by Desean Rambo
***
Over the next few weeks, Justin and I got back to what seemed like normal.
I would spend as much time as possible with him and Gabe while trying not to invade their spot. Gabe was extremely supportive. He didn’t seem to care I was over so much. Though we stayed in separate places, we were together almost daily. He still did not know where I lived, though I did tell him that I was living in the same complex.
Justin’s money situation improved as his depression went away. He started looking for better jobs than the Burger Shack, but there were only so many options for someone who was so villainously discharged. One day, he came to me with an idea that was a bit shaky. We sat around their dinner table, which was littered with various pieces of mail, Maxim and ESPN magazines.
“Kate, what do you think about this?” Justin said as he handed me his iPad. On the screen was a Realtor.com listing. It was a beautiful condo, not too far from where we used to live together. Obviously, this was his way of saying we should move back in together. We had just crossed the bridge of going out socially alone.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“I’m just seeing if you like it,” he said as he half smiled.
“It’s a nice condo. Good location. A bit pricey though,” I said.
“What do you think about looking at places?” he asked. His eyes longed for a response that agreed with the notion.
“Looking can’t hurt,” I responded.
I swiped through a few listings on the iPad. Nothing particularly interested me. I already had my own place and was locked into my lease for a few more months. I knew we had to consider moving back in together eventually though.
“These places are really high,” I said. “I’m not sure we could even afford anything on here. And besides, what has your therapist said about moving back in together?”
His eyes lit up. He smiled. “Therapy is going perfect. No issues. I’m fine to resume my, our, normal life.”
“Oh is that right?” I teased. “Everything hasn’t resumed to normal,” I said knowingly.
“Why do you have to be such a perv?” Justin joked back. “Everything takes time. And besides, I don’t like Gabe around when we do that. This is precisely why we need our own place.”
He was right but I wasn’t ready to cross that bridge. We weren’t even getting intimate often. Why push to move back in so quickly?
“We need a plan,” I said. “If this is going to work, obviously things have to change. First of all, is figuring out how we’re supposed to afford these prices.” I continued to swipe through the listings. Each place was more expensive than the pervious.
“I agree,” Justin said. “I just don’t know what to do. That discharge may as well be a felony.”
“Do you remember when we first met?” I asked. It was time to change the topic to something a lot more positive.
“Yes. How could I not remember?” he said. “I was such a nerd. I couldn’t even talk to you.”
“Oh really?” I teased. “This is new news. Please continue.”
“You don’t know. You are intimidating,” He answered.
“I am?” I questioned.
“Well, not you… black girls in general. You know the stereotype.”
“Ahh, I see.” I replied. “Continue.”
“Let me paint the picture,” he started. He wiped his unmanaged hair out of his face as he recollected. “I’m out with my military buddies and we’re bar hopping. We went up and down Front Street, harassing women all night. That’s what we were good at, getting drunk and antagonizing women.” He laughed as he continued. I perked up. I had never heard this story in detail.
“So we go to one spot and it’s dead, all soccer moms on an extended happy hour. No one’s trying to hop on a grenade just yet. It was still early in the night, so we go to another place, that little Irish Pub. You know the spot.”
I nodded as I smiled at the grenade comment. He went on. “So we’re in the Pub and it’s alright but it’s a sausage fest. Way too many drunk Marines were already in there. There were a few girls, all white girls mind you, but everyone was talking to them. One after another, guy-after-guy, rejection. It was ugly. I remember thinking at that moment, what was I doing with my life? I was twenty-four and chasing skirts like I was still seventeen. Eventually you have to snap out of it. That was my epiphany as I saw each one of my boys, Stevenson, Paulson, and Davis, all do the same shit: walk up to a girl, say something stupid and wait for her to either reject you or realize she’s just drunk enough to take home.”
I cut my eyes sharply at him. I was not privy to these drunken hook-ups nor was I trying to have that mental picture.
“So we all get rejected there and it’s like midnight. Midnight and we already blew out two spots. I had enough but we went to one last place…”
“Justin, where do I come in this story?” I cut in. I knew how the story ended but I was not trying to hear how I was girl number seventy-three in the night.
“I’m getting there, babe,” he said. “So we’re on our way to one last spot and Paulson’s crying. He won’t shut up. He has a headache.”
I chuckled. I knew exactly where this story was going. He kept going. “We’re like, Paulson you can get a cab and go back to the barracks by yourself because we’re not going home without talking to some girls. So we walk to CVS and bam! There you and your friends were.”
A huge smile painted my face as he finished the story. “But the issue was that we could tell you weren’t going to go for the drunk approach. So I, as the sober one, said screw it and spoke.”
“I believe I spoke to you first,” I said. “I know for a fact I did. I asked you what you were doing.”
“Well, that’s the story,” he finished. “But what was your point?”
“We made it work. Even though it was awkward and uncomfortable at first, we kept at it,” I said.
“True,” he answered. “Those were the good old days,” he reminisced.
“And I’m still here,” I said as I glanced over more listings on the iPad. “If this is going to work, we have to continue to work together. Even when no one thinks it can work.”
He snapped back to the original topic. “What’s up with your place?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Your place. I know you aren’t comfortable with the idea yet but why not just live back there?”
“That’s too close to… the past,” I answered.
“You’re right. I just want to get our own spot again. I need to find a better job,” he said as he thumbed through a Maxim. He gave up on the thought as he excused himself from the table and threw the magazine back on the pile of paper.
BUZZ!
An alert went off on the iPad. Justin’s attention was elsewhere and he didn’t notice.
It read: SANDRA
HEY! ARE WE STILL ON?
CAN’T WAIT!
My heart exploded in my chest.
Who the fuck was Sandra?
8
The next day, work went by in a haze. I don’t remember what I did that day because the entire time my mind was locked on one thing. Sandra. When it came time to go for the day, I left in a hurry and without greeting any of my coworkers. I drove home as fast as possible in anticipation of the night’s Facebook investigation.
I scoured Facebook for hours. I typed in every variation of Sandra I could think of. Who was this and what couldn’t she wait for? My blood boiled as I thought of just the idea of another woman. I searched page after page, profile after profile, trying to find out who was it that texted Justin.
His friends list had no Sandra listed and there were no out of place comments. All his photos were of himself, his car, or me. I could not piece together what was going on. If there was another chick then he was real slick, having photos of me on the page. I couldn’t find anything off about his page. Thankfully, he was offline at the time.
There were like 35 Sandra’s in
our area and none of them were cute, at least I thought not. Most of them were either too young or too old to be the woman in question, but that didn’t mean anything. I knew that people could hide their profiles.
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
My phone went off in the other room. I ignored it. This was more important. If it was Justin, I didn’t want to speak to him anyway. The Facebook investigation went deeper and deeper as I searched the friends of the Burger Shack’s page just to make sure this chick didn’t work with him.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK!
Someone was at my door. I wasn’t expecting any visitors today. It couldn’t be Justin because he didn’t know what number my place was and I always parked a building over just in case. I wondered who it could be as they knocked relentlessly.
I got up and grabbed a butcher’s knife from the kitchen as I tiptoed towards the door. If it was a criminal, he was going to get the surprise of his night. I looked through the peephole. It was Tricia. She knocked again. She wasn’t going to give up.
I opened the door.
“What do you want?” I said.
“Nice to see you too,” she said as she slid her big butt past me and into my apartment. She had a way of making whatever place she was at hers. “Girl I got to go!” she said as she kicked off her shoes and ran barefoot to the bathroom. That was about as close of a greeting I was going to get out of her. I put the knife back.
“What are you doing here?” I yelled at Tricia as she made herself comfortable in the bathroom.
“It’s an emergency! I had to come back you up ASAP, girl! Soon as I got your text I had to make my way.”
“I appreciate it,” I said. The water ran then shut off. She reappeared from the bathroom.
“So who is this bitch Sandra?” she began.
“No idea,” I answered. I plopped down on the loveseat of my little one bedroom apartment. Tricia sat at my round dining table as she checked her phone.
“So tell me the story again. How did you find out about this?” she asked.
“I was using his iPad and the message came on the screen,” I said.
“But he doesn’t even have a phone,” she replied.
“That’s what I thought but apparently, he has iMessage,” I said.
“And you don’t have iMessage?” she asked.
“No. I have a Droid. But that’s beside the point.” I got up to get my laptop from my room. I placed it on the round table with Tricia.
“Look,” I said as I pointed to the listings of Sandras. “All these Sandras and none of them are on his friends list.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she replied as she pushed her new perm out of her eyesight. “Men are all the same. Social networks just make it that much easier for them to do something slick.”
I wasn’t trying to hear it. This was not the same. I snapped at her. “Tricia, I am married! This is not the same.”
“Legally,” she emphasized. “Ya’ll don’t act married. Ya’ll live in two different places. You don’t have phone communication. And ya’ll are not even having sex.” I got up from the table without a word.
“You want something to drink?’ I asked.
“Kaitlyn!” she screamed at me. I dug my head in the fridge.
“I got Perrier water, Red Bull, Peach Ciroc…”
Tricia yelled at me with even more emphasis. “KAITLYN!”
“What?” I spat back.
“When did you let him back in?” she asked.
I explained myself. “It just happened. Just a couple times. Stop being like that. I am married after all.”
“Legally,” she dismissed. “Now that he has what he wants, what makes you think he’s going to do the right thing?” I poured myself a glass of the Ciroc.
“He wants to move back in together,” I said as I rejoined the table.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tricia said.
“Why? Because of the message? The therapy is about over. They actually advised to work on getting back to our regular lives.” She kept clicking through Facebook screens.
“Not because of that,” Tricia said as her eyes widened. She spun the laptop to my view.“Because of THIS.”
