“Yeah. We bourgeois girls from the projects are smart enough to diet and exercise to keep our figures right so that in the event a man asks to marry us, we can wear a revealing number like this,” I shoot back at her.
I love Chanell, but I’m not about to let her believe she can categorize me like that and I’m going to roll over and take it. I’m not that removed from my roots. She’s a big girl, but I won’t hesitate getting as many jabs in as I can before she takes me down.
Raheem jots down the item number and then measures me. As he does, I daydream about wearing this beautiful fabric down the aisle to Azmir. When I leave the boutique, I’m in such an elated mood that I not only treat my girl, Chanell, to dinner that night, but I also accept her invitation to her birthday party after I declined a few days ago because of the venue. It’s going to be at Petey’s Drop It club, featuring a male review.
“Oh, shit!” she screams when I tell her.
~~~~~~~~~~
“What type of wife will you be, Rayna?” First Lady Twanece asks.
We’re sitting in her office at the church. It’s vividly and femininely decorated in various shades of purple. I can’t decide if it’s her favorite color or holds a deeper religious meaning of royalty. The hues of purple are coordinated well to bring calm to the room. She sits behind an oak desk, but her chair is made of some white, faux feather upholstery revealing her inner diva. The lavender walls are decorated with her educational degrees and certificates. Above her head is a poster-size picture of her and Pastor Edmondson dressed in formal attire. They look good and…together.
“Ummmm…I don’t think I follow your question,” I reply.
She angles her chin in a fortifying move and says, “It’s simple. What type of wifely persona will you take on when you become Mrs. Azmir Jacobs?”
“I…I don’t know.” I’m already intimidated by this conversation.
The way that we have our premarital counseling sessions set up is some are done with Azmir and I together with Pastor Edmonson, some include the two of us with the pastor and First Lady Twanece and some are split with one-on-ones with the ladies and those with the men. Tonight, it’s just us ladies and it’s always hard for me to be confident in the same room as a woman who’s mastered the balance of marital partnership. She’s a wife, mother, professional, and a freaking first lady of a mega church. I often find myself trying not to shrink in her presence.
First Lady Twanece is like a jaguar. She seems beautiful, harmless, and alluring, but when the time calls for it, she will pounce and fearlessly attack. She sings in church from time to time, she’s a natural soprano with her high notes, and even speaks in the same tone. But when she wants to emphasize a point or when her spirit is high and admonishing, she’ll transition into an alto with natural ease.
This evening, she’s an alto.
“Okay…” She clasps her hands together. “…let me ask, will you be a submissive wife; always allowing him to chart the course and only speaking up when asked to? Will you fight for equal time at the wheel, believing that navigation in a marital partnership takes two people, because one can’t possibility take on the role alone? Will you be especial in watching over him, understanding that he is a leader who governs lots of people and needs someone watching out for him as well?” She’s rattling off these questions as she looks me square in the eyes and I know she means business.
“Will you release him to the world without much interference, avoiding being that ‘overwhelming’ wife? Will you stand by his side where you have equal vision? Will you stand slightly behind where you can see can see around him as well as what’s ahead? Will you move ahead of him, on your own course, feeling the need to have a separate identity to his public one? What type of wife will you be, Rayna?”
“You just laid out so many options. I…I don’t know how to choose,” I fumble with my words again. “What would be the safe answer?”
First Lady Twanece cracks a smile. I’m not sure what it means. She goes to adjust herself in her seat, crossing her legs and arms before she answers, “The ideal answer is, you will be whatever he needs you to be in the moment he needs it.”
“That’s a tall order.”
“And such is marriage,” she quickly returns. “See, many women…and men don’t understand the totality of commitment and how in marriage, it should mimic God’s commitment to you. Your devotion to Azmir should not be conditional or given in portions that you feel he ‘deserves.’” She uses air quotations. “It also shouldn’t be based upon his commitment to you. This isn’t a game of quid pro quo. Your attitude walking into this institution should be decided, firm, and maintained until either he dies, you die, or his behavior becomes so reckless that it negatively alters the core of who you are. You know…abuse of any form, a severely chronic addiction, or habitual adultery.”
Is she crazy?