by Cydney Rax
“Kashmire Andrews?”
“That’s it. I knew it was something unusual sounding. She was his last torrid romance before he and I hooked up.” I wait a minute and concentrate on driving. “Vette, you haven’t said anything…”
“I’m trying to remember,” she mumbles.
“Oh, don’t give me that. They were so long ago. It’s not like I can do anything with that info today.”
“Exactly.”
“Why are you being protective of Neil all of a sudden?” I wish I didn’t feel so resentful. I know so much about Neil already, why can’t I know a little more? Maybe it will help me to understand him better.
“Okay, okay. Let me think of something I can tell you. I was young when he knew Kashmire, but from what I remember he was obsessed with her body.”
I giggle but still feel uneasy.
“He would stare her down, which is really annoying, but I think Kashmire liked the attention—it flattered her. And I saw some old photos—she used to be a little heavy but apparently went on a super health kick and got in shape. Hired a personal trainer. Drank lots of juices, water, became a vegan. So Neil met her when she was slim and trim, and everything fell in the right places.”
“So what happened?” I ask. “Something always happens.”
“Neil said she wasn’t marriage material. I think she had rotten credit and couldn’t even qualify to buy a VCR.”
“Stop lying, Vette.”
“Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but there was something about her that turned him off, something that took his eyes off Kashmire’s body and made him notice the other characteristics he didn’t notice before. I believe he called it off. Said she grew depressed, of course, but eventually she let it go.”
“Hmmm…I wonder if I should be happy or scared?”
“Now, one thing I can say about Neil is he isn’t the most unstable man I’ve ever seen. He’s consistent, not acting like Jekyll and Hyde from one day to the next.”
“Is that what you think? Easy for you to say.”
“Well, you know what he does moment by moment better than me. I ain’t checking him out that tough, but I just tossed that out to you. You can do what you want with it.”
“One thing I know is this situation can’t go on forever. I’ll bet my life that it won’t,” I say in a measured voice.
“But what if it does?”
“There is no but, Vette, I’m telling you. Men get tired eventually. I am just hoping he’ll get tired before I do.”
“Now, that doesn’t sound like a proactive attitude.”
“Oh, you think it sounds passive, huh? Well, it’s not.”
“I’m just saying that most wives aren’t like you.”
“Oh, really?” I say, insulted. “Well, as far as I know, there is no universal textbook that instructs wives about how to feel or react in every situation. And whether I’m married, single, or whatever, one hundred percent of women will never feel exactly the same about a situation.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Let me finish, Vette, since you started this. You claim most wives aren’t like me—most people don’t think alike, let alone wives. Example: One mother stops breast-feeding her kid when he turns one, another keeps breast-feeding her son even though he’s thirteen. The point is no two people think alike, period, Vette. And guess what? Everybody still assumes they’re right. So with my situation I’m doing what feels right—for me.”
“Anya, but the things you put up with lets me know Neil’s got you all cubed in.”
Her remark makes me think she’s not listening. And I almost regret having told her certain things.
“Like I said before, Vette, you just don’t understand. Women like you, women who don’t have a man, are always quick to give advice. So it’s easy for you to judge me because it’s not your heart that’s in the middle of things.”
“Okay, then, if that’s the case, why even tell people your problems, and ask someone else’s opinion? You’re still gonna do whatever you—”
“Because, Vette,” I say loudly, “women have to talk about our drama or else we’ll go crazy. So even if we get awful advice from no-man-having girlfriends, we feel like we’re sharing the pain. We need someone to shed a little light, even if the ‘light’ isn’t any more far-reaching than a flashlight.”
Vette laughs. “Oh jeez, great, thanks for letting me know all this. I mean, woo, where would I be without your life-altering wisdom?”
I smile and swat her and my frustration subsides.
“You know what I’m thinking about doing?” I say.
“What’s that?”
“What if I enroll in whore college? See if I can get over like some of these women out here are doing. Oh yes, go to college and earn a Ph.D. in whoreology. I can even do an internship—”
“Mommy, you going to college? I wanna go. Can y’all speak up? I can’t hear you.”
For an embarrassing minute, I’ve forgotten my daughter’s in the car. Mortified, I exchange a look with Vette, then yell, “Hush, Reesy! Don’t talk. Keep singing, okay?” I smile at my daughter. “I’d rather hear you sing.”
“Okay, Mommy.” And she starts to belt out a Christina Aguilera song.
I laugh, thinking about how accepting kids can be. They possess boundless energy and are quick to believe something just because they’re told it’s so. I wish I could be childlike sometimes—to believe elephants can fly, and all that jazz. And if I continue hoping that my marriage will survive all its challenges, then faith will be worth holding on to. But I’m not always naive; I’ve lived long enough to know that hope can make a fool out of you. You can wish for something your entire life, and it never materializes. I don’t want that to happen. Instead I plan to make a fool out of hope. I want to prove that my hope isn’t in vain, and that every crooked thing in life has a way of righting itself.
“Hi,” I say to my husband.
“Hey.”
Us females march into the house chuckling. We glance at Neil, who has Brax sitting on top of the kitchen table in his infant seat. Neil is shoving a spoon toward Braxton’s mouth, making loud engine noises and gliding the utensil up and down like it’s an airplane. Brax is grinning up at his dad like he’s the most adorable thing on earth.
Even though I question my judgment, I walk up to Neil and softly squeeze his cheek.
“Thanks,” he tells me. “Thanks for keeping the front door unlocked for us. I appreciate that.”
“Well, I just wanted to get your attention, Neil. But I see you have better things to do, so we’ll talk later, okay?” I don’t give him a chance to reply. I run up the stairs and am gasping for breath once I reach the top. I enter my bedroom, eager to know if things still look the same. I swing open the door. Everything’s the way I left it. I feel relieved knowing you can never predict how someone will respond when they’re frustrated.
What would’ve happened if Neil came home when I was changing the locks? Would it have caused an ugly scene? Would we have screamed with bitterness and cursed each other out? Would Reesy have caught us fighting and started crying, too?
I watched my parents argue and fight countless times when I was a kid. I never wanted to be like them, acting out in front of neighbors. My mom would chase my dad around the front yard, pink sponge rollers bouncing loosely in her hair. She would scream like she was doused with scalding-hot water while Dad struggled to hold her off. She’d aim a firearm at him and I’d see my father stone-faced, daring her to do it. Trembling, Mom would put away the gun, curse at Dad, and threaten to throw him out. She’d change the locks on the door, declare she was through. But five days later she’d hand my father a new set of keys. And like many women of her era, my mom put up with his ways until he became bedridden and died a slow, agonizing death. Watching Mom, I vowed to never do foolish things on account of a man. But it’s incredible how circumstances can cause you to repeat everything you’ve seen and hated. It’s learned behavior—something I wish I didn’t know,
but can’t deny knowing because at that point it might be all I know.
Sunday evening, the temperature is pleasant, so Neil and I agree to meet in the backyard. We sit across from each other at the steel picnic table and gaze directly at each other no matter how awkward it feels. When I get tired of looking, I sip on a glass of lemonade, then clear my throat.
“What’s up, Neil? One day you’re swearing you want to make things up to me, next day you’re back over there.”
“Well, if you didn’t act the way you do, maybe I wouldn’t do what I do.”
“So this is my fault?”
Neil just stares at me.
“I’ll let you in on something,” I tell him. “To me your having Dani’s key signifies an open-door policy. First it’s the key, then it’s pajama parties, or splitting a bill, then you two could be staying together. Is that the road you’re planning to walk?”
“No,” he claims.
“No?”
Neil nods real slow, like I ought to be ashamed for asking.
“You don’t have anything to add to that?” I ask.
Neil shakes his head.
“You don’t even want to say if you understand where I’m coming from?”
“Well, Anya, I don’t understand, yet I do. You’re looking at this way more deeply than you should.”
I bare my teeth and want to bite my fingernails. Men are so hard to understand that it creates an enormous gap between the genders. My stuff is like A, B, C, a five-year-old should be able to understand. But with men giving hints isn’t enough, and sometimes being a straight shooter doesn’t help, either. It’s like no matter how many angles you describe, sometimes they still don’t get it.
“Neil, you have a mom, a sister, other females in your family. Haven’t you ever listened to their woes about relationships, the stuff they go through with men? Do you ever sympathize with what they tell you?”
“Sometimes. It’s still different, Anya, because I’m not those guys. I’m me. And you’re gonna react the way you do because you don’t know the entire story. This whole weekend…totally unnecessary. All over a key? I didn’t ask for the key.”
“What difference does that make?”
“No, nooo, listen, Anya. Dani is thinking about what’s most important to her. Now, sometimes that eclipses what’s important to you.”
“And so, I mean, what about you? What do you want, what is important to—”
“Everything most important to me clashes big-time. That’s where my head is now, what I’m trying to reconcile. It’s not about me trying to run and be with her. It’s all about Braxton, in case you’ve forgotten. His birth has changed everything. I wonder what he’s doing right now.”
“Oh, don’t worry about Braxton. He’s upstairs either sleeping or sitting on Reesy’s lap.”
Neil stands up. “I hope she doesn’t drop him.”
“Have a seat. She’s not going to hurt that boy.”
“Y–you don’t like him, do you?”
“What? Why are—That has nothing to do with anything.”
“You pretend like you care about him, but I’m not sure I buy it.”
“Well, Neil, let me ask this. If I was still married to you and got pregnant by a neighbor, and brought the baby home, told you this is a new addition to the family, would you be in love with that child?”
Neil downs the remainder of his lemonade and pushes the glass toward me.
“Just as I thought,” I say with firmness. “Maybe for once you’ll understand how it feels to be me, because up till now very little has shown me you do.”
“Anya, do you know how split I am? I–I feel like I have to be in two places at one time. I want to be here with you and Reese, but I want to go over there and see Brax, too.”
“I’ve never seen any father spend as much time with their other kids as you do. I just don’t think it’s all that necessary. I mean, if you skipped a few days, you think this baby would notice?”
Neil’s eyes flicker with coldness and he stares till I break eye contact.
“Neil, may I propose something? What if I go over there and pick up Braxton and bring him back here each time you want to see him? You and Dani would have no contact, except over the phone.”
“Hello? She works with me.”
“I know, but I’m not exactly worried about that. What can you do while you’re at work, anyway? I doubt you’d screw her on the desk.” I laugh, hoping he’ll laugh, too. When he grins, I don’t feel much better. I’ve heard of women who go up to their hubby’s job his first week of work, then go around introducing themselves to all the women, getting in their face, making themselves known. I’ve never done that. Besides, you can go up to the man’s office, walk all around the building thinking you’ve met each and every temptation in the joint, and there’s always one you don’t find out about until after the divorce papers are final.
“Give me that key, Neil.”
Neil makes a face but ends up handing me the key.
I am perched on the edge of Dani’s love seat, watching Dani, who’s sitting on her living-room floor changing Brax’s clothes.
“I spilled some grape juice on him ” she explains, “and I can’t have him going out the house looking like any old thing.”
She doesn’t have to give me all those details. I just want to grab the kid, his diaper bag, a teddy bear, and get out of there. I feel proud of myself for sticking to my end of the deal—pick Brax up from Dani at two o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, and resist saying anything too sarcastic.
Reesy is singing and hopping on one foot.
“Sit down, girl,” I fuss. “I told you twice already.”
“I wanna stay here, Mommy. I don’t wanna go home.”
I clear my throat. “That’s an idea…Dani, while you run and do whatever, Reesy and I can hang out here. Brax doesn’t even have to go out. I know you couldn’t be gone for more than a few hours.”
“Say what? I’m not down with that. I–I…”
“You what? I don’t mind doing it.”
“That’s what I have Audrey for,” she explains.
“The Audrey you talk about like a dog behind her back?”
Dani smirks and continues stuffing Brax’s bag. “Just take him back to your place and I’ll pick him up when I’m done. Plus, doesn’t Neil want to see him? I thought this whole idea was really about Neil, or have things changed?”
I stare, trying to bore an intense hole in the side of Dani’s face. She picks up her child and straps him in his car seat. “You know, Anya, I do realize the sacrifice you’re making. If you do this for me, I’ll be your friend forever.”
“That’s okay.” I shiver. “With friends like you…”
Dani laughs heartily and finally looks at me. “Don’t say it. I’m not a bad person. You just don’t understand me. You haven’t given me a chance.”
“I think I’ve given you more chances than is reasonable.”
“Well…” She pauses and stares at Braxton. “If that’s the case, why do you do it? If cooperating isn’t what you sincerely want, why—”
I stand up. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ll give you chance after chance, but it doesn’t mean I’ll let you run over me. You don’t want to see what could happen if you try to do that. All I ask is that you respect me and I’ll respect you. I know I can do that much.”
“Hmm, I get ’cha. Nothing wrong with that.” Dani sighs, yet she looks so relaxed, like nothing is a big biggie for her. I’ve always wondered about people like that. Are they assets to society or perpetually dangerous and us normal folk should take a hint and run for the hills?
“One more thing,” I tell Dani, and grab Braxton’s diaper bag. “Not that you’ve asked, but I think you really need to get out more. Hey, if you call me on a Thursday night and say you’re going out to party, I wouldn’t mind watching Brax for you. There are lots of popular clubs out there, and I’m sure—”
“Look, I hear what you’re saying, but I have
n’t really thought about all of that lately. My life is work and Brax, work and Brax.” She bites her bottom lip. “To be honest, not too many guys have been taking serious looks at me. I mean, they talk noise a lot but I’m not hearing it. I don’t have time for casual relationships. Next time I do something, it’s gonna be serious. And right now I just can’t see that happening.”
I’ve never thought about how Dani might want to be with someone else but just doesn’t have any solid prospects. I guess she’s in that dilemma—the one where a woman becomes a single parent and gets more selective about who she dates and lets her kids be around. It’s sickeningly amazing how women acquire so many new values once kids are thrown in the mix.
“You know what, Dani? Having a kid doesn’t automatically make men any better or any worse. Men, are men period. You’ll attract the same types whether you have one, two, or zero children.”
“Don’t say that,” she says, sounding alarmed.
“Well, you won’t know this unless you go and see for yourself.”
“I’m not doing that. Whoever I’m meant to be with is gonna have to find me. I’m not going to go search for him. I have an awful track record when I try and choose a guy. My jerk radar is way off at times.” She laughs. “Does Neil have any brothers or male cousins?”
“Even if he did, none of them would be Neil, now, would they?”
Open-mouthed, Dani watches while the kids and I quietly leave her apartment.
18
* * *
Neil
I am standing on the sidewalk in front of my house waving to Anya. She’s backing out the driveway in the SUV. It’s packed with suitcases, a makeup bag, an orange cooler filled with waters, sodas, sandwiches, and fresh fruit.
“Why you got that messed-up look on your face?” Vette is standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. She’s smirking.
“I don’t have a messed-up look on my face,” I tell her.
“How would you even know? You can’t see what I see, Neil.”
