My Sister’s Ex: A Novel

by Cydney Rax

  “Nope.” Perry shrugs and does some foolish dance move that causes Blinky to holler and clap his hands like he’s a little kid instead of sixty.

  “You sure don’t act your age,” I say to my daddy.

  “Daughter Number One, how would you know how a sixty-year-old acts, huh?”

  “She doesn’t have the—” Alita, who’s positioned next to my sister, quickly clamps her hand over Rachel’s mouth. They’re standing in front of a table loaded with food. There’s crawfish, ears of corn, greens, and black-eyed peas. Racks of beef ribs and stacks of cooked hamburgers that had been smoking on a huge grill and filling up the entire yard with that delicious, smoky aroma.

  Rachel leers at us the second we arrive outside. After she gives me an evil glare, her eyes get stuck on Jeff and sag at the corners. I see wetness even from where I stand. Either she’s about to cry, or the smoke from the pit is irritating her pupils.

  “I don’t feel like dancing anymore,” she whines and stops dancing so she can take a seat. Alita quietly sits next to her.

  “Well, we can get back to grubbing, no problem,” says Auntie Perry. She plunks down at the picnic table that’s big enough to seat twelve people.

  “Oww,” Rachel cries out and vigorously rubs the corners of her eyes from all the thick smoke. She abruptly stops rubbing and gives Jeff a hurt look as if she expects him to come ease her pain, but he looks away.

  “You hungry? Don’t just stand there. Fix my daughter a plate.” My mama grins at Jeff then winks at me. I wish she’d knock it off.

  “Is there room at the table?” I ask.

  “Nope,” says Auntie Perry.

  “Yep,” says my mama. “You two look so cute together, like Janet Jackson and her cute little rapper boyfriend. I can’t remember his name, but ya’ll know who I’m talking about. Forty Cents!”

  “Forty? Dang, Mama, that’s embarrassing. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Um, is he Nickelback?”

  “Mama, please stop it.”

  “Okay, fine, but like I said, y’all look good. So come sit here next to me and Blinky I saved y’all a seat.”

  “But will there be enough room for—” Alita shoves Rachel in the gut and interrupts her smart comment. I like that. Alita is Rachel’s friend, but she’s no fool. That girl ain’t gonna let anything else stupid go down, that’s for sure. I almost feel bad for slapping her earlier.

  Jeff fixes my plate for me while I settle into my seat.

  “Daddy, is there any more potato salad? I don’t see it.”

  “Um, no,” Loretta says, rolling her eyes at Rachel, who suddenly stares directly at the food in front of her.

  “Your potato salad messed up, sweetie,” says Aunt Perry. “I heard you spent a lot of time preparing that food, but I guess no one will ever know what it tasted like.”

  “Why not?” I say, confused. “What are you talking about, Auntie Perry?”

  “She’s talking about how your potato salad accidentally dropped on the grass. It got dirt and ants on it so we had to dump everything in the trash,” Blinky explains.

  “How did that happen? Jeez, ya’ll are so pathetic,” I complain.

  “Your sister is the one …” Mama replies. “She ‘accidentally’ let it slip to the ground when she was trying to carry it, and I don’t know why she’d do that, since you’d already put the dish on the darned table, I swear to God.”

  “Okay, Loretta, hush your mouth,” Blinky interrupts. “It’s over and done with. Now Daughter Number One, if you hadn’t been gone so long, maybe you could’ve kept guard over your little potato salad. You missed a lot being gone. We said grace, and you know how I like for you to say the grace.”

  I blush. “I know, Daddy. Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Blinky laughs. “As long as I can remember when you girls were little—”

  “Marlene has never been little,” says Brooke.

  “Don’t start!” barks Loretta.

  “You started it, think about that, why don’t cha?” replies Brooke, staring at my mama.

  “Could you all please stop it?” Uncle Scooter looks up from his plate just to say that, then starts ripping apart some barbecue with his teeth. The rest of us settle down.

  “Anyway,” Blinky pipes up. “As I was saying, when the girls were younger, I’d have Pretty Girl say the grace. And Rachel would be so cute. She’d always want everyone to hold hands. And she’d wait for me to say, ‘Hold your little sister’s hand.’ She loved that … loved for everyone to be in unity.”

  Rachel looks puzzled. “I don’t remember all that.”

  “Well, it’s true. You remember it, don’t you, Pretty Girl?”

  I nod and blush, feeling embarrassed by Blinky’s bout of nostalgia.

  But as he gets on a roll bringing up our childhood antics, everyone calms down and begins swapping family stories and telling jokes raw enough to make a black man’s face turn blue. After a moment I manage to relax, and I actually end up having a good time, especially after Rachel and Alita decide to leave early. Rachel hands Daddy a postdated check and makes him promise not to cash it for another week.

  He says okay, thanks her for coming, and gives her a tight hug good-bye.

  Jeff and I hang around for another half-hour, then he drops me off at home. Rachel comes through our front door well after dark. By then I’ve retreated to my room. I stay up late, entertaining myself by watching several romantic comedies until one in the morning. And when I finally grow tired of looking at the TV, I slide under the covers and dwell on the day’s events before falling into a deep sleep.

  Take your little sister’s hand.

  I wake up in a sweat, quickly jumping out of the bed with the bottom of the sheets twisted around my ankles. I manage to run a few steps from the bed and end up collapsing on the carpeted floor. Then I realize I had a disturbing dream, and I can feel my heart beating wildly inside my chest.

  Hearing Blinky’s voice in my dream feels strange. It’s as if he’s standing in the room with me, sternly telling me what to do.

  Like when I was in fifth grade and Rachel was in first. We had to walk six blocks to the elementary school in Third Ward. The buildings we passed were old and dilapidated, with missing bricks and broken-out windows. Stray dogs barked at us and bared their sharp teeth. Rachel stopped walking. Frozen from fear. Her bottom lip quivered; her little legs shook.

  “I’m s–scared.”

  “That dog’s not thinking about you. C’mon girl. We gonna be late.” And I saw Blinky ride past us, sitting in the passenger side of some strange woman’s car. He rolled down the window and yelled, “Take your little sister’s hand.”

  I instantly obeyed and squeezed Rachel’s tiny fingers in mine. Her hand felt soft and warm, and I could tell she was happy and relieved that I reached out and touched her.

  “Now raise it toward the sky.” Blinky’s command sounded silly, but I raised her soft little hand high in the air until our daddy smiled and nodded; satisfied, he waved at us. Then he and his woman quickly drove off until I couldn’t see the car anymore. He often left us girls to fend for ourselves. We’d rush to school as fast as we could, hoping to make it before the bell rang. Today six blocks is like walking through my apartment twelve times, but back then it felt like Rachel and I were trying to reach the moon.

  Take your little sister’s hand and raise it toward the sky.

  I shudder and retrieve the sheets from the floor. Even though my heartbeat feels steadier, I’m still afraid. Especially since Rachel’s emotions are so raw regarding me and Jeff. And to know that she sleeps on the other side of the living room freaks me out. Who knows what kinds of things she contemplates in her room? And who can predict what she’s capable of doing? I don’t trust her. No, I take that back. Sometimes she surprises me and does things I don’t expect. Nice things. Thoughtful gestures. But I doubt I’ll see any of that sisterly niceness oozing out of her anytime soon.

  — 6 —
<
br />   RACHEL

  Unfinished Business

  The morning following Blinky’s birthday party leaves me feeling no different than I felt the day before. I wake up furious. My jaw is rigid with frustration and helplessness. I want answers, and, thanks to that James Brown song that keeps playing in my head, I’m seeking something even more important than answers, too.

  I quickly dash out of the bed and rush through the living area until I reach my sister’s bedroom door. Of course, it’s closed, so I softly tap on her door, then twist the knob and step in and flick on the overhead light. A sky blue blanket covers a round lump spread out on her queen-sized bed.

  “Wake up, Marlene.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  I walk over to her and nudge her hard, pushing against her shoulders so that she rocks back and forth.

  “Did you hear me? Get your butt up right now.”

  “Huh? What time is it?”

  “Yep, you overslept again.”

  She sits up in bed and vigorously rubs her eyes. I can see a purple bruise on her forehead. I really hate that I had to resort to physical altercations with her, and seeing that mark makes me feel worse. Yet I need to speak my mind.

  “This is going too far, Marlene. Why are you willing to mess up your job over a man?”

  “Rachel, please. First of all, I took a vacation day today, so I haven’t overslept, but then again, I have slept a little too long because Jeff and I are supposed to be meeting at Waffle House. So actually I should be thanking you for my little wake-up call.” She giggles quietly.

  Waffle House? I am crazy about Waffle House and haven’t been able to bring myself to go to the place since Jeff and I parted ways. We used to eat there every other Saturday, braving the crowds to order coffee, hash browns, scrambled eggs, bacon, and a huge waffle. I can’t believe he’d take her to a place he used to take me. What’s wrong with IHOP? Or even Whataburger?

  “I don’t even believe what I’m hearing. Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what, Rachel? Living my life and trying to make myself happy?”

  “Marlene, tell me something: how well do you know Jeff?”

  “What? I know him pretty good, but, of course, our relationship is still fresh, so I’m spending time getting to know him.”

  “Ugh, this is so ridiculous.”

  “What, Rachel? Why are you even asking me these kinds of questions?” She sounds irritated and makes a move toward her closet, which is bursting with all kinds of beautiful outfits. “You act like you don’t know how things go. It’s obvious I need time to learn more about the man.”

  “He does not want you, Marlene.”

  She angrily snatches a floral print baby-doll dress off a hanger. I remember when she bought it, not even a couple weeks ago. She interrupted me watching a DVD just to ask me how it looked on her. I told her it looked great. I lied. She looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid on steroids.

  “Rachel, don’t even try it.”

  “Marlene, can’t you realize that Jeff is only going out with you to get back at me? That’s what people do. Remember our mothers?”

  “Of course, dummy—”

  “I’m not dumb, and I wish you’d stop calling me that.”

  “Look, Rachel, regardless of what I call you, you are not going to convince me that Jeff isn’t feeling me.” She pauses, then blurts out, “Dang, jealousy is written all over your face. I don’t blame you for being envious. You messed up big-time, but it’s too late now. And I refuse to suffer in my love life because you made a bad decision.”

  “You’re making a bad decision,” I shout. “There are things you—”

  “I don’t wanna hear it!” she shouts back.

  And I shut up. Let the know-it-all bitch learn things the hard way. She’s hardheaded, and if it takes her falling flat on her stupid face to realize a thing or two, then let her fall. I don’t care anymore. I know Jeff still cares about me.

  “Little sister, just count your losses and go fish for another man in that big dating pool that’s out there. And if you luck out, you can find someone as good as Mr. Williams. How about that?”

  That’s it! I’ve had enough!

  I stand directly in her face, not caring how loudly I yell or how crazy I sound.

  “You are such a fool, Marlene. This man is not really into you. You’ll see.”

  “You’re a jealous hater.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You are. Don’t blame me because you couldn’t hold on to your man.”

  “Ah, did you hear what you just said? You said ‘your’ man. You know Jeff and I still have some unfinished business.”

  “You finished your business with him when you told the dude you wanted out.”

  “But Marlene, common sense would tell you that I haven’t completely gotten over him.” I don’t like admitting this, but it’s important that she knows the truth. “After we broke up, you’d ask me how I was doing. I’d tell you that I miss Jeff.”

  “If you really missed him, you would have tried to repair your relationship with him back then. And you didn’t. So that window of opportunity is now closed. Shut tight. Locked.”

  I just look at her like she’s a candidate for the insane asylum, because that’s how she’s behaving. Sometimes I wonder if women are genetically predisposed to screw up, to lose our minds over a man.

  “Fuck you, Marlene. Because that’s all you’re going to be good for to Jeff.”

  “You’s a rude SOB!”

  “Oh so now you’re cussing, too?”

  “‘SOB’ is an acronym. Acronyms aren’t cuss words.”

  “Well, ain’t that a B, you MF?” I say, trying to be smart.

  “Whatever, Rachel. He’s an ex. You made him an ex. And you’ll be better off when you start acting like an ex.”

  “Marlene, that is so stupid. Do you know how stupid you sound? This entire issue is about integrity, which I know you can’t even spell or define.”

  “I’m the one with an associate’s degree, remember?” She’s rubbing that in my face because I enrolled at San Jacinto Community College for one semester but didn’t return. I got a low grade in algebra and felt so depressed I didn’t want to take any classes.

  “A lot of stupid people have degrees, remember?”

  She knows I’m referring to her mama. Loretta has a bachelor’s degree, but no one is impressed because it’s from the great University of Phoenix. Okay, so everyone isn’t bright enough to graduate from Harvard, but at least show some effort, no matter what college you attend. Loretta, poor thing, paid cash for other people to write her papers. That figures. But her shortchanged education didn’t stop her from getting a job as an assistant counseling and crisis manager down at the women’s center. For the life of me I can’t figure out how anybody could hire a woman who still hangs panty hose to dry on her front porch. She’s fifty and wears miniskirts and sequined blouses with pink and yellow plastic bangles hanging on her arms, like, a total of ten or twelve. Her arms are too thick to pull off a fashionable and respectful look, but you can’t tell that to Loretta. This woman feels she can do whatever she wants, and if it annoys you? “Your problem!”

  Selfish, selfish, selfish.

  Like mother, like daughter.

  “Okay, joke’s over now, Marlene. You really can’t be this cruel, insensitive, and selfish. Can you?”

  “As long as Jeff doesn’t mind, why should I?”

  “I can’t believe you’d take my leftovers.”

  “Shoot, sometimes leftovers taste good.”

  “When I give you a taste of your own medicine, I wonder what you’ll say then.”

  “If that’s your way of threatening me, bring it on, Sis. Bring it on.”

  I have been pleading with Marlene a good twenty minutes. It’s apparent she’s too stubborn to change her mind. So I gotta change my strategy. I leave her room and glance at my watch. It’s only eight A.M. That leaves me enough time to do what I want to do. I rush to
my closet and select an off-white chiffon puff-sleeved blouse and a black pencil skirt that falls just above my knees. And I reach up to my top shelf and pull out a pair of BCBGirls black peep-toe pumps, then find some sheer panty hose. I get dressed as fast as possible, finger-comb my hair, and grab my work uniform plus a pair of comfortable flats that I can change into later.

  It’s only by a sheer miracle that I am able to leave the apartment before Marlene. As I depart my bedroom and pass through the living area, I can hear the shower running. Thank God Marlene loves to take long, hot showers. And that’s why, if I’m smart, I always take my shower the night before, because if I try to take one after she gets out, the water runs miserably cold. But she doesn’t care. She claims long showers are her “therapy.” Well, this girl needs to stay in that shower for the next few weeks.

  Drown, bitch, drown. It seems like something tragic will have to happen to get my sister to wake up.

  Meanwhile, I am not opposed to using some different techniques to get what I want. So I sneak out of the house, hop in my car, and drive out of the apartment complex until I hit Highway 6 South. It’s amazing how one day you tell yourself you’ll never go a certain place ever again, but the next day circumstances cause you to retract your words. Minutes later I pull up into the parking lot of Waffle House, which is adjacent to an Advance Auto Parts. I recognize Ella right away. Jeff’s precious car is parked at an angle taking up two whole spaces so that no one else can get too close. The way he dotes on his car burns me up. Yet I gotta do what I gotta do. My heart beats wildly, and a line of sweat develops on my forehead. I feel as nervous as the day I knew I would tell Jeff no to getting married.

  I step out of my car and begin walking toward the restaurant. As usual, it’s crowded. Waitresses are taking orders and barking them to the cooks. The cooks pour coffee, crack egg shells, and spoon pancake batter onto the waffle maker. Customers are eating breakfast and chatting loudly as this Monday morning’s activities begin.

  Jeff is sitting by himself in the corner of the restaurant. His PDA is firmly pressed against his ear. He’s vigorously nodding his head, and I see his lips moving, like he’s talking to someone. I quickly slide into the seat in front of him and rest my hands on the table. He looks up, his eyes enlarge, and he talks loud.