Page 44 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

He’s lucky he’s cute. Jordan dropped her shoulders, smiled back, and let a deep breath release, shaking her head as she relented.

“All right.” Harper was never going to let it go.

She wasn’t thrilled with being pushed to do something she wasn’t fully on board with.

As much as Jordan hated playing defense, she hated being cornered even more.

But it was Harper, so… fine. She snatched the pen from his extended hand.

With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, cleared her mind, and hovered her hand over the paper tablecloth, willing a memory to come forward that she could write quickly and get this over with.

“Do you have the memory?” Harper prodded.

There was… something …

“Yes,” she responded finally, with a slight bite of her lower lip. The swell of emotion she felt pointed to a memory taking sharper focus in her mind.

“Okay. Now write,” Harper encouraged. She brought the pen down to the paper slowly…“Don’t think. Just write…”

Jordan began to free flow:

I was sixteen. I had come home from SAT prep and walked in on my parents in the kitchen.

Daddy’s powerful voice—I still feel it in my bones when I think about this.

So powerful. I wasn’t afraid of him until that day.

They didn’t hear me come in at first. The big dutch oven was on the stove warming up some oil.

Mom was chopping onions, garlic and potatoes for daddy’s favorite beef stew.

She used a lot of different spices. She tried to get me to pay attention whenever she would make it, but I didn’t know marjoram from thyme from paprika.

Didn’t care either. I was all about making the dean’s list and scoring 1500 on the SAT.

Daddy’s influence. He was mad about something.

I didn’t even know what. His voice demanded you be on point if he summoned you.

It wasn’t military but commanding. For whatever reason mom wasn’t on point that night.

All that came out of his mouth was pure disdain.

Said she was “just a pretty face and a beautiful body.” He could have chosen anyone, and she was lucky he chose her.

I couldn’t believe he said that. And mom didn’t argue.

she just took it. She kept chopping, but looked defeated.

On some level she must have believed it was true though.

Fight back mom. Fight back. don’t let him talk to you that way.

Don’t cry, Don’t be a weak woman. “Dinner will be ready soon,” she said as if that was going to make him stop belittling her. Bullying her.

Mom never finished school. She was a pageant queen at North Carolina A&T where she met and ultimately just…

followed dad. This wasn’t the first time he’d made some off-hand remark about how lucky she was.

But prior times it was wrapped up in a joke.

It felt like marital banter. Because she would laugh and say “you’re so silly.

” I didn’t like it. Even then. It was mean but I loved daddy.

He was strong and powerful and I wanted to be him.

More than I wanted to be mom. I wanted him to love me.

Not because I was pretty—even though he told me I was—all the time.

though not as much as mom. I didn’t want to hear that from her.

As if that was my worth. “Good looks will only get you a husband,” he’d say.

“And better to BE by yourself than with any no-good niggas.” “Be better than the boys. Smarter, compete. Don’t rely on your looks.

” He never once said “don’t be like your mother” but I swear I heard it.

He claimed mom and propped her up as his prize.

He used to fucking weigh her. Why did he do that?

Mom was always the epitome of a trophy wife.

Look pretty, make him look good at the expense of yourself and your own self-worth.

Daddy talked at her something terrible that day—like she was beneath him.

Like she was property. Like he owned her.

Mom had no retort. All she did was cater to him, make sure he had his dinner and his scotch.

I was frozen until I found the courage to make my presence known by dropping my bookbag on the ground and said “HEY!!” As loudly and as naturally as I could. I think I startled them.

They instantly and completely changed their respective demeanors.

“OHH Hi baby. How was your day?” TOTAL BULLSHIT!

SHE pulled me into an extra big warm hug that I didn’t want.

She blamed the onions for her tears. I looked at daddy and he smiled and asked how test prep went that day.

Prep he paid for, prep that was investment for me.

I stared at him a long time, hating that he talked to mom that way but knowing he held all the cards.

He was in charge and therefore I said what I usually did.

“Fine.” That was enough for him. “Stay on track, be better than the boys” and don’t be your mother.

He took a sip of his scotch, grabbed his Chicago Tribune and covered his face with it.

Left the cigarette burning in the ashtray.

I couldn’t look mom in the eye when she asked me if I could help her with dinner.

Fuck no! was all i thought. I’m not about to sear beef for a man who expected it.

But all I said was I couldn’t. “I had to catch up on work.” It just came out.

I wanted to help her, I wanted to help her stop him from berating her.

He wouldn’t do it if I was in the same room, but what about when i wasn’t there?

I couldn’t stay there knowing what I knew.

And that made me hate her for being weak. Why was she so weak…?

Tears blurred the writing before her, stained the ink on the paper, but Jordan had more to write, almost as if it was pouring out of her, the stopper of a bottle removed.

“Breathe,” she heard Harper say. His voice was soothing, calm.

It reminded Jordan to take a breath, to exhale.

To close her eyes, take a moment. But she kept seeing the past, feeling it.

And now that it was there, the only release was through her hand, on the paper, written down, like the release of a pressure valve.

At the table, with little privacy, the tears continued to stream down her face.

It was all so uncomfortable, unfamiliar.

Jordan didn’t do feelings, especially not in public.

“Oh God,” she sobbed quietly. Harper’s hand, full of care and comfort, covered her non-writing hand.

“It’s okay, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

” He handed her some paper napkins to wipe her face.

She took them but kept writing. She needed to finish.

Harper scooted his seat closer, rubbing her back, holding her free hand.

Even from the corner of her eye, it was clear he wasn’t trying to read what she wrote.

She didn’t want him to. The exercise was for her only, that’s what he’d said.

Finally, with the last word written, Jordan let the pen drop onto the tabletop.

She looked at Harper, feeling the still-wet tracks of tears on her cheeks.

Her heart beating hard, her breath short.

He wiped her face and she reached for him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

She needed to feel something solid and real and comforting, to bring her back to now.

He held her tightly, standing them both up so their entire bodies could make full contact.

Jordan sobbed into his chest. She wanted to fall into him completely, relieved to disappear into his comfort and safety.

Into Harper…Harper… He received all of her, finally now, all of her.