Big Girls Do Cry

by Carl Weber

  I didn’t answer, because I was thinking about this situation. There was a side of me that didn’t want to get a divorce, but my proud side couldn’t take any more of Leon’s shit.

  “Okay, Loraine. Besides finding the underwear—which Leon says he didn’t put there—what else bothers you about your husband? What other reason do you have to divorce him?”

  Leon folded his arms, smirking like he didn’t have a care in the world. He had no idea what was coming, but since I was still worked up, I decided to drop a bomb right on his head. “The sex is horrible.”

  “Huh? Are you serious?” Leon fixed his eyes on me with this incredulous stare, like he couldn’t believe his ears. I just rolled my eyes at him, and he turned to the doctor. “And she had the nerve to call me a liar. I thought we were supposed to be honest.”

  “You are supposed to be honest. What makes you think she’s not being honest?”

  I sat back and relaxed a bit. For the first time, she sounded like she might be on my side.

  Leon stuck his chest out. “You don’t understand, Doc. Loraine’s body is like a canvas, and when we’re in the bedroom, I’m Leonardo da Vinci. Our lovemaking is like fine art, a masterpiece.”

  “I see.” She still wore that blank mask, but I wondered if she was holding back a laugh. Leon might have been trying hard to save our marriage, but his flowery description was taking things a little too far.

  As for me, I just folded my arms and studied the titles of the books on her shelves, wishing I had never suggested a visit to a shrink. I had expected Leon to refuse, but I had no idea that I’d end up being the one who didn’t feel like talking about what was in my head. But now that I was here, the doctor wasn’t about to accept silence from me.

  “So, what is it, Loraine? You don’t agree with Leon’s description of your lovemaking?”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t think I was in the room when that picture was painted.”

  “So, how would you describe it?”

  “To use a metaphor like him, I see myself as a high-performance race car, and Leon’s the driver. But he only knows how to drive one speed, and that’s fast. He has no clue how to maneuver through the curves, so he crashes the car before the race ends—every time.” I looked at him, daring him to deny it. I wasn’t expecting him to sound so vulnerable when he answered.

  “If I was so bad, why didn’t you say something?”

  “I’ve tried to tell you, Leon, but you just wouldn’t listen. You can’t tell me how I’m supposed to feel. I’m supposed to tell you.”

  “So, what are you trying to say?”

  “For the past few years, you’ve been prematurely ejaculating. I can’t remember the last orgasm I had with you.”

  Leon sat there looking like I just stabbed him in the heart. “You don’t have orgasms with me? Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

  He was almost in tears, and though things were nowhere near resolved, I was starting to feel bad. I softened my tone a little. “It wasn’t always that bad. We used to have a lot of fun in the bedroom when we first got married.”

  “My uncle.”

  “What about your uncle, Leon?” the doctor asked.

  “It started right around the time my uncle died, didn’t it?” It took me a second to realize he was talking to me.

  “I never thought about it, but, yes, it did start around then.” I turned to the doctor. “He was very close with his uncle. Before he died, Leon had been his caregiver.”

  “I see. Sometimes death can cause mental trauma that’s related to our sexual psyche.” Dr. Marshall wrote something in her pad before she continued. “How about if you start going out on dates, without any sex? You can touch, you can fondle, but no actual intercourse. Just old-fashioned petting. Couples have told me this method lights up a fire in them like being teenagers.”

  “Well, I’d like that,” Leon said, brightening a little. “How about it, Loraine?”

  I shook my head. “That’s not the only reason I’m sick of you, Leon. Don’t think I will ever forgot that you put your hands on me. I still have a mark on my chest where you hit me.” I turned to the doctor. “He’s an abusive man.”

  The doctor glanced at Leon out of the corner of her eye, then wrote something in her notebook.

  “Oh my goodness, Loraine. That’s not the whole story and you know it. You put your hands on me first,” Leon responded. “I was only defending my—”

  “Wait a minute,” Dr. Marshall interrupted, her eyes on me.

  “Are you the aggressor? Do you hit your husband first?”

  “Well, ah …” Damn! This was not going well at all. How did I go from being the victim to looking like the bad guy?

  “That’s a yes or no question.”

  “Yes, but you see, I’m a businesswoman, and I’m used to getting on people when they mess up. Sometimes Leon gets disrespectful, and I’m not used to taking crap off of people. I always deal with them head-on, but with Leon, he knows how to push my buttons and he doesn’t give. So sometimes he makes me so angry I fly off the handle and smack him.”

  Dr. Marshall shook her head, revealing a clear opinion for the first time. “That’s a no-no. Neither one of you should be physically harming the other.”

  “You’re right. I was wrong,” Leon admitted. “Even if she hit me first, I should have walked away. I’m sorry I ever laid hands on her, and I promise I will never hit her again. This is my wife, and I love her. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to win her back. I want my wife, and I want to save my marriage.”

  “Okay, say that to your wife, not to me.”

  “Loraine”—Leon turned toward me—”I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you in the past, but I swear I never disrespected you and brought no woman to our bed or in our house. I still don’t know how those underwear got there. I swear I’ll try to change in the bedroom. You’re a good woman, and my life has been better for you having been in it. Please, baby, give us a chance.”

  I sat there quietly, lacing and unlacing my fingers. I was kind of touched by the way Leon humbled himself in front of another woman, even if she was our therapist. He was laying down all his cards on the table.

  “What can I do to make our marriage better?” Leon asked.

  I sat there, trying to formulate my answer. “Well, for one, you’re going to have to start talking to me more. I’d like to be kissed and held more. I have to build up our trust again, behind these panties. I don’t want to have sex again until I’m ready.”

  Leon nodded in agreement.

  Dr. Marshall glanced at her watch, then spoke up. “Well, I think we’ve made some progress. I’d like to see both of you again next week. How about Thursday?”

  “That’s fine,” I said. I wasn’t sure how I felt about everything that had transpired, but I know I felt relieved as hell to be getting out of there. I stood up, and Leon and I headed for the door.

  The doctor said, “Leon, I think there are some issues that are a lot deeper than any of us think. I’d like to see you again alone.”

  Leon said, “If you think it will help with me and Loraine, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Wow, did he just agree to go to therapy on his own?

  “Loraine, I think you could use a few sessions too. I think you have some anger issues.”

  I looked at her and concentrated hard to keep my expression as neutral as hers. “No, thank you, Dr. Marshall. My anger issues will be just fine, as long as I don’t find any more panties in my house and he don’t call me a bitch.”

  Isis

  29

  I sat at the table in Momma and Daddy’s house in Hollis, Queens, feeling full and satisfied. From the look on Rashad’s face, I could tell he was just as happy as I was to be sitting here eating Momma’s mouthwatering turkey, instead of that dried-out thing Egypt tried to pass off on us last Thanksgiving. Momma had laid out a spread of turkey, ham, sweet potatoes, carrots, collard greens, stuffing, and candied yams, and I was so glad that my morning
sickness had recently stopped. I don’t know why they called it morning sickness anyway, since I had been throwing up at all times of the day and night. But now that I could finally hold down some food, nothing was going to stop me from filling my plate three times, not even the disgusted stares I was getting from Egypt. Four months into my pregnancy, she was still as controlling as ever, but I’d be damned if I was gonna let her control what I put in my mouth with all this good food sitting in front of me.

  Part of the reason she was in such a bad mood was because she hadn’t really wanted to come home for Thanksgiving in the first place. She claimed it was because she didn’t think it would be good for me or the baby to make the long trip up from Virginia. Something told me that wasn’t her real reason, so I called her on it. I checked with the doctor, who told me that it’s safe to travel all the way up until the eighth month. That’s when I knew for sure that Egypt’s excuse was a lie, because after I got the doctor’s permission, she just started coming up with other excuses for why we shouldn’t come to New York for the holiday. The only reason she finally agreed that we should all go home was because I told her flat out that if she didn’t, I was taking a Greyhound bus to New York. Even then, it was Rashad who announced that we’d all be going to see Momma and Daddy, because he didn’t want me on no bus.

  Truth is, I think now that I was starting to show, Egypt didn’t want people seeing me, because it would just be a reminder of her own inability to get pregnant. If she had her way, she would have locked me in a windowless room until I gave birth, and then she would pop up with the baby in her arms, like I had nothing to do with it. That wasn’t happening, though. I was the one carrying Rashad’s baby in my womb, and sooner or later, everyone would have to acknowledge that fact.

  Rashad, however, was already acknowledging it on a daily basis. Every time he looked at my stomach, he would beam with pride, and he told me at least three or four times a day how grateful he was that I was carrying his child. So, while Egypt was busy trying to control my every waking moment, Rashad was waiting on me hand and foot. Tonight at dinner was no exception.

  “Can I get you any more yams, Isis?” He reached for the bowl and passed them to me. I spotted Egypt rolling her eyes, and I couldn’t resist the urge to do something I knew would annoy her.

  “No, me and my little candy dumpling are saving room for Momma’s cobbler.” I unbuttoned my stretch jeans and lifted my blouse, patting my growing belly. This always brought a smile to Rashad’s face.

  Daddy smiled and said, “That’s right. Eat up. I want my grandbaby to be nice and fat.”

  Momma, always the more judgmental one, had a very different reaction. “Isis, pull your top down,” she snapped. “You know better than to do that at the dinner table.”

  Egypt let out a disgusted sigh. “Welcome to my world, Momma. You should see how spoiled she’s getting since she’s been pregnant.”

  My father had seen enough fights between me and my sister to know that this could turn ugly in a hurry, so he changed the subject before I had a chance to jump down Egypt’s throat. “Well, I just hope it’s a boy,” Daddy said. “I want me a grandson, so stop calling him by sissy names. He ain’t nobody’s candy dumpling. He’s gonna be a man’s man.”

  Momma took the hint and steered away from the touchy subject of my supposedly bad behavior. She asked what she thought would be an innocent question. “So, what do you want?”

  “Personally, I want a boy,” I answered without thinking. “I’ve always wanted a little boy.”

  “Hold on!” Momma shifted her attention to me. “You’re just supposed to be the surrogate, and this is their baby. Or have you forgotten that?”

  Damn, what did I open my mouth for? I suddenly felt like a little girl again. I was always the one getting scolded by Momma, even when we were kids. And Egypt was always right there, watching with a satisfied smirk on her face, just like she was doing now.

  “No, I haven’t forgotten, but—”

  Momma didn’t even give me a chance to finish defending myself before she was on top of me again. “This baby is theirs. You may be carrying it, but you are the baby’s aunt, not its mother.”

  “I know, Momma. But—”

  “Now, it’s a nice thing you’re doing for them, but those are your sister’s eggs growing into that child. You are just an incubator, so let’s not get confused.”

  Oh, no, she didn’t just call me an incubator. I mean, I know she always took Egypt’s side over mine, but did she really have to go and disrespect me like that? I felt my face getting hot. I was about ready to explode.

  “Karen,” my father called out, intervening once again. The room fell silent. My father was a man of few words, but when he spoke, especially with that telltale bass in his voice, everyone listened. “Not at my dinner table, okay?”

  Momma sounded humbled as she answered, “Okay, Bobby, but I just want to make sure things are clear. Last thing we need is any more confusion in this family.”

  I loved my mother, but she sure had a knack for hurting my feelings. Her comment about confusion was an obvious reference to the time I lost control for a while after I found out Tony was married. This time, though, I was in total control, and I was going to make sure she—and everyone else at the table—knew it. “Hmm, confusion, huh? I hate to tell you this, Momma, but if you’re confused, it sure ain’t my fault.”

  She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth, but no words came out. Momma was probably too shocked that I was speaking back to her like this after my father had basically told us all to stop it. I didn’t care, though. I was not no incubator, and I’d be damned if I was going to let anyone treat me like I didn’t matter.

  I gave Egypt an evil smirk, then turned back to Momma. “Or maybe you’ve been lied to, ‘cause these is my eggs the baby came from.”

  My mother’s face fell as she looked to Egypt for answers. Nobody spoke, not even my father.

  “Is this true?” my mother snapped at Egypt.

  The best Egypt could do was nod. She kept her eyes glued to the table, looking like she just wanted to crawl in the corner and die.

  Rashad made an attempt to save her the embarrassment of explaining. “Mom, as you know, Egypt’s uterus is too weak to support a pregnancy.” He paused, but still no one else said a word. “What you don’t know, from what I’m gathering, is that her eggs drop very infrequently.”

  From what he was gathering? So, he had no idea that Egypt was telling lies to my mother and probably to other people, too, about the fact that her eggs were no good. My sister was scandalous! But still, Rashad was sticking by her side, and it was starting to make me a little sick.

  “Because of this,” he explained patiently as he held her hand, “we weren’t able to create any embryos to implant in Isis. So we are very thankful to her for letting us have her egg.”

  Instead of yelling at Egypt for telling lies, like she would have done to me, my mother wrapped her arm around Egypt’s shoulder and kissed her.

  “Isis, I’m sorry,” Momma said.

  Finally, I thought with a smile, she was offering me a little appreciation, but it didn’t last long. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing for your sister and Rashad, but what I said before still stands. You can’t get attached. This pregnancy is only for you to carry the baby. Don’t try to bond with it. This is just going to be your niece or nephew.”

  I was so sick of Egypt getting all of Momma’s affection. Shoot, I was the one saving the day and having the baby, but she still made me sound like some irresponsible fool who wouldn’t know which way was up if she wasn’t lecturing me about it.

  “I know it’s going to be my niece or nephew,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes and suck my teeth at Momma.

  “We are just so appreciative of Isis having the baby for us,” Rashad said to break some of the tension in the air.

  “Yes, and I’m glad to do it for them.” Suddenly, I felt something squirm inside of me. “Ooh!” There was anoth
er faint fluttering, and I placed my hand on my stomach when I realized what was happening.

  Rashad jumped up. “Are you all right, Isis?”

  “I’m fine. The baby just moved for the first time.”

  “No shit?” Rashad sounded so excited until he looked up at my father. “Excuse my French, Mom and Pop. Can I feel it, Isis?”

  I leaned back and placed his hand on my abdomen in the place where I felt the baby. “There it goes again!” I said happily.

  He stared at my stomach and waited a few seconds, but nothing else happened. “I guess the baby’s still too small,” he said. “I didn’t feel anything.” He moved his hand away, but I knew he was just putting on an act in front of everybody. Maybe he didn’t feel it kick, but you can’t tell me he didn’t feel the same electricity I felt when his hand was covering the baby we’d made together. Oh, yes, I was going to get my man back.

  Egypt

  30

  It was the day after Thanksgiving, the busiest shopping day of the year, and my feet were killing me from walking the mall. Momma, Isis, and I had been over at Green Acres Mall since six o’clock, taking advantage of all the early morning department store sales. It was sort of a family tradition, but to tell you the truth, I wished we had left Isis’s spoiled behind at home. I swear she must have thought I was her personal servant the way she ordered me around—in front of my mother, no less.

  “I gotta pee,” she whined as we walked out of Ashley Stewart. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “You always gotta pee. Can’t you wait until we get to Red Lobster so I can sit down? My feet are killing me.”

  “I’m sorry, but this baby—you know, the one you wanted so bad—keeps pushing down on my bladder.” She dropped her three shopping bags at my feet. “I would think you’d be a little more understanding. If I hold it too long, I might get a urinary tract infection, and that wouldn’t be good for the baby, now, would it?”

  I put my hand up to quiet her.