My Husband's Girlfriend (18 page)

“Sarcasm isn’t necessary. Just think about what I said.”

“Right. Sure. Absolutely.”

“Plus, you’re not gonna find too many men who’ll put up with a noncooking, water-boiling, twenty-something female. Not these days.”

“Neil!” I shriek. I jump out of bed, run up to him, and pummel his chest with my fists. “Don’t take out what’s happening at home on me. This is not about me, okay? My inability to cook is not the freaking issue, and you know it. You are almost homeless, and you have the nerve to crack on me about dumb, irrelevant shit.”

He stupidly grins and removes my hands from his chest. “Don’t touch me, Dani.”

“Oh, okay, let me read between the lines. Unless I almost kill myself trying to suck your gargantuan dick or squeeze your deformed nipples, I have no business putting my hands on you.”

“That’s not what I mean. You’re getting things twisted, and I’m not about to listen to this.”

“Go on then, punk-ass coward. Why do men run away? Running won’t change a thing. It just won’t.” I hate screaming and letting the neighbors hear my personal business, but sometimes hurt is too hard to contain, and you just can’t care what others think.

“C’mere, Dani,” he says, extending his hands toward me. “We don’t fight. This isn’t us.”

“Then why are we doing this?” I say, and wipe my eyes with my hand. Neil wraps his big, strong arms around me and hoists me up. He flings me around in a circle several times until the room spins and I feel like lying on the floor. I slap him on his back so he’ll stop. He throws me over his shoulder, like I’m a knapsack. I mash my cheek against his back, kick my legs, and scream. Neil tosses me on the bed like a rag doll. I scoot into a corner of the bed and grab a pillow. I squeeze the pillow on my head, still nauseous and dizzy. Neil snatches the pillow and falls on top of me. I wriggle under the weight of his body. He grabs me and twists around on the bed until I’m on top of him. I writhe on his dick, which is so stiff it’s nearly bursting out his pants, like a missile headed toward Mars. I hump on top of him, rubbing up and down, creating a wild back-and-forth friction until waves of pleasure calm me. I collapse on top of him, my legs straddling him, his arms wrapped across my back. He unclamps my brassiere. His warm hands rub me up and down, stroking my thighs, digging in between my legs. He slides his fingers inside my cheeky pants, pulling and tugging on my vagina.

“Don’t do that so hard.” I squirm. “Hurts.”

He doesn’t say anything. He keeps playing around down there. I fidget, my butt wobbling back and forth, trying to get out of his hands’ reach. He reaches for my butt cheek and slaps it a few times and then says “Ouch,” like he’s the one getting hit. I giggle because his silliness breaks me down.

“Dani, give me some head, okay?” He pleads like he hasn’t had sex in months.

“No, baby,” I say sweetly. “I’m not in the mood for that right now.”

The air chills with deafening silence.

“L–let me go brush my teeth, baby, or maybe you should wash up first. Then I’ll be happy to do it.”

“You’re so full of shit, Dani.”

“Why you say that?”

“Do I ever tell you to go wash up? Douche it up before I eat it out? Women are a trip.”

“Why do you say ‘women’? What women? Huh? You trying to tell me something? Are you cheating on us?”

Neil sighs like my question is too stupid to answer. That makes me mad. I wonder what the hell is happening tonight. Is an excellent piece of dick worth drama? Is this really good for me or am I kidding myself? But I quickly kill these thoughts. Drama or not, the dick is definitely worth it. No two dicks are created equal, and I know Neil’s is rare.

I straddle Neil, kissing his neck, chest, nipples. I lower my head until my mouth finds him and I suck him, lick and devour him like a fiend, until he moans, shakes, shudders, and tells me, “I l–love you.” It’s something he’s never said before, and in spite of not knowing if he means it or not, his words replay in my head, and comfort me all night. I think of his words while we make passionate love three more times—in the bed, on the floor, in the chair—screwing each other’s brains out…until the sun shows its face. I think of his words until I realize this is the first time Neil has stayed an entire night with me. And make no mistake—I don’t want it to be the last time.

The next morning I scoot off to Kroger and pick up a few groceries. After I get back, I scramble eggs, pan-fry bacon, cook a pan of runny grits, and pour Neil a glass of ice-cold orange juice.

“I can’t believe I did all this,” I say proudly. “You should be cooking for
me.
” I pick up a thick, crispy slice of salty bacon and wave it in front of him. He opens his mouth and chomps off little pieces until the meat is all gone.

“You’re spoiled, Dani. How many men you say you’ve been with?”

“I haven’t said.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me. Wait, don’t. It doesn’t really matter, does it, Neil? I feel weird talking about my past relationships with you.”

“Why?” he asks.

“I don’t want you to use that info against me one day. Believe me, it’s happened.”

“If it has, you’ve been with some sorry men.”

“Like I don’t know that.” I laugh. “Well, they all weren’t awful. I don’t really regret the experiences. It helps me to find out what I want and don’t want, and that’s not so bad.”

“Guess so,” he says in a monotone voice.

“Uh, Neil. What do you usually do on a Sunday morning?”

His face looks ashen. “I go to church. Not going today, though.”

“Oh, okay,” I reply, and scratch my ear vigorously. We’ve never really talked about God or religion or spirituality.

“Uh, you like your church?” I ask for lack of anything better to say.

He shrugs and sips his juice. “You got a newspaper around here?”

“I’ll go check,” I say. I’m dressed in a lime-green T-shirt and my usual sweats. I open the door and see the thick Sunday
Chronicle
wrapped in clear plastic sitting outside. It’s very brisk this late February morning, and patchy clouds shift across the gray sky. I step inside to get my running shoes, which are sitting near the door, and hand Neil the paper.

“Where you going?” he says as I start lacing up the shoes.

“I didn’t check the mail yesterday. I want to go take a quick look.”

I grab my tiny metal key and race toward the mailbox, which is a few hundred yards away. I pass by a gated built-in swimming pool. The property is very quiet right now. I locate my mailbox, stoop to insert the key, and remove a stash of mail. City of Houston water bill,
Country Accents
magazine, a department store circular, and a Ludacris CD I ordered from the Columbia House Music Club.

I am walking back to my apartment when I hear footsteps behind me. I walk faster, not wanting to look back. The footsteps get louder. I drop the JCPenney circular on the ground but keep going.

“Hey, Dani.”

I spin around. It’s Neil’s sister.

“How’d you get in here?” I’m referring to her getting inside the apartment complex, since we have a gate that’s opened with a security code, and I’m certain she doesn’t know the code.

“I followed behind a car that was coming in the gate. Hey, I’m not trying to make trouble.”

I don’t say a word. Don’t know what to say.

“Is he here, Dani? Someone is asking.”

“I doubt that,” I say firmly.

“You doubt someone’s asking?”

I turn away from her and start heading past the pool. I keep walking beyond my apartment. I hear her footsteps behind me. I hike around the perimeter of six buildings and even pass Neil’s SUV. He parked it far away from my unit, just in case.

My ears feel chilled, and when I cough, smoke drifts from my mouth. But the cold doesn’t seem to bother her. I wish Neil’s sister would get lost like a three-year-old.

“Hey,” she says, “I’m not going to follow you all around this place. You ain’t slick. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Then go on and go, Sharvetta, please.”

“I go by Vette or Sharvette. And I will leave. I never wanted to do this, anyway. But this is what family gets caught up in sometimes. Always something.”

I slow down, let her catch up. She doesn’t look too intense, but still…

“I understand,” I say, almost whispering.

She stares at me. “Well, if you hear from Neil today, please tell him to call home.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. They have some unfinished business.”

I watch Vette walk away, then I hug myself and rub my cold arms for another ten minutes, praying Neil doesn’t come looking for me. When I sense she’s no longer a threat, I run back to my apartment and slam the door shut, wondering if I can survive this state of existence much longer.

The phone rings.

Area code 562. Long Beach.

“Hi, Ma.” Gosh, it’s been so long since I’ve heard her voice. I miss that connection.

“How you know it was me?”

“It isn’t hard to figure out, Ma. I knew my sisters weren’t calling me.” I go to my room and shut the door. Neil is in the kitchen getting ready to bake a thick apple pie he discovered in the freezer.

“What’s going on with you, Dani?”

“Nothing much. Everything is fine, Mama.”

“And my schnookums?”

“He’s getting so big with his greedy self.”

“He’s still on the breast?” she asks.

“No, never really was.”

Mama laughs. “I can’t picture you washing all those bottles and stuff.”

“Well, I’m doing a lot of things you can’t picture me doing.” I murmur my response, talking more to myself than to my mom.

“You need anything?”

“No, Mama, we’re doing okay.” I pause. “Well, will you ship me a double-double from In-N-Out Burgers? I could use a great-tasting burger right about now. Something that reminds me of home.”

Mama laughs but I get distracted when I suddenly hear Neil’s voice.

“Dani, you got any potato chips in here? That pie won’t be ready for another forty minutes,” he says, then bursts into my room, sees me on the phone, and hushes.

I cover the mouthpiece with my hand. “Look in the bathroom.”

“The bathroom? For chips?”

“Don’t ask,” I say, and wave him away.

“Dani, who was that? You got company?”

“Uh, yeah, Mama, but we can still talk.”

“That’s your sitter, what’s her name, Audrey?”

“No, Mama, it’s, uh, Neil.”

“I thought you said you weren’t seeing him anymore,” she says, anguish in her voice.

“Well, we aren’t really seeing each other. Brax wasn’t feeling too well and I called Neil and he swung by. He’s just doing daddy stuff, that’s all.”

“Mmmm-hmmm. Dani, I told you to leave that man alone.” She sounds disappointed, which makes me feel bad.

“Yeah, well…leaving Neil alone isn’t as easy as it seems.”

I stand up, then sit down again and recline clumsily on the bed.

“You love him?”

“Mama, you already know the answer to that. I mean, my feelings for him are kind of complicated, and I don’t think you’ll understand.”

“Don’t assume I’m some dried-up thing that was born at the age of sixty. I’ve seen lots of things in my day.”

“Hmm, looking at soap operas and reading a bunch of romance novels…”

“No, no, real life, too, Dani.”

She’s scaring me. I don’t ever want to think of my mother as someone who knows the pain that I’ve known.

“Well, Mama, it was good to hear your voice, but I don’t want to hold you. I’ll call you next time, okay?”

“Don’t be rushing off the phone now that the talk is getting juicy.”

I laugh. “No, really, I got some things to take care of, but thanks for checking in with me.”

“That’s a dangerous situation, so you be careful, Dani. I’m praying for you.”

I bite my bottom lip. She’s such a mom…and I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have that.

“Go home to your wife.”

It’s Sunday evening. Hard to believe it, but I’m tired of looking at Neil’s face. Even Brax is staring at his dad like,
Why are you still here?
You know something’s up if a baby can sense when things are off center.

“What if Anya doesn’t want me there?”

“You won’t know what she wants unless you go back.” I see the lines of tension in his forehead.

Brax, Neil, and I are all sitting on the love seat. God knows I love having this man here, but sometimes I just want to be by myself and not have anything or anyone to deal with. So I decide I need a break, and I’ll be getting Brax ready to leave with his father.

“I think going back is the best thing to do. Anya’s just annoyed with you. Women get that way sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah? I’m surprised to hear you say this. It’s like you’re defending her.” He challenges me with his eyes. “You really want me to do this, and if so, why?”

“It’s the right thing,” I say, thinking of my mother.

“You sound like you’re lying, Dani.”

“Not lying. I’m
tired.
It’s been a long, exhausting weekend. And don’t forget, shoot, I don’t know if I should go in to work tomorrow, or hit the pavement with a fresh résumé.”

“Hmmm, yeah.” He sighs, stands up.

“Go on and go. It’s gonna be fine, Neil. I believe that. You have a good woman over there. All that goodness isn’t going to evaporate overnight.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I know I am.” I continue reassuring him, offering emotional support while I finish dressing Brax.

A moment later, we’re standing in the open doorway and I hand over Brax and some of his things, which I quietly packed.

“Take him with you, Neil.”

In spite of Neil’s widened eyes, I close the door behind him and wait to see what happens next.

17

Anya

“‘Hit the road, Jack, and don’t you come back no more…don’t you
come back no more.’”

I ask Vette, “Where’d Reesy learn that song?”

“I think from
American Idol.
She sure didn’t get it from me.” Vette playfully cuts her green eyes at me, then watches her niece sing and act the fool. It’s Sunday afternoon and we’ve decided to try the new Metro Light Rail System just so we can get out the house. This was Vette’s suggestion, and at first I rolled out the house kicking and screaming, but now that we’re out and about, things don’t feel as agonizing as before.

“See, told you riding the rail is cool,” Vette assures me. “Too many damn kids up in here, but still I love being around all the people.”

“That’s nice,” I say, trying to act noncommittal, but my eyes soak up the scenery. Vette and Reesy are in the same row as me, but I’m sitting across the aisle gazing out my window. Some parts of Houston look fantastic—especially when we approach the Med Center and the Museum District. The streets are swept and litter-free. I almost feel like I’m in another city. The thought of this makes me excited.

“Mommy, can we go to the zoo and see the monkeys?” I look out the window on the girls’ side and watch women and children riding on the Houston Zoo’s tiny yellow-and-red train.

“No, we’re just gonna stay on the rail for now. Maybe next time.” I know there’ll be a next time. I know that life is changing right before me.

At the next stop a man wearing tan Dockers and a thick navy sweater sits down next to me. I stare out the window and lower my left hand into my jacket pocket. I feel a mixture of freedom and shame. It’s amazing how if you want to pretend like you’re not married, all you gotta do is cover up the ring; as if that gesture cancels every vow, or every shared experience, between a man and a wife.

I sneak a look at the man’s left hand. No ring. I breathe easier and smile. I think I’m smiling because I finally realize this man looks at least seventy; he’s got a cane with him, and his dreadlocks are so gray, long, and twisted, he looks insane. Totally not my type.

After Old Dude departs the train, this wig-sporting, false-boob-toting, fake-eyelash-wearing, six-foot-tall person sits next to me. This man applies lipstick, throws on a dress and a wig, and he believes he’s a female? I want to pull him to the side and give him the real deal. By the time I finish telling him what it’s really like to be a woman, I’m sure he’d toss that wig off his head and ditch his four-inch pumps.

This little trip on the train makes me think of Neil, and how much of a man he is, and how favorable he looks when compared to those two guys.

Jeez, I cannot wait to get off the train.

An hour after our ride ends, we spot a French bakery, buy some goodies, and enjoy munching on chocolate-chip cookies. Now we’re bobbling along in the Honda, taking a casual drive home.

Vette clears her throat and glances back at Reesy, then turns to me. “So, Ms. Meadows…”

I laugh. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“You’re aching for him, aren’t you? I know you’ve pretended like you’re having fun, and I hope you are, but I see that distracted look in your eyes.”

“Bless you, Vette. You’re just trying to help. I can’t get angry about that.”

She shrugs and quickly glances at Reesy, who’s nodding her head and singing to herself.

“Whatcha singing, niece?”

“‘Your love’s got me looking so crazy right now, looking so crazy in love…’”

“Ahhh, I thought that’s what that was,” my sister-in-law laughs.

Vette turns back to me. “So you told me you and Neil, uh, ahem, changed oil one Friday night. How was the oil change?”

I smirk. “It was slick, got my engines roaring again—at least for a hot minute.”

“And did that oil change fix everything? Y’all plan on getting another tune-up?”

I glimpse at Reesy, who’s in her own world. “I dunno. May be closed for business.”

“Oh yeah? Why y’all shutting down the shop already?” Vette asks.

“Gotta make sure Neil isn’t servicing any other cars.”

“Would this car be a gold pickup?”

“You got it,” I confirm.

“Ya think?”

“I dunno. I can’t get him to admit—I mean, I don’t know if he’s still giving that truck any jumps. He might still charge those batteries here and there,” I admit to Vette, “but I can’t find any receipts, ya know what I’m saying?”

“Hmmm,” she says. “If you had to do it all over again, would you, you know, get him to sign that piece of paper?”

“At this point I question my judgment. I wonder how I think it could have worked. So naive…. But to be honest, he was naive, too, right? He must’ve thought the arrangement could work.”

“Oh, we know what he was thinking…or maybe he wasn’t thinking,” Vette responds.

“Tell me something. How was Neil with his former girlfriends? I know there was one he used to rave about for a minute when I first met him. What was her name?” I snap my fingers a few times, trying to get my brain to cooperate with my mouth. “Uh, shoot, starts with a K, I think.”

“Kashmire Andrews?”

“That’s it. I knew it was something unusual sounding. She was his last torrid romance before he and I hooked up.” I wait a minute and concentrate on driving. “Vette, you haven’t said anything…”

“I’m trying to remember,” she mumbles.

“Oh, don’t give me that. They were so long ago. It’s not like I can do anything with that info today.”

“Exactly.”

“Why are you being protective of Neil all of a sudden?” I wish I didn’t feel so resentful. I know so much about Neil already, why can’t I know a little more? Maybe it will help me to understand him better.

“Okay, okay. Let me think of something I can tell you. I was young when he knew Kashmire, but from what I remember he was obsessed with her body.”

I giggle but still feel uneasy.

“He would stare her down, which is really annoying, but I think Kashmire liked the attention—it flattered her. And I saw some old photos—she used to be a little heavy but apparently went on a super health kick and got in shape. Hired a personal trainer. Drank lots of juices, water, became a vegan. So Neil met her when she was slim and trim, and everything fell in the right places.”

“So what happened?” I ask. “Something always happens.”

“Neil said she wasn’t marriage material. I think she had rotten credit and couldn’t even qualify to buy a VCR.”

“Stop lying, Vette.”

“Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but there was something about her that turned him off, something that took his eyes off Kashmire’s body and made him notice the other characteristics he didn’t notice before. I believe he called it off. Said she grew depressed, of course, but eventually she let it go.”

“Hmmm…I wonder if I should be happy or scared?”

“Now, one thing I can say about Neil is he isn’t the most unstable man I’ve ever seen. He’s consistent, not acting like Jekyll and Hyde from one day to the next.”

“Is that what you think? Easy for you to say.”

“Well, you know what he does moment by moment better than me. I ain’t checking him out that tough, but I just tossed that out to you. You can do what you want with it.”

“One thing I know is this situation can’t go on forever. I’ll bet my life that it won’t,” I say in a measured voice.

“But what if it does?”

“There is no
but,
Vette, I’m telling you. Men get tired eventually. I am just hoping he’ll get tired before I do.”

“Now, that doesn’t sound like a proactive attitude.”

“Oh, you think it sounds passive, huh? Well, it’s not.”

“I’m just saying that most wives aren’t like you.”

“Oh, really?” I say, insulted. “Well, as far as I know, there is no universal textbook that instructs wives about how to feel or react in every situation. And whether I’m married, single, or whatever, one hundred percent of women will never feel exactly the same about a situation.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Let me finish, Vette, since you started this. You claim most wives aren’t like me—most
people
don’t think alike, let alone wives. Example: One mother stops breast-feeding her kid when he turns one, another keeps breast-feeding her son even though he’s thirteen. The point is no two people think alike, period, Vette. And guess what? Everybody still assumes they’re right. So with my situation I’m doing what feels right—for me.”

“Anya, but the things you put up with lets me know Neil’s got you all cubed in.”

Her remark makes me think she’s not listening. And I almost regret having told her certain things.

“Like I said before, Vette, you just don’t understand. Women like you, women who don’t have a man, are always quick to give advice. So it’s easy for you to judge me because it’s not your heart that’s in the middle of things.”

“Okay, then, if that’s the case, why even tell people your problems, and ask someone else’s opinion? You’re still gonna do whatever you—”

“Because, Vette,” I say loudly, “women have to talk about our drama or else we’ll go crazy. So even if we get awful advice from no-man-having girlfriends, we feel like we’re sharing the pain. We need someone to shed a little light, even if the ‘light’ isn’t any more far-reaching than a flashlight.”

Vette laughs. “Oh jeez, great, thanks for letting me know all this. I mean, woo, where would I be without your life-altering wisdom?”

I smile and swat her and my frustration subsides.

“You know what I’m thinking about doing?” I say.

“What’s that?”

“What if I enroll in whore college? See if I can get over like some of these women out here are doing. Oh yes, go to college and earn a Ph.D. in whoreology. I can even do an internship—”

“Mommy, you going to college? I wanna go. Can y’all speak up? I can’t hear you.”

For an embarrassing minute, I’ve forgotten my daughter’s in the car. Mortified, I exchange a look with Vette, then yell, “Hush, Reesy! Don’t talk. Keep singing, okay?” I smile at my daughter. “I’d rather hear you sing.”

“Okay, Mommy.” And she starts to belt out a Christina Aguilera song.

I laugh, thinking about how accepting kids can be. They possess boundless energy and are quick to believe something just because they’re told it’s so. I wish I could be childlike sometimes—to believe elephants can fly, and all that jazz. And if I continue hoping that my marriage will survive all its challenges, then faith will be worth holding on to. But I’m not always naive; I’ve lived long enough to know that hope can make a fool out of you. You can wish for something your entire life, and it never materializes. I don’t want that to happen. Instead I plan to make a fool out of hope. I want to prove that my hope isn’t in vain, and that every crooked thing in life has a way of righting itself.

“Hi,” I say to my husband.

“Hey.”

Us females march into the house chuckling. We glance at Neil, who has Brax sitting on top of the kitchen table in his infant seat. Neil is shoving a spoon toward Braxton’s mouth, making loud engine noises and gliding the utensil up and down like it’s an airplane. Brax is grinning up at his dad like he’s the most adorable thing on earth.

Even though I question my judgment, I walk up to Neil and softly squeeze his cheek.

“Thanks,” he tells me. “Thanks for keeping the front door unlocked for us. I appreciate that.”

“Well, I just wanted to get your attention, Neil. But I see you have better things to do, so we’ll talk later, okay?” I don’t give him a chance to reply. I run up the stairs and am gasping for breath once I reach the top. I enter my bedroom, eager to know if things still look the same. I swing open the door. Everything’s the way I left it. I feel relieved knowing you can never predict how someone will respond when they’re frustrated.

What would’ve happened if Neil came home when I was changing the locks? Would it have caused an ugly scene? Would we have screamed with bitterness and cursed each other out? Would Reesy have caught us fighting and started crying, too?

I watched my parents argue and fight countless times when I was a kid. I never wanted to be like them, acting out in front of neighbors. My mom would chase my dad around the front yard, pink sponge rollers bouncing loosely in her hair. She would scream like she was doused with scalding-hot water while Dad struggled to hold her off. She’d aim a firearm at him and I’d see my father stone-faced, daring her to do it. Trembling, Mom would put away the gun, curse at Dad, and threaten to throw him out. She’d change the locks on the door, declare she was through. But five days later she’d hand my father a new set of keys. And like many women of her era, my mom put up with his ways until he became bedridden and died a slow, agonizing death. Watching Mom, I vowed to never do foolish things on account of a man. But it’s incredible how circumstances can cause you to repeat everything you’ve seen and hated. It’s learned behavior—something I wish I didn’t know, but can’t deny knowing because at that point it might be
all
I know.

Sunday evening, the temperature is pleasant, so Neil and I agree to meet in the backyard. We sit across from each other at the steel picnic table and gaze directly at each other no matter how awkward it feels. When I get tired of looking, I sip on a glass of lemonade, then clear my throat.