I Almost Forgot About You

by Terry McMillan

—

  I don’t know how this whole love thing happens, but I wish that—in addition to white light—a red one would come on to warn you that the white light is only temporary. That it’s meant to blind you, but of course it’s too late because you’re already sinking and not thinking, which is when you find yourself wanting to scream, “Oh, Lord, not again!” Just when you think you’re dead, some stranger comes out of nowhere and resuscitates you. When you find yourself giggling, not laughing but giggling. You’re lighter, even though you weigh the same. Yes. You have fallen off that cliff into the sea of lust, the first cousin of love, and the two strongest drugs on earth.

  In a matter of weeks, I found myself singing in elevators.

  I couldn’t walk. I had to skip.

  I was Snow Black.

  Estelle, who was twelve, said, “Mom, whatever it is you’re drinking, keep drinking it!”

  We both laughed.

  “What’s his name, and when can I meet him?” Wanda asked.

  “Niles. And I don’t know.”

  “Ask him if he has a brother,” Violet said.

  At first he did everything right.

  He called me baby.

  “Good morning, baby.”

  “How you doing today, baby?”

  “Good night, baby.”

  “I love you, baby.”

  “Will you always be my baby?”

  “Aww, baby.”

  “Oooh, baby.”

  “Give it all to me, baby.”

  “You make me feel so good, baby.”

  “I miss you, baby.”

  “Do you miss me, baby?”

  “I’ve been thinking about you all day, baby.”

  “I need a hug, baby.”

  “I need me some you, baby.”

  “Come to Daddy, baby.”

  “I’m sorry, baby.”

  —

  “I don’t like him,” Ma said right after she met him. And then, after a few more meals, “If you marry this one, you’ll be making a big mistake.”

  “How can you say that, Ma? He’s been nice to you. And good to me and Estelle.”

  “He’s phony as hell. He’s too perfect. Wait until you find out he expects the same from you.”

  “Why didn’t you warn me about Michael?”

  “This is different. Something is missing in Niles. Something I don’t think you see.”

  Always listen to the parent who doesn’t like who you love. They can smell a mistake. Of course, you don’t find this out until you realize that the person you fell in love with is different from the person you married. Some men are good at fooling you.

  After Michael I had no intention of getting married again. I told Niles that if he cheated on me, I would definitely kill him. He thought that was funny. I also told him I didn’t want to have another baby. He said that was fine, because he already had a son. But he changed his mind. When your husband says he wants you to have his child, you’re supposed to be flattered. We had, of course, just finished making love, if that’s what you’d call it. At first Niles was an active participant for a solid half hour, but then he started dropping down to twenty minutes and then fifteen, and even then I found myself doing most of the work. I pretended not to hear him.

  “Say something, Georgia.”

  “I heard you.”

  “I love Estelle, believe me, I do. But I really want us to have a child of our own.”

  “I thought we agreed we were both happy the way things were.”

  “I don’t remember saying that. So don’t go putting words in my mouth.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “You. Me. I want it to be us.”

  He was as full of shit as a Christmas turkey.

  “Estelle is part of us.”

  “Figuratively, yes. But she doesn’t have my blood in her veins.”

  I wanted to bitch-slap him for saying that, but instead I took the high road.

  “It would’ve made more sense five years ago, Niles.”

  “I didn’t know you five years ago.”

  “I know.”

  “A lot of women are having children in their forties. I’m begging you, Georgia.”

  Shit. Damn. Fuck. Niles was adamant, and because I was 90 percent certain we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, I surrendered.

  But I also learned. Don’t assume anything.

  He decided to name our daughter Francine, after his dead grandmother, and he decided how we should parent her, and before she could walk is when I realized that Niles had morphed into a man I didn’t know and didn’t like.

  He was a control freak.

  He was a clean freak. (Later I would drop something on the floor just to see if he would pick it up. Of course he did.)

  The garage had to be carpeted.

  Everything had to have order and symmetry.

  He had no friends.

  He was a workaholic.

  He didn’t like my two best friends, Wanda and Violet. They pretended to like him.

  He rarely had anything nice to say about most people.

  Everybody had a hidden agenda. Including his family.

  He hated the IRS and did everything he could to pay as little in taxes as he could get away with. He hoarded his money, liked to pay cash for as many things as possible. He even insisted we file our taxes separately, and we did, which would ultimately be what saved me.

  —

  After eight years of marriage to Mr. My Way or No Way, I realized I didn’t like Niles because he was unlikable. He lost his luster and that Mr. Nice Guy façade disappeared, which is when I started seeing neon signs that read MAYBE I SHOULDN’T HAVE. I hated knowing that this marriage wasn’t going to last unless I did everything he wanted the way he wanted. But I couldn’t. His love started to hurt. Because he had become my enemy.

  “Wake up, Georgia.”

  “Did you get my suit out of the cleaners?”

  “I can’t.”

  “This house is never clean.”

  “Are you deaf?”

  “I’m tired.”

  “I’m not interested in going.”

  “Your friends bore me.”

  “Turn over, would you?”

  “Have you thought about how unattractive those extra pounds are?”

  “Why don’t you get a weave?”

  “I think you should trade in your Lexus and get an SUV.”

  “I’m not interested in politics.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “Your focus is much narrower than you think.”

  “I don’t like your mother, and I can’t apologize for it.”

  “I don’t like that dress.”

  I threw a whole roll of Bounty at him once. No: twice.

  “I didn’t know you were this rude, Niles.”

  “I didn’t know you were not a nice person.”

  “I didn’t know you were so selfish.”

  “I also didn’t know you were going to be so boring.”

  “I work for a living, too, and I’m educated, too, you know,” I finally said.

  “You don’t have to remind me. It’s hard for me to look into your eyes anymore. There’s nothing in them.”

  “Well, I’m tired of being married to someone who only talks about the fucking weather. From here on out, whenever the clouds turn gray I will probably always think of you.”

  That was cruel. But it took me a long time to be as cruel to him as he had been to me.

  One night he was drying dishes to make sure there were no hard-water stains.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  “That’s pretty much all you do, isn’t it, Georgia?”

  “You missed a spot,” I said, knowing he hadn’t. The glass he was holding up to the light was immaculate.

  “So we’re done, then?”

  “I believe we are.”

  He moved out the next day. It felt like he’d been packed a long time. Of course he insisted I buy
him out, which I did. The one good thing that our marriage produced was Frankie.

  —

  I get out of the shower and hear a series of knocks on my bedroom door. “Mom, open up!”

  I grab a towel and wrap it around me, which unfortunately leaves no room for error, so I hold it together with my thumb and index finger and run to the door and open it. “Either he’s early or not coming—which one is it?”

  “He’s not coming.”

  “And why not?”

  “His wife doesn’t want me to stay in the guesthouse.”

  “I know he’s not listening to his wife, a woman, after all these years.”

  Frankie rocks her weight to one flip-flopped foot and crosses her arms. “Apparently he’s a kept man and has no power.”

  “You don’t know that, Frankie.”

  “Well, she didn’t bother discussing with him that she’d already promised her grandson he could stay in it.”

  “Then why are you upset with him?”

  “Because he said she doesn’t have a grandson.”

  “So when are you going to see him?”

  “I don’t know. I hung up on him.”

  “You need to slow your roll, Frankie. It wasn’t his fault, and he was trying to help you.”

  “Well, he didn’t. He’s disappointed me too many times, and now I have a general idea why you divorced him.”

  As soon as I get home from work, I hear Frankie yelling upstairs on her phone.

  “You’re sorry?”

  A moment of silence.

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  Niles?

  “So what? You’re still a cheater, and I don’t want to love someone I can’t trust!”

  Not Niles.

  “You better not come out here!”

  I have to stop myself from yelling, Please come!

  Pause.

  “Hunter?”

  Pause.

  “Fuck.”

  When I hear her door swing open, I beeline it to the kitchen and pretend I’m looking for something in the pantry.

  “Mom, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  I walk out and look at her eyes. They’re glassy, but I can’t tell if anything has fallen from them. I cross my arms and lean against the refrigerator. “I’m listening.”

  “Hunter’s probably on his way out here to fetch me.”

  “Fetch?”

  “He said the girl tricked him.”

  I can’t tell if this is supposed to be the good or the bad news.

  “Really?”

  “He got drunk at his buddy’s dorm and slept with this chick and had a blackout, and she told him she was pregnant, but turns out she made it up. So he still loves me and wants me back.”

  “Wants you back or wants you to come back?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Where’s he plan on staying?”

  “I don’t know. But would it be possible for him to stay here for a few days? Because by then we will have figured out what we’re going to do.”

  “You must think everybody’s in college, Frankie.”

  “Hunter’s not.”

  “What?”

  “He got his bachelor’s in digital engineering. He’s a geek freak.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear. It means he’s employable.”

  “True, but he just got into the master’s program, and it’s all about app development and software design and blah, blah, who cares?”

  “And now you want me to turn your room into a honeymoon suite so you can rekindle what you swore to me was lost?”

  “I said I was mad at him. I didn’t say I didn’t love him anymore.”

  “What on earth do you think you know about love, Frankie?”

  “The same thing you did when you were my age, Mom.”

  “Which was nothing.”

  I shake my head and walk past her. I would like to hug her and slap her at the same time. I understand the spell she’s under, but now I’m anxious because so much is happening and I don’t know if I’m handling it the right way or not. I don’t know how you’re supposed to know. Nevertheless, I walk out to the garage and look at the stool I haven’t touched. I’m not thinking about Percy or staging when I get a clean rag out of the drawer and dust it. Of course here she comes again.

  “What now, Frankie?”

  “Can I ask you a personal question, Mom?”

  “How personal?”

  “How many times have you been in love?”

  “Five. And two to grow on.”

  We both laugh. I’m glad we can.

  “Is that considered a lot?”

  “I have no idea. I haven’t done any surveys.”

  We laugh again.

  “Just so you know, Hunter’s pretty handy and can help you do anything you need help with.”

  “That’s nice to know. So is this what you came out here to tell me?”

  “No. A lot of things are going through my head, which is why I was wondering if it would be possible to borrow your car?”

  “To go where, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “The reservoir. I could use a run.”

  “Of course. But can I have your father’s phone number?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why do you want his number?”

  “Because I would like to talk to him.”

  “I told you, I can’t go live there now with—”

  “It’s not about you. It’s about me, sweetie.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Can you just write the number down and leave it on the kitchen counter for me, please?”

  “Promise you won’t tell him about the whole Hunter situation.”

  “Go run,” I say, and start looking for some tarp.

  I unfold the garment box I bought from one of those storage places, use the Shop-Vac to blow accumulated dust off the stool, and put it inside the small opening that allows me to slip inside. I put on a mask and goggles and stand there like a prisoner looking at the stool. I can’t paint. It feels so unimportant right now. Ludicrous. It also feels like a waste of time, because what am I going to do with this stupid stool if and when I ever finish painting it? I cover it with a beige drop cloth and back out of the cardboard entrance.

  As I head back inside, the garage wall phone rings, so I reach over to answer it.

  “Hello, Georgia,” a gravelly voice that sounds like Percy’s says, immediately followed by an avalanche of coughs.

  When he manages to stop, I say, “Percy, you sound horrible. Why’re you calling me if you’re sick?”

  “I apologize for coughing your ear off and for not being in touch sooner, but I’ve had bronchitis the last couple of weeks. It’s just this stupid cough that takes forever to clear up, but I’m talking to a doctor. So anyway, how are you, Georgia?”

  “I’m fine, Percy. And I’m sorry you’re sick. Bronchitis is nothing to fool with, so you can take me off your worry list if that’s what this call’s about.”

  “It is and it isn’t. We’ve run into a little problem. Not major. But minor. Would it be possible to meet next week so I can both explain and show you why we may have to delay our start date?”

  “How much of a delay?”

  “Up to a month.”

  “A whole month?”

  “I’m so sorry, Georgia, but it’s been one thing after another, and I assure you this is not my style.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I will be.”

  —

  I leave Frankie the car. Take BART to the office. Work is the same. New patients, old patients, but I’m nervous all day about what to expect when I get home. Lily’s fallen in love with another stranger online. Marina just shakes her head. It’s a good thing she still lives with her parents, or we’d worry about her safety. I feel sorry for her because she’s a dingbat when it comes to men, but she’s smart as hell when it comes to business. At forty-four she’s never
been married and doesn’t understand why.

  I haven’t mentioned anything to Lily about wanting to sell my part of the practice, because not only is there no rush, but I don’t have any idea how I’m going to make a living. Lily, who’s Filipino, comes from a family of doctors, and thanks to her parents, she’s a 60 percent partner to my 40. After my father passed away and left me a sizable inheritance, more than I ever expected, she and I quit the hospital where we were on staff and joined forces.

  During lunch I walk to Union Square and meet with a travel agent for real. I tell her why I want to take a train trip and that I’m not sure about the length of time—two, maybe three weeks tops—and that I would love to stop at a few points along the way, sightsee, and possibly stay overnight in a luxe hotel. I tell her I’m not exactly sure about the when either, and she tells me the rail schedules are fixed and not to worry. I tell her I’m interested in seeing as much beauty as possible, starting with the California coastline. I tell her Vancouver is on the top of my list, and even though I don’t exactly dream about Canada, it’s a breathtaking country and I would certainly dig ending up in Toronto and then hopping onto a plane to fly home. When she asks if I’ll be traveling alone and I tell her yes, instead of asking why, she gives me a high five.

  I float back to the office and am breezing through my afternoon appointments when Marina taps on my door and pokes her head in.

  “Some guy’s here to see you. Says he’s an old patient of yours and wanted to stop by and say hello.”

  “Did he tell you his name?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Put on some lipstick, Doc. He’s not too hard on the eyes for an older guy,” and she winks. “I’ll tell him you’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Before I get a chance to tell her to ask who it is, I put on a fresh coat of Raging Red, take my lab coat off, and hang it behind the door.

  I’m disappointed as hell when I see an older but still-handsome version of Niles looking at eyewear. He has on the black suit I remember buying him one Christmas. At least one of us can still fit into our old clothes. Marina, who always closes up the office, looks like she’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

  “It’s okay if you leave on time,” I say, showing off a fake smile that basically tells her I’m really hoping she stays. But she misses it and grabs her black purse and her black umbrella, since it’s now raining, and nods to Niles, says she’ll see me tomorrow, and leaves with an it’s-about-time smirk on her face.