Should Have Known Better

by Octavia, Grace

  “Why do you keep asking me questions?” He sounded highly annoyed.

  “I was just wondering—”

  “You’re drunk.” He clicked the television off and in the darkness my mind began to spin.

  I reached out for him.

  “Why did you turn off the television?” I asked.

  “Dawn, you’re drunk,” he repeated.

  I reached farther and then moved my body toward his. “You wanna do something nasty?”

  Reginald turned to me. After my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw his eyes.

  I slid my hand into his pants and he pulled it out quickly.

  “Dawn, I’m tired and you’re drunk,” he said. He dropped my hand, as if it were diseased, back onto my side of the bed.

  I groaned and tried to settle into the idea of sleep. Flashes of red silk and candles and wine spilling from a bottle swam in my head.

  “Be nice to Sasha,” I said with the last light breath I had in me.

  “I said I’d try,” Reginald said. “That’s all I can promise.”

  When someone hasn’t had more than one or two alcoholic beverages at a time in three years, it’s usually best to take it easy when stepping back into the league of libation. Had I considered this logical concept, I wouldn’t have had the four extra glasses of wine I’d shared with Sasha before returning to bed with Reginald. But the jokes and old memories and sex talk was flying and, well, who was counting? Who? Eight hours later, and I was. My head had an invisible ax in it and it was still spinning after I’d lifted it enough from the pillows to see that the sun was bright in the sky outside of my bedroom window. The room was quiet.

  “Reg—” I tried calling Reginald but it came out as a little spurt. I lifted my head a little more and it felt like a television. “Owwww.” My face fell back into the pillows.

  I heard the bedroom door open and I turned, sure it was Reginald.

  “Honey, my head is—” I looked and Sasha was standing in the doorway fully dressed and in heels. She quickened toward the bed dramatically.

  “You OK?” she asked. “We heard you scream or something.”

  “Oh, my head . . .” I complained, but really my senses were now divided between my headache and Sasha’s perfect appearance. She sat down beside me on the bed and I saw that she was wearing eyelashes.

  “Hangover? Oh no, girl. That’s too bad!” she purred before giggling.

  Her blond wig was back in place. I looked for glue or a stitch of thread. Nothing. It looked like that hair was growing right out of her head. She was wearing blush and diamond earrings again. Different ones.

  Something sharp rumbled through my stomach and I closed my eyes to stop from vomiting.

  “What time is it?” I asked after catching my breath. I wiped my mouth and discovered that a wad of saliva was dangling from my chin.

  I used what little energy I had to try to rearrange my twisted nightgown.

  Sasha frowned sadly and leaned over to rub my leg. As her hand moved, I saw the muscles beneath her breasts perk up. She was wearing a red tank top with a low, low neckline.

  “A bit after noon.”

  “After noon?!?” I tried to get up, but a head spin and kick through my stomach sent me back to the pillow to hold my head.

  “Yeah, you overslept. But just like old times, I had your back.” Sasha kissed me on the cheek and I could see that the cotton tank top she was wearing was perfectly ironed—so were the jeans!

  “Where is everyone?” I asked. “The kids must be starving.”

  “They’re in the kitchen eating a little brunch. Want some coffee or something? I know you don’t want to get out of bed yet. I can bring it in to you.”

  “Brunch? Reginald cooked?” I tried to get up again, but I hardly made it past an inch.

  “No. I did. Got up before everyone else. Just made some eggs . . . and bacon . . . and grits . . . a little French toast, potatoes, a quiche, homemade biscuits.” Sasha paused.

  “All of that?”

  “And orange juice—fresh squeezed after I went to the supermarket. Do you mind that I drove your car? Thank God for GPS!”

  “It’s no problem. I just feel so bad you had to get up and do all of that. You’re my guest and . . . I don’t know why I’m so hungover.”

  “Well, you don’t really drink. You can’t just jump back in.”

  “That’s true,” I agreed. “Wait, how do you know that?”

  “Know what?”

  “—That I don’t drink.” I’d never been a big drinker really, but right after college when I left Atlanta with Reggie, I found that I was drinking every night. Just a little to ease the tension of being a new bride in a new city. But then, at one point, it was every day. I was concerned. Reggie laughed. He said it was OK. I’d get used to the alcohol. I’d be able to handle it like everyone else. But soon I was on my knees every night in front of the toilet and when I’d nearly gotten caught drunk driving at a police checkpoint one Saturday night, I stopped. I didn’t drink alcohol unless it was at a party or festive occasion. I decided that’s what last night was. But it’d never hit me like that before.”

  “Reggie told me you weren’t big on drinking. He said you slowed down a long time ago.”

  “Oh . . . He told you that?” I said. Hearing my husband’s nickname, one he’d hardly ever used since his father, who everyone called Reggie, passed away, was odd. Suddenly, I wondered where he was.

  “I was talking to him this morning. I got up pretty early. I just assumed you guys would be going to church.”

  “Oh, we don’t really do church too much. It’s just not our thing—”

  “But you were raised in the church. Your dad was a pastor. Have you lost your walk with the Lord, child?” she asked jokingly. “You know us good Southern girls can’t miss a Sunday service . . . not with all the fine men there.”

  “No . . . Reginald never liked the church,” I offered as an excuse. “He sees religion as a sign of weakness. And with the kids . . . It’s too much. R. J. can be a handful.”

  “Oh no; he’s the most precious thing ever. So sweet,” Sasha said. “I read to him this morning—Reggie and me.”

  “Read to R. J.?” I eyeballed Sasha. Most mornings, before I sent R. J. to the bathroom to wash up, I read a short book to calm him. It was initially a suggestion from his therapist, but over time, it just became our morning “Mommy and R. J.” thing. As the sun rose and the sounds outside of his window came to life, we’d read the books of his early childhood. Goodnight Moon was his favorite. He said he liked reading it in the morning because it was when the moon was really going to sleep. He never let anyone else read to him in his room. Most days, without that book, he’d start his day off on a wrong and declining note. “You must be joking. R. J. won’t let anyone but me read to him—and especially not his father. Something about the sound of his voice.”

  “I know, Reggie told me as we watched the sun rise. But it was the craziest thing—I suggested that I start reading and Reggie take over after that. It worked. We read Goodnight Moon. It was the most precious thing. That boy is amazing.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I agreed before remembering something Sasha had just said that bothered me more than the idea of her reading to R. J. “What did you say at first?”

  “What? What do you mean? About the book?”

  “No. Before that.”

  “About reading?”

  “Before that.”

  “Talking to Reginald?”

  “When?”

  “Sunrise?” Sasha said blankly. “Yeah, we watched the sun rise together on the porch. I got up early.”

  My pains went into a quick remission and I was up out of the bed and in my slippers.

  “Reginald?” I hollered, dashing down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Reginald?”

  “Oh, Dawn, you don’t need to get up. I can bring you a plate. I have your back.” Sasha came up rushing behind me.

  “Reginald, you watched the—” I stoppe
d speaking instantly when I turned into the small kitchen to see my family happily laughing around the table, clean and fully dressed as they ate. R. J. was laughing. I could actually hear R. J. laughing.

  “Honey”—Reginald pulled out a seat between him and R. J.—“We have this seat saved for you.”

  Before the empty chair there was a full place setting of my father’s mother’s antique china and a table full of steamy food. It literally looked like a picture from a catalog.

  “Yeah, Mama,” Cheyenne joined in, pointing at the chair with Reginald. “We saved you a seat.”

  “Oh,” I said, not quite sure of how to respond to such a gesture from Cheyenne. I sat down. “What were you guys laughing about?” I asked.

  Sasha sat in the chair on Reginald’s other side, between him and Cheyenne.

  “Just a joke Sasha told us about sperm—” Reginald answered.

  “Sperm?” I cut him off, afraid of what he was about to repeat in front of the kids. “I hope it wasn’t too—”

  “Sperm whales, darling.” Reginald looked at me as if something was wrong and I realized that I was wearing only a thin nightgown.

  I crossed my arms over my breasts to cover my protruding and sagging nipples.

  “Say the joke again, Ms. Sasha,” Cheyenne cheered, squirming in giggling ecstasy in her seat.

  “Yeah, Sasha,” Reginald added. “Say it for Dawn.”

  “Not again,” Sasha said humbly.

  “Please,” they begged together—even R. J.

  “OK. We can hear the joke again,” Sasha said. “But Reggie, you tell it this time.”

  “Me?” Reginald pointed to his chest meekly.

  “Yeah, Daddy, tell it,” Cheyenne agreed.

  “Daddy!” R. J. affirmed.

  “But I just heard it!” Reginald stalled.

  “I said it three times!” Sasha pinched Reginald’s arm playfully and he winced.

  “OK. OK,” Reginald said, pretending to be convinced by the pressure. “I’ll do it if Dawn wants to hear it.”

  “Do you, Mama?” R. J. asked, linking arms with me.

  “Sure, baby,” I said. “Of course I want to hear the joke.” I looked at Reginald, but I could see Sasha on his other side smiling adoringly at him as she patted Cheyenne on the back.

  “Well, there was this lady sperm whale named Trixy and she couldn’t read,” Reginald started and they all laughed.

  The rest of the joke was so absurd that I couldn’t possibly keep up or remember it. After thirty seconds of Trixy, I was just nodding along and spying at my family around the table. They were laughing after nearly every word and R. J. even smiled at his sister. When it was over, Cheyenne was laughing hysterically and leaning into Sasha’s shoulder. I laughed, too, but I knew that no one was convinced that I’d gotten the joke. My head was aching. The room was spinning. I didn’t want to hear another joke about anything.

  After I nearly vomited when a spoonful of Sasha’s eggs were scooped onto my plate, Sasha insisted that I return to bed and shuffled me down the hallway with a cup of coffee in her hand.

  “You can stay in here all day if you like,” she said, tucking me back into the bed. “I can handle them.”

  “I’ll be better in a second. I just need a little nap.” I sighed. I wanted to fight my illness, but my head was getting heavy again and I wanted to sleep so badly. I knew it must’ve been the hangover causing this, but I really felt ill. Sasha chalked it up to age.

  “We’ll be fine. Get some rest.” She poofed the pillow behind me one more time and headed toward the door where she turned off the light. “You deserve a break.”

  As I drifted into a dream of slimy eggs and Trixy the sperm whale, I promised myself that I wouldn’t sleep too long. I’d just get an extra hour and then get up to clean the house. I had to get the kids’ stuff ready for school on Monday and cook dinner. Sasha would probably be leaving early to get back to Atlanta and I wanted to spend a little time with her. Sixty minutes would be enough. It would be two o’clock. I’d need to rush to get the house in order. I agreed to and promised myself this much, but when I finally lifted my head again and looked at my cell phone, it was after five o’clock.

  “What?” I sat up quickly and looked around the room like I had to be dreaming. How could I have slept for four more hours?

  I hurried to the bathroom, drank nearly half a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, and popped two Advil. My face looked sunken and shriveled in the mirror. I thought of taking a shower, but I was almost sure the weight of the water would wash me down the drain. That’s how ragged I felt.

  I was happy to find Reginald was alone in the living room with the kids. They were sitting on the couch watching a basketball game. I didn’t know where Sasha was, but the idea of my house being back to normal was calming. Nothing had really happened or went wrong, but I was getting more tired and my lingering hangover was beginning to make me feel agitated. I decided that it wasn’t her. She hadn’t done anything wrong. I just wanted to be alone with my family.

  “I should’ve known you guys would be in here doing the sports thing,” I said, smiling at my little crew doing their usual Sunday evening routine. Reginald was far from being the most attentive father, but the kids’ desire to be around him and the reality that watching television presented an activity where he didn’t have to really do anything, made Sunday sports an easy pick. “Where’s Sasha?”

  Someone scored and no one could take their eyes off of the television. R. J. pointed toward the kitchen.

  Before I could see Sasha, I heard her talking. She said that something was wonderful. I walked into the kitchen. The refrigerator door was open. She appeared from behind it and smiled at me. She pointed at my baby blue jogging suit and gave a thumbs-up as she continued her conversation. She closed the door with her foot and carried a head of lettuce to the counter as if she’d been cooking in my kitchen for years.

  “That’s great, Joe,” she said. Her voice was sweeter and more sultry than usual. “You can leave the tickets at Will Call. But, like I said, I’m not sure I’ll be back in Atlanta by then. Still taking care of my soror!” She sighed at me sympathetically.

  I walked to the counter where she was standing. There was lasagna cooling on the stove. I reached for the lettuce, but Sasha pulled away, shook her head.

  “Love it, darling,” she said. “Smooches.” She hung up the phone and looked at me.

  “I can’t believe you cooked dinner,” I said. “I can’t have you make a salad, too. I can do that.”

  “Nonsense. You need your rest.”

  “No, you need your rest. Don’t you have to get back to Atlanta?”

  “I’m in no rush. I’ve been enjoying myself so much. I could get used to Augusta.”

  “But what about that phone call? Sounds like you have a hot date.”

  “Date? Oh, no.” Sasha laughed. “That was just Joe Johnson. He plays for the Hawks. A good friend of mine. I did a feature on his charity. He leaves me tickets sometimes.”

  “Tickets?” Reginald asked, appearing in the kitchen suddenly to switch out his beer. He tossed an empty bottle into the trash and went to the refrigerator. “Tickets for what?”

  “The Hawks game tonight,” Sasha revealed.

  “You have tickets for the game?” Reginald looked up from the refrigerator.

  “Yeah, my friend Joe left them for me.”

  “Joe Johnson?”

  She nodded.

  “Joe Johnson left you a ticket for tonight’s game?” Reginald let the refrigerator door swing closed without getting a beer.

  “Floor seats,” Sasha said.

  “And you’re not going?”

  “Well, it’s three tickets and I don’t have anyone to take, plus I’m here with you guys, so I’ll miss this go ’round.”

  “Are you pulling my leg?” Reginald pleaded. “You can’t just not go. It’s the damn play-offs. You have to go.”

  “But I don’t have anybody to go with,” Sasha said helplessl
y. She perked up and her eyes widened on Reginald and me. “Wait, would you guys like to go?”

  At the same time, Reginald and I gave two different answers.

  Me: “No. I’m too tired and I have too much to do around here.”

  Reginald: “Of course. I haven’t been to a game in years.”

  “Honey, we can’t,” I said to Reginald.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “It’s Sunday . . . and we have to get ready for the week.” Suddenly, I sounded like I was ninety years old.

  “Oh, no,” Sasha said. “That’s too bad. It’s fine though. Bad timing. We’d have to be there in like two hours anyway to make tip-off.”

  “We could still use the tickets,” Reginald said. “It will only take two hours to get to Atlanta from here—less than that if I drive. I can be ready in ten minutes and—”

  “I could go with you,” Sasha volunteered. “And then I wouldn’t need to call a driver. You could just drop me off at home.”

  “Well, OK!” Reginald nodded along like this was the best plan he’d ever heard.

  I could feel myself frowning at the scene.

  “OK,” Sasha said. “But what about the third ticket?” She looked off as if she was thinking. “Wait, didn’t you say you haven’t been to a game in a while? Has R. J. ever been to one? We could take him.”

  “No, there’s no way he could handle all of those people,” I said. “It would be overwhelming and he has school—and Cheyenne will be crushed, too.” I turned to Reginald. “You know she likes watching basketball with you just as much as R. J. does.”

  “I know she does, but maybe it’s time for me to spend some time with just R. J. for a change. He should come with me,” Reginald said, like this had been his idea. “Spend some time with his old dad. I remember when my father used to take me to games when I was a kid. I loved it. Cheyenne will be OK.”

  I so didn’t want Reginald to go all the way into Atlanta—with Sasha, and with R. J.—but no reason I could gather made any sense after Reginald brought up his father. And now the idea of him doing anything constructive with R. J. was a little attractive. There was just the thing about Sasha going. But, I felt some relief knowing he was dropping Sasha off. Then I could get things back to normal. I felt bad thinking about the only company I’d had from undergrad in years that way, but something was just bothering me.