* * *
My dogs were barking. And my shoes, although cute, had pinched my toes. Limping into the townhome I shared with my fiancé, I pushed the door open, kicked off my heels, and yelled, “Keith, I’m home!”
A caramelized sweet-and-spicy scent greeted me in the foyer. I followed my nose to the kitchen. “Please, God, tell me it’s Pad Thai from Thai Village.”
“The name is Keith, not God, except in the bedroom, and yes, I got us some takeout from your favorite place.”
“Did you get the—”
“Prix-Pow with the basil sauce. Veggies only, of course.”
“Thank you!” I went straight for the brown bag and tore it open. “I’m starving. I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch today.”
“Yeah, I figured.” Keith ran his hand over his baby face. “You need to take better care of yourself, sweet cheeks.”
He was right. I was ten pounds lighter than I was in law school, but with a caseload of fifteen to twenty per month, I was overworked. I didn’t have it in me to not give my clients the defense they deserved. Everyone deserved a chance.
“I know, I know.” I broke away from the food and gently tugged his red and blue striped tie. “I appreciate you taking care of me.”
He kissed my lips and squeezed my ass. “And I always will, baby. You know that, right?”
I wiggled my ring finger. “Oh, I know. This is forever. Till death.”
His kissed my fingers. “Till death.”
If the ladies were here, Raina would roll her eyes, Nikki would snort, and Kara’s eyebrows would be to her hairline. Unlike me, they weren’t into second chances.
A few years back, right after law school, he’d cheated on me with a paralegal at his firm. The woman had reached out to me on Facebook and sent me a bunch of dick pics. I was devastated. My friends had rallied around me, calling him everything but a child of God.
But no matter how much he’d ripped me to shreds, I couldn’t let him go. Or rather, he was determined for us to stay together. Over the past few years, he’d been the perfect boyfriend and now fiancé. He cooked, cleaned, cared about his fellow man, despite his very privileged upbringing. His parents were rich attorneys and had made their fortune in Florida. They were the most disconnected black people I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And admittedly, some of that had rubbed off on Keith.
When I first met him in law school, I’d loathed him. Despite what my friends thought, I wasn’t blind to Keith’s faults. I knew he was slightly arrogant like his father and a bit imperious.
After two years of fruitless efforts of asking me out, I had finally snapped and told Keith that he was a self-serving, know-it-all jerk. But then he’d said something that had given me pause. “I know I can come off a little brusque. But just give me one hour. One hour of your time to prove to you that I’m worth it. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?”
It was something Baba, my father, had always said. When he was a young boy in Kenya, he’d been caught stealing. Mr. Ochieng, the shop owner, threatened to call the police, but after some pleading, and the explanation that he only wanted food for his family, Baba convinced the shop owner that he would work off his debt. My father worked at the shop and eventually used the money to pay for college. Years later when Mr. Ochieng died, he left my father a nice inheritance, having no children or heirs of his own. My father had used the money to move to America, and days later, he met my mother, who also was born in Kenya.
So, I was a softy for second chances, and if it weren’t for second chances, I wouldn’t be alive. My Baba’s story is what had made me to want to make the world better. I wanted to help instead of condemn, because you never know others’ circumstances.
It’s true that Keith had squandered his second chance when he cheated a year later with a friend of a friend. And that time, I didn’t tell my friends. I couldn’t stand to see the look in their eyes or hear their well-meaning words. Keith loved me and he’d promised to never do it again, and this time, I raked him over the coals. It took three months for him to get back in my good graces, and for the last four years, we’d been solid.
“Let’s eat.” Keith broke into my thoughts. He scooped my dinner to put it on a plate. “Go sit down. I’ll bring your dinner and a glass of wine.”
“Thanks, sweetie.”
“So what poor soul did you save today?” he yelled from the kitchen.
I sat down at the dining room table and then massaged my feet. “My clients aren’t poor souls. We all can’t work for the rich and fabulous.”
Keith was an intellectual property lawyer in tech. Atlanta was booming in the tech scene, and so business was booming for Keith.
“You could always come work with me.”
I shuddered and Keith chuckled.
“I know you’d wither away and die if you were stuck reading contracts and litigating all day. But it pays.”
It sure did. I took home nearly half his salary. And not to mention the salary he took home as a city councilman.
“How did the fund-raiser luncheon go?”
“It was good.” He scooped up rice with his chopsticks. “Would’ve gone a lot better if you were with me.”
“Sorry.” I twirled my noodles. “I had to bail out a client.”
“Hope they were worth it,” he mumbled.
“Of course he was. Every client deserves—”
“The best legal representation. I know, I’m sorry, baby. I just missed you. You know you’re the best at coaxing people to write a check. And Chris, as great as he is, is not a people person.”
“Ah, Christopher. I will crack that nut one day.”
His campaign manager-slash-consultant was a challenge. He was brilliant, and the strong, silent type. Thanks to Chris’s brilliance, Keith had won his first election by a landslide. Now Keith was the incumbent, but for some reason Chris hadn’t fully committed to working with us again and I couldn’t figure out why.
“So he’s working on the campaign?”
Keith shrugged. An annoyed look marred his handsome face. “Still hasn’t committed.”
“I’ll talk to him, maybe squeeze in a dance with him at the Mayor’s Ball in a few months.”
“Don’t worry about it, baby. You know just as much about campaigning as Chris. Hell, he even said it himself.”
“Really?” I asked, oddly pleased. Chris didn’t seem to like people and really didn’t seem to like me. But he was astute and thoughtful and, when no one was looking, kind. I was determined to win him over.
“I wish I could help more, but running a campaign is a full-time job, and the PD office has me swamped.”
“I know it is, sweet cheeks. I just want you to focus on being my first lady. In four years or so, I’ll run for mayor. Then governor.”
Running for public office used to be my dream, but if I ran, I know it would be too much of a strain on our relationship. I pushed the thought away.
I leaned in and kissed him. “I would be happy to be your first lady.”
His phone buzzed against the refurbished white wood table. He swiped his phone, answered it, and walked away. I heard a few groans and mumbles, something about a meeting with a client. He didn’t sound all that pleased.