Should Have Known Better

by Grace Octavia

  “I’m tired,” he said.

  “Tired?”

  “It’s been a long night. I need some sleep.” He readjusted himself in the bed a little.

  I backed up and looked at him and I’m almost sure my eyes were completely crossed in some odd puzzlement. Reginald and I didn’t have sex often, but the once in a while that we did, never once had he turned me down. Well . . . not twice.

  “You sure?” I asked and I wasn’t clear about how exactly crazy that sounded until Reginald turned to look at me.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” he said and then he turned back to his side of the bed. “Oh,” he started after a pause. “Sasha’s here. We’re going to Phil Landon’s in the morning.”

  “What?” I shot up again. “Sasha’s where?”

  “She’s here. We’re going to Phil Landon’s tomorrow. You know, the car dealer.”

  “I know who Phil Landon is,” I said. “But that’s not what I asked. Why is she here? You were supposed to drop her off in Atlanta. That’s the whole reason you went to her house.”

  “Damn, Dawn, you make it sound like you don’t like the woman or something,” Reginald said, turning back around annoyed. “Look, she knows Landon and she thinks he might have some work for me. That’s all. She’s hooking me up. Getting a contract like that would be amazing. Landon has ten dealerships and they all have grass. Big money. You could finally quit your job.”

  “I don’t want to quit my job,” I said.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little late to be arguing about this?”

  “Late?” I got out of the bed and put on my bathrobe.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You bring a woman into my house in the middle of the night and you expect me to be OK with it? No.”

  “She’s not just some woman. She’s your friend.”

  “Well, she should’ve asked me first,” I said, putting on my slippers. “You should’ve asked me first.”

  “Sasha,” I called sternly, pushing into the guest room without a care of what naked or ridiculous red-light scene waited inside. I was irritated beyond anything I could articulate. “Why are you—”

  “Hey, baby,” she called from the bed. She was sitting up, looking at a photo album I recognized immediately. It was Cheyenne and R. J.’s baby album. I hadn’t seen it in months. “You still up?”

  “Yeah,” I answered and already my disposition was softened by what I saw. “Reginald just told me that you were here and I wanted to know—where’d you get that?”

  The room was dimly lit by a lamp beside the bed. A single candle was burning on the dresser.

  “It was under Cheyenne’s pillow,” she said. “I went in a minute ago to put a little stuffed Hawk I got for her at the game on her dresser. I went to give her a goodnight kiss and there it was.”

  “That book was in Cheyenne’s room?”

  “Yeah. Come have a look.” She patted on a space beside her in the bed.

  “Sasha, I came in here to ask you why you—”

  “Girl, you better come over here,” she said, stopping me. “Look at you”—she pointed to one of the pictures and smiled—“you looked so beautiful.”

  My shoulders fell a little as my purpose for confronting Sasha waned. I could see my full, pregnant stomach poking out over the cover.

  I went over to the bed and sat on the edge a few reluctant inches from where Sasha had suggested I sit.

  She turned the book to me. Cheyenne and R. J. were bundled up in a single bassinet at the hospital. Cheyenne’s eyes were still closed. R. J.’s little hand was wide open and over his mouth.

  “She didn’t open her eyes for the whole first day,” I said. “I asked the nurses if something was wrong and they said sometimes it just takes time. R. J. didn’t cry. Not once.”

  “They have to be the cutest things I’ve ever seen,” Sasha said. “You’re so blessed.” She handed the book to me and I flipped through some of the pages. Reginald holding R. J. up in a little Falcons jersey that hardly hung onto his shoulders. Cheyenne dressed up like an elf for their first Christmas. She slept the entire day.

  “When did you find out about R. J.?” Sasha asked. “You know, about the autism. I’ve always wanted to ask, but I didn’t want you to think—”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “You’d be surprised how many people never ask. Never ask me anything about him or it. They try to pretend he’s not there. Or not different. He is.” I leaned back against the wooden headboard and told Sasha about R. J. and his autism. I told her about my nights of crying. About how sometimes R. J.’s silence could kill me. And how other times when he said just three words together and looked me in the eyes, I felt like it was all worth it.

  “It must be hard,” she said, “dealing with everything.”

  “R. J.’s autism isn’t as hard as people dealing with R. J.’s autism. The looks. The comments. One day I was in the grocery store, trying to check out, and R. J. was having a meltdown. He was just hollering for his father and then Skittles, and then whatever else he could get his hands on. He was three, but so strong, and I couldn’t keep him calm. Cheyenne was standing there, holding on to the cart, watching. I kept trying to keep him still and soon a crowd was watching. They were looking at us like he was some out of control toddler and I was a bad mother. One man said, ‘Get it together, lady. Control your child.’ ” I wiped a tear from my eye and closed the book. “I felt Cheyenne disappear. She was so embarrassed. I wanted to do the same, but I had to be there. I had to fix it. And the thing about R. J. is that he can feel when I’m upset and it just makes things worse.”

  “You don’t go out much anymore, huh?” Sasha asked.

  “No. We can’t. I can’t.”

  “Whew, child,” she said, wiping her own fresh tear. “I don’t know about you, but I need a glass of wine.”

  She rolled over and got out of the bed.

  “Wine? It’s almost four in the morning.”

  “And?”

  I was sleep-deprived. I was hungover. I was annoyed. I was eager to prove that I was none of these things. So, just three hours after I drank two bottles of wine with Sasha in her bedroom and cried so hard my eyes were as puffy as poached eggs, I sat at the breakfast table and stuffed three whole banana honey pancakes into my mouth. I listened to Reginald and Sasha go on about the Hawks game and Joe Johnson, and the play-offs and how cute it was to see R. J. cheering in the crowd with the other little boys. He even danced at the game. He got up on a chair and did the wave. Reginald couldn’t stop laughing. R. J. wouldn’t reenact the scene, so Reginald got up to demonstrate. Cheyenne held her little Hawk in her arms and smiled at her father. He’d gotten Joe Johnson to autograph a T-shirt. She’d stashed it in her book bag to take it to school.

  I kept repeating how wonderful all of this was—it was all I could say without each of my symptoms being read by everyone at the table. But inside I was at war. I hated how I was feeling and I hated everyone for me feeling that way. And I can’t explain how each of them became a part of that war in my mind, but I guess that was because I couldn’t say what the war was. Was it about Sasha? Was it about Cheyenne? Was it about Reginald? Or R. J.? What was it? Or was there anything? Did I just need to go back to bed? Or did I need to get out of that house?

  Sasha had just finished telling a joke about a penguin named Topsie who could juggle. She dropped another pancake onto my plate. I thanked her with a pleasant smile.

  “Wonderful,” I said.

  “These are so good, Auntie Sasha,” Cheyenne said, finishing her pancake.

  “Thank you, baby girl,” Sasha purred, reaching across the table to pinch Cheyenne’s cheek and revealing a completely muscular and mysteriously tanned arm.

  I rolled my eyes, but quickly changed my face to a smile when I saw Reginald looking at me.

  “Yeah, it is,” Reginald added firmly to spite me. “I would never have thought that honey would taste good on pancakes. It’s amazing. Isn’t it, Dawn?” He set his eyes on me
the way I looked at Cheyenne when she wasn’t behaving quite appropriately.

  “Yeah, it is,” I said. “Wonderful.”

  “Well, there’s a secret ingredient,” Sasha teased, batting her fake eyelashes at Reginald.

  I peeked over at the microwave. 7:05 a.m. How early did Sasha have to wake up to make all of this? There was no way. She had just as much wine as I and when my alarm went off, I pressed snooze three times. I had no time to shower and skipped R. J.’s reading time only to walk out of the bedroom to find out that Sasha had read Goodnight Moon and prepared breakfast. She was dressed, in full makeup, and had the kids’ lunches prepared.

  “Can Mama get your secret?” R. J. asked.

  “Sure.” Sasha grinned at me. “I’d be happy to share the secret recipe with my soror.”

  “Thanks,” I said humbly.

  R. J. had a fork with a huge, rectangular piece of pancake hanging from it. Honey rolled off of its edges.

  “No more, R. J.,” I said. “That’s enough.”

  R. J. continued to move the fork toward his mouth.

  “You’ve had enough,” I repeated. “There’s a lot of sugar in that.”

  “Actually, honey is all natural, so it’s OK,” Sasha offered.

  I kept my eyes on R. J. and repeated myself again.

  He froze with the fork in his hand.

  “Oh, Dawn, let him have it,” Reginald said, stepping into the standoff. “He needs energy. The boy has a big day at school today. Don’t you, son?”

  R. J. was still frozen, but his eyes shifted from me to Reginald like a pendulum. He looked down, smiled at the last bit of food, and stuffed it quickly and barbarically into his mouth.

  “Absolutely not!” I grabbed the plate from in front of him and slung it so hard, it nearly fell off of the table. “That is not how we behave at the table.” I pointed a rigid finger at R. J. “You will apologize!”

  R. J.’s eyes were locked on the empty space where his plate had been.

  My eyes were locked on him. And I remember that I was feeling like I should stop myself. That this was too much to put him through before school. That I was overreacting. But then I was thinking I was right. And he had to learn this. He couldn’t just behave however he wanted to and expect people to pick up the pieces and act like nothing was happening.

  “Oh, he doesn’t have to apologize to me,” Sasha said. “What about you guys?”

  “Mind your business,” I shot back.

  “Mama, can I go get—”

  “Be quiet.” I stopped Cheyenne from leaving the table.

  In the silence, R. J. got up from his seat.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Leave him alone, Dawn. Let him go,” Reginald said.

  “What do you know about letting him go?” I asked, turning to Reginald. “He can’t have too much sugar. You know that. It’ll make him hyper and then he’s more likely to have a seizure or a meltdown.” I was nearly screaming at Reginald when I saw his eyes widen on R. J.’s seat.

  I turned.

  R. J. was standing on it.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. He’d never done that before.

  “Son, get off of the seat,” Reginald called sternly.

  R. J. just stood there gazing at the cheap light fixture over the table.

  “I told you he couldn’t have too much of that honey,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Sasha said.

  “Not you,” I said. I looked back at R. J. “I’m not going to beg you to get off of that seat. You get down right now!”

  “We’re going to be late to school,” Cheyenne said almost so softly you might not have heard her. “I have to take my T-shirt—Joe Johnson signed it.”

  “Get off of the chair.” Reginald got up from his seat and reached for R. J.

  “Don’t pull him down,” I said to him. “We have to talk him down.”

  “Talk him down?” Reginald held out a hand to R. J. “Do you see this? Do you see this? What is he doing?”

  “I told you!” I said.

  “Son, get down from the table,” Reginald insisted.

  R. J. folded his arms over his chest.

  “Are you saying I don’t know how to take care of him? That I’m doing something wrong?” I asked.

  “He didn’t say that,” Sasha said.

  “Because I don’t recall you ever offering any advice. Any kind of solution.”

  “Boy!” Reginald raised his voice and it shot through my spine. “You get off of that chair or I’m going to take you down myself!”

  “Don’t scream at him,” I said.

  Cheyenne got up and ran from the table.

  “He’s tired from last night. You had him up all night riding around Atlanta,” I said. “You knew he had school today. That was too much.”

  “Means Drive,” R. J. said mechanically. Reginald and I stopped talking and looked at him. He covered his ears and said louder, “Means Drive. 255. 255 Means Drive.”

  “Shit,” Reginald spat.

  “255 Means Drive. 255 Means Drive!”

  “I’m not dealing with this crap this morning.” Reginald grabbed R. J. from the seat at the middle of his body like he was a toddler and pulled him to the floor.

  “What was that in there?” I asked, nearly charging through Reginald in our bedroom after we’d gotten R. J. calm.

  Sasha was in the living room returning some calls she’d written down on a long sheet of paper. Reginald and I were darting around in the bedroom, getting ready to leave the house. I told the twins to wait in their rooms until I was ready to drive them to school.

  “You tell me what happened in there,” Reginald suggested snidely as he pulled a tie from the closet.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “You know we don’t handle him that way.”

  “We? What we?” he chuckled uneasily. “That’s not how you were sounding. You told me what to do and then you did what you wanted to do. There was no we.”

  “He could’ve had a seizure,” I said, sliding on my old penny loafers.

  “He didn’t.”

  “How do you keep snapping at me when you know I’m right?” I pleaded. “When you know he can’t have all of that sugar and he was up late last night? He can’t go to school like—”

  “God damn! Give it up. He was fine before you started acting all crazy.” Reginald pulled the tie in place beneath the collar of his shirt and stood there as if I was supposed to come and tie it, but I walked right past him and closed the closet door. “The boy was fine. And then when you got angry, he got angry.” He grunted and started tying the tie himself.

  “This isn’t about me. It’s about you not listening to me,” I said. “I told you it was too much sugar and you were so busy being so nice to Sasha that you didn’t—”

  “Sasha? Are you serious? Are you back on that again?” He dropped the ends of the loose tie and grabbed my arm as I tried to walk past him. “You’re acting like you’re jealous of her. I told you this would happen.”

  “I am not jealous.”

  “Please, every five minutes you act like she’s stealing your thunder just because she made some damn pancakes or told a joke. That’s not acting jealous?”

  “Well, what about how you’re acting?” I lowered my voice. “You brought her back into this house without even asking me. Was that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “I told you what that was about. I told you she said she would help me. That’s all it is.”

  “You didn’t even touch me last night.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t want to have sex with me!”

  “I’m not talking about this.” He pulled off the tie and threw it onto the floor. “Where’s my blue tie?”

  “I know she’s beautiful,” I said, following close behind Reginald as he went to the closet. “I see you looking at her. She calls you Reggie.”

  “Who cares what she calls me?”
he said like it was the most ridiculous concern in the world. “I’m not talking about this.” He pulled the closet door open.

  “Even in college . . . men always looked at her,” I said.

  “Here it is!” Reginald pulled the blue tie from the closet and put it around his neck. “Look, I’m not talking about this. I told you why she’s here. She’s taking me down to Landon’s. That’s it. She’s your friend. You told me to be nice to her.”

  “You keep saying that,” I said.

  “Because it keeps being true!” Reginald walked to the mirror hanging behind our bathroom door and started following his reflection as he adjusted the tie. “Look, if you’re that worried—and I don’t know why—why don’t you come with us?”

  “I have to go to work,” I said, unconsciously picking the other tie up off of the floor and flinging it onto the bed. “I have to take the kids to school.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t have to go to work if you’d—”

  “I’m not quitting my job.” I went and stood behind him in the mirror.

  “—if you’d call in sick,” he said, looking at me through the mirror. “And stop cutting me off.”

  “I can’t call in sick. You know I use those days in case something goes wrong with R. J.”

  “Well, what about when something’s going right with me?”

  “Don’t make this about you.” I went to the dresser to get my work ID badge.

  “Just a minute ago it was,” Reginald said, turning around with his tie still undone. “Just come if it will ease your mind. Maybe you can help or something. Sasha could show you how to network . . . you know, talk to people.”

  “I talk to people all of the time. It’s my job!”

  “I mean in business. I didn’t mean it the way you’re saying. Why do you keep changing my words? You do realize that you’re being sensitive about everything everyone says?”

  “I’m not changing your words. And I’m not being sensitive.”

  “Fine,” he said, coming toward me. “Look, can you tie this?”