My Husband's Girlfriend

by Cydney Rax

  She giggles and we head out of Foley’s and back into the noisy mall filled with babies screeching and waving their arms. A couple with matching T-shirts and jeans pass by. I avert my eyes whenever I see a man and woman walking close together and pushing a newborn in a baby buggy. It hurts too much to look.

  “Speaking of God,” Vette finally responds.

  “Vette, let’s not go there. Not today.”

  “You kill me, Anya. I mean, you don’t feel like doing this, don’t wanna talk about that. Is there anything you want to do?”

  I am walking but I can no longer see where I’m going. Blurry vision. Watery path. I wish I had a tissue in my purse. But I don’t. So the big, fat tears have nowhere else to flow except down my cheeks till they reach my chin.

  “Hello? I’m talking to you.”

  I turn away from her. We’ve stopped outside a Deck the Walls store. A huge Thomas Kinkade print is displayed in the window. I am mesmerized by his artistry: all the rich colors, the emphasis on light, brightness, and images of peacefulness. Looking at his illustrations always gives me the feeling of being transported. But even though looking at the print comforts me, something just doesn’t feel right. I raise my hand to my face and let my skin absorb the wetness.

  “You all right?”

  “No,” I tell Vette. “But I will be.”

  I start walking. I hear her groan at my back. Soon she’s at my side.

  “Anya, I heard you and Neil going at it last night. When he came up to your room…”

  “Yeah, well, sorry about that. He called me on my cell from down in the library. I refused to come see him, so he walked up those stairs to see me.”

  “What happened?”

  “He swears that he’s ending his relationship with the woman, that if he goes over to her apartment, it’s only so he can see his son. And every time he gets excited about visiting the baby, I feel a pang from—”

  “You wish that Dani’s baby was yours?” Vette says quietly.

  “I can’t help but think that could be us welcoming our newborn, Vette. If I hadn’t lost our child…our kids.” My voice tapers off and I’m instantly back in the past, reliving the butcher-sharp violence that ripped my womb, the pain that stole away our babies, that robbed our future.

  “I’ve never been pregnant, so…” Vette says with a sweet smile.

  “You do get attached, is all I can say. Even if the embryo is a few weeks old, or when you’re in the first trimester, you still talk to your womb, notice the fetal movement, think that you’re carrying a human, which brings me to this,” I say with my voice more firm. “I’m assuming that Neil is so grateful to have another chance at fatherhood that he isn’t concerned about the Dani part. He just cares that Brax is here, that her pregnancy was full-term. Maybe Neil is scared something bad will happen again if he isn’t there for the baby.”

  “Anya, I–I can kind of understand my brother wanting to care for his son.”

  “But it still feels weird, Vette. I mean, our family has been totally redefined.”

  Vette leers at me like even so, I ought to let it go, that a father’s love is more powerful than what I can comprehend.

  I ache inside, feeling happy for Neil yet selfish.

  “Mentally, you convince yourself you can do this, but psychologically…” My voice tapers off.

  “At least you’re being true to your feelings, Anya. Shoot, I’m just the auntie—I’m not in your shoes.”

  I nod at Vette, appreciating her understanding more than she knows.

  “And the Reesy factor is another thing,” I pipe up. “She notices the bags of little toys that Neil leaves in his car. She’s not dumb. She knows she’s too big for those rattles and those soft blocks with A, B, C on them. So she starts asking questions, and right now we haven’t really told her anything. I don’t want her to be confused.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Vette says.

  “I don’t plan on doing anything. Let Neil handle it. I don’t feel it’s right to lie to our daughter, or drag her into this situation.”

  “Hmmm, well, I’ll tell her, then.”

  I actually crack a smile.

  “What will you tell her, Vette?”

  “I’ll tell her that her daddy’s been a bad, bad man.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true,” she insists.

  “Listen up. One thing that would be wrong is to hurt two little kids in the process. So whether I agree or understand it, I know Neil is going to go over there and bond with his baby. As much as I dislike it, how can I interfere with that relationship?”

  “Well, all righty, then.” Vette sounds done with the subject. But I hope she never gets tired of talking me through things even if it hurts to discuss them.

  I pause.

  “Did I ever tell you the story about Reesy? Have you noticed that I call her Reesy and Neil calls her Reese?”

  “Yeah, I have noticed but didn’t think much about it.”

  “Neil named her Reese—he wanted a boy.”

  Vette stares at me and we exchange a knowing look for a long time.

  We’re in the car on our way to pick up Reesy. The day before, she asked to spend the night at my mother’s. My heart was heavy with guilt. In times past, I let her go over to my mother’s frequently, but shortly after what happened with Neil, when she’d beg to go see Grammy, the answer would be a red-faced no. Although both my mother and mother-in-law know about Neil’s child and don’t agree with what he’s done, they try not to constantly nag about it, figuring it’s mainly my job to stay on his case since I’m married to him and they aren’t, but still I’m embarrassed to be around them.

  Out of the blue, while we’re in the car Sharvette scowls and asks, “Why’d you marry my brother? He’s sooo freaky looking.”

  I giggle and respond, “I get what you’re saying. He’s freaky looking to you because he’s your brother—he’s supposed to be freaky looking.”

  Vette snickers, then I explain how, when we were engaged, Neil and I attended marriage counseling sessions along with three other couples. In the beginning, all the men and women openly proclaimed how jazzed they were about getting married, and how they were all in love.

  “One couple had been dating since middle school. She was two months pregnant and knew she’d be with Tony for the rest of her life, but she still wanted counseling so she could ‘make my mama happy.’

  “Another couple were staunch Christians, virgins, and there’s no way they’d make that move without clearing marital counseling. The third couple were the children of two prominent Houston families. Harvard Law School, prosecuting attorneys, folks rolling in dough, and everyone expected these two families to merge.

  “Then there was Neil and me. Neither of us wanted to be there, but as you know, Neil is a by-the-book type. He likes acing tests, is a finishing-an-entire-crossword-puzzle kind of guy, so we went.

  “Do you know that by the time the counseling sessions ended six weeks later, Neil and I were the only couple still engaged? The first five weeks were a breeze. We took little quizzes, did role reversals, fun stuff. But the last week, the marriage counselor told all the couples to ‘look closely at the person you’re about to marry. If he got into a car wreck and had twenty pieces of glass lodged in his cheeks, forehead, and lips, would you still want to be married to him? If your husband lost his job and could never regain employment, had to foreclose on your lovely home, and the car got repossessed, could you still love this broken man enough to stay with him? And guys, if your loving wife all of a sudden becomes depressed, stops eating, stops taking showers, refuses to comb her hair, and starts wandering the streets at two A.M. talking to herself, would you love her enough to stick with her through this crisis, or would you pack your bags and leave because you’re unwilling to be with someone who’s no longer the same person you married?”

  “Anya, those are some tough questions. I wouldn’t even know how to respond.”

 
“Vette, this counselor scared every one of us. I couldn’t even look Neil in his eyes. But I didn’t want to back out of a relationship with him based on fear. I was willing to give our relationship a try, go through the fire with him no matter how hot the fire was. He told me he wanted it, too. And because we both wanted the same thing, at the same time, on the same day, we felt ready to get married. And I’ve never forgotten that day, and that’s why I’m married to Neil even now.

  “I keep thinking this is why I suggested the arrangement to Neil. Maybe the arrangement would give us a guideline, or serve as a reminder of what we want and how we aim to get what we want. If we stick to the arrangement no matter what, we’d prove our commitment to each other.”

  “That sounds all fine and dandy,” Vette says, “but is marriage really worth it?”

  “Marriage has its problems, but as long as it’s under the proper conditions, I’d much rather be married than single.”

  “Why?” Vette says.

  “Why what?”

  “Answer the question, Anya.”

  I hook a left onto the freeway.

  “Sure,” I say. “When you’re single you don’t have to answer to anybody. You don’t have to merge finances, but…”

  “But what?”

  I can’t think of anything else to say except, “When you get to my age you’ll understand.”

  “I understand without having to be your age, Anya.”

  “Oh, Vette, you’ve been married before?”

  “Nooo, I know what I know. I know what I want and what I don’t want.”

  Sharvette has a fiery look in her eyes, almost like a bull—strong, determined, not feeling sorry for anything foolish enough to get in her way.

  “When it comes to relationships,” she continues, “I refuse to be taken for granted. I can’t stand it when someone loves me, loves me, loves me in front of my face, but hates me, hates me, hates me behind my back.”

  “Sounds like a story behind those words.”

  “There’s always a story, Anya.”

  “I’m listening,” I tell her.

  “See,” she continues, “a lot of guys think they’re slick. They know they have the upper hand in relationships. They know that if things go down badly, they can look two feet over, and there’s another prospect. That’s what trips me out.”

  “True, there are more available women than men, but I don’t think it’s that easy for guys, either, Vette. We’re conditioned that men can get anyone they want, and maybe that’s why they act so indifferent in relationships, but I’m starting to believe otherwise.”

  “Didn’t my brother go out and find this other lady right away?”

  “No.” I wince. “It’s not just about the numbers game. It’s about the fact that when things don’t work out, men are disappointed and hurt just like women. They get tired of going through the relationship wringer just like we do. And depression? You haven’t seen depression until you see some tall, rugged, masculine man lying in bed in the dark for days, not eating, he won’t talk, won’t come out the house. That’s depression.”

  “What? Where? When has a man ever been depressed?” She looks at me like I don’t know what I’m talking about.

  “It happens, Vette. You got to recognize the signs.”

  “Ain’t no signs.”

  “Okay, check this out. What about when a man realizes his girl doesn’t want him anymore? She’s found someone else and has kicked him to the curb. What’s the first thing he does?”

  “Get a replacement.”

  “Vette, some get a gun. Load it with bullets. They find the woman, confront her, and start shooting. They shoot to remove their pain, the hurt of rejection. And by the time it’s over, she’s on her way to the morgue, and he may blast a bullet in his own head. And two lives are lost over something that’s hardly ever worth it. That’s depression. That’s scary.”

  Vette gives me a concerned look.

  “So, Anya. You’d never go that route with Neil? I mean, he’s my brother and all but…”

  “You don’t even have to ask. I have a mouth that I don’t mind using. And that’s about the most violent I can see myself getting. No man is worth going to prison over. Not a one.”

  “Not Brian McKnight?” She grins.

  “Not even super-fine Brian McKnight.”

  Vette and I pick up Reesy from my mom’s, jump back in the car, and head home.

  “Did anybody call me?” my daughter yells to anyone who’ll listen.

  “I don’t know, silly,” Vette tells her. “We were at the mall, not at home, so how would we know?”

  “I’m talkin’ ’bout on the cell phone.”

  Vette just stares at me. I shake my head and wonder if it was my genes or Neil’s that make my daughter act this way.

  When we arrive at the house, I park in the driveway and notice my neighbors little Tamika Dobson and her mother, Riley. I wave hello to Riley as Vette and Reesy head into the house.

  “Hey, hon.” Riley waves. “How ya doing? How’s the hubby?”

  Riley always has a genuine smile and is one of the more friendly neighbors on Chatham Island Lane, a street on the southwest side of town. As usual, Riley looks hot. She’s the kind of woman men stop and stare at for as long as possible. Riley has googobs of cleavage and doesn’t mind showing it. Her wrists dangle with silver bracelets, and she loves to douse her entire body with tantalizing fragrances. Vette calls Riley Lil’ Kim behind her back.

  “How’s Jamal?” I ask. I hope she doesn’t notice I ignored her question about Neil.

  “Oh, hon, he’s tripping as usual.”

  “What he do?”

  “Umm, he snuck in another pair of pants, some of his nasty underwear, house slippers, and a DVD player, like I wouldn’t notice all his things lying around the house. And Jamal thinks I’m blind, but I know he’s taken over an entire dresser drawer.” She waves her arms back and forth. A half-dozen bracelets ring together like wind chimes.

  “Why don’t you just tell him to stop bringing his stuff over?”

  “I have, but he don’t listen to me. He’s coming in here all of a sudden trying to play Daddy to Mika. I’m like, ‘Cool, you wanna be down now, but you weren’t hanging around when I was living in that funky roach apartment on the southeast side.’ He just wants to be here ’cause it’s finally sunk in I can make it on my own, no ring on my finger, and without his last name attached. Now he attempts to block other men from being in my life. I tell him, ‘Look, Jamal Gibson, your name ain’t on the mortgage, so I can let any man over here I want.’”

  “Go, girl.” I snap my fingers. “And what he say to that?”

  “He tells me unless it’s my daddy, he’d bet not catch a man over here, acting like he don’t want our daughter to be around any and everybody.”

  “Well, that’s kind of admirable,” I tell her.

  “It’s not admirable, it’s sickening. That belief has never stopped Jamal from creeping around and being with a dozen other hoebags with all they kids by other men. It makes no sense to me, Anya. I’m about to kick his ass out.” She sounds serious, like she’s been contemplating this decision for a while.

  “Jamal has his own key?”

  Her eyes enlarge. “But I didn’t give it to him. He stole the dupe. And I thought I hid it good. Makes me so mad. He talkin’ ’bout he ain’t got no place to stay ’cause his baby brother getting married. That’s a damned lie. It’s just so wrong.”

  “Where is he right now?”

  “He probably be back soon with his horny ass, wanting to do a hit-and-run. I ain’t got time for these quickies he likes to pull. I’m telling you, Ms. Anya…”

  I sigh and rub Riley’s shoulder. I guess after so many group therapy sessions, she’s felt liberated when it comes to spreading her business. Even though she’s very attractive and seems pulled together regarding other areas of her life, I wonder how she can be so stupid about men. But like my mother says, stupidity is one of the few things that d
o not discriminate.

  I pat Riley’s shoulder again. “I feel you, girlfriend, believe me.”

  “See, that’s why I admire you and Neil. Y’all don’t go through all the BS. Your stuff is righteous, blessed, honorable.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I say, and avert my eyes.

  “I just wish Jamal had come correct and married me when I asked him, but nooo. He told me he loved me but wasn’t feeling the marriage thang. He wants the benefits of the legality without going through the legality. That’s why I had to do what I did. Fill out the papers, prequalify, and buy this house by myself and place our daughter in a better environment. I can’t wait on Jamal. I just hate that I told him our address. I hate that I told him.”

  She bites her bottom lip and I clasp my arms around her shoulders and squeeze. Hearing her woes makes me feel a little better. I can’t imagine being on my own raising a child, handling all the bills, assembling furniture, and playing Mommy and Daddy and everything else in between. So as odd as it sounds, I’m genuinely grateful for Neil. Glad he hasn’t abandoned us for his other family. Glad that even if he has to go over there, at least he comes back home when he’s done.

  “Neil, could you come here a minute?”

  He follows my voice. I am in the backyard. We have an enclosed patio that has a screen door that leads to a cobblestone path. If you follow the path all the way past the tall trees, you’ll end up at a wooden swing that Neil constructed with his own hands.

  I’m standing next to the steel-framed picnic table.

  “Anya, what’re you doing back here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  I hope my words make him feel warm and special.

  “What’s all this?” He points to a melamine platter that holds a pitcher of sweetened tea and tall glasses filled with ice cubes. There are also finger sandwiches, pickle spears, and small bags of Lay’s. Neil is major weak for anything salty; he’ll knock you over trying to get some potato chips.

  Neil rips open a bag and starts crunching on some sour-cream-and-onion-chips. I wink, then fill his glass with tea.

  “How was work?” I really don’t care, but he doesn’t have to know that.