Chapter 3: The Message She Couldn't Explain
Tasha turned her phone facedown.
Too late.
I had read the message.
So had Nicole.
Darnell, standing at the other end of the table, had clearly seen enough to stop pretending he wasn't interested.
“What transfer papers?”” I asked.
Tasha forced a laugh.
“Nothing. It's work.””
“Work?””
“Yes, Marcus. Some of us have jobs that don't involve flipping burgers.””
She reached for her lemonade, discovered the glass was empty, and put it down again.
Nicole closed the folder.
“Marcus, would you like me to step inside while you speak privately?””
“No,” Tasha answered immediately.
Then she seemed to realize how that sounded.
“I mean, this is between Marcus and me. We don't need a lawyer involved in our relationship.””
Nicole gave her a measured look.
“I'm here regarding the property documents. The decision about your relationship is entirely yours.””
“Then leave.””
“I'm afraid Marcus asked me to stay.””
Tasha's jaw tightened.
I pulled out my phone and checked the time. It was 6:42 p.m.
Less than ten minutes had passed since she made her joke about keeping me around.
It felt like an entirely different day.
I pointed toward the house.
“Tasha, let's go inside.””
She shook her head.
“I'm not going anywhere with you while you're trying to make me look stupid.””
“You've already made that choice difficult for yourself.””
Her eyes flashed.
“Excuse me?””
“You saw a message about transfer papers. I asked you what it meant. You called it work. So tell me what you do for work that involves getting me to sign a property transfer.””
Several guests turned toward us.
Tasha noticed.
“Everybody needs to mind their business!””
Darnell raised both hands.
“I'm trying, cousin, but you made it everybody's business when you started yelling.””
“Shut up, Darnell!””
He stepped back, surprised.
I had never seen Tasha speak to him like that in public. Darnell was usually one of her favorite people. She called him whenever she needed help moving furniture, fixing her car, or picking up something she didn't want to carry herself.
His expression hardened.
“Don't talk to me like that.””
Tasha ignored him and turned back to me.
“Marcus, can we please stop this?””
“Of course. Answer my question.””
She glanced at Nicole.
Then at her mother.
Then at the guests, most of whom had stopped eating entirely.
“It's complicated,” she said.
“Then explain it.””
“I can't explain something you don't understand.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
That was her favorite escape route. Whenever she couldn't justify something, she suggested the problem was my intelligence.
I folded my arms.
“Try me.””
She took a breath.
“R. Carter is helping me with a business opportunity.””
“What business opportunity?””
“Real estate.””
I stared at her.
“What real estate?””
She looked irritated.
“Why do you need to know every single detail?””
“Because someone just asked whether you got me to sign transfer papers.””
“Maybe it's a misunderstanding.””
“Then show me the conversation.””
She clutched her phone.
“No.””
The answer came too quickly.
Nicole moved the folder away from the edge of the table.
“Marcus, I recommend that we avoid making any decisions about the property until we've reviewed the relevant facts.””
Tasha swung toward her.
“You're not his mother!””
“No,” Nicole replied calmly.
“I'm his attorney.””
“Then act like it and stop interfering!””
Nicole didn't raise her voice.
“That's precisely what I'm doing.””
For a moment, Tasha seemed ready to snatch the folder from her.
Instead, she turned away and walked toward the deck.
Her heels struck the wooden boards with sharp, angry clicks.
I followed her inside.
The house smelled of grilled meat, lemon cleaner, and the vanilla candle she had lit that morning. Sunlight poured through the kitchen windows, illuminating the white countertops she had chosen and the framed photographs she had arranged along the hallway.
In one photograph, Tasha and I stood at the beach, her arms wrapped around my waist.
I remembered that day clearly.
She had laughed when a wave soaked my jeans. She had kissed me in the parking lot afterward and told me she could imagine spending the rest of her life with me.
I had believed her.
Now I wondered whether she had loved me or the life she imagined she could build around me.
She stopped beside the kitchen island.
“Are you happy now?”” she demanded.
“No.””
“Because you look pretty pleased with yourself.””
“I'm trying to understand why someone wants me to sign over property.””
“Maybe I made an inquiry. People inquire about things all the time.””
“About transferring a house they don't own?””
Her face reddened.
“I didn't say I owned it!””
“You've told people this was your house.””
“Because you let me!””
“I let you live here. That's not the same thing.””
She grabbed a dish towel and twisted it between her hands.
“You know what your problem is, Marcus? You think because you have money, you can control everything.””
“I don't have as much money as you think I do.””
“That's a lie.””
“It's the truth.””
“You own a company. You own this house. You have other properties. You could afford to give me a little security, but instead you make me feel like I could be homeless tomorrow.””
I studied her face.
“Is that why you wanted transfer papers?””
She looked away.
The silence lasted just long enough to become an answer.
My voice dropped.
“Tasha, what did you do?””
“Nothing.””
“Then why are you scared?””
“I'm not scared!””
She slapped the dish towel onto the counter.
“You have spent four years keeping me at arm's length financially. You never talk about your accounts. You never tell me how much the business makes.
You never let me help with anything important. How am I supposed to know where I stand?””
“By asking me. By having a conversation. By telling me what you need instead of telling everyone that I owe you a better life.””
“I shouldn't have to beg my own boyfriend to take me seriously!””
“You didn't have to beg. You had to be honest.””
Her lips pressed together.
Then she whispered, “You promised we'd build something together.””
“I promised we'd build a future together. I never promised to sign my assets over to you.””
She looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite recognize.
“You always make everything sound so simple.””
“Sometimes it is.””
“No, Marcus. Sometimes people need more than a roof over their heads.””
“I know.””
“Do you? Because I have spent years watching you work, watching you save, watching you make decisions without me. And every time I ask where we're going, you tell me to be patient.””
I thought about the ring I hadn't bought.
About the proposal I had imagined.
About the conversations I had postponed because I wanted to be financially secure before taking the next step.
Perhaps I had been too cautious. Perhaps I had made her feel excluded from a future she believed we were building together.
I could admit that.
But it didn't explain the message.
“Then let's talk about our future,” I said.
“Right now. No jokes. No audience. Just the truth.””
For the first time since the barbecue began, she seemed to consider it.
Then her phone vibrated again.
She glanced down.
I saw the sender's name before she turned the screen away.
R. Carter.
“What does he want?”” I asked.
“Nothing.””
“Let me see.””
“No.””
“Tasha.””
She took a step backward.
“You don't get to inspect my phone because you're angry.””
“I'm asking because someone is discussing my property with you.””
“And I'm telling you it's none of your business!””
The words echoed through the kitchen.
I stared at her.
Then I nodded once.
“All right.””
She looked almost startled by my response.
I walked back toward the deck, where Nicole was waiting beside the folder.
She followed me.
“Marcus, don't do this,” she said.
I stopped at the doorway.
“Do what?””
“Make a decision you'll regret.””
I turned around.
“Then give me a reason not to.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I love you.””
I had waited years to hear those words spoken without an argument attached to them.
But as she stood there, gripping her phone with both hands, I couldn't tell whether she was afraid of losing me or losing the life she had built around my money.
Nicole stepped into the hallway.
“Marcus, there's something else you need to see.””
She opened the folder to a page I hadn't examined closely that afternoon.
At the top was a reference to a proposed property transaction.
Beneath it was a name.
*R. Carter.*
I looked at Nicole.
“Who is he?””
“Robert Carter,” she replied.
“He's a real estate investor who contacted my office several weeks ago about a possible transaction involving one of your properties.””
Tasha went completely pale.
I slowly turned toward her.
“You told me you didn't know anything about transfer papers.””
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Nicole continued carefully.
“Mr. Carter claimed he had been authorized to discuss a purchase. I declined to proceed because the authorization could not be verified.””
I felt a cold pressure settle behind my ribs.
“Authorized by whom?””
Nicole looked directly at Tasha.
“That's what I came here to discuss with you.””
Tasha backed toward the kitchen island.
“Marcus, please. You need to let me explain.””
I stared at her.
“Explain what?””
Her phone slipped from her fingers and landed on the countertop.
The screen lit up again.
This time, the message preview was longer.
If he finds out about the signature, we're both finished.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at the woman I had once planned to marry.
“Tasha,” I said, barely above a whisper, “whose signature is on those papers?””
She began to cry.
But before she could answer, Nicole pulled a second envelope from her briefcase.
May you like
And the name written across its front wasn't mine.
It was Tasha's.
