fantastic,” Candace continued.

“She has really adjusted to life out there.” Despite her words, Candace’s tone said one thing to Harper: You fucked up, nigga.

Candace and Harper had always been cool and maybe they even became cooler because of her relationship with Robyn.

But after the divorce, there’d been a noticeable shift in their interactions.

They were still congenial and warm, but certainly different.

She’d felt their divorce too. Everyone did.

How could they not? They were all chosen family.

But Candace was certainly taking some obvious personal satisfaction in her girl doing well.

“Oh yeah. Robyn’s Nest is doing great too,” Murch added. “Mia’s adjusting well. And she’s seeing somebody…?” Murch blurted excitedly. And then, “Ow!” A hurt-looking Murch turned to Candace, who returned a classic Black wife “Nigga, are you serious” look.

From the far end of the table, Harper wasn’t sure he heard correctly.

Seeing somebody? Really? Ironically, this was the moment that everyone turned to him, at the end of the table in seventh-wheel “exile.” All six pairs of eyes were now focused on him with their full attention.

Harper looked at Quentin and Lance to his right.

Their shared expression said clearly, Yeah, nigga, you heard correctly.

Quentin lifted the table’s wine bottle toward him, breaking the silence. “Have some more wine…”

Harper watched his glass being filled, knowing the news of his ex-wife seeing somebody shouldn’t cause these feelings he was experiencing.

And what was he feeling? Surprise? But also, why didn’t I know about this?

Was he jealous? Really? Harper smiled, trying to evoke nonchalance.

“Good for her,” he replied. “That’s great. I hope he’s worthy of her.”

“He sure seems to be on paper,” Candace couldn’t seem to help but point out. On paper? Is she dating a #couplesgoals brotha? “Anyway, I also got a nice bouquet of flowers from Jordan before she left town.”

Oh, hell no. “Before she left town?” Now it was Harper who couldn’t help himself. There was no poker face to be had. “ Jordan was in New York?” His shock was obvious.

The bulk of the table seemed genuinely surprised at Harper’s reaction. Murch especially. “You didn’t see her?” he asked. “I thought you guys were in touch.”

“We are. We were. I mean, you know. Life be life-ing,” Harper reached for an explanation he could articulate. “We’re both pretty busy. As always.” His eyes found Lance’s. His friend held the look for a moment, and then he pursed his lips before looking away.

“I talked to her last night,” Shelby added. “I tried to get her to change her flight, but I guess she wanted to get back to that Malibu life….”

“So nobody saw her…” Harper knew the question had made its way into his voice despite desperately wanting to sound declarative.

A chorus of “nos,” “nahs,” ensued, heads nodding in agreement.

“She must be busy,” Harper mused.

“Life be lifing.” Lance reentered the chat.

“Word.” Harper held up his glass to Lance who returned the impromptu toast with a clink of their glasses.

A trio of waitstaff descended on the table with three servings of the first course of egusi dumplings, piri piri salad, and oxtail and crab Rangoon.

A refrain of “Wows,” “that looks great,” and “yummms” ensued as the head waiter explained the dishes, then declared, “Enjoy.”

“We will,” Murch said with pride. “L, you wanna bless us this evening?”

“Oh, no doubt. Grab hands y’all.” Both sides of the table formed a human chain.

Murch and Candace held hands across the table at one end.

Lance took Harper’s right hand, firm and steady, while Jasmine’s hand wrapped around his other one in warmth and softness.

Everyone bowed their collective heads. Lance began.

“Lord, we thank you for the gathering of longtime friends and found family. We thank you for the opportunity to fellowship, to nourish our bodies, and to fortify our minds and spirit. We thank you for the gift that is Candace and for blessing her and her family with another year around the sun. We thank you, Lord, for her gift of enrichment for her family and for all of us gathered and all the lives she touches. We ask that you bless this sumptuous meal and keep those who are not with us safe and in our prayers. These blessings we ask in your holy name…Amen.”

A round of “amens” rippled up the table as their hands unclasped.

“Amen,” Harper said and attempted to let go of Lance’s hand as he had already done with Jasmine’s. Lance didn’t let go. Harper looked at his hand, then at Lance who met his gaze.

“Amen,” Lance said directly to Harper, nodding at his longtime friend. Harper returned the nod and eked out a smile. For a man who didn’t believe in God for over half of his life, Harper knew he was richly blessed and this moment of fellowship proved it well.

“You want that oxtail, baby?” Lance attended to Jasmine like the protector that he’d always been.

“Oh yes,” she said, relaxed and smiling. “It smells delicious.”

“I’ma fuck with that egusi and piri salad,” the recent vegan Quentin declared. “Gimme your plate, Harp,” he beckoned. Harper handed over his seventh-wheel plate as Quentin, Lance, and Jasmine all filled it with the appetizers.

He understood what they were trying to do. The conviviality, laughter, and warmth of friendship were present at the table. But something else, someone else was missing.

“Do women ever get tired of taking photos?” Lance turned to Harper.

It was after dinner now and they were in the middle of Lincoln Center Plaza.

With full bellies and wine-buzzed brains, they watched the ladies pose for numerous photos in front of the world-famous illuminated fountain.

Murch was tasked with the demands of getting the right shot.

“Make sure we look cute! And skinny! Hold it up higher! Duck lips, ladies!”

And Quentin was tasked with impatiently holding purses and clutches.

Harper chuckled at Lance’s rhetorical inquisitionbefore exhaling his frosty breath.

The temperature was in the mid-thirties, making the stilled night air cold but not unbearable—at least for the next ten minutes or so.

Or until the ladies felt the cold on their cute and exposed toes.

Jasmine was the only sensible one in high boots.

“You alright, man?” With his hands in his coat pockets, Lance pointed his chin at Harper.

Harper turned to him. “Yeah. I’m good.” Harper tried to sound reassuring, but his voice hit an unconvincing higher register of trying too hard. Lance called bullshit.

“Don’t seem like it,” he pressed.

Harper considered Lance’s words. Finally, after a long exhale, he answered. “I faked an orgasm yesterday.”

“What?” Lance looked genuinely confused. And clearly a bit amused, as evinced by the appearance of his bright, million-dollar smile. “With homegirl? What’s her name? Bailey?”

“Yeah,” Harper responded.

“Yo, who does that?” Lance asked giddily.

“She asked me the same question.”

“Wait, you told her?”

“She just knew. I guess my performance wasn’t too convincing.” Harper shrugged.

Then Lance let out a laugh. As many sexcapades as he’d had over the decades this was the stuff that could still get Lance’s motor going. Harper continued recounting the story, embellishing where appropriate. The storyteller in him couldn’t helpit.

“In the mirror?!” Lance responded.

“Yeah. Came with the apartment. And it has come in handy,” Harper said. “It was like my own fantasy come to life. Straight out of my own imagination and a high-quality porn.”

“Dawg, that sounds crazy. You the ebony humper now.”

“For real. And I’m digging the whole experience, you know? And then, in one moment, I’m just like ‘what am I doing? This is stupid.’ I didn’t even want her to be there. I mean the sex is fire, but I just wanted it to be over. And for her to go.”

“So why didn’t you just tell her?” Lance’s face scrunchedup.

Harper considered the question. “Because…I didn’t want to be an asshole,” he said.

“So you became a fuck boy instead.” Lance laughed.

Harper nodded and chuckled his resignation. “Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.”

“You looked a little surprised about Robyn tonight,” Lance continued.

Harper shrugged. “I was.”

“So, what’s up, dude?”

Harper thought about it, but came up with nothing. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Lance studied him intently. Harper continued, still trying to explain. “Look, Robyn can do what she wants. I don’t have any claims on her. She’s an adult and a beautiful woman.”

“She was also your wife for over two decades. Y’all built a life together. It’s not easy.”