Chapter Two
COURTNEY
“Courtney, please come out here so I can see how you look.”
That was my best friend Shaun—5-feet-11, light brown skin, slim, short black hair—who doubles as my wedding coordinator. He’s the best wedding coordinator out on the west coast, so his flights to and from Los Angles were on me. His trips, his dining, his lavished hotel suites, and his wardrobe were always on me. I never understood why Shaun needed a new outfit each time he came back to Baltimore, nor did I find time to ask—I just went with the flow. Thank God for American Express!
He waited not so patiently on the other side of the curtain in the boutique for me to come out wearing what I planned to walk down the aisle in. I decided against white. I’m not a ho, but I’m not the Virgin Mary either.
“Courtney, what’s taking you so long?”
That was Shaun again. He was really starting to agitate me in the worse way. I had enough on my mind to think about like getting married in a month. My body tingles every time I think about it. Last year, I never thought I would be planning my wedding after meeting the man of my dreams.
The tingles in my body are starting to turn into nausea. I loovvee Erik and all, but marriage? I’m not so sure I’m ready.
Instead of giving in to my doubts, I stood up straight as I took deep breaths. I smiled at myself in the full-length mirror in the dressing room as I felt nausea suddenly leave my stomach.
Cream, or eggshell, as Shaun would say, was most definitely my color. My hand landed on my stomach as I sized myself up. I stand an even 5-foot-5, golden brown skin, soft natural features, dark eyes, and even darker hair. As I start to turn my tight body from side to side to look at myself from all angles, Shaun’s voice was getting louder.
“Courtney, please!”
He was getting frustrated, and he had good reason to be. This was the fourth boutique we’d been in, and the tenth ensemble that I’m sure I would decline to wear. I wasn’t walking down the aisle in just any old thing. Everything . . . every single detail had to be perfect on this day. If I didn’t feel like the beautiful center of attention that I planned to be, everything would be a disaster.
“Courtney Byrd, if you don’t come out here right now, I’m coming in there after you. Don’t have me get put out of this place.”
I laughed almost aloud, listening to Shaun gripe on the other side of the curtain.
“Byrd, I’m waiting.”
God, it annoyed the hell out of me when Shaun called me Byrd. My last name, Byrd, sounded so country, but that’s who I am: Courtney Byrd.
I’m a twenty-four-year-old successful college graduate. I attended Yale University, graduating at the top of my class with a master’s degree in business back in two thousand seventeen. I’m currently a loan officer at Citizens Bank until Fenmore’s opens. Fenmore’s will be an upscale tapas bar right in the heart of Baltimore, hopefully opening by next fall.
So far, my life is on point all the way down to the man of my dreams I mentioned earlier. His name is Erik Reynolds. He has become my heart and soul. Sometimes I think I was placed on this earth to love, honor, and cherish that man.
Erick is so fine and tall—6-foot-3—and a lean one hundred seventy pounds. He has short, black hair, full lips, sexy bedroom eyes, a six-pack, and a big thang. He’s probably the best lover I’ve ever had. He’s successful, too. Erik is a practicing dentist in and out of Baltimore. He and I met at the supermarket one night right before closing time. I was craving pistachio nuts; fresh pistachio nuts that is. Not that shelved Planters garbage, so I put on my Prada flip-flops, some running pants, a white tank, and I was out the door. I let the top down on my candy apple red Camaro as Beyoncé came blaring out of the factory sound system the second I started the engine.
I sang right along with Bey, not missing a single word. Was I in tune? Probably not, but that didn’t stop me.
Once I got to the market, I headed to the candy counter for my weekly dosage of my crunchy, oh-so-tasty drug. As I’m switching up to the register to pay for my peanuts, there he was in the self-checkout lane. Oh my God, I thought he was so sexy. My bottom lip sucked into my mouth without my permission, so I rapidly pushed it back out. I stole another fast glance, but quickly brushed him off. I see good-looking men all the time, but that didn’t mean I could take one of them home with me. Lord knows I wanted to take this one home, though, but he was gone. By the time I retrieved my receipt from the machine, he was nowhere in sight. I didn’t sweat it. I was heading back out to my car for a repeat performance of Beyoncé without a care in the world.
As soon as the night air graced my skin, there he was . . . the guy from the checkout line. Aw, he was so gorgeous. Skip gorgeous, he was fine! Like Lance Alonzo fine. I breezed past him, hoping with all my strength, he would stop me.
“Excuse me.”
I thought he couldn’t be talking to me; I wouldn’t be so lucky. When I turned to him, he was looking right at me, I thought waiting to ask for a light or something, so I didn’t get my hopes up.
I answered, “Yes?” but that was all I could say. I was captivated by this man. I tried to fight the feeling but, truth be told, I was captivated. Fascinated. Enthralled! He wasn’t fine; he was beautiful. Just my type, but I was sure all he wanted was a light, so I swiftly dismissed my visual fantasies.
“I’m sorry to bother you.”
Was he serious? He wasn’t bothering me. He was just what the doctor ordered.
When he came closer, I clutched the bag in my hand. I thought, Shit! My pepper spray was in the glove box of my car. I thought If I made a run for it, I could probably grab it before he grabbed me and my wallet. I didn’t run though. I didn’t want to run. I just stood there as he came closer. He was now standing right in front of me. Now I was sure he was about to ask for a light, but he didn’t. He smiled at me and said, “I’m Erik Reynolds.” I thought it was so cute the way he spelled out his first name, E-R-I-K.
“Hi, I’m Courtney.” We stood there in silence; our quiet stares colliding like two freight trains in the midst of the night. I didn’t know what else to say, and, apparently, he didn’t either because he just looked at me almost as if he was sizing me up. I thought, was he? No, he couldn’t have been. I dismissed that thought even faster than I did that nonsense of taking him home.
“It’s a nice night.”
He was still smiling at me, so I smiled back when I said, “It sure is.”
I thought, should I have said that? I wanted to be cute and smooth. I read somewhere coy is the new black.
He looked at me. “You look nice and comfortable.”
“Thank you. I just ran out for some nuts.” I was so embarrassed.
Erik blushed ever so lightly when he said, “Oh, really?”
Right then, instead of asking for a light, Erik Reynolds asked me out to dinner. I couldn’t believe this was happening right here in front of the market I frequent at least twice per week. And I would be in sweats and flip-flops. I prayed my toes were polished. I sighed relief when I looked down to see the fresh, clear coat glaring back at me. Thank goodness.
Twelve months later, we’re engaged to be married, and I couldn’t be happier. Erik is everything I’ve ever dreamt of. He reminds me a lot of my father; Lord rest his soul. I love my daddy, and he loved me too, he just didn’t accept me or my choices.
See, I come from an old fashion, southern black family where being gay is anything but accepted. I did mention I was a guy, right? Well, anyway, some say my father died of a broken heart because his only child, Courtney Michael Byrd III, is gay. I love who I am, and I’ve never tried to hide my sexuality from anyone, including my father. I don’t exactly shout it from the rooftops, but I’m me, and I’m happy.
And for the record, my dad died because he smoked two packs of cigarettes per day and drank a fifth of whatever he could get his hands on the quickest. He didn’t wither away from a broken heart over his gay son or his failed marriage to my mother. Puhleease! He killed himself. Well, Jack Daniels and Newport 100’s killed him, but that’s a different story for a different day.
Shaun gasped when I appeared from behind the curtain. I think I even saw a tear spiral from behind his blue contacts.
“Let me look at you.” He admired the cream, excuse me, the eggshell suit I had on.
I looked at him when I said, “This is it. This is the one I want.” He was happy, and so was I. I had finally chosen the perfect suit. The wedding was less than a month away, June twenty-fourth, and I surely couldn’t show up in my tank, sweatpants, and flip flops.
Now, everything was set. I was all ready to marry Erik and start our new lives together . . .