My Husband's Girlfriend (28 page)

28

Anya

It’s still Friday afternoon. Dani’s just sped off in her truck. I’m standing
outside the house near the front door holding little Braxton in my arms. He’s leaning his head against my breast, purring. Comfort, protection, peace.

He wants what I want, but how can he enjoy peace when he sees me and his mother at war?

“I’m so sorry, so sorry, so sorry, little Brax, it won’t happen again,” I say and press my lips against his soft brown hair. He squirms in my arms and sighs. I turn to go back to the house.

“Hey, hon. You watching the baby today?”

“Riley, if you only knew,” is all I can say.

My neighbor charges up our walkway dressed in a pretty tan summer dress suit.

“Where you going?” I ask her.

“Solomon’s Temple. I skipped Sunday night’s Communion service, and I wanted to go up there and drop off my tithe. You doing anything special? Wanna ride?”

Moments later we’re entering the doors of the church. Braxton is perched on my hip, laughing uproariously as I bounce him up and down so it seems like he’s riding a galloping horse. Hearing him giggle makes me so happy. And it feels wonderful to get away from the house and momentarily forget the scary drama that just happened.

I follow behind Riley, who’s walking through some double glass doors into a suite of administrative offices. There’s a redwood desk manned by a receptionist. On her right is a row of telephone cubicles complete with headsets.

“What’s all that?” I ask her.

A woman has approached us from down the hall and overhears my question. “That’s the call center where the prayer counselors sit and answer phones seven days out the week,” she tells me.

“Hey, Sista.” She nods at me reassuredly. “Anytime you want to talk, give us a call or come see us. We’ll cry with you, help bear your burdens—we do it all.”

“Hmm, sounds good. Thanks for letting me know,” I tell her gratefully.

“My name is Zaire if you ever need anything.” Her voice is strong, confident.

Riley signals to me that she’ll be right back. Brax bounces up and down in my arms, his hands waving excitedly when he sees a water fountain.

“Okay, partner,” I tell him and start walking down the hall past the call center.

“Hey, Sista,” says Zaire. “After you get your water, c’mon in my cube. You can rest your feet and let your son sit on your lap while you’re waiting.”

I take one long look at her. After I get Brax his drink, she stands up and leads us to a nearby private office and closes the door. Within ten minutes I tell her everything: the marital arrangement, Neil’s affair with Dani, the miscarriages, and our bedroom issues. Of course, I have to spell out certain words because of Braxton, but Zaire catches on fast.

“Sista,” Zaire says, “it takes a lot of strength to tell me all this. But that indicates you’re ready for a change. Can’t say I blame you.” She laughs. “But seriously, as I sit here and listen to the things you’ve said about your husband, his friend, et cetera, I do get one major impression: The problems you’re having aren’t about the marital contract, they’re not about you. Not about him, that woman, or even this precious little baby.”

“What did you say?” I ask, darkness clouding my eyes as I stare at this woman. “Do you understand that I’ve put up with so much mess I almost lost my mind? I’ve sacrificed, put my health in jeopardy, and trusted him too many times to count.”

“Sista Anya, you may have done the right things, and that’s good, but something bigger than you sustained you. So, like I said before, this isn’t about you,” she says in a slow, calm voice.

“Omigod, omigod, omigod,” I say, and rise up out of my seat. I hand Brax over to Zaire, leave the office, and pace the hallway.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I weep, and finally discern the wisdom that has eluded me.

29

Neil

Yesterday before Dani arrived to pick up Braxton, I got called into work.
I left the house immediately, worked for hours, and barely took a break. And late last night when I got home, I went straight to sleep.

Now it’s Saturday, early. I hear Anya in the kitchen stirring around. Thirsty and hungry, I walk in her direction.

Bacon pops and sizzles on the grill. A pot of grits cooks on a burner. The smell of coffee fills my nostrils. Anya cracks several eggshells against the sink and pours egg into a skillet.

“Hey,” I say, “what’s all this for?”

“I usually cook breakfast on Saturday,” she responds. “Nothing new about that.”

“
Usually
being the operative word. I don’t think I’ve seen you doing this on a Saturday morning in at least two months.”

“Well, things change.” Anya shrugs and resumes cooking.

I walk over to the bread bin and remove four slices of wheat.

“You might want to toast a few extra pieces,” Anya says.

“Why’s that?”

“Brax is a greedy little something,” she laughs.

“He’s still here? Why didn’t Dani come pick him up yesterday?”

My wife grunts and shakes her head.

I run upstairs and find Reese tying Brax’s shoestrings into a knot. Once she’s done, I scoop my son up in my arms, hold my daughter’s hand at the same time, and bring them both downstairs.

All four of us eat in the dining room. Brax screams from his high chair, drowning out Reese, who’s trying to talk. She puts up with his shrieking for a while but then runs from the room, covering her ears.

“That girl loves that baby, huh?” I say jokingly.

“Yeah,” Anya says in a serious voice. “It’s kind of like she has no choice. It’s just worked out that way. Life does that, ya know.”

I stare at her.

“Neil, I guess now’s as good a time as any. We need to talk. I want to propose something.”

“Go on,” I tell her.

“I want us to make a strong commitment toward our relationship. And I need to know if you want the same. Were you sincere when you recited your vows on July seventh?”

“I was at the time.”

“Oh.” Her voice is low. “What about now?”

“I still mean it, even if I don’t show it all the time. But yeah, I’m committed.”

“I guess that’s fair enough. But let’s move on to something else.”

First Anya yells for Reese to come get Brax. Then Anya leaves the room and returns within minutes carrying several sheets of paper. Her hands are trembling.

“This,” she says, “is our marital arrangement. I can’t believe how much trust I put in these sheets of paper, how much I supposedly valued the words. I want—”

“This?” I say, and grab the papers. Anya and I are both holding the arrangement. Ten sheets in all. Anya goes to a kitchen drawer and retrieves a box of matches. She motions for me to follow her outside. We end up in the backyard next to the metal picnic table and a black garbage can.

Anya lifts up the first page of the arrangement. “This, Neil, is no longer valid.”

I strike one match and lower it next to the paper. The yellow fire lights up, cracks and pops. The fire singes the page at one end, making the words of promise disappear, transforming the sheet from one form into another.

By the time we’re done, a smoky aroma burns and clogs our nostrils. The odor is so strong, Anya covers her nose with one hand. I grab her other hand and squeeze.

For the first time in a long time, I feel free, like I’m finally in the place I’ve been trying to get to. I stare at the ashes and my mind is jammed with memories of what tried to be but couldn’t. I wonder what the future can give us that the past could not.

“Starting now, we’re putting all of this behind us,” Anya proclaims. “And I am sooo sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.”

“Anya,” I say, shocked, “you haven’t done anything.”

“Oh, but I have.”

She walks back into the house and returns waving another set of papers.

“I’m burning these up, too,” she says, “but want you to see them first.”

I read the top of the first page: “Petition for Divorce. Petitioner: Anya Taylor Meadows.”

“You?” I say.

“Yes, Neil. About six weeks ago, I pawned the ring you gave me, retained an attorney, and was in the process of filing. But you were starting to change for the better and I still had hope. So my going forward with the divorce was placed on hold. Riley and I prayed about what to do, and I heard in my spirit ‘Wait,’ so…”

I just gawk at her, swallowing the lump that has developed in my throat.

“I’m going to be a better wife to you, and I believe you can be a better husband. But the one thing that I demand must change is Dani’s presence, you understand me? We have to establish and protect our boundaries. So Dani is no longer welcome here, Neil. Ever. And I don’t want you seeing her anymore. I need to know if you can handle that.”

“You’re serious about that?”

“Like nothing I’ve ever meant before,” Anya responds.

“But since she’s—I mean, how else can we raise our son?”

“Riley’s agreed to be our mediator. That way we won’t have to deal with Dani directly. And I’m willing to give this a try if you are.”

“And you’re really okay with mothering Braxton?”

“Yep, absolutely,” she says. “He can be the son I’ll never have, the son I’m supposed to have.”

So much hope and strength are shining through her, she’s blinding me.

“We’re going to make it, Neil. We can do this. And I know you still love me.”

“Of course I love you. But it’s tough being loved by two different women—”

“And it’s tough when you love two different women, right, Neil?”

I wish I could respond, but don’t.

“Neil, regardless of how tough things are, I won’t play second fiddle anymore. Not when I know I have a God-given right to claim you. The vows we gave to the Lord are still good. He hasn’t forgotten the vows, and He will bless this union if we do what’s right in His eyes. Not in our own eyes. You up to the task?”

I firmly nod. Again, I know I have to release Dani. It’s hard, so hard. And the fact that letting go is hard lets me know it’s something I need to do. I try to imagine starting anew. I want to see what Anya sees. Feel what Anya feels.

The next morning, my entire family gets dressed for church. And when we all enter the doorway of Solomon’s Temple, Reesy grabs my hand, looks up at me, and says in a loud voice, “I’m so proud of you, Daddy.”

30

Anya

It’s mid-September. I’m reclining facedown on a padded lounge chair and
wearing a cute one-piece orange-and-lilac bathing suit. A nearby band is jamming, playing “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang. Neil’s hands feel soothing as he gently pinches my skin between his fingers. He vigorously rubs jojoba oil on me, squeezing all the tension from my shoulders. We’re on the Lido deck of the Ecstasy ship, a four-day cruise that’s headed to Cozumel. Second honeymoon. No kids. Just us.

We’re spent the afternoon dancing, people-watching, and eating steak and lobster for lunch. I’ve just finished sipping on a magnificent Bahama Mama and can’t wait to order another.

“Okay, that’s enough of you groping me,” I say to Neil, and sit up. “Now it’s your turn.”

He happily complies, at first flopping onto his stomach, but then he turns over on the chair so that he’s looking up at me.

“Anya,” he chokes, reaching out to grab my hand, “if your fingers massage my body, I won’t be responsible for what happens out here.”

“Neil, don’t even try it.” I blush.

“I am serious, baby,” he insists, deliberately looking me up and down. I want to place my arms around his neck and squeeze real tight.

“Dang, jeez, all righty then. We can go back to the room and finish playing that game you like,” I tell him. “This time, instead of you pretending to be a fireman, I want you to be, uh, how about a TV preacher? Think you can manage that?”

“Huh?” He scowls, looking at me like I’m nuts. “You
do
want me to stay in the mood, don’t you? Not gonna play a preacher. Let me try playing a good husband, okay? I’ll pretend to be that.”

Actually, the past few months Neil’s behavior has improved. He’s managed to keep Dani at bay, and she accepted our decision without a fight. I guess she got tired of the drama as much as we did.

“A good husband, huh?” I comment. “That’s funny. Okay, you can try that.”

“And if I play like I’m a good husband, who are you going to be?” he asks.

“Hmm,” I say, “how about your girlfriend?” I stand next to Neil and lower myself to my knees. I press my lips against both his cheeks and his lips, kissing him deeply, and rubbing his legs up and down. I find myself getting aroused, and I love how that feels, since me getting horny is still somewhat hit-or-miss.

“Who are you again?” he gasps, squirming and grinning, leading my hand below his waist.

“I’m going to play like I’m…my husband’s girlfriend.”

I’ve met quite a few folks during my short time in the biz, so bear with me.
Much love to my author crew: Margaret Johnson-Hodge, Marissa Monteilh, Lexi Davis, and Cheryl Robinson. Margaret (Cuz), keep doing your thing. (((Marissa))), my sis in the biz, you are so sweet. My girl Lexi (author of
Pretty Evil
), I love to discuss writing, share experiences, and laugh with you. I’m happy you were brought into my life. Cheryl, I knew you were gonna make it.

Authors: Nancey Flowers, E. Lynn Harris (who encouraged me to write book reviews on a national level), Nina Foxx, Alisha Yvonne, Shelley Halima (my Detroit homegirl), Tina Brooks McKinney, Phillip Thomas Duck, Tracy Price-Thompson, Nikki Woods, Shelia Goss, MBridges, Frederick Smith of L.A., Darrious D. Hilmon, Elyse Singleton, Philana Marie Boles, Pat Tucker, ReShonda Tate Billingsley, Toy Styles (you are a sweetie), Ms. Erica Perry, Keith Lee Johnson, and Brandon Massey—thanks, Brandon, for your generosity and ongoing participation regarding Book-Remarks.com.

Reviewers and Supporters: Brian K. Walley for the excellent feature with Ebony Expressions Book Club, Romance in Color, Looseleaves.org, Tee C. Royal & The RAWSISTAZ Reviewers, ReadinColor, One Swan Productions, Road to Romance, Romantic Times Book Club Magazine, Avid-Readers.com, and Disilgold.com. Toni Bonita, Simone A. Hawks (thanks for checking on me when I was sick), Simone Kelly, Cynthia Holsome, Mr. Robert Pope (for going above and beyond), Joan Havis, Marla Ofor, and Sheila Lindsay. Mega thanks to Chris Pattyn for hanging out with me in ATL and making me laugh. Let’s do it again.

Bookstores: B&N, Kiso Books, Soul On Wheels, Shrine of the Black Madonna (Houston and Atlanta), Jokae’s, Waldenbooks (in Dekalb Mall, the Houston One Center, Detroit Renaissance Center, and Fair-lane Town Center), Cushcity.com, Black Images, and Karibu Books in Maryland (thanks, Lee).

Bookclubs: Cover2Cover Book Club (Houston)—the first club to sponsor me—Circle of Friends Book Clubs in Columbus, Ohio, and Atlanta; Cushcity Book Club; Ebony Eyes Book Club; The African-American Authors Book Club of Palmdale, California; Ebony Dimensions Book Club; Brownstone Book Club of Houston; Kismet Book Club; Divas Read 2 of Dallas; Carol Mackey of Black Expressions Book Club (you are
so
awesome); Sistahood Book Review (thanks for a FUN book club meeting); the wonderfully crazy folks in RAW4ALL; Prominent Women of Color; Soulful Literary Experience; Queens In Pen Book Club; The Sistah Circle Book Club; Black Professionals Consortium of Houston; The GRITS; and all the other clubs around the country and radio stations (including FM-107 in the U.K.) that selected
My Daughter’s Boyfriend
.

Web Sites/media: The Black Library, AALBC.com, The MPB Network, Roads to Romance, Sonya Harris of Sayha Pub, Mybestseller.com, PeopleWhoLoveGoodBooks, JeffRivera.com, The Literary Café,
Quarterly Black Review
magazine,
Publishers Weekly, Booking Matters
magazine, Maurice Hope-Thompson of KTSU-FM, and my UH hook-up (Francine Parker, Mike Emery, and Thomas Shea).

Many thanks to Chris Jackson—your editing skills and tough questions made this book a lot better. And thanks to Rachel Kahan, the editor who acquired
My Husband’s Girlfriend.
Shout-outs to my cool agent, Claudia Menza, who is so enthusiastic and helps to whip my novels in shape. Thanks in advance to my new editor, Shana Drehs. Much apprecation to my wonderful publisher, Crown Publishing Group/Three Rivers Press. Your support means so much to me.

Shout-outs to my relatives in Michigan (hi Mom), Texas (sis and hubby), Louisiana, Illinois (Aunt Michel), Arizona, and elsewhere. (Thanks to my uncle Reggie and cousin Terri for coming to see me in downtown Detroit.)

Thanks to those who support me at the University of Houston. You are a true cast of characters who force me to constantly listen and take notes. Special thanks to Dilip (who’s always raving about my book), Claudia O’Hare (Drama Queen) just because, and all the brothas (you know who you are).

Special thanks to Dawnya Ivey and Kim Floyd for helping me out with reviews.

I can’t forget Marvin D. Cloud of Houston, the first person to publish my nonfiction through
Gospel Monthly
magazine in the mid-90s.

I appreciate anyone who bought and enjoyed
My Daughter’s Boyfriend.
Your comments make my day. Visit me online at CydneyRax.com or e-mail me at [email protected].

Last but not least, thanks to God for sustaining me through all my trials, tribulations, triumphs, and victories.

If you read
My Husband’s Girlfriend,
I want to hear from you.
MHG
is a story I’ve wanted to do for years, and it’s amazing to write about this topic. Keep an open mind while reading and don’t forget that in real life some men have babies with multiple women and some women are trying to deal with it. And even if we don’t understand or agree with folks’ choices, everyone has a story to tell. I truly love this book and I hope you do, too.

If I mistakenly omitted you from these acknowledgments, please forgive me. I’m always touched by your efforts.

Luv y’all.

Cydney (no middle name) Rax

February 2006