FORTY-ONE
The Sweetness of Home
I make oatmeal for Liv, bacon and toast for Two, and an egg sandwich with cream cheese for Rory. Preston declines my offer to make him breakfast.
“Can I drive the kids to school?”
He nods.
We aren’t really talking to each other, just what’s necessary to navigate through the situation. After warming up his coffee, he slips upstairs. I can hear the shower running. The kids are seated at the table, rattling off all that I’ve missed.
“Mommy, guess what?” Rory has cream cheese in the corner of his mouth. “I stayed on the green for the entire week so today I get to pick from the surprise box.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m going to pick the red car. That’s what Jeremiah picked last week.”
“Good job, honey.” I rummage through the cabinets, looking for snacks to put into their lunch boxes. Once we are finished downstairs, we head up to wash faces and teeth, and get dressed.
“I’ll see you guys later.” Preston stands in the hallway and the children run to him for a hug.
“Have a nice day,” I call from the bathroom sink.
He mumbles his thanks, locks the gate, and trots down the stairs.
My phone vibrates from the back pocket of my jeans. I wonder if I worried Gran. When I look at my phone, it’s a New York number.
“Kids, go sit in your room and quietly read a book. Rory, take Liv.” I close the bathroom door.
“Hello?”
“Felicia?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, it’s Ashley calling from SEM&M. Sorry to call so early. I know you have children so I figured it would be fine.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good news. You booked the Johnson & Johnson commercial we sent you on a few weeks ago.”
“Wow. Really?” I pump my fist. “That’s incredible.”
“Congratulations. They’re working on the shoot date, but it may be in a week or so. I’ll e-mail you all of the contract information. Is your fax still the same?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I’ll be in touch with more when I have it. We are really excited for you. Johnson & Johnson have been looking for a repeat mom to appear in a string of commercials. Fingers crossed that you’ll be their girl.”
“Yes, that would be wonderful. I’m over the moon. Wow. Please keep me posted.”
I hang up and scream. The kids come running to the bathroom.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
I open the door. “I just booked a commercial.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m going to be on television.”
“Can I do it with you?” Two’s eyes widen with hope.
“We’ll see, honey. Let’s get going to camp.”
I grab Liv and usher the other two down the steps. Johnson & Johnson. That has to be a national. Commercials pay well, but a national is like hitting the jackpot. Ching-ching. A repeat series, nothing but net. Maybe my luck is about to change. I lock the front door. Then on the bottom of my steps it strikes me. I went on the audition before I cut my hair. Man, I hope that isn’t a problem. I scratch my scalp, knowing that it could be.
* * *
I drive through the neighborhoods as they change from tightly woven to the sprawling suburbs. When I pull in front of the red schoolhouse, Erica is standing on the curb with McCoy on her hip, saying something to a tearful Coltrane.
“Felicia. Girl, where have you been?” She looks me over. “Wow, love the hair.”
First compliment I’ve received since I chopped it.
“Thanks.” We do a side hug, since we are both clutching kids.
“You just dropped off the face of the earth,” she comments.
“It’s been crazy.”
Two clings to my free hand as we stand at the sign-in table. When the teacher reaches for Two and Rory, they both grab a leg and refuse to go.
I lean in and whisper, “I will be back to pick you up.”
“You promise?” Rory looks at me through his lashes.
“Pinky promise, with cherries on top and a squirt of whipped cream.”
“Oooh, can we have that when we get home?”
“We’ll see.”
I kiss Two’s cheek and she grabs her teacher’s hand and starts skipping down the driveway.
Erica is rocking McCoy on her hip, her red hair catching the sun. “You in a rush? Want to stop for coffee?”
“That sounds good.”
I strap Liv into her car seat and follow Erica’s SUV to the bagel shop on the avenue. After feeding our meters, we cross the street. The place is crowded, but we manage to order. I have an egg and cheese biscuit, Erica a BLT. We sit near the window facing the busy street, adjacent to the big fish tank. The colorful fish, aquarium beta flowers, and sunken treasure pirate ship will keep our babies entertained.
“So, how have you been?” I ask.
“Honey, we haven’t heard from you since Preston pulled you out of the Dames fund-raiser. I haven’t seen you at school. You don’t text back. And when I called the house some older woman kept answering. What, are you outsourcing?”
I manage a dry chuckle and my brain clicks over how much I should share with Erica. There is a difference between Mommy friends and real friends. I haven’t known Erica long enough to move her up a category, even though she is my favorite mother at the school. When I open my mouth, I struggle.
“Things are fine. I just had to go Philly and help my grandmother with a few things.”
Erica tilts her chin. “Is it serious? Your husband marched in with the thunder, girl.”
I hesitate. “Yeah … she’s fine. Preston tends to overreact sometimes.”
“So why were you gone so long?” she pushes. I swirl my stirrer around in my latte, feeling emotions well up that I want to keep down low.
“Well, I hadn’t been home for an extended period of time since college. It was a nice break.”
Erica looks me over, than turns away to feed McCoy a crust from her plate. “You were fine without the kids?”
“Preston’s godmother stayed with them.”
“That’s nice, I guess.”
I take a bite from my sandwich. The Havarti cheese is gooey and warm, just the way I like it. I feel like Erica isn’t buying my story. I’m scared to say more, so I eat.
Erica sips her coffee. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. I’ve been thinking about a playdate at the Turtleback Zoo. That playground should keep the kids occupied.”
“The weather is perfect for it. Count me in.” I reply and then steer the conversation toward her. I listen to her qualms with her mother and Warren’s traveling schedule, thinking that I would trade my problems for hers in a shake of a lamb’s tail. Liv starts fussing, so I pull her onto my lap. Three teenage boys enter the shop talking loud and being rowdy. Liv watches their every move.
“I went to a meditation class in Philly. It was the best experience ever. I’ll have to find one locally.”
“There’s a class on Friday mornings at the center where I practice yoga. I’ll e-mail you the link. I hear the class is life-changing, but I’m always on with clients Friday mornings. It’s the day everyone wants an update on their campaign,” she says, referring to her business, which reminds me.
“I almost forgot to tell you, I just booked a commercial.”
“Really?”
“Johnson & Johnson baby powder. I’m pretty sure it’s national.”
She spreads her lips into a smile. “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks.” I dab my mouth. “It’s been a long time coming.”
“Did you get anything in the mail from the Dames?”
“I literally got back this morning.”
“Oh. Monroe is so secretive about the vote. She notifies everyone through the mail. As soon as she realized that we were friends, she’s been asking about you every chance she gets.”
; “Really?”
“I hope things go your way.”
“Well, it’s done now.”
“It’ll be fine. I’m sure.” Erica plugs McCoy with his pacifier.
I check the clock. “I better go.”
“Me too, but before I forget, Warren won an All-Star music award. So we’re having a party. You and your hubby must come.”
If Preston and I make it that far. I smile and tell her, “We’d love to.”
FORTY-TWO
The Decision
When I return home, I can smell Preston’s scent everywhere. I think about what I did with Martin and how often in just a few days. Guilt starts to bubble. I go to the phone and dial Gran.
“Chile, why you leave here in the middle of the night?”
“Preston called. He thought Rory was missing.”
“Oh, Jesus. Where’d you find him?”
“Asleep in the bathroom closet. Curled up with that brown plush dog you gave him for Christmas.”
Gran chuckles. “You shoulda took a picture of that. Something to show him when he get grown.”
“I was too relieved to do anything, really.”
“Well, you keep yourself at home. No matter what Preston says. ’Nough time done passed. It’s time for you two to figure things out.”
“Gran … I just want to say thank you for everything. I didn’t realize how much you sacrificed.”
“Children never do. Good Lord made it that way.”
“Well, thanks. I appreciate you.”
“You can thank me by keepin’ your hind parts at home. Don’t want you comin’ back to Philly no time soon. Maybe I’ll make a trip up there to see you.”
“That would be nice.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow when the circular come.”
She hangs up.
Liv slithers into the kitchen and I pull her to me, snuggle my nose in her neck, and enjoy the weight of her against me. Her hair has grown wild, and she giggles while clutching one of my earrings in her tiny hand. I shift her and remove the pair before she can yank and cause me pain. By the time I finish cleaning the kitchen and decide on a menu for dinner, it’s time for her nap. The tub of formula Preston has been giving her is on the counter. It’s weird for me not to breastfeed. I have never given my children formula before, but I follow the instructions. Liv doesn’t seem to mind, and sucks the bottle down. I hold her in my lap and let her put her hand down my shirt for comfort. Before the bottle is empty, she’s fast asleep, and I’m glad to see she’s still on schedule. I carry her upstairs and put her in her crib. As I gaze down my eyes start to water.
All at once everything that has happened hits me. The branded A sits heavily on my forehead, and I scratch at it until a layer of my skin clogs my fingernails. How could I have been so careless with Martin? I deteriorated so deeply inside of myself that I never stopped to think of the consequences. What if Preston found out? I don’t have a lie big enough to explain why I did it. He’d never understand.
I lean against the wall, throbbing. The regret makes me wish that I could step outside of my own skin. Maybe a hot bath is what I need. I force myself into the bathroom, where I start the water. Mechanically drop in two scoops of chamomile bath salts and three drops of lavender. Then I add a generous amount of Calgon, because I love how the water turns blue. I need the blue to take me away. The steam from the water warms the bathroom, and I close the door to keep it toasty.
I open Preston’s closet. The clothes that he needs me to take to the cleaners are hung toward the back, and I run my fingers over his linen shirt and bring the collar to my nose. I imagine how he moved through his day in this shirt, unconcerned with me. Hating me for shattering him at his core. I take the shirt and bring it with me as I lay across my bed. The pillows are neat, too neat. And when I bury my face into them searching for Preston, I smell floral and talcum powder instead. Juju.
Clean sheets are in the linen closet, and I replace the soiled with fresh ones. The tub is nearly filled, but the water is too hot, so I stop the flow and go back to my bed and wait. The ache won’t stop pulsing inside of me. The remote is on the nightstand and I flip on the television. The Wendy Williams Show is on. I used to love her radio show, but now I rarely get to watch her talk program. I don’t watch much of anything but I lay back, happy for the distraction.
Wendy introduces Kyle Richards from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, who has a new book out. Wendy notes that in the book, there is an interesting perspective on cheating. Kyle flips her long black hair and smiles like a Hollywood starlet.
“I say if you cheat on your spouse once, keep it a secret.” The remote slips from my hand as I sit up. Is she talking to me?
She goes on to tell the story of a couple she knows where one had an infidelity and never told. “It was a one-time deal, and the couple is now more than happily married. Personally, I think you should deal with it yourself and with God.”
Deal with it myself?
I head into the bathtub and let the water scorch my skin. It’s still too hot, but I deserve it. Preston has his faults but he’s a good man. I cheated repeatedly with Martin, not just once. I was like an addict for what that man had.
It was the little girl hurt who reacted to Martin. It wasn’t your heart. Forgive yourself and move on.
The damn voice never has anything positive to say and I let her thoughts wash over me. The tears leak from everywhere. I remember when I tried to drown myself in the tub, pregnant with Martin’s baby.
You need to let it all go. Just like your mother said. Let it all go. You’ve been given a second chance. Take it.
I know the damn voice is right. For once, she really is right. Nothing matters more to me than my family. I have to get over my past, including Martin, and get things back on track. I decide that I won’t tell Preston. I’d take the affair to my grave. It wasn’t right, but he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Not after all that has happened. Maybe I wasn’t the innocent virgin he thought he married, but I am still a faithful wife in his eyes. I can’t take that away from him. It’s all we have left. God help me.
* * *
My reunion with the children after school is all shouts and glee. I grab our Friday night pizza and wings, cupcakes and ice cream for dessert with whipped cream.
“This is the best day ever,” Two says.
Rory puts his arm around me. “I’m glad you came home.”
We are sitting on the living room floor. I’m painting Two’s fingers and toes while the movie Rio plays, and Liv is in my lap. When the movie ends, they beg for another but I don’t give in. I read three bedtime stories and then tuck them in.
“Can I sleep in here with the girls?” Rory asks.
I tuck him into Two’s bed, then I rock in the glider and softly sing every lullaby I know. When Rory starts that heavy breathing that’s borderline snoring, I sneak out. I take a long, hot shower. Even though I soaked earlier, I can’t seem to get clean enough. At some point the sin will subside. My hair is damp and I squirt a little leave-in conditioner to give it a shine. My favorite body mist, Dawn by Pooka Pure and Simple, is light and clean, and I spray it generously on my neck and the balls of my wrist. My silk camisole and matching pants feel good on my skin. I’m so happy to be around my familiars and away from Gran’s, I could do a somersault.
Preston is home. I didn’t hear him come in but I can feel him. Barefooted, I pad downstairs. He’s not in the living room. When I walk into the kitchen, I see the basement door slightly ajar and hear the television on. The wooden door creaks, announcing me before my footsteps do. Preston is slouched in the middle of the leather sofa. His tie is hanging from his neck, his shirt unbuttoned to his waist, his stomach flat, and his shoes are kicked slightly to the left on the Persian rug.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey.”
He doesn’t look my way. He’s wearing new glasses. The rims make him look like a black Clark Kent.
“I made meat loaf. Your plate is in the micr
owave. I can bring it down if you like.”
“No, thanks.” He raises his Stella Artois and sips.
When Preston and I first moved into the house I was pregnant with Rory, and this space used to be Preston’s “man cave.” As the children came, more of their things started to migrate down and it became a second playroom. I’m not sure what Preston has done with the toy kitchen set, strollers, and such, because the space has resumed its smoky charm.
I’m sitting on the bottom step, afraid to go any farther without a personal invitation. A pile of scratch-offs are on the coffee table in front of him.
“Win anything?”
“Twenty-two dollars.”
“Why are you down here?”
“I can’t sleep in our bedroom.”
“Why, Pres?”
His eyes are on the television. I’m not sure he’s heard my question. I open my mouth to repeat it. But he cuts me off.
“You look like you’ve lost weight.”
“I hadn’t really noticed.”
His eyes find mine. “The haircut makes you look younger.”
“Two said I look like a boy.”
His eyes leave me.
It’s raining outside. Big petals crash against the windowpane. Chills come over my arms and I see goose bumps.
“Preston, I’m sorry.”
He says nothing.
“Honey, when are you going to talk to me about this?”
“What do you want me to say? I forgive you for allowing me to believe that you’re someone else?”
“I’m the same person, Preston.” I stand.
“Do you know how fucked up it is to believe your wife saved herself for you only to discover that—”
“I had a life before you. With a beginning, middle, and lots of ends.”
He doesn’t look at me. The wind blows a draft, and I’m shivering.
“May I use your blanket?” I walk to the love seat where he is sitting and ease into the seat next to him. I wrap myself in the afghan before he can answer.
Preston sits, stiff like a board.
I’m sick on the inside. Worried over what I feel I’m being pushed to do to save my marriage. There is no other choice. If nothing else, it’s time to set myself free. I wrap my arms around myself in a hug.
Second House from the Corner Page 23
