Big Girls Do Cry

by Carl Weber

  In the bathroom, I picked up a small cup and used it to collect my morning pee for the pregnancy test. The package insert said to pee on the stick, but I always used a cup because I didn’t like the idea of getting it on my hand. I placed the cup on the counter and dipped the stick in, then left it there while I went about my morning routine.

  Looking at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, I wondered if the sadness I saw in my eyes was obvious to Rashad. I tried to ignore the negative chatter going on in my head, but it was hard, because it seemed to be happening more frequently lately.

  You ain’t pregnant. You know you can’t get pregnant with no turkey baster. Now that you want to get pregnant, you won’t get pregnant again, so you can just kiss your little dreams about you and Rashad good-bye.

  I washed my face and brushed my hair. By then, enough time had passed for me to check the stick, which I was certain would once again be negative. In fact, I was so sure I wasn’t pregnant that I barely glanced at it before I tossed it into the trash. Then it hit me. Wait a minute. That was a positive sign!

  I reached into the trash can, rummaging around until I had the stick in my hand. I looked down, and sure enough, there was a plus sign on the stick. I jumped up in the air and let out an excited yelp. Suddenly, there was hope for me and Rashad.

  I ran back into the bedroom and threw on a robe—no more falling-towel tricks for me—then rushed down the stairs, stick in hand. I was moving so fast, it’s a miracle I didn’t slip and break my neck.

  I headed right to the family room, where I knew Rashad would be watching college football. He’d been talking about the big game between Florida and Georgia all week. Originally, I’d planned to watch it with him, as a way of spending some alone time with him. Egypt never watched sports with him, so I figured I could use that opportunity to rebuild his trust and hopefully chisel away at that wall he’d put up between us. Now I didn’t need to worry about that. The pregnancy test I held in my hand would be more like a sledgehammer, and in no time at all, the wall would come tumbling down.

  I stepped into the room, where Rashad was reclining in his La-Z-Boy chair, eyes glued to the TV.

  “Good game?” I asked, trying to contain my excitement.

  “Hell, yeah. Georgia’s up by three in the first quarter.” He barely glanced over at me as he spoke.

  “They in Athens or Gainesville?”

  “Gainesville, but Georgia’s getting seven points on the spread.” He finally turned his head in my direction. “You know, I forgot you liked football. You want a beer?” He lifted the top of the small cooler next to him.

  I casually placed a hand on my stomach. “No, thanks, but we should definitely celebrate after the game.”

  “If Georgia wins, I’ll buy you and Egypt the biggest steaks in Richmond.”

  “What about if they lose?”

  “If they lose, ain’t nothing to celebrate. I got two grand on this game.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. I might have something else we could celebrate.”

  He raised his eyebrows, but I couldn’t read his expression. Either he was beginning to understand what I was hinting at, or he was wondering what scheme I was up to now. I spoke up fast before he decided it was another trick and put his guard up again.

  “Do you think you might feel like celebrating if I’m pregnant?” I asked.

  “If you’re—” He stopped speaking abruptly, and I could see the awareness dawning on his face. “Wait a minute. You’re pregnant?” He was out of his seat and by my side in a flash.

  “Yes, Rashad, I’m pregnant!”

  I expected him to joyfully throw his arms around me, but instead they stayed folded across his chest. “Isis, if this is another lie … I don’t have time for your games today.”

  Damn, he really didn’t trust me at all, and it was starting to annoy me. He could act like I was the one playing games, but it’s not like he didn’t want to hit it that day too.

  “I’m not playing, Rashad. I’m really pregnant.”

  He turned back to the television like he had already made up his mind that I was full of shit. “Who am I supposed to be, BoBo the Clown? You haven’t even been to the doctor yet.”

  I held up the stick. “I just took a home pregnancy test. This test is ninety-nine percent accurate, and that plus sign means I’m pregnant. Check it for yourself.” I tossed it at him. “You convinced now?” I asked as he picked up the stick and examined it.

  “You weren’t lying?”

  “No, Rashad, I wasn’t. You’re going to be a daddy.”

  It took a minute for the information to register, but once it did, he was all over the place. He jumped up on the La-Z-Boy and started to do the Running Man. Then he jumped to the floor and wrapped his arms around me and picked me up off my feet. I hugged him back, giggling.

  Seeing the joy on his face made this whole process well worth any sacrifice I might have made. I don’t think I’d ever done anything in my entire life that had made someone else this happy. There was no doubt in my mind he was going to make a great father—and we were going to make great parents.

  “I can’t wait to tell Egypt,” he said, spinning me around.

  “Tell Egypt what?” My sister walked into the room, looking at us like we’d lost our minds.

  Rashad put me down and ran over to her, but her eyes were still locked on me. “Excuse me,” she said, “but that’s my husband you’re holding on to.” After Rashad’s excitement, her stern voice was like a bucket of ice-cold water over my head.

  “We were just celebrating, baby,” Rashad explained.

  “Celebrating what, a football game? You know better, Rashad.” She cut her eyes at me again.

  “Baby, it’s not like that. She’s pregnant.” He showed her the stick.

  In an instant, her face lit up. “Oh my God! We’re pregnant! We’re pregnant!” Now she was jumping all over the place right along with Rashad, and I was left standing by myself. When they embraced and shared a passionate kiss, I wished I had morning sickness so I could throw up on Egypt’s shoes.

  “We’re pregnant, baby,” she said to him with tears in her eyes.

  Sorry, I know the moment was supposed to be touching and all, but I wanted to push my way in between them and remind her, No, bitch, I’m pregnant.

  I bullied my way into their little private party. “I’m so excited, Rashad. It’s going to be a boy. I just know it.”

  I knew I’d made a mistake as soon as I saw the look on Egypt’s face. “Don’t forget, you’re a surrogate. This is our baby, not yours. Don’t go getting attached. We’re paying you good money to do this.”

  I couldn’t afford to make her an enemy just yet—at least not until I was paid in full—so I waved off her warning as if she’d totally read me wrong. “Girl, I’m just so happy to be a part of this. Of course I know it’s going to be your baby, Egypt.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. But you need to lie down. You’re going to have to get plenty of rest.”

  I nodded, gladly heading back upstairs to get some more sleep. I was sure I’d be dreaming of the look on Rashad’s face. I’d just made him the happiest man on the planet, and it was only a matter of time before he realized that it was me, not my sister, who did that for him.

  Loraine

  28

  I sat down in a chair on the other side of the waiting room, purposely keeping my distance from Leon, who was reading a magazine with his legs crossed. We’d been living under the same roof for the past two months, but I slept in the master bedroom and he stayed in the guestroom. Not that he liked our arrangement, but what choice did he have? He could either live by my rules or get the hell out, ‘cause I was done. As far as I was concerned, all he was good for was as an occasional escort to a party. Once I won the election, I was going to find me someone else. Shit, I didn’t really even know why I’d agreed to come here today other than, as he put it, to call his bluff.

  “Mr. and
Mrs. Farrow, you can come in now,” a well-dressed sister in her early fifties said as she stood by the door. I glanced across the room at Leon, who smiled at me confidently. I rolled my eyes. What the heck was he smiling about? He was the one who was about to be put on blast for cheating on me.

  You see, this all started about a week ago, when Leon escorted me to my sorority’s annual ball. I have to give him credit; when he wanted to, Leon could be a first-class asset. Not only did he place me on a pedestal and make every person in the room think we were the happiest couple they’d ever met, but also every time I pointed out someone who might not vote for me, he’d ease his way over and work her husband, inviting him to play golf or go fishing on his boat. He’d even set up a husbands’ poker game. I can’t begin to tell you how well this worked, because the next thing I knew, their wives were all up in my face, trying to set up lunches and teas.

  Not that his kindness was new. He’d been doing the same thing at home. He’d been so nice to me as of late, you’d think he was running for Pope, the way he was cooking, cleaning, and running my errands. That night, he must have told me a thousand times how beautiful and sexy I looked. I can’t lie; we both had a really good time. Under normal circumstances, he would have gone to sleep a very happy man; but when we got home, to his surprise, it was his and hers bedrooms again. You should have heard him begging and pleading for me to give him another chance. I didn’t pay him no mind. I just went upstairs and closed my door.

  About a half hour later, there was a knock on my bedroom door, which I now kept locked just for this reason.

  “Hey, Loraine, can you open the door, please?” he pleaded.

  “What do you want? Go to bed.” I hated when he did this, always when I was almost asleep. I covered my head with a pillow.

  He knocked again, this time lighter, probably with a knuckle. “I just want to talk to you, baby. Please open up.” He really sounded pitiful.

  “Leon, I’m tired. Whatever it is, it can wait ‘til the morning. Now go to bed!”

  “I’m not going to bed until I have my say. We can do it face-to-face or through this door. The choice is yours.”

  I sat up with an aggravated sigh. “Go to bed!” I threw the pillow at the door.

  “Baby, I just want you to know I’m not messing with no woman. I swear to God, I don’t know where those panties came from. You’ve got to believe me. I swear on my dead grandmother’s grave—”

  That’s when I had had enough. I didn’t feel like listening to him calling on his dead grandmother yet again, so I got out of bed, unlocked the door, and then snatched it open. Leon almost fell in on his face. When he straightened up, I noticed he was wearing a smoking jacket and his silk PJs.

  “Who the hell are you supposed to be, Hugh Hefner?”

  “Heff ain’t got nothin’ on me, baby. So, how’s my big sexy?” He was talking all smooth, looking at me seductively. He didn’t want to talk about our relationship. All he wanted was sex. Leon mistakenly thought sex would bring us back together. What he didn’t understand, and quite frankly most men don’t understand, is that when women get mad, all their parts get mad. In other words, Big Sexy’s Sex Shop was closed!

  “I’m not your big sexy anymore, so go call your bitch.”

  His so-called seductive smile disappeared. “Loraine, I swear—”

  “I know, I know, you swear on your dead grandmother…. Oh, please, Leon. Give it a rest, will you? Stop lying and stop calling on your grandmother. That poor woman is probably turning over in her grave right now.”

  “Loraine, it’s been two and a half months. I need you, baby. We need you.” Leon looked down at his crotch, then back up to me. Pitiful. That was the look that used to melt me down, but it didn’t work this time.

  “No. You should’ve thought about that shit when you was fuckin’ some bitch in my bed. But, nooooo, it got so good to you, you even had her in our living room. Where else in my house did you screw her?” Just thinking about some other woman in my house had me livid.

  “Nowhere, dammit!” he exploded, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. “I don’t know where the fuck that shit came from! All I know is that I want my wife back! Now, tell me, what’s it going to take so my life can get back to normal?”

  He wasn’t hurting me, but it was scary the way he was screaming like a madman as he shook me. I wasn’t about to let him know he had rattled me, but the way his veins were popping out of the side of his neck, you would have thought he was about to kill me. I had to be careful that whatever I said didn’t escalate this situation, because he looked like he was about to snap, and I did not want to be the victim of a murder/suicide.

  “You wanna know what it’s gonna take?”

  “Yes!” he shouted.

  “It’s going to take some counseling. You—we—need some help, Leon. We can’t do this by ourselves anymore. We both have too many issues. So, if you want us to have a chance, we have to go to some type of counseling.”

  It was almost unfair. I had just placed him in the ultimate catch-22. The last thing Leon would ever do was go see a shrink. He’d said it a million times when I’d suggested it in the past, when he was clearly going through depression over losing his uncle. He was like most black men; he didn’t believe in letting anyone inside his head.

  He took a long, deep breath, letting go of my shoulders. It looked like he was calming down, probably trying to think of a way out of this quandary he had now gotten himself into.

  “You want us to go to a marriage counselor?”

  “Yes, Leon, I do.”

  “Okay, I can do that,” he said.

  “Huh?” I was stunned. “What’d you say?”

  “I said I’ll do it. If that’s what it’ll take to show you how serious I am, I’ll do it. I’ll go to counseling. Matter of fact, I’ll even make the damn appointment.”

  I couldn’t help it. A short laugh escaped my lips. His actions were getting so ridiculous they were funny. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he believed them himself. “Stop lying, Leon. You are not going to make any appointment.”

  “I’m not lying. You’ll see.” I was more surprised by this than when I thought he was going over the deep end a few minutes ago.

  “Call my bluff.”

  So, although I didn’t let Leon in my bedroom that night, there I was at a marriage counselor with him three days later. As far as I was concerned, it wasn’t going to do any good, but Leon seemed as happy as a pig in slop.

  The therapist, Dr. Robena Marshall, was a highly respected marriage counselor in the Richmond-Petersburg area. I’d looked her up online, mostly because I didn’t trust Leon not to have one of his friends play therapist to trick me. I still couldn’t believe he’d actually made the appointment and shown up.

  “So, why are we here today?” Dr. Marshall asked a few seconds after we were seated.

  Leon and I glanced at each other, but neither of us spoke. We were sitting on a leather sofa across from the doctor, but I made sure he was on one end of the sofa and I was on the other, so that told a story in itself. She looked from one of us to the other, giving our physical space a pointed look. She then wrote something on a notepad.

  “Okay, let’s not all speak up at the same time.” I guess that was supposed to be an icebreaker. Personally, I thought it was rude. “Leon, why don’t you start?”

  I turned my entire body in his direction when he started to speak. “I love my wife. I love her more than anyone in the world. But my wife doesn’t want to be physical anymore. We’re just living together like roommates. We’re there in name only, and I don’t like it one bit. Not at all.”

  “I see.” She glanced at me, her expression neutral, then back to Leon. “When was the last time you two were intimate?”

  “It’s been two and a half months.”

  “And how does that make you feel?”

  “Like I’m less than a man.” As I listened to Leon pour out his heart like he was the victim here, I felt myself g
etting angry. “Making love to your woman is a natural part of being a man. When she rejects me, I feel worthless. Like she’s tearing me apart or ripping at my self-esteem.”

  “This is bull!” I stood up, pointing a finger at him. “You know why I haven’t given you any, and it damn sure ain’t got nothing to do with your self-esteem. Why don’t you tell her about the panties?”

  “Loraine, would you please sit down?”

  I ignored the doctor. “Tell her, Leon. Tell her about the panties I found in my bed. Tell her about the panties my sorority sister found stuck between the cushions of my sofa. Tell her.”

  “I told you I don’t know how those panties got there,” Leon protested.

  “Loraine, I must insist that you take your seat,” Dr. Marshall ordered.

  I glared at her like I wasn’t about to take orders from her, but then I sat down anyway. I felt like knocking both of them out right there in her office, but I didn’t want her to take his side any more than she already had.

  “Both of you calm down,” Dr. Marshall said, still as cool as a cucumber. “Now, Leon, you’re saying you don’t know anything about these panties, correct?”

  “Yep.” That lying bastard. I wanted to reach across and slap that lie right out of his mouth.

  “So, where do you think they came from?” In all the times we’d fought about this, he’d never offered an explanation for how else they might have gotten there. I was anxious to hear what story he would concoct for the good doctor.

  “Dr. Marshall, if I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be paying you a hundred dollars an hour to help me get back with my wife.”

  “What makes you think she’s going to help you get me back?” I asked. “I don’t even like you anymore, Leon. In fact, I’m planning on divorcing you.”

  Leon’s face registered shock, but when I looked toward the doctor, her face was a blank canvas. Either she’d heard it all before and wasn’t surprised, or they taught them at whatever school a therapist goes to how to mask their true feelings.

  “Loraine, it sounds like you’ve already made up your mind. Don’t you want to try to work things out? Otherwise, why did you come?”