Page 8 of Meet Me at the Altar

In our second year, her family had dropped numerous hints about us getting married. Mercedes and I had agreed we would know when the time was right, and for me, that time hadn’t come yet. Mercedes was always quiet on the subject whenever her family brought it up.

“No. I get that you don’t want to be married, and I respect that. I’ve honestly come to agree that you’re right. I don’t know who she is, Drè, but I know that someone out there holds yourheart. You’ve said the same thing to me, too, that someone else holds my heart. I have denied it, but you were right.”

Mercedes studied her plate as she spoke, never making eye contact with me. Strangely, I felt no jealousy, just a bit of numbness.

I lifted my eyebrow. “Who is it?”

“My husband.”

“The fuck?” Numbness morphed into anger because I felt she was playing with me.

She nodded and looked up from her plate at me with tears in her eyes. “What the hell are you talking about, Mercedes?”

She pushed her plate away and grabbed her glass of wine. I snatched it out of her hand, and I leaned in closer. “What the fuck are you talking about, Mercedes?” I repeated.

She looked around to see if anyone was watching. She was always worried about appearances more than anything. I was annoyed because I didn’t give a shit about what other people thought right now. The only thing I cared about was why she was fucking with me.

“I’m married, Drè. I have been since we met.”

“You’re married?” I repeated in disbelief with a cruel laugh.

“Yes. My husband went to prison for embezzlement for eight years. When you and I met, he had already served five. He kept telling me to go on with my life and not wait for him, and at first, I refused to. After a while, I figured he was right. That was when I met you.”

“And you never thought I needed to know that shit?”

“I didn’t think we would be here, baby.”

“And when you realized that we were growing serious, you didn’t think it was time to tell me then?”

“It was hard, and let’s be real. You were never growing that serious about me.”

“Serious enough to ask you to move in with me. I don’t fuck with married women, Mercedes. What I don’t get is why would your family be so pressed for us to get married if you already were?”

“I told them that Robert and I were divorcing. I fully expected us to, but guilt ate at me. My family pressured me to divorce him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t abandon him when he needed me the most.”

“So why are you telling me this now?”

“Robert’s getting out. He’s coming home.”

“And what the hell does that mean?”

“I love you, Drè, but let’s be honest. You’re not about to marry me. I’m a woman who needs and deserves to be married. I’m not leaving my husband, Drè.”

“You sure he’ll still want to be married to you once he finds out you been living with and fucking another nigga?”

“He knows all about you.”

I scoffed and shook my head. “Ain’t this some shit. Bitches can’t be trusted,” I stated, standing and waving the waiter down.

“Excuse me? Who are you calling a bitch?”

“Your lying, scheming ass,” I replied.

“Hi, Mr. Jones, are you ready for your bill, sir?”

“Charge it to my tab. Make sure that moving forward, no one charges shit to my tab except for me.” I snarled, looking at Mercedes.

“Where are you going?” she asked, running behind me.