The Ex Chronicles

by Penelope Christian

  I took off work that Friday so that Tarsha and I could go to Bubbles to get our hair done, and then we took the bus uptown to shop at Garfinckles. I loved that store where all of the “clear sales girls” wore black dresses and spoke in soft voices. I would be appalled today to shop in a store that so obviously didn’t have any blacks on staff other than the lady who cleaned the Women’s Room. A sign of the times.

  We made it back to my apartment early so that we could be dressed and adorning a seat in Hogates before the regular working crowd arrived. It was important to have just the right seat where you could see the door and size up everyone as they came in.

  I saw Him come in with a group of men all of whom were worthy of my attention. They took tall, dark and handsome to a new level. That suit was hanging just right and in all the right places. He looked like he had stopped to get a trim from his favorite barber that day. The smile, the dimples and his stride completed a package whose wrapping could only be rated a 10!

  Back then, approaching a man to dance or to buy him a drink were not accepted practices, so I spent the evening smiling a lot and hoping he would look my way. I danced a few times but Tarsha, hot off a bad divorce, was definitely sending out “I am available vibes” and she spent most of the evening on the dance floor. Once, on my way to the ladies room, I hesitated at his table and he glanced up, but did not maintain eye contact. By the time Tarsha and I were ready to call it a night, I concluded he must be on the down low because he had spent most of the evening sitting, deep in conversation with two or three of the men he had entered with. Flyyy as I was looking, how could he not have noticed me or that I’d spent most of my evening watching his every move?

  I was extremely disappointed, but life does go on.

  Chapter 5

  I should have made Tarsha come with me today. What’s a best friend for if not to hold you up when you are stressed? If she were sitting here beside me, we could have kept up some distracting banter like, “Where did she think she was going when she got dressed this morning?” But here I sat alone and though I was amused by Ms. Dressed for the Nightclub sitting two rows in front of me, it wasn’t as entertaining as it would have been had Tarsha been by my side. Maybe I could pretend I was checking my messages and take a few pictures to amuse the two of us the next time she and I were together. Just because we were in our fifties, did not mean we didn’t still get down!

  About a month after Tarsha’s weekend visit, I ventured back to Hogates with a group from my job. It was the first time I had gone there since my weekend out with Tarsha. The group had eaten dinner at Bea Smith’s first, so by the time we arrived at the spot, the evening was in full swing.

  We had only been there a few minutes when I saw Him staring at me from across the room. Why didn’t I get my hair done today? Why did I have on last year’s outfit? I knew I should have put on that cute little number I picked up yesterday at The Brownstone. At least I had a mani and pedi done that day.

  I was sitting with the group. He appeared to be alone until I saw what my mother would have described as a long, tall drink of water slink up to him. She was wearing the perfect little black dress, pearls and a pair of sandals to die for. I had priced the gold bangles on her arm and the hoops in her ears last week at the Greenan & Sons Jewelry Store in Silver Spring and knew immediately, I couldn’t compete. Each strand of hair was in place and her makeup was impeccable.

  My heart dropped.

  Several times during the evening, I pretended I didn’t notice him looking at me. By the time I made my way to the ladies room, I had convinced myself I needed to stop swooning and begin to look around the room for more promising prospects.

  When the long, tall drink of water entered the ladies room, she walked right up to me and said, “Hi, have we met? My name is Naomi and I love your nails. Where do you get them done?”

  I had just finished washing my hands, so I took a couple seconds to throw away the paper towel and clear my throat to be sure I could still speak. I finally answered, “I go to Fanci Nails on Pennsylvania Avenue, Northeast, near Union Station. My name is Jill.”

  “I’m going to give them a call tomorrow. But look, the real reason I followed you in here was to ask if you’d like to meet my cousin, Jason? He’s been drooling over you ever since you walked in. He’s the fellow you probably saw me talking to most of the evening. I just moved here from L. A. and he’s trying to keep his promise to my mom to show me around town.”

  Well, knock me over with a feather.

  Chapter 6

  Thus began the most exciting six months of my life. Jason and I became a couple overnight. The morning after Naomi introduced us at Hogates, we met for breakfast at the Florida Avenue Grill and that was the beginning our daily routine. We wined and dined. We went roller-skating at the Kalorama Rink, to plays at the National Theater, long walks along Haines Point, late nights at Blues Alley and Saturday lunches at Ben’s Chili Bowl.

  After two months, Jason moved into my condo and I felt like I was in heaven. Surely the next step would be a ring and a walk down the aisle.

  About four months into our relationship, I began to notice small things. Jason often begged off going out in favor of sleeping in. Some days his mood could change from happy to angry in a matter of minutes. One evening I came home to find him sitting on the couch in the dark, and when I asked if something was wrong he answered, “I lost my job today.” He had been employed as a lobbyist for several years at The National League of Cities. Eventually, he stopped bathing on a regular basis and was hostile and suspicious of everything around him. I didn’t know what to do.

  I spoke with my parents and they advised me to ask him to move out. They were concerned for my safety. But I never had to do that. One day I arrived home from work to find Jason and all of his belongings gone. While I was relieved, it was also quite devastating to know that the fairy tale life I had imagined I would have with Jason was never to be.

  For a few weeks, I looked for Jason everywhere. I called Naomi, who told me his parents asked her to share with me that Jason appeared to be following in the footsteps of his older brother, who had been diagnosed as schizophrenic several years prior.

  Had I opened my home and my heart too soon?

  Chapter 7

  I hadn’t seen Jason since that day more than 30 years ago when I came home to an empty apartment. That was why today I had no desire to view the body he left behind. I wanted to remember him as the fun-loving, bright, and promising young man I knew.

  Suddenly I realized that while I was taking my walk down memory lane, the funeral service had concluded. The minister, who had led the family in, had now come down from the pulpit and was leading the casket and the family out of the church. The organist was playing When We All Get to Heaven.

  Naomi nodded as she approached the pew where I was sitting. The beautiful young woman in front of her stepped over, grabbed my hand and pulled me into line with her.

  Tiffany! Jason’s daughter! My daughter! The best of both of us!

  I found out shortly after Jason disappeared that I was pregnant. I contemplated my next move for less than a millisecond. Yes, I wanted to be a mother and I knew if Gwen could do it at 16, I certainly could handle it at 25.

  My pregnancy was uneventful. My co-workers and parents were extremely supportive. Mom stayed with us for the first month of Tiffany’s life and Tiffany is still the apple of her grandparent’s eye! Tarsha proved to be the best Godmother ever; Tiffany spent most of her summers with her and her boys.

  Though Jason disappeared for a while, his family was nothing less than awesome. Not once did they question Tiffany’s parentage and they were there for and with us every birthday, Christmas and all times in between. Naomi was our bridge. Until Tiffany was old enough to travel alone, it was Naomi who traveled with her to visit her “Texas Family.” And it was Naomi who, through the years, made sure we knew where Jason was and how he was coping with his illness. Though he never returned to me or to D.C., when Tiffany
visited Texas and he was mentally and physically able, Jason was a father to his daughter.

  Eventually, I met and married Matt, a professor at Georgetown. He and I raised Tiffany along with his son from a former relationship, Christopher, and our twin daughters, Jazmin and Jamie.

  As I walked with the family from the church, after the homegoing celebration for a son and father who struggled to remain normal in what must have felt to him like an abnormal world, I knew in my heart the circle of this part of my life was finally closed.

  Sharon Lucas is a retired wife, mother and grandmother, book club founder and president, and event planner. Following the success of her first book, a non-fiction resource guide, she took a leap of faith to write fiction, when she wrote this intriguing short story. Read more about her at sharonrlucas.com.

  Losing Lily

  By Jeida K. Storey

  Whoever said, “Time heals all wounds,” was a liar. Sure, the initial shock of the devastation wanes, but that wasn’t what killed you anyway. It was the hollow feeling that crept on you; the constant reminder of the person missing from your life and the person you would have been if they were still around. Once my heart had been trampled, mangled, and smashed, nothing could heal it, but a little bit of prayer and a whole lot of tequila.

  ***

  I had not seen or heard from Hunter since I ended our engagement three years ago. In that time, I’d grown accustomed to being alone. I had managed to remain unseen and unsought. No calls. No texts. No dates. No flirting. No Twitter DMs. No Facebook chats. I couldn’t even get a Facebook poke. And, definitely, no sex.

  Let us all have a moment of silence for my forgotten, unused and abandoned vagina.

  Lately I’d been keeping busy, welcoming any and every distraction. I pulled a couple of overnighters at work, taking a hoe-bath each day in the restroom on the tenth floor. My boss urged me to go home during lunch and rest. The truth was I felt safer at work among people; I didn’t trust myself to face the day on my own, but I couldn’t stay at work forever.

  I stumbled up the stairs to my messy, studio apartment, and headed straight to the shower. My back tingled from the rhythmic massage of the warm water. I bathed myself and washed my hair, then bathed again for good measure. After thirty minutes, the water started to cool down, so I exited the shower and wiped the foggy mirror with my hand.

  I stared at my naked reflection in disgust. Mom would kill me if she saw how I’d let myself go. My curly hair was wild and unkempt, and I never wore make-up anymore. Or earrings. Or my contacts. I’ll be honest. I looked like a black Ugly Betty. I could be pretty cute when I tried, but I needed a reason to try. Hunter had been that reason.

  I was looking forward to a lazy afternoon wrapped in my favorite Snuggie, watching America’s Next Top Model on Hulu. I strolled to the kitchen for a drink, plotting how I’d put the moves on José Cuervo when I realized I was out of tequila. It was probably a good thing as José tended to take advantage of a girl, so I decided to venture out for some wine.

  In my mind, I heard my mother’s voice reprimand me for daring to go out looking like I’d been smacked by Miley Cyrus’s wrecking ball, so I brushed my hair into a high ponytail, threw on some skinny jeans, my Ugg boots, and a tight sweater. I put on a smattering of lip balm and took a moment to insert my contacts.

  When I arrived at Wal-Mart, I noticed red and pink displays of hearts, teddy bears, flowers and candy. Nausea punched me in the gut.

  February 14th.

  Damn.

  I loathed Valentine’s Day like I loathed pap smears, root canals, and Donald Trump. Not because I was single, but I had my reasons.

  I thought that I would have been strong enough to handle the sight of hearts and roses, but I felt a wave of emotion as violent as a tsunami. I stood watching as a swarm of people fought over the last pickings of cards and gifts. I hurried to the wine section. Glancing over each shoulder, I grabbed a bottle of Barefoot wine from the shelf and twisted the cap off, taking a long swig. Then another.

  Wine in hand, I sauntered over to the frozen food aisle, snatched a bag of crinkle fries, and rushed toward the front of the store. I made a pit stop at the $5 DVD bin and considered grabbing the first few seasons of Degrassi: The Next Generation. I figured watching my favorite childhood TV series might put me in a better mood, but I rescinded that decision on account of the kid in the wheelchair who had more sex than I did.

  I took another gulp from the bottle.

  The checkout lines were endless. I should have gone to Target. I was tempted to leave my items and make a break for the exit, but I’d already downed nearly half the bottle of wine.

  In hopes of finding a shorter line, I made an abrupt left turn down an aisle where I crashed into an unsuspecting shopper. My frozen fries made a crunching noise when they hit the floor, followed by the shatter of glass and splash of red wine all over aisle six. The impact of our collision sent the other person’s shopping cart flying into the shelves, knocking over several boxes of Rice-a-Roni and Uncle Ben’s.

  I stumbled forward, but a pair of strong hands helped me regain my footing, rescuing me from further embarrassment.

  “Are you okay?”

  “God, I’m such a klutz,” I said.

  Flustered and humiliated, I reached down to grab the bag of fries just as he stooped to do the same.

  “No, no. I can get it,” I protested. Our hands brushed against one another. I could feel the intensity of his eyes on me–it felt as though he was using telekinesis to compel me to look at him.

  I lifted my eyes to meet his and my fingers went numb. Then I heard myself inhale as he licked his lips and whispered my name.

  “Heather.”

  The cadence of my name floated from his lips and tickled my eardrums.

  Damn, he’s still fine.

  “Hunter,” I said. “Oh, my God.”

  He smiled. “Of all people to bump into, huh?”

  We both slowly stood upright. His blue eyes sparkled as he held my gaze. They traveled lower–to my lips, my breasts, then my hips, and back up again. His eyes always said things his lips did not.

  A few stray tendrils had fallen from my messy ponytail. I smoothed them away from my eyes, but my disobedient curls refused to submit. I tugged on the bottom of my sweater, tucking my finger into a newfound hole at the hem. I cursed myself for not applying make-up before leaving the house, but it didn’t matter because Hunter had a way of making me feel pretty.

  “You look sensational,” he said in a breathy tone.

  “Thank you,” I said, barely above a whisper. “You do, too.”

  He ran his fingers through his short, chestnut brown hair. I remembered a time when my fingers would comb through those locks. He used to have the sweetest baby face, always clean shaven. Now he’d grown a mustache and a trimmed beard. Even underneath his Seattle Seahawks sweatshirt, I could see his broad shoulders and muscular chest. I couldn’t help but wonder if he looked the same underneath his jeans, too. I blushed at the thought.

  “So, how have you been? It’s been a long time.”

  “Three years,” I said before I could stop myself. “Uhm, I’m okay. Working at a new firm across town. What about you? Anything new?”

  He chuckled. “There’s always something happening in my world. I work with kids now at the community center in the sports and recreation department. It’s right by the little park where we met. You remember?”

  Just being in his presence made my heart stop and pound at the same time. “Yes, I remember.”

  I pursed my lips, praying to the heavens that my teeth weren’t stained red from the wine. I took two steps back for fear that he would smell it on my breath. That’s when I noticed his cart laden with Valentine’s Day goodies. Although my heart felt as heavy as an anvil, I couldn’t resist asking, “Who’s the lucky lady?” I gestured toward the cart.

  “Still nosy, I see.” He stepped in front of the cart. Out of sight, out of mind did not apply here. “Man, I can’t be
lieve it’s you. I was just thinking about you this morning.”

  I glanced at the cart again and scowled. “Why are you thinking about me?”

  Hunter scowled. “Because today is…”

  “Just another day,” I interjected.

  His expression softened. “Hey, Heather…” His voice trailed off.

  My chin quivered and I squeezed my eyes shut. I would not cry in front of my ex-fiancé and a spilled bottle of Barefoot wine in Wal-Mart.

  “I should go,” I told him. I started to leave, but I could hear him following me.

  “Wait,” he called to me. “Don’t go. Please. Wait.”

  I whirled around. His handsome face was solemn. We stood facing each other in a long moment of silence.

  He reached for my hand and before I could protest, he pulled me into an embrace. I dropped the bag of fries on the floor and melted into him like butter on cornbread. I buried my face in his chest as I felt overwhelming grief overtake me. In his arms, I didn’t feel like we were standing in the middle of a supermarket; we had traveled back in time to three years prior. When he’d held me as we wept together in the middle of our living room. He had been my rock when I found out we were pregnant, but he’d crumbled when we lost the baby.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his racing heartbeat.

  He pulled away to look into my eyes. “We didn’t run into each other on this day for no reason. Don’t you see? She brought us together—”

  “Let’s not do this,” I said, wiping tears from my cheeks. “I can’t handle all of this right now. All I wanted were my fries and my wine–”

  “You’ve been drinking?”

  “–so I really don’t want to do this with you today, okay?”

  He said nothing and I took that as my cue to continue. “I honestly never thought I would see you again. And I didn’t want to be seen by you. Not like this.” I looked down at my dirty boots and made another attempt to swipe my curls out of my eyes.