by Ana Gibson
“So, I take it you didn't give him any money?”
“Yeah, I did. I gave him a nickel.”
Record scratch. Okay, this is where I have to draw the line. He can't be serious. I sit all the way up in the bed, eyes glued to him. It's taking everything for me not to go upside his head.
“What was he going to do with a nickel, Clay? You might as well not have given him anything.”
“I don't know. Maybe he can invest it in something…like getting off the street and asking for money from hardworking taxpayers like myself.”
“But Clayton, you make more than enough to give him more than a nickel.”
He snaps his neck towards me like my statement holds no purpose. “Your point?”
“Clay, are you serious right now?”
“What are you getting worked up about it for? It's not like it was your money. Shoot, all I'm saying is the guy needs to do something with himself. All of them for that matter. I came from nothing and look where I am. One of the top managers of Collabrex. I get paid the big bucks because I busted my ass to get there. He needs to do the same. That's all I'm saying.”
“First of all, you need to stop frontin'. That job was handed to you because of your father. Had it not been for him talking a good game in the President's ear about you, you'd be out there looking crazy yourself. Don't do it.”
“The point of the matter is I still had to prove myself to be in the position I'm in. I had to do some talkin' to get the job. I had to be competitive just like anyone else. They could've easily passed over me.”
“Yeah, if your dad didn't have some kind of investment in them.”
“You don't get it,” he says shaking his head and taking off the remaining clothes.
“Oh no, I get it,” I say, “but that's neither here nor there. I just want to know why you thought giving a nickel would be enough?”
“Because that's all he probably deserved. I don't know what that man does for real. It could be a panhandling scheme, and he wasn't going to get me. And he had some little girl with him, like that was supposed to move me into giving him my money. I just saw a bunch of them doing the same thing a few blocks before.”
I really can't comprehend all that is coming out of his mouth right now.
“Put yourself in his shoes for a second. What if that were you and someone gave you a nickel because they thought you didn't deserve any of their money? How would that make you feel?”
He takes a step closer to me as if my question was more of a threat than an actual question.
“If it were me, I probably would think I don't deserve it which then would motivate me to not ask and to go get my ass a job so I wouldn't have to beg for it from other people. But guess what, it's not me, so I can't relate,” he says and walks away.
“Wow, and you're part of the reason why the world is what it is.”
“You know what Faith, this argument is not even worth us going over. Leave it alone. I gave the dude a nickel and called it a day. Bam. Problem solved.”
He slaps his hands together, grabs his towel off the hanger and head into the bathroom. My stomach churns at the image of seeing that whole scenario go down. I can only imagine what that guy was feeling. I know I'd be pissed. I wish I could find some kind of logical explanation for his arrogance, but I can't. There is no excuse for such nastiness as his.
I get up and bust through the bathroom door as he prepares to turn on the shower, and ask, “So why did you give it in the first place?”
A subtle silence clears through the room first before he turns to start the shower.
“Well because I don't want to be known as the guy who can't give.”
“Wow.”
“What? The dude just came out of a Dunkin Donuts and then went to go stand at the metro station. He had the nerve to ask me for change. Man, get outta here. You can't pull the wool over my eyes. I'm not stupid.”
“You sure as hell look it.”
“Watch what you say to me.”
Oh, like that's supposed to scare me. “Whatever. Okay Clay. You're right.”
“You would've given more?” He asks me so serious.
“Yes. Because that's what people ought to do. If you have it, give it.”
“Oh, I forgot, miss goody two shoes does everything right.”
And see that's where he's wrong. I look at my ring finger on purpose and then back at him, and say, “Not everything.” That's the truth. I leave the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. Whoever that guy was, I pray he got more than what he needed.
Thanksgiving
I'm not looking forward to today. Between dealing with Clayton's shenanigans and having to see my mom at dinner tonight, I'm just not feeling it. Slacking behind, I try to get myself together as we prepare ourselves to meet up with the rest of the family. He's been staying out of my way for the most part, ever since my mom called early this morning asking for a cold salad from him. We had another argument, this time it was about him having to make the salad. It led to him putting his hands on me again and hurling insult after insult. I'm beginning to believe he likes doing that, so he has a chance to ‘do what he does,’ although this time his blows and grabs weren't as hard. He was careful. None of them in any place where they'd show. If I truly did love him, I think it would hurt worse. I think it would scar me deeply, and I'd be damaged goods, but for some reason, it just…doesn't. All the pain I've felt from losing that baby, nothing hurts worse than that, and I think it angers him—the fact that he doesn't scare me nor can hurt me the way he wants to. I don't know how I did it, but I've become numb to it. I'd like to believe that I'm on the verge of letting him go. Maybe this numbness is a part of my breakthrough. However, I still try to figure out what has been keeping me here. That button of me ready to leave hasn't been pushed enough yet, silly as it sounds, but it's coming, and that will be the day where I finally go the hell off and let him have it like he deserves.
My stomach shifts uneasily as we pull into the driveway of my mother's home. I was never fond of visiting my mom before I got with Clayton, but now, visiting her feels even worse. He pulls down the visor mirror, checking himself. I suck in a breath and release it slowly and grab hold of the potato salad he made. Only silence lingers in the air before we get out of the car until he looks at me with the most disturbing smirk on his face. It's the kind that says he's got some kind of ridiculous trick up his sleeve. Today is not the day to try and embarrass me. I just need this day to go as smoothly and painlessly as possible.
He gallops up the steps far ahead of me. And when we meet together on the porch. He chuckles and shakes his head and rings the doorbell.
“Seeesster.” Trish, my tall, beautiful, sensible sister opens up the door, hurrying to take me into a hug. I throw on my best smile, hiding all of my frustration and anxiety as we embrace. Her eyes then shift to him, and she looks him up and down with the fakest smile I've ever known her to give as she hugs him. “Hey, Clayton.”
He smiles and says hello, walking in before me. We both look at him as he hurries off somewhere to disappear from us.
“He okay?” She asks. I shake my head and throw my hand up to try and make the matter light. She takes the potato salad from me.
“Mama begged for it,” I tell her.
“You made it?”
“No. Clay did.”
“Oh, I should've known, cause’ Faith don't do no cooking,” she says, walking away chuckling.
“Ma and dad are downstairs,” she yells. I reluctantly take my time to catch up with her. The dreadful aura takes over my graceful walk, stiffening my arms and clenching my jaw tight. My stomach stirs begrudgingly causing uncomfortable works of bowel responses as I inch my way into the kitchen. I try to play it off like I'm just looking through the house to find anything new.
“Well don't act all shy. We have a lot of catching up to do,” she says. I nervously laugh and grab a seat daring myself to not utter a word or else I'm going to be an emotional wre
ck.
“So what's been going on? How's the wedding planning? Anything new?” She starts. Where do I even begin? Do I want to tell the truth or should I just give her half-assed lies about my made up life?
“Nothing. Just doing the same old, same old. That's it. Plans are still the same with the wedding.”
I twiddle my fingers. I don't think I've ever been really good at lying. She looks at me, stirring the bowl and tossing ingredients into the mix simultaneously.
“Oh. Well, I guess that's a good thing…being steady.”
I nod and take my eyes away from her for a second.
“Yeah.”
Her stare bores into me. I can feel it. The mixing of the bowl stops and nothing but the tick of the kitchen clock that grandma gave my mother is the only noise between us right now.
“Faith, what's up? Talk to me.”
Even though Trish and I are five years apart, we are still pretty close. I'm closer to her than I am my mom and I know that if I really do tell her what's wrong, there's a fifty-fifty chance it won't get out. I'm willing to risk the odds.
“I'm just…I'm…I don't know.”
“Spill it,” she says, scraping the sweet potato mush off of the wooden spoon. So I fix myself upright in the chair, gather my thoughts and try to come out with it. Don't cry, Faith. Whatever you do, don't cry because then you'll give it all away.
“Trish, tell me something. Have you ever in your life felt like you were missing something or like you were making the wrong decision about something?”
“Of course. We all get that way at some point. Why? What's going through your head?”
“I don't know. I'm trying to put my finger on it,” I say, all the while my mind keeps slipping back to Clayton and me.
“Of course you do. Think about it.”
I shrug, trying not to really tell on myself, but I think I've bypassed that part.
“I don't know. I feel like I'm missing true happiness. Like, I don't have a real grasp of what love looks or feels like in a relationship. I—I don't think I have that.” My voice catches in my throat.
“With Clayton? You're not happy with him?”
I look up regrettably. She stops her culinary tasks, plants both hands against the counter, looking dead at me.
“What's going on with you and him? Are y'all having issues?”
How do I answer that, truthfully?
“Yes.”
Like that I guess.
“More than just issues. We're having a monstrosity of issues; Hurricanes. Tornados. Earthquakes, any type of natural disaster that aims to kill, that's what we're having.”
She looks at me confused. “Baby sis, what's going on?”
I don't know if this is the right time to oust him like that. He's down there with a bunch of men that would slit his throat wide open if they found out. I mean I'd love to see that happen but at the same time, I can't just catch him off guard like that. That wouldn't be right. I sigh and say, “It's just, we keep having huge arguments about everything, and we're not…we're not clicking. I don't know if I, you know…”
“If you love him anymore?”
I nod. She stares at me, motionless. I consider telling her about the miscarriage, but there's no telling what she'd do afterwards, and I'm not ready for the family to know just yet. It would break them and leave me defending myself because I didn't say anything in the first place. I already deal with a lot with just my mother alone.
“Trish, I don't know. Clayton is not…he's not somebody I can see myself being with forever. Forever is such a long time to be with such an asshole.”
She nods and then lowers her head like she wants to agree with me.
“So are you going to call everything off?”
“I don't know. A part of me wants to believe that I should. Another part is like well maybe I'm just being too sensitive. I need to learn him and his triggers and figure out a way to exist—“
“Wait. What do you mean you're too sensitive and his triggers and such? What are you talking about?”
I think I just set myself up on that one.
“I'm saying, maybe I'm the reason we fight the way we do. I don't know.”
“Oh hell naw. I'm not ‘bout to let you sit here and talk down on yourself because mister tight pants can't handle a strong woman. You have just as much a voice in this relationship as he does. There is compromise, and then there is control and what it sounds like to me is he's trying to control you.”
Yeah, she's definitely got a point.
“He got a vasectomy.”
She gasps. Her eyes widen, and she almost becomes speechless.
“A vasectomy?”
He had gotten that shortly after I told him that I think I may be pregnant; before I had even confirmed that it was real. That's how serious he is about not having kids.
“Shhhh…damn, Trish. You don't have to be so loud about it.”
“I'm sorry,” she whispers. “But why? I thought you guys were going to have kids?”
I shake my head. My eyes swell with tears. That horrible day comes back to me. I see the blood everywhere again.
“Yeah, me too. But he told me he didn't want any, so he got a vasectomy.”
She remains quiet but holds my hand tight. I don't know if her silence is giving me sympathy or the fact that she's calling me stupid in her head. Either way, I'd rather her not say anything right now.
“But I mean, who really needs kids right?” I say. She shrugs as if indecisive about it.
“No one really needs kids per say, but they are a joy to have.” And I know she's right.
“Am I making too many demands of him? What if I'm expecting too much? I can't expect the guy to change overnight. I know people gotta work through some things over the years, right?”
She places one hand on mine and looks me in the eyes. She covers her brow with her right hand as if everything I'm saying is giving her a headache.
“Oh God, this is all too much. I need a drink,” she chuckles. She's not the only one.
“Listen, don't make excuses for someone who you don't really love. And even if you really did love him, you still don't make excuses. If what he's doing doesn't fit you, you have a choice to walk away. He's not your husband yet. Don't make it harder on yourself than it has to be.”
“I know. There are days when I kinda love him and then there are days where I wish we never met. Today is one of them.”
“So why are you still with him?” The sincerity in her voice makes me go back to that question. It's the same thing I've been asking myself for so long and still have yet to find the answer. I look back into her eyes trying to find it, but I guess that question is for me to answer alone.
“Mama says things take time and that he'll change.”
Trish sucks her teeth and snickers. “Girl, I swear you let that woman run every aspect of your life.”
“I know but—“
“Faith, seriously. Why are you worried about what she has to say? You are your own woman. You have a voice and a choice. Use one to make the other. Mama ain't gotta live with how you feel, sweetie. If she knew all that you're going through with him, she would tell you something totally different.”
“I don't think so.”
“Why?”
“Because she's the reason why we're together in the first place. She sold me, just how she sold y'all.”
Trish scoffs like there’s no truth to that.
“I beg your pardon? One thing's for certain, I'm no one's slave. I was not put on an auction block to be sold to anyone. Mama had very little to do with the decision of me marrying Eddie. I made that choice for myself. It just so happened that I actually did like Eddie when mom introduced us. I'm very happy in my marriage, and I don't regret it not one bit. Now I can't speak for that brother of ours. I don't know about him.”
We both laugh. “But Faith, seriously, I want you to be happy with whomever you're with and if Clayton ain't it, he ain't it, darling.”
&n
bsp; “But what about Mama and this wedding? You know she needs to approve of everything.”
“Forget about Mama. It's very clear you don't even want to get married to him. You don't even look happy. Ever since you got with him, you changed. I don't know exactly what changed, but you're not that little sister that used to love anyone and everything and wanted to save the world and make people happy. I mean, I have little qualms about Clayton, but I do know one thing, you haven't been yourself…at least not the little sister I thought I knew,” she says. My head hangs low because I know she's right. Things have dramatically changed in me since he first spoke to me.
I just wish I hadn't gotten this deep into the relationship because I feel like it's going to be even harder to get out of.
“And you need to leave your mother out of this.”
“Leave your mother out of what?”
We both catch ourselves looking my mother's way as she emerges from the basement and into the kitchen.
“Hey Ma,” I say, stifling a giggle inside. Trish gets up and finishes her thanksgiving tasks, winking at me.
“We were just talking about some girl stuff.”
“I'm a girl, so talk.”
“Faith is not in love with Clayton.”
See, I knew that fifty-fifty was going to take effect.
“Trish, for real?”
“What do you mean you're not in love with Clayton? He was just telling me how good everything is with you two.”
“Oh did he?” Trish interrupts again, giving us that sarcastic look of surprise. I figure I can try my hand at telling her the truth and see where it takes me.
“Well, I don't know how much he's said, but truth be told, things haven't been good for a long time, and I don't think it's going to last, Ma.”
“Oh, nonsense. Everybody goes through that cycle. It'll pass.”
“Yeah, but there comes a time where you have to call it quits before it gets dangerous. It's okay to let go if you need to,” Trish keeps going. My mother waves her off like an annoying fly and rolls her eyes, bringing them back to me.