Broken and Beautiful

by Ryan, Kendall

  “Okay,” I shouted and slapped a palm on the table. “Best Catwoman?”

  "Eartha Kitt!" the table chorused in near unison before Nisha said a half-second too late, "Halle Berry."

  We had all burst into peals of laughter when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I was still laughing when I saw my ex-husband's name flash across the screen. A split-second wave of nausea hit me, and my heart thudded. We hadn't seen each other since the mediation, and my father did most of the talking in the meeting. That was nearly a year ago, and I couldn't imagine what he could possibly want.

  “Hey, Lisa,” Sasha called from across the table. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, fine.” I held up my phone. “I just have to take this.”

  I was greeted by a hot late summer breeze when I stepped out of the restaurant's air-conditioning and onto the sidewalk. I swiped the screen of my phone.

  “Hey.” I paced the sidewalk with my heart thudding intensely.

  "Hey, gumdrop." His deep Southern drawl rumbled through the phone, and though I was expecting it, I still felt my stomach drop and had to lean against the building for support.

  “Don’t call me that,” was all I could say in reply.

  “Sorry. Habit, you know.” He did sound sorry, but I knew him well enough to know that it had little to do with him using the pet name he’d been calling me since we were teenagers. “How are you? I heard you moved to New York.”

  "I'm fine," I whispered before clearing my throat. "I'm fine. Why are you calling? Is everything okay? Are—" I stopped myself from calling his parents, Mom and Dad, and it made my heart clench to think of something else I'd lost in the divorce. "—your parents, okay?"

  "Yeah, they're fine. Mom and Dad miss you. You should call them sometime."

  I squeezed my eyes shut, and two fat tears rolled down both cheeks. My ex had some fucking nerve. Did he really call me out of the blue after cheating on me and divorcing me to give me a guilt trip about not calling his parents? Two people that I'd known more than half my life and loved almost as much as my own mother and father.

  “You know I can’t do that, you asshole. What do you want? Did you call to tell me that your parents miss me? Well, I miss them too. Thank you. Can I go now?”

  “I’m getting married,” he said in a half sigh, half groan.

  The world stopped moving. A hollow thudding reverberated in my ears, and in a split second, my entire body turned into one giant palpitating heart.

  “What?”

  He let out a deep sigh. "The baby is getting older, and Holly wants us to be a proper family. I feel like it's the right thing to do."

  “The right thing to do was not to stick your dick in Holly in the first place.”

  “Lisa, that’s not—”

  “Not what? Not fair? Not right? And why in the hell is your whore so concerned about the sanctity of marriage now? It didn’t bother her when we were married.”

  “Listen, I’m not gonna have you talk about the mother of my children that way. I know you’re upset but—”

  “Children?”

  Another deep sigh. "Holly's pregnant again."

  A long silence passed between us before he spoke again.

  “I’m sorry, gu— Lisa. I wanted you to hear it from me and not from any of our friends or families or on Facebook. You deserve that.”

  I didn't answer him but instead ended the call. More silent tears rolled down my face as I leaned against the building.

  "Lisa?" Sasha had come outside to check on me. One look at her concerned face was all it took to trigger the body-wracking sobs that engulfed me as she wrapped me in her arms.

  “He’s getting married again,” I cried into her shoulder.

  “That piece of shit,” she muttered while stroking my hair.

  “And she’s pregnant…again.” I sniffled loudly and hugged her.

  "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

  She kept stroking my hair while I cried, and I don't know how long we were standing on the sidewalk when I heard Micaela's voice.

  "Hey, is everything…" Her voice trailed off, and I felt Sasha's hand leave my head. "Okay?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I'll see you inside."

  I felt Sasha nod. I broke our hug and pulled away from her. I sniffled and wiped my face with the heel of my hand.

  “How do I look?”

  “Like your ex is marrying the slut he cheated on you with.”

  I let out a watery chuckle. “Good. That’s the look I was going for.” I sniffled again.

  "Do you want to go home?"

  "Hell no! I was really looking forward to tonight, and I'm not going to let my piece-of-shit ex ruin this too." I drew in a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair.

  "Good! Go to the bathroom. Fix your face, and I'll order you a drink. One that actually has alcohol in it."

  “Thanks, Sasha. I love you.”

  "Shut up." She smiled, put her arm around my shoulder, and marched me back inside the restaurant.

  * * *

  When I returned from the bathroom, the table was eerily quiet, but everyone had smiles plastered on their faces.

  “Could y’all be any less obvious?” I laughed. My new group of friends didn’t do warm and fuzzy very well, but they were trying. Micaela broke first.

  “I’m sorry, girl. I don’t know what to say. Do you want me to go to North Carolina and cut his dick off for you?”

  The table erupted in laughter.

  "No, that won't be necessary," I chuckled. "But I'd love that drink."

  "I can do that." She slid her chair backwards from the table and stood, planting a kiss on the top of Sasha's head. As she started towards the bar, she and Sasha did that sickeningly sweet couples thing where they're holding hands, and they let their fingertips slide through the other's palms, holding on until the last possible second. My ex and I used to do that. I tried to remember the last time we'd held hands. It must have been years.

  She returned to the table with a tray of drinks, including five shots, a saltshaker, and rocks glass filled with lime wedges.

  My diet and prescriptions strictly forbade alcohol, and the last time I got drunk, I'd had a one-night stand. I pushed those thoughts out of my head, determined not to be sensible for a change and let go, besides, I was only having one tequila shot, a vodka soda, and lots of water. How drunk could I get?

  * * *

  Apparently very drunk was the answer to that question. I thought I was doing myself a favor by nursing my one drink while everyone else at the table downed more shots and moved on to beers, but my alcohol tolerance was nonexistent. I was tired but wide awake. I felt lightheaded and giddy but also sad. Sasha and Micaela were making out across the table, and I was happy to see two people I cared about so happy, but I also wanted to burst into tears. I tried to stand, but my limbs felt heavy, so I sat again.

  Nisha grabbed the check and began calculating everyone's share. No one would let me chip in. Moments later, we stumbled onto the sidewalk laughing and hugging. Nisha kissed both my cheeks before heading to Brooklyn to meet other friends.

  “Do you need help getting home?” Sasha asked. She had her arms around Micaela’s waist.

  “Nope. I’m fine.” I stumbled again. Max caught me before I hit the pavement.

  "I'm going uptown. I'll make sure Lisa gets home safe." He laughed.

  "Hey, Max!" Micaela yelled as they walked toward the downtown train. "If anything happens to my friend—"

  "You'll cut my dick off?" he shouted down the sidewalk, and I belly laughed.

  "I. Will. Cut. Your. Dick. Off," she screamed, and Sasha started laughing too.

  Max hailed a taxi, pushed me inside, and the last thing I remembered is giving him my address before drifting off to sleep on his shoulder.

  11

  cole

  CJ had been asleep for a few hours, and I should've gone to bed, but instead, I opened one of the file boxes that Judy had messengered over, pulled out a folder, and started reading. Or
at least I tried to read. I kept daydreaming about Lisa sitting on the couch next to me. I was lost in the memory of her laugh, and the smell of her shampoo in a puff of perfumed air every time she tossed it over her shoulder. I'd lost track of how many times I'd read the same paragraph when I heard a car door slam outside my window, followed by a man's voice and Lisa's laugh.

  The pile of papers I'd already forgotten fell to the floor when I sprang up and ran to the window. A tall, white guy was walking towards Kimberly's brownstone, supporting a much smaller figure with long hair that seemed to be stumbling. I don't remember opening the door or running down the stairs. Still, in what felt like a second later, I was almost chest to chest with the man who was half dragging Lisa to her apartment.

  “Hey,” I shouted. “What’s going on here?”

  “Who the fuck are you?” The dude straightened and made an effort to push Lisa behind him. I had a couple of inches on him, but he seemed more focused on protecting Lisa than worrying about me kicking his ass. He should have been more concerned about the latter.

  "Who the fuck am I? Who the fuck are you?" My chest was tight, and so were my fists.

  Lisa straightened up and tried to look at me. Her hair obscured her face, and she swiped at it in a drunken attempt to push it away. "Hi, neighbor!" she chirped, before looking at the guy who was supporting her weight. "He's my neighbor."

  "I can take care of her." I stepped forward to grab Lisa, and he put his arm out to stop me.

  "Mmm, I don't think so. I don't know you. I was told to make sure Lisa got into her apartment safely. I'm not just gonna hand her to some random dude because he says he's her neighbor."

  "She said I was her neighbor, and my sister is her landlord."

  He wasn’t convinced.

  “Ask her. I would never do anything to hurt her. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

  “Lisa,” he said, still glaring at me suspiciously. “Lisa?” he repeated. She looked up at him. “Do you know this guy? Do you want to go with him?”

  “I’m Lisa,” she said before she started belly laughing again. He rolled his eyes.

  “Hold on.” He pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and dialed.

  “Max! What’s up? Did you get Lisa home?” a woman’s voice shouted from the phone’s screen.

  "Yes, but she's completely wasted, and some guy is saying he's her neighbor, and he wants to take care of her. Do you know this guy?"

  “Is he tall, non-melanated, and gorgeous with shiny dark hair and stormy blue eyes?” she asked.

  I felt a small puff of pride, knowing she could have only gotten that description from Lisa. I laughed at her use of the term non-melanated. My aunt Patrice was the only other person I’ve heard use that descriptor.

  “I wouldn’t describe him that way, but I guess.”

  “Are you Sasha?” I took a step forward and yelled into Max’s outstretched hand.

  "Yes, I am. Are you Cole?"

  “Yeah.”

  “Max, she’s good. Cole, take care of my girl. She cannot hold her liquor.”

  “Tell him if he hurts our Lisa, I’m gonna cut his dick off,” another female voice chimed in.

  “Did you hear that?” Sasha said with a chuckle.

  "I did." I stepped forward, laid Lisa's arm across my shoulders, and slid my arm under her knees to hoist her up.

  "Thanks, Max. We're hanging up," Sasha called through the phone.

  “Hey, thanks, man.” I nodded at him. “Sorry about earlier.”

  "It's cool. Just take care of Lisa, okay?"

  I nodded again and turned towards my stoop.

  “Am I being kidnapped?” Lisa mumbled against my shoulder and tightened her arms around my neck.

  “Yes.” I laughed as I pushed the front door closed with my foot. “I’m kidnapping you.”

  “Oh, noooo,” she moaned as I carried her upstairs to my room. “My mom will be so mad.”

  In the bedroom, I whipped the covers back on my bed. I carefully lowered Lisa onto the mattress before tucking her in.

  “I’m gonna get you some water and some ibuprofen. Are you hungry?”

  “No, I’m really sleepy and thirsty.”

  I swept her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. “I’ll be right back.”

  CJ was still fast asleep when I walked down the hall to check on him. I stroked his cheek with the back of my index finger. I went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, the ibuprofen, and a pack of some sugar-free, gluten-free baby crackers. I also made a mental note to keep stuff in the house that Lisa can eat.

  She was still awake when I returned to my room, and I set the food and the Advil on the nightstand.

  “Do you have something I can sleep in? These jeans are really tight.”

  I didn’t answer her, but I grabbed one of my Harvard t-shirts and a pair of boxers from my dresser and handed them to her.

  “Can you help me?” She’d pulled off the covers and fumbled with the hem of her shirt.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat and nodded. After sitting next to Lisa on the bed, I slowly unbuttoned her shirt. Then, I pulled it over her shoulders and down her arms. Next, I pulled the t-shirt over her head. She slid her arms into the sleeves, and the shirt fell over her torso. She leaned back on the bed so I could unbutton her jeans and tug them over her hips.

  “Wait.” She put her hands over mine and tried to sit up. “I didn’t shave my legs.”

  "It's okay." Smiling, I continued to pull the jeans over her thighs, and she flopped back onto the bed with a relieved sigh. With assistance, Lisa wiggled into my boxers, and I covered her with a blanket. "You good?" I asked. She nodded, and I stood to leave.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I’m going downstairs to sleep on the couch.”

  “Could you stay here?”

  “Um, sure. I’ll be right here until you fall asleep.” I moved the clothes that were piled up in the seat of my armchair and sank into it, turning to face her.

  “No, goofball.” She patted the bed beside her. “Here.”

  “Lisa.” I sank further into the chair. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  "Please?" she whispered. "I had a bad night." She patted the bed again, and I scoffed. "I'll give you something I know you want."

  "I'd prefer to have that when you're not wasted." I shifted in the chair. Lisa threw her head back, laughing. She was a happy drunk, and though I knew that she didn't usually drink, it was fun to witness.

  "You get in this bed and hold me—nothing else—and I'll tell you what you said to me the night we met." She raised her eyebrows in supplication, and she was still smiling. Her deal had minimal downsides, so I crawled onto the mattress beside her.

  “Cole,” she whispered.

  “Yeah?” I answered.

  “You’re on my hair.”

  "Shit, sorry." I shifted, and she pulled her hair up into a messy bun before resting her head on my chest. I pulled her into me and began to caress her back.

  "My ex-husband called me while I was at dinner to tell me that he was getting married again." She heaved a sigh. "He's marrying the woman that he cheated on me with." She paused for a long time, and when she spoke again, it was in a quiet voice choked with tears. "They have a baby, and she's pregnant again."

  “I’m sorry.”

  "Me, too. We tried for years to conceive. We thought it would be so easy once we were ready, but nothing happened. We both got tested, and when I got diagnosed with PCOS, we thought we had an answer, and there would be some magical treatment, but nothing. We tried medications, IVF. We even looked into a surrogate. I got angry, depressed, and we fought all the time. I gained a lot of weight, and we stopped—maybe that's TMI. Anyway…I thought we were just going through a rough patch—you know, for better or worse—but he found someone else. Someone who could give him what he always wanted. I guess he wanted kids more than he wanted me." She began to sob softly on my chest.

  "B
ut I wanted babies, too. I wanted them so badly. It's all I've ever wanted. You know I went to school for vocal performance. I have a degree in it. Singing was the only thing I was ever good at, besides taking care of kids, and I thought I'd only be using my degree to sing my babies to sleep. My parents convinced me to graduate from college before I got married. I didn't think I needed to because I had my whole life planned. I was going to be a wife and mother, and I didn't need anything else. When I told them my major, they refused to pay my tuition. So, now I have a degree in music, no husband, no kids, and thirty thousand dollars in student loans. Stupid, right?"

  "No. It's not stupid." I pressed my lips to her forehead. It was a protective impulse, and I felt like she needed it. She wrapped her arm tighter around my chest and squeezed.

  “I’m sorry. I feel like I’m talking too much. Am I rambling?”

  She was definitely rambling, but I was hanging on her every word. “Nope. You’re good.” I kissed the top of her head again.

  “The night we met…you said something while you were very drunk—which is kind of ironic given our present circumstance.” She let out a watery chuckle. “You said that I would be a…shitty mom. Then you almost fell over walking to your stoop.”

  My chest tightened, and the blood drained from my face.

  Jesus fucking Christ, Cole.

  "Lisa…I don't know what to say. I am so sorry. That was an incredibly fucked-up thing to say to anyone, regardless of their circumstances…and I know better. I was fucked up that night, but being drunk isn't an excuse. I can't believe I—" I was going to try to keep apologizing, but she stopped me with a clumsy finger to my lips.

  "Shhh…I know you didn't mean it, and I know you didn't know what you were saying." She lifted her head to look me in the eye and rested her hand on my cheek. "You're not the man I met that night. You're so much more."

  “Did I say anything else that night that’s gonna come back and bite me in the ass?” I smiled down at her.

  “No, but you did keep calling me Crystal,” she giggled. “She’s your mom, right? Your birth mother. The woman in all the pictures?”