My Sister’s Ex: A Novel

by Cydney Rax

  “Mmm-mmm.”

  “But funny thing about it, I have nothing to do with him being in jail. Sure, we got into it right here at this very store. I’m shocked the manager doesn’t remember me. We tore some stuff up,” she says and gently rubs the top corner of the console that looks like someone took a hammer to it.

  “But no one pressed charges. Manager asked us to leave. We did. Escorted by mall security. And I got so sick of people staring at us I said never again.”

  “That’s a funny story. But it has nothing to do with me.”

  “I see it in your eyes. Seriously. You’re always looking out of it. I know it has everything to do with Jeff. Whatever you plan to do, let it be. I’m lucky enough to be standing here with you, my favorite niece—”

  “Hold up, I’m not your favorite.”

  “Yes, you are. I just tell what’s-her-face that ’cause she’s the youngest. But when you were born, my very first niece, girl, I held you in my arms, nuzzled your little cheeks, and thanked God you had all your fingers and toes and a head full of hair.”

  “Oh, stop it. You make me want to cry.”

  “As long as you’re crying for the right reasons, go ahead and cry.”

  “Oh, Auntie.”

  “I love you, Marlene, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I’m sick of bad things going on in our family. And we got to stop it. The grown folks need to step in and take some of the responsibility. Blinky is my brother, but he’s not right in the head. We know this.”

  My aunt’s voice sounds so funny I want to burst out laughing. But I don’t. I’m enjoying this too much. It feels like home. Feels like love.

  “Let’s get out of here. Too many bad memories, but at the same time, I feel proud that I can walk in here and know that I’m not trying to be the woman I used to be. I can be better than what I used to be.”

  “You know, Auntie, you’re sounding a lot like my pastor.”

  “Ya think? That’s an honor coming from my knucklehead niece.” She hugs me close, and we leave the game store.

  “No, seriously, you remind me of this woman at church. Sister Palmer. Remember her?”

  “Not really,” my aunt says.

  “She spoke briefly on Women’s Day. We only got a little taste of how she ministers. But I think we should all attend the Women’s Conference, which starts next week. I could use some new inspiration. Things have been so crappy lately, I have nothing to lose.”

  “You could lose some weight.”

  “Okay, maybe, but besides that, smarty I have nothing better to do.”

  “I’ll have to check my schedule. Just remind me, okay, sweetie? Now, let’s go this way.” I say all right and walk alongside my aunt. I can’t help but notice hot guys checking her out, offering her confident smiles as we pass by.

  “Hey now. See these men giving you the eye? You’re not paying any attention to any of them. Why not?”

  “I don’t care to meet a man off the street. I actually want to join your church’s Singles Ministry.”

  “Auntie, stop joking around.”

  “Do I have a smile on my face? Do you see the whites of my teeth?”

  “Oh, well, alrighty then. Funny thing is, I may have to join with you. I still care about Jeff. What? I know it’s crazy, but it’s hard to go from liking a man one day to outright hating him the next; I don’t care what he does.”

  “Pitiful.”

  “Real.”

  “Okay, fine. You still got the hots for the man. But it doesn’t mean you can’t be setting up the next guy.”

  “Auntie,” I say and blush.

  “Men do it all the time. They’ll have their main girl and are always looking to upgrade. They take being alone much worse than women do. Hell, I’ve been single for a couple years now. I am about ready to cash in some coochie coupons.”

  “Oh, it’s been a while, huh?”

  “Girl, now I’m starting to blush. It’s a rare day in hell when I can openly talk about sex with my niece. But like I said before. We grown. We need to talk about this stuff.”

  I nod at her, but the Sunglass Hut draws my attention over to its counter. I adore cool sunglasses. “Oh my God, these are so tight. Look at these.” I point to some gray oversized shades with rounded edges. The word Gabbana is engraved in all caps on the sides.

  “Here, try them on,” suggests a cute, perfectly tanned salesman with black, wavy, movie-star hair.

  “Oh my God. These look so good.”

  “Yeah, you look so awesome in them,” the guy says, egging me on.

  “How much?” I ask.

  “Only three hundred.”

  “That’s about two hundred more than what I’d care to pay,” I pout. Shoot, if Jeff had paid me back some of the money he owes me, paying cash for these beautiful shades would be no problem. I love the glasses, but it’ll be kind of a tight squeeze, especially since I voluntarily splurged on our dinner last night at Benihana.

  “So may I ring them up for you, Miss Lady? These glasses were made for you.”

  “Yeah, but they might be mistaking me for Queen Latifah or someone else important … and rich,” I joke. I shake my head at the guy, who quietly moves on to the next potential buyer.

  “Shame, shame, shame.” Right then that Aretha Franklin “Chain of Fools” song goes through my head. Humiliated, I think about how I’ve been acting so foolish when it comes to Jeff. I don’t understand why he begs me for money. Like a dummy, a couple of times I’ve told him okay, with a big, crazy-looking smile on my silly-looking face. Just thinking about it makes me mad and regretful, especially considering how Jeff dined with London last night, bought her beautiful flowers, and talked with her so long I got sick of sitting in that restaurant being tortured.

  I deserve better than that.

  “Hey, Marlene. Can you wait for me by the skating rink? I need to take care of something.”

  “Fine with me,” I tell her. I gaze over at the dozens of children who are breezing by, the sounds of their skates slicing across the ice as they spin, turn, and dip. Some skaters glide effortlessly, looking like birds soaring peacefully through the sky; others try to stay balanced and hold on to the wall, or they cling to other skaters so they don’t fall down and embarrass themselves.

  I admire the ones who skate with precision. Even though they’re moving backward, they appear so calm, confident, in control. I want to be like that, I think to myself. Not like the ones who grip the wall, afraid to let go, too petrified to take the fall.

  Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.

  Is that you, Lord? And are you talking to me? I feel silly talking to God inside my head while hanging out at one of the most popular malls in America. But didn’t Pastor Solomon say we can pray about anything, anytime? As long as we have a mind, we can pray. And if we can talk to God anytime and anyplace, isn’t it fair to think He can talk to us anywhere, too? That even the Houston Galleria can’t force him out?

  Fortunately for me, my Aunt Perry saunters up to me with a huge grin that shows all her sparkling white teeth.

  “Happy birthday.” She thrusts a Sunglass Hut shopping bag at me.

  “It’s not my birth—”

  “Knucklehead girl, hush up. Open the darned bag.”

  “Oh my goodness, Auntie.” I open the bag and notice an eyeglass case … and those beautiful Gabbanas.

  “Go ahead, put ’em on.”

  I jump up and down and squeeze Aunt Perry tight around her neck. “Thank you.” I kiss her on her cheek. “I love you, I love you. You’ve made me so happy.” My eyes glisten with tears. Inside I also tell the Lord thank you for the opportunity to spend time with my aunt and bond with her in a positive way. This makes up for every hurtful thing that happened at my daddy’s birthday party.

  Rachel sends me a text asking where we are. I text her back, and ten minutes later we meet in front of the skating rink. Marlene and Alita show off some matching Ed Hardy T-shirts that they bought from
Macy’s.

  “Hmm, I didn’t know you had money for that.” I scowl and openly gawk at Rachel. “You didn’t pay your share of the electric bill.”

  “Hey hush. I got that for her,” Alita says.

  “Oh,” I utter and avert my eyes the instant Aunt Perry gives me a you-ought-to-be-ashamed-of-yourself look.

  “Okay woo, I’m tired, ya’ll,” says Aunt Perry. “I’m about to pull a Marie Osmond and pass out.”

  “No problem, Auntie. We can leave now. It’s been fun. Let’s go,” Rachel commands.

  We find Rachel’s car in the Macy’s parking garage and head out going west on Westheimer. Rachel is driving. I’m sitting in the front passenger seat. Alita is sitting behind Rachel, and my aunt is behind me. We travel a few miles down the street and come to a red light.

  “I have an idea,” Rachel says with a mischievous grin on her face. “This is going to be a long-ass red light. Let’s do the Chinese fire drill.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Yayyy, I’m game,” Alita screams from the back.

  “When I say go, everyone jump out the car and switch seats. Left to right. Ready, set. Go!”

  Alita, Rachel, and even my Aunt Perry scream and jump out of the car with the keys still in the ignition. Rachel jumps out and runs in front of the car. She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Why are you sitting there? Get out and get in Perry’s seat.”

  I swear she started to call me a dummy but thought twice about it. I roll my eyes and jump out of my seat and go take Perry’s place. Seconds before the red light turns green, Alita is now in the driver’s seat and Rachel is sitting in front of me.

  “You all are certifiably crazy,” I yell at the top of my lungs. “What have you been drinking?” I laugh so much my brand-new sunglasses begin to fog up. But I don’t care. I’m having the time of my life. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so good. Nothing can spoil my day. No how. No way.

  Many hours later, I am at home. In bed. Tossing and turning like I’ve been doing for the past several hours. I was this close to calling him. Telling him off. Then deleting his number from my cell phone. Why bother? I may not be the most perfect woman on earth, but what I must receive from a man is respect. He may not completely be in love with me, but he’d better respect me. Whether I cave in and give him everything he asks for or not, he’d better come correct and act like he was raised right. Enough is enough.

  In my mind when you’ve been as humanly nice as possible to a person who doesn’t deserve even two minutes of kindness, then I’ve done my job. I gave it my all, and if my all isn’t good enough, it’s time for me to do something different.

  I’m lying on my side trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. But it’s hard. He completely fills my mind. I need to go to church in the morning. Need to do a lot of things tomorrow that I’ve been neglecting. Attend Sunday school. Go across town to see my daddy, my mama. Normal stuff. Things I used to do that make me feel like Marlene Draper.

  I turn to the other side of my bed and reach down until my hand hits the carpet. I feel around a few inches underneath the bed. My hand touches a book. I slide my fingers across the cover and rub a film of dust between my fingers. Then I grab the book and lift it up until it’s lying next to me.

  It’s the dusty old Bible that Loretta gave me years ago. I thought it was funny at the time. Loretta giving me a Bible? What a joke. But right now nothing is funny. I need to fall asleep fast, and opening up a Bible and trying to read something from the Old Testament will put me to sleep faster than NyQuil.

  Minutes after I start reading I hear a persistent knock at the front door. What the hell? It’s what, almost one-thirty in the morning. Annoyed and a bit scared, I hop out of the bed and approach the door. Jeffrey’s recognizable frame is visible through the tiny peep hole.

  I open the door. “What the heck are you doing here this time of night?”

  He smiles at me, eyes glassy. “Aww, Little Woman. Is that any way to great your man after you haven’t seen him in a while?”

  “Jeff, please. I’m not your woman.”

  “Say what?”

  I angrily fold my arms under my breasts. “Why didn’t you call earlier?”

  “Hey aren’t you happy to see me? Don’t you like surprises? I-I got you something special.”

  “Jeff, this isn’t going to work. You’ve been doing things that are making me very unhappy.”

  “Ugh, do we have to stand outside in the cold talking about this? May I come in? Pretty please with sugar on top?”

  “That is so lame.” I step aside, and he smiles like he’s grateful and walks in. Usually when Jeff visits, he immediately plops on the couch and reaches for the remote. But tonight he heads straight for my bedroom. He stands at the door and waits until I am in the room, then he closes the door shut and turns the lock.

  Jeff peers around my room like he’s inspecting it. That really irks me.

  “What are you snooping around my room for, huh?” I don’t wait for him to reply. I go and slip under the covers but sit back against my pillows and give him a hostile stare.

  “Beautiful Girl, what’s with the bad attitude? I didn’t even get a hug, a kiss, nothing.” He laughs to himself like something is funny.

  I roll my eyes and turn over so that I’m facing the other wall. I feel his eyes boring a hole in me. Then I hear the sound of his shoes being kicked off his feet. He unzips his slacks and they crumple to the ground in a heap.

  “Can I lie next to you, please?”

  I don’t say anything. He slides in the bed and places his arm around my waist. I feel his big lips touching the back of my neck. Small little I’m-sorry pecks that sprout tiny bumps on my skin.

  “Jeff, no, stop.” I scoot over and ask him to remove his arm from my waist.

  “Are you sure?”

  I just sigh. He removes his hand from me and turns around to face the opposite wall. Minutes later I hear him snoring. I quietly slide out of the bed and tiptoe all the way around till I reach his slacks. I pick them up and tiptoe out of the room. I go to the kitchen, turn on the stove light, and start rummaging through all his pockets. Leather wallet filled with cash, four sets of keys, and six quarters in one pocket. The other has two cell phones. One I recognize. One I don’t.

  I click a button so I may view the phone’s call record, but there’s a lock on it.

  “That infuriates me,” I mumble to myself. I tap on keys and punch in several four-digit combinations (his date of birth, his home address, and the last four digits of his cell number) hoping to crack his code, but none of them does the trick. Just when I’m ready to return to my bedroom, the phone starts vibrating. It feels like an electric razor is buzzing between my hands. The caller’s name flashes on the display screen: Felicia.

  Who the heck is Felicia?

  I place his phone and other stuff back in his pocket and return to my room. I get back in bed, which causes Jeff to stir around in bed. He reaches over until his fingers come in contact with my leg. He starts making a tiny circle on my thigh with his index finger.

  I stiffen and say in a steely voice, “Please don’t do that. I’m tired.”

  “I am, too. But I can give you something that will give you a burst of energy.”

  “Jeff, please.” I shift over in bed so that my back is facing him.

  I feel him press himself against my shoulders. His body feels warm and cozy.

  “Can I have some booty?”

  “You have a lot of nerve.”

  Jeff maneuvers his body until he’s sitting up in bed. He reaches over and turns on the lamp. “Why are you acting like this? You haven’t been acting yourself tonight.”

  “I told you that I’m tired.”

  “Okay, I’m exhausted myself. I had a long-ass day.”

  I finally sit up, too. “No, I don’t mean physically tired. I am tired of you, period.” I hop out of bed and grab Jeff’s slacks, holding them up.

  “Here,” I say and toss his s
lacks directly at him. They fall right on top of his head. “I don’t want you in my bed. So go on and get dressed … and get out.” I am so angry it’s like I don’t have any other emotions. I feel so dead inside. Maybe that’s what it’s going to take to get him out of my life.

  Jeff pulls his pants off his head and stares at me, looking hurt and confused. “Little Mama. What’s gotten into you?”

  “Who’s Felicia?”

  “What?”

  “I asked, who is Felicia? Why is she calling? Why are you so secretive?”

  “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Why do you have a second cell phone?”

  “What?” He snatches up his pants and starts getting dressed. “You’ve been snooping in my stuff again? I told you about that insecure shit.” Once he gets fully dressed he continues sitting on my bed like he’s daring me to say something.

  “Jeff, I don’t feel comfortable with your being here right now. I think you should leave.”

  “You don’t tell me what to do!”

  “Well, I just did, Jeff.” My voice is loud but calm. “This is my house and as long as you’re in it, I’m going to tell you what to do.”

  “Marlene, you’re crazy!”

  “No, you are. You’ve been sneaking around behind my back—”

  “Psycho bitch.”

  I jump in his face and point toward the door. “Get out, Jeff. Now!”

  He stares at me with such dislike that I feel like pushing him out of the room until he’s totally out of the apartment.

  “Did you hear me?” I ask.

  “Did you hear me? Well, in case you didn’t, let me say it clear. One, you don’t raise your voice at me. Two, I’m tired of you nagging me out, questioning my every move. I’m a grown-ass man, dammit. I can do whatever the hell I want to do. As far as I know I haven’t put a fucking ring on your finger.”

  “Leave, asshole.”

  “That’s it,” he sputters. “If you don’t apologize for acting like a nut, don’t expect to hear from me or see me again.”

  “The day I apologize to you will be the day you apologize to me. You’ve been rude, disrespectful, lying to me, dating other women.” I am so upset that I feel myself breathing unevenly.