The Exchange Read online

  I actually held the position of my former boss, Gary, and was the purchasing manager at the department store I had worked at since my move to Atlanta. Gary’s love for young music sensations had eventually benefitted us both. Gary had jumped at the chance to leave his position five years ago, after his daughter, Missy, joined a girls’ singing group, A-LIVE, and experienced local fame. Gary became the group’s manager, and when I last spoke with him, A-LIVE was still performing at various small venues in metro Atlanta.

  Oddly, now I understood why Gary had always been so relaxed and easygoing in the office, while his buyers stayed frazzled. Most of the work he delegated, and those underneath him worked harder than he ever chose to. I, however, empathized with the buyers in my department and took on certain tasks Gary never did. I still took advantage of the less strenuous hours and left the store no later than 5:30 P.M. most days.

  Most of the buyers I worked with were wonderful, particularly Andrea, my former assistant, who filled my position after my promotion. Andrea had married her love, Santino, and Asia and I were frequent guests at their family’s events, including the quinceañera of Andrea’s niece and the wedding of Santino’s cousin. Andrea remained wise beyond her years, and I continued to rely on her natural instincts in times of need.

  It was Erika, a sassy, brassy East Coast know-it-all, who got under every inch of my skin. She was an arrogant young thing who thought Manhattan was the Garden of Eden and Atlanta the devil’s paradise. So why didn’t she move back to New York? I had asked her that very question on a number of occasions. She had no real explanation, other than she had moved here with a guy friend and didn’t want to leave him by going back home.

  On top of her relentless arrogant attitude, Erika hated two things: black people and gay people. I found that insanely amusing, considering the city in which she lived. Her expression became pinched like a pug-nosed dog when I was introduced as her boss. She looked at my skin as if she hoped someone had played a cruel joke on her and in just one minute I would reveal myself as a blue-eyed, fair-skinned woman dressed in black face. Our relationship never had a chance to develop and only went downhill from there.

  Every day I would have at least one Erika episode that I shared with Asia. But now the stories, though at times slightly varied, had begun to sound uninteresting.

  “Erika rolled her eyes at me today, when she thought I wasn’t looking.”

  “Erika made a snide comment about lesbians when she knew I was within earshot.”

  “Erika asked to be reassigned to another department so she wouldn’t have to work under me anymore.”

  Asia’s responses had gone from “Girl, she needs a good slap upside her head” to “Same old stuff, huh?” to the reaction she gave me after that day’s story—a simple “Mmm-hmm” that screamed, “I’ve heard this before.”

  We silently waited for Angie.

  With the spaghetti we drank wine, and with the wine came giggles. By the end of the first hour of American Idol, we were a slurring threesome. Angie’s demeanor was so light and carefree, I had begun to wonder if she had fallen out of love with Deidra herself. She smiled when she told us that she and Deidra hadn’t been intimate in three months. She laughed as she said Deidra would be moving out in a couple weeks. And she nearly fell on the floor in amusement, unable to catch her breath, when she stated that Deidra planned to reimburse Angie for all the money she had put into Deidra’s shop, Beautiful You, and that she wanted back Angie’s keys to the salon.

  Asia and I laughed nervously with her, confused by Angie’s joyful state. But not for long. When Angie came up for air, her giggles turned to whimpers, and her tears of laughter transformed into tears. Her usually cool demeanor shattered, and she broke into a shoulder-shaking cry. I looked at Asia and she at me, until our natural instincts kicked in a few seconds late. Asia lifted Angie’s chin and placed a hand on her back and another on Angie’s chest when it seemed Angie was unable to exhale and breathe properly. I ran for tissues from the guest bathroom and returned to wipe Angie’s eyes and wet nose. I sat in front of Angie, with Asia to her side, and we remained in that position while Angie released the suppressed hurt from within.

  We consoled her simultaneously.

  “It’s going to be okay, Angie,” I softly told her.

  “These things take time,” Asia added.

  “We’re here if you need us,” I assured her.

  “Are you sure it’s really over?” Asia asked.

  I pinched Asia’s ankle. I couldn’t believe she had asked that question while we sat together and observed the anguish Angie suffered.

  “Yes,” Angie breathed heavily. Then sniffed. “It’s really”—double sniff, then whining exhale—“over.”

  Asia and I caught each other’s eye again, and though she gave me an apologetic look, clearly she was satisfied to confirm the demise of the relationship. For several more minutes we consoled Angie in the way most friends do: we took her side.

  “It’s Deidra’s loss,” Asia said bitterly, seemingly still perturbed by the way Deidra had abruptly ended their relationship.

  “If she doesn’t appreciate all you have to offer, you’re better off without her,” I declared. It was odd, though, considering that Angie had offered me all of her and I had declined as well. I began to feel hypocritical bestowing worthiness praises upon Angie when I had not wanted her in a relationship capacity, either.

  Angie accepted our encouragement with nods of her head and soft “mmm-hmm” moans of acknowledgment and agreement. Eventually, her tears slowed, and she regained her typical relaxed composure. As that happened, her expression swiftly switched from one of sorrow to one of red-faced discomfort. She seemed embarrassed to have lost control and revealed her vulnerability. I knew Angie to be sensitive, although I had witnessed her sensitivity only when she was trying to be nurturing, not when she felt injured.

  Angie wiped dry the tears on her crimson skin and let out an awkward chuckle. “Damn wine.” She half smirked. “I think I’m going to go.”

  “You don’t have to leave,” I quickly told her. I didn’t want her to feel like she wasn’t welcome to express herself in any way she needed.

  “No, really. I think I’ve ruined your American Idol party.” She looked at Asia, knowing the American Idol show wasn’t necessarily my idea.

  “It’s okay. There are seven more weeks of the show.” Asia gave Angie a small smile.

  Angie stood, anyway. We stood too.

  “Let me go on and get out of here,” Angie repeated.

  “Well, come by anytime, okay?” Asia requested.

  “Sure, I’ll do that.”

  Asia tilted her head at me, a slight gesture that advised me to walk Angie out.

  “I’ll go with you to your car,” I told Angie.

  Asia and Angie exchanged a hug before Angie dragged herself solemnly toward the front door. I grabbed a jacket from the hall closet and followed. The late February night had lowered the temperature into the unwelcome twenties. Outside we stood next to Angie’s car.

  “You sure you’re all right?” I asked her.

  “I’ll be okay. Guess I didn’t realize I had such deep feelings about all of this.” She stared at me, and in her eyes I caught a glimpse of something I hadn’t seen in years. “More than you really know, Kyla.”

  “Breakups are never easy,” I offered.

  “No, they’re not. Not when you really love someone.” She didn’t blink when she spoke those words to me. I knew exactly what she was implying, and I chose to ignore it and assumed her heightened emotions had got the best of her. There was no way Angie could seriously flirt with me on the day of her breakup, and right outside of my house.

  “We’re good?” she asked after I disregarded her statement.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We can still be friends even with me and Deidra not being together, right?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Good.” Though Angie’s tears had dried,
her face reddened again. “Don’t leave me hanging, you hear?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you did before. I don’t want to lose you again.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her but avoided responding to that statement as well. “Get home safely. Text me, and let me know you made it.” I reached for a hug. She wrapped her arms around me tightly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m so glad I have you.”

  When we released each other from the embrace, I looked directly into her eyes. “That’s what friends are for.”

  Two

  Asia

  It seemed every time I turned around, Kyla was on the phone with Angie. If I called her while I was driving, she would have to put me on hold while she ended her conversation with Angie. When she walked in the house from work, her cell phone was to her ear. She would hold up her finger to me and delay our interaction until they finished their exchange. In the evenings, as we watched television, she would excuse herself to have periodic five- and ten-minute conversations with Angie. I respected her willingness to aid in Angie’s healing, though at times it was excessive. Didn’t Angie have any other friends to lean on during the breakup?

  “How’s she doing?” I asked Kyla several nights after Angie’s visit.

  “She seems to be okay. In some ways, she’s okay with the relationship being over. But it also seems like she doesn’t trust Deidra’s reason for wanting to end it.”

  “What? She doesn’t believe that Deidra felt suffocated?”

  “Right. I mean, she admits she wanted to be a part of everything Deidra did, but she won’t accept that as the sole reason for the breakup.”

  “Does it even matter?” I asked. “If someone doesn’t want to be with you, does it matter the reason why?”

  “Of course it matters,” Kyla countered.

  “I disagree. What matters is that the person doesn’t want you. The reason why . . . who cares?”

  Kyla laughed. “So if I told you I wanted to end our relationship, you wouldn’t care to know the reason why?” she teased.

  I smiled. “Don’t go turning this into something personal.”

  “Just asking. Hypothetically speaking, you wouldn’t care what the reason is?”

  I turned down the TV volume. “Well, of course I’d be curious about why. What happened? Did I do something wrong? But if the fact is that you want to leave me, I guess that’s all I need to know.”

  “I could walk away from our relationship after nine years without you so much as asking why?” she challenged. Her playful mood had vanished.

  “Probably. If the end result is the same—you don’t want to be with me—I’m not going to pester you for reasons why,” I explained to her.

  “From my standpoint I would think you didn’t care. Maybe you even wanted the relationship to end too but didn’t say it.”

  My expression turned thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t think about that. I can see that. You’re right. There’s always two ways to view the exact same situation. It just depends upon the person’s position and perspective.”

  “You’re right about that. Two people can be in the exact same place and still feel differently about it,” she replied, pensive.

  We were quiet again after I turned the TV volume back up. I saw the lips moving on the famous host’s face, but I heard no words. There was something about Kyla’s statement that had me unsettled. It was as if I could feel that she really meant something by those words, and this underscored my observation that something had been bothering her but she wouldn’t say what.

  I laid my head on Kyla’s lap, and instinctively, as always, she began to stroke her fingers through my hair and against my scalp. She looked down at me with sad, distant eyes.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked, probing, and turned the volume down again.

  “What makes you ask?”

  “Don’t answer my question with a question. You know I hate that.”

  She stared at the TV. “Nothing’s wrong,” she told me.

  “You bothered by what I just said about breakups?”

  “Not really.”

  “Not really doesn’t mean no, so what’s wrong?”

  She contemplated her words. “I guess it bothers me that it seems like you wouldn’t care if we broke up. After all this time, how can you not care?”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t care,” I replied, clarifying the issue. “If you broke up with me, I’m not going to dwell on the reason why. If you didn’t give me a reason, why would I sit back, biting my nails, trying to figure it out?”

  We turned our attention back to the television but only for a second.

  “I don’t want to know after the fact. Be woman enough to tell me if there’s a problem before the breakup even happens,” I continued.

  She didn’t say anything, but the twitch in her lip told me that my words had pinched a nerve.

  “What is it?” I asked, hoping she might finally reveal what had her troubled recently.

  Kyla’s hesitation spoke volumes; her reluctance confirmed that there was without a doubt something she wanted to share. She surrendered to the weight of her secret.

  “Nothing, Asia,” she lied to me.

  I sat up abruptly, irritated, so Kyla couldn’t run her fingers through my hair anymore.

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  With the remote in hand, I ended my seesawing with the volume and turned it back up for the last time.

  “Nothing.”

  We were quiet less than thirty seconds before Kyla’s cell phone vibrated on the coffee table in front of us. Neither of us had to guess who it was. Kyla answered, our conversation suddenly forgotten and her spirit lightened once again. She and her cell phone left the room and went into the kitchen, from where I soon heard laughter. I turned the volume on the TV up higher.

  Three

  Kyla

  I was so happy Asia and I had decided not to adopt a child. That moment of gratitude surfaced while I waited in McDonald’s on a Sunday morning and sipped on cheap, but delicious coffee. Around me were a number of red-eyed, frazzled moms who tended to toddlers who stood in their seats, got grape jelly between their fingers, and demanded to go to Playland. Over the years, Asia and I had babysat my godson Aidyn, the son of my friend Nakia, and had experienced such traumatic outings ourselves. Asia and I realized the level of patience and devotion required to raise children full-time was more than we possessed.

  For some time we felt guilty about our decision. What woman didn’t want to procreate and bring life into this world? We believed ourselves to be so selfish. It took one additional crying episode from Aidyn when we had to leave a candy store against his will for us to confirm and accept that kids would not be a part of our future. Hallelujah, I thought as I continued to watch the struggling moms, while the dads read the newspaper, oblivious to, or ignoring, the chaos around them.

  I checked the time on my cell phone. Angie was ten minutes late. Over the past week and a half I had talked to Angie every day, more than we had during the course of our friendship. Even when she and I had dated casually, we’d enjoyed only once-a-week calls. Most of our conversations involved me reminding Angie of the common adage that people come into our lives for reasons, seasons, or lifetimes, and even though Deidra was only for a season, she was for a reason too, and it was up to Angie to figure that out. Angie received my consolations graciously, with little disputing or questioning. In most breakups, the dumped tended to dwell on what she could have done differently or how she could have changed to satisfy the dumper’s needs. Instead, Angie had concluded that if Deidra wanted out, that was on Deidra; she took no responsibility for the end of their relationship. And she gave me the impression that she was over the relationship already. Her indifference confused me, and I quietly questioned the sincerity of her outburst at my house.

  While discussing those who had transitioned in and out of our lives for reasons or seasons, Angie had concluded th
at I was in hers for a lifetime. She had decided that there must be something special about our connection, especially when she considered she had not maintained friendships with any of the other women she had dated in the past.

  “You’re unique,” she’d told me. “I always felt that about you.”

  I responded that her current crisis was not about me, and definitely not what we once had, to ensure that she healed from the breakup with Deidra and emerged with a healthy state of mind. Although it was my plan to focus solely on Angie’s happiness, as I talked with her on a regular basis, I became aware of the beautiful qualities she possessed, some which I hadn’t recognized over the years. When she was with Deidra, we talked, but mostly about the day-to-day “surface” topics in life: her IT business, my work, and our relationships. When we went out as a foursome, our interactions were light and fun. Angie and Deidra were the couple we hung with for a good time, not to exchange viewpoints on politics, spirituality, or any subject of a deep, personal nature.

  The more I talked with Angie, the more I learned things about her that I had not been receptive to during our moments of pillow talk. Well, Angie and I hadn’t really engaged in pillow talk. In the bedroom, the only words spoken were explicit, and when we went out on random dates, Angie spent that time wooing me and attempting to convince me to be her woman. In hindsight, I realized I hadn’t actually known many details about Angie. I knew she was good in bed. She was the best, if I had to be honest. Although I had not one complaint about my sex life with Asia, even she hadn’t brought me to the sexual heights Angie had. Occasionally, I would involuntarily slip into a fantasy about my and Angie’s bedtime experiences. Once in a while we would be out and I would catch Angie kissing Deidra on the ear, and I could almost feel the kiss myself. Angie’s smooth lips were some of the softest I had ever felt. Sometimes Angie would look at me after the kiss, and I’d have to rush and look away. In those instances I was reminded of the delicious ways she had tantalized every section of my body.