I took a long inhale on my cigarette and let the nicotine work its magic.
“Hey, what are you still doing up?” my mom asked, poking her head out on the deck.
I blew a puff of smoke. “Just enjoying the solitude.”
She eyed my cigarette disapprovingly, and like a child, I mashed it out. “How was bingo?”
She shrugged as she sat down next to me. “I didn’t win. Lost forty dollars. I don’t know why the Lord won’t answer my prayer to hit it big.”
I couldn’t help but laugh because she was dead serious. My mom had a warped view of religion. She was the only person I knew who would watch The Passion of the Christ on bootleg video while reading the Bible she took from a hotel.
“So, where’s Steven?” she asked, looking around.
I shrugged. “Out with his friend.”
“Hmph. Kinda late to be out, huh?”
I didn’t want to get her started. I knew having my mom around didn’t help my marriage. She was always adding her two cents. But my mom had been dependent on my dad, and when he died two years ago, she was beside herself. My sister, Charlene, lived in New York, so my mother was all alone. She had come here from my childhood home in DC and, well, just never left. I knew Steven hadn’t really been feeling the idea, but he’d gone along with it for my sake.
“Are you guys okay?” my mom asked pointedly.
I don’t know why, but that actually opened up the dam and I felt tears gushing out.
“Oh, no, baby,” my mom said, coming to my side. “What’s going on?” She rubbed my back. “Why are you crying? Did Steven do something to you?”
I shook my head as I tried to compose myself. “No. I’m . . . I’m just so miserable, and I told Steven tonight I want a divorce.”
My mom leaned back like I’d just delivered the most awful news ever. “And why would you do a fool thing like that?”
“I’m just so unhappy,” I confessed.
“Unhappy? That man gives you a good life.”
“Yes, he provides this big ol’ house for me,” I said, motioning around our six-thousand-square-foot home, “but Steven and I act like bickering roommates. We have no passion. I want to feel some sparks.”
My mother didn’t bother to hide her disgust as she stood and went back to her seat. “Girl, this ain’t some kind of romance novel. Love don’t pay the bills.”
I sighed. “You loved Daddy.”
“Not at first,” she admitted. “Shoot, I was trying to get out of Arkansas and your daddy offered me a ticket out. He had a good job with the railroad, and he loved me more than I loved him.” She wagged a finger at me. “That’s the key. You always got to find a man that loves you more. That’s the man you need to be with.”
I let out a long sigh as I wiped my tears. “It’s not only that, Mama. This being nothing but a mother wasn’t my dream. I love my kids, but there’s more to me than this.”
She continued shaking her head. “Hmph, well, you better take up knitting or find you some kind of hobby.”
“What about my dreams? Do my dreams fall by the wayside because I have kids?” I snapped.
“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “If you talking about that actress crap, you got to grow up. That ship has sailed. You got a family now. That’s your priority. And you going and tellin’ your man you want a divorce. How are you gonna take care of your kids?”
I hadn’t thought about all of that. I was just mad and mouthing off because he was out kickin’ it while I was stuck in the house—again. I guess I didn’t really want a divorce. I just wanted something different. I wanted to be happy.
My mom patted my leg. “Maybe you need to start having some more Paula time. Go out with Felise. Shoot, go out with your husband. You’re the one who thinks you have to be stuck in the house all the time. It’s like you like wallowing in self-pity. I’m tellin’ you, you’d better get it together before Jody’s got your girl and gone.”
“What?” I said, looking at her confused.
She continued wagging a finger in my direction. “While you saying, ‘Scat, scat,’ someone else is ’round the corner sayin’, ‘Here, kitty-kitty.’ ”
I couldn’t help but smile at my mom’s cornball country sayings. “I have no idea what that means.”
She sighed like she had to break something down to me. “You’re not going to know how good you got it till you ain’t got it no more. You gonna look up and some other woman is gonna have your man.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Nah, I know Steven. He’s a lot of things, but he wouldn’t cheat on me.”
My mother narrowed her eyes. “I told you. Never say what somebody wouldn’t do.”
“Well, I trust my husband,” I said pointedly.
“Okay, but just know, you walk around here in a constant funk, mad at the world, taking it out on your kids and husband. Someone wants to deal with that for only so long. It’s no wonder Steven is never here. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to lay with you and your funky attitude either.”
I was shocked. “Whose side are you on anyway?”
“I’m always on your side, but I’m on the side of righteousness first.” She threw her hands up. “Hallelujah.” I pointed to her bingo stamp on her hand. She licked her thumb, then wiped it off. “I’m just saying, Mama knows best. And you best get it together. Talk to your husband. Tell him your concerns. Maybe you guys can find something you enjoy—besides running all over the country starring in one of those chitlin circuit plays. But you need to find something outside of the home that brings you joy. I guarantee you that man will do whatever it takes to make you happy. And once you find that, give as much to your husband as you give to your kids. Everyday life is terrible for love. Love needs time, and time is the air love breathes, and people have no time.”
I stared at my mother, impressed. “Wow, that was deep, Mom.”
“I know a little sumthin’, sumthin’.” She stood and winked. “I hope you heed what I’m telling you. But now I’m going to look up some Bible verses on money. Maybe I’m not praying right.”
I would’ve laughed at her, but her words were weighing heavily on me. Was I pushing my husband away? Was I blaming my family because I wanted to wallow in pity? Was I not giving my marriage the time we needed to grow our love? I sat in silence as my mother’s words sank in. Something inside me said that she was right. Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I needed to make a change.
The more I sat thinking, the more I decided my mother was spot on. So tomorrow would be a new day. I didn’t know how, but I was going to end this pity party and try to focus on making my husband—and me—happy.
6
Felise
MY BRAIN AND MY BODY were in a tug of war. My brain said to go left toward the exit, but my body went right toward the elevator. Before I knew it, I was standing outside room 527, tears streaming down my face.
I knew that I needed to take my butt home.
But I needed this more. I needed to feel Steven again. If only for one night. I needed to know what it felt like to be loved on every inch of my body. Three long years ago was the last time I’d been taken to the heights of pleasure. I’d tried everything to talk to Greg: therapy—which he refused to go to—talking, books, everything. And still he wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t accept that my needs weren’t being met. And he was insulted that I would insinuate that he wasn’t doing his manly duties. He kept asking me to cut him some slack because of how hard he was working for me and our daughter, Liz.
I needed love. I needed loving.
I took a deep breath, then told myself if Greg had loved me right, I wouldn’t be here about to do wrong.
I was crossing into dangerous territory. But in my heart, I was looking forward to going inside, anticipating what the night held.
You loved him first.
The little voice that had been guiding me up the elevator spoke up, as if to give me that one last push before I changed my mind.
I dippe
d the key into the lock, then walked in to see Steven sitting nervously on the edge of the bed. He was still fully dressed and looked like he had completely sobered up. He stood up awkwardly as I came in.
“I–I wasn’t sure if you were going to come,” he said.
My gaze shifted downward. “Me either.”
“Believe it or not, I really have been faithful.”
“Me, too.”
“But, I . . .” He stepped closer. “I’ve never felt so alone.”
“Me either.”
“Felise, I don’t . . .”
I held up my hands to stop him. “I know,” I whispered.
He stepped closer, until I could feel the heat from his body. His breathing was labored, and I could tell he was having an inner battle—just like me.
Steven gently ran a finger behind my ear, then down my neck and around to my chest.
He still remembered what turned me on.
I released a slow moan as I relished his touch. “This is so wrong,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“It is. But I want you, Felise. I need you.”
We each waited on the other to move until finally unbridled passion made our decision for us.
He kissed me with a ferociousness I hadn’t felt in years. Everything inside me wanted to protest, stop him before we went too far, but when I opened my mouth, once again nothing came out. And the minute I felt his tongue, my body reacted. When our tongues did a slow dance, I shivered. When he kissed my neck, I needed more.
He slowly slid off my dress. “Oh, my God,” he said when he noticed my negligee, which I’d forgotten I was still wearing. “You. Are. Stunning,” he said, running his eyes up and down my body. It felt so good to be appreciated. To be wanted.
He didn’t ask why I had the negligee on. He just planted sensual kisses all over my body. Steven took me the height of ecstasy right there against the wall of the hotel room. And before I could catch my breath, he was guiding me toward the bed, where he did it again and again.
Waves of euphoria filled my body until I collapsed in his arms. I realized that slow tears were sliding down my cheeks. I wanted to believe they were guilty tears, but I knew better. These were tears of pure bliss, peppered with thoughts of what could have been.
After we finished, we lay in silence. I snuggled close to him as his arms formed a protective barrier around me.
“I don’t know the last time I felt like this,” he said.
“Me either.” We relapsed into silence—a blissful, comfortable silence—for a while. Then I sat up. “Why didn’t we work?” I knew I didn’t need to be going there. But as I’d watched his happy life with Paula over the years, I can’t tell you the number of times I wondered why that couldn’t have been me. I didn’t realize how much I’d suppressed my feelings until this unexpected release.
He sat up with me. “We were young, stupid. We didn’t realize we were best friends for a reason.”
I sighed, remembering a relationship I had long ago blocked out. Steven was my friend before he was my lover. He was the first boy I met at the University of Texas at Austin. He was a year above me and took me under his wing. He had a girlfriend at the time and never made any inappropriate moves. We were merely good friends who evolved into best friends. Our relationship became a source of contention with his girlfriend, and when they broke up, we grew even closer.
We made the mistake of briefly taking our relationship to the next level my junior year. And it was wonderful—until he announced that he was heading to law school in DC. I had no desire for a long-distance relationship and decided that crossing the line of friendship had been a mistake. I don’t know if I really felt like that or if I just couldn’t bear the thought of my boyfriend being so far away. At the same time I’d met Greg—a first-year grad student—and he was constantly in my ear about the life that he could provide if only I gave him a chance.
I thought the grass would be greener. It was a decision I’d regretted ever since.
I wanted to ask Steven more questions, but I knew if we kept talking, Paula’s name would come up. And I couldn’t bear the thought of mentioning my best friend while I was lying here with her husband.
“Well, everything happens for a reason. We both have wonderful children,” he said.
That we did. My daughter, Liz, was my heart and joy. And I loved his daughter, my goddaughter, Tahiry, just as much.
I lay back down on his chest.
“You ever wonder what our kid would’ve looked like?” he asked after a few beats of silence.
I inhaled sharply. We hadn’t spoken about that since the day we left the women’s clinic. No one—not Paula, Greg, or even my sisters, who I was close to—knew that weeks after Steven announced he was leaving for law school, I found out I was pregnant. We had gone back and forth over what to do. I couldn’t bear the thought of Steven giving up his dream of law school to become a father. But before we could make a decision, I miscarried. The doctors couldn’t tell me why, just that “it happens.” I was heartbroken, especially after Steven said it “must’ve been God’s will.” We were never the same after that. That’s why when he told me Paula was pregnant, it was the biggest blow ever.
When I didn’t reply, Steven said, “You know, I’m sorry. Let’s not go down memory lane. It is what it is. We are playing the hand we’ve been dealt. Tonight, I just want to enjoy you.”
I inhaled his scent and snuggled closer. After a few minutes, I knew it was time to say what we’d been trying not to say all night. “You know this can never happen again,” I said, watching his face for his reaction.
He nodded. “I know.”
I didn’t know why, but that actually stung. He must’ve realized it because he quickly added, “I mean, trust me, I wanted it to happen, but we both know it was wrong. We both were in need, and so we found comfort in one another’s arms.” He pushed a stray curl out of my eye. “Don’t worry, there will be no secret rendezvous, no clandestine meetings. Tomorrow, we’ll pretend this never happened. Tomorrow, we’ll go back to our normal, boring, miserable lives. Tomorrow, it’ll be different. But tonight, I want to make you feel like the beautiful woman that you are.”
He leaned in and once again kissed me passionately. Within a few moments we fell back into what felt like the most natural of grooves.
7
Felise
THE SUNLIGHT PEEKED IN THE large bay window overlooking downtown Houston. The rays tickled me out of my sleep. I yawned, stretched, and remembered that my body felt like it hadn’t felt in years. I hated that this euphoria had to end.
I glanced over at Steven, who was still soundly sleeping. That man had been better than he was in college, and I hadn’t thought that was possible. He’d definitely gotten better with time. Our lovemaking had run the gamut, from slow and steady to raw, unadulterated passion. We’d finally collapsed, exhausted, around four a.m.
I eased out of bed and went to retrieve my purse, which was leaning on my pile of clothes on the floor, exactly where I’d left it when I entered the room last night. I dug my phone out and looked at it. Greg had called a dozen times, sent two dozen more apologetic texts. Seeing the texts made me feel incredibly guilty. The reality was, I’d cheated on my husband. Something I’d never done before. But making matters worse, I cheated with my best friend’s husband.
Steven was right. This would never happen again.
I thought about waking him for one last romp, but when my cousin was going through detox, she’d told me that the best way to let go of something that wasn’t good for you was cold turkey. Since Steven had been intoxicating last night, this morning needed to be the beginning of cold turkey.
I turned on the shower and closed my eyes as the pellets of water hit my face. My mind started churning. How many days would I spend reminiscing about Steven’s touch? Would I ever be able to get over the way he made me feel? What would happen when Greg remembered to offer his lackluster lovemaking? Would I have to imagine Steven to get in
the mood? How was I ever going to face Paula again? As I realized that Steven and I had opened another whole host of problems, I released a fresh stream of tears.
Fifteen minutes later, I was fresh, dressed, all cried out, and ready to face the one who got away.
“Hey, Steven,” I whispered, easing onto the bed. “I need to get going.” I ran my hands along the bottom of his feet. “You probably should, too.” When he didn’t stir, I pulled the covers back and ran my fingers down his naked back. That’s when I felt how cold his body was.
“Steven?” I said, turning him over. “Steven?” His arm fell on the side of the bed, and his head flopped to the side. “Oh, my God! Steven?”
I felt for a pulse. Nothing. I leaned in to see if he was breathing. Still nothing.
“Oh, no,” I cried, glancing wildly around the room. Maybe someone had come in while I was in the shower. But there were no signs of forced entry or foul play. He was dead! He was really dead!
Visions of him clutching his chest last night at the bar flashed through my head. Oh, my God. Did he have a heart attack?
I backed on unsteady feet into the bathroom, trying to calm myself while I figured out what to do. I was hyperventilating, and tears were streaming down my cheeks. How could this have happened? I noticed the phone in the bathroom and immediately reached for it to call 9-1-1. But I stopped just as I was about to pick up the phone. 9-1-1 would bring on questions, and I wasn’t ready to give answers. There would be a death report. Because I was with him, an inquiry. They’d take my information, include it in the report.
“No, I can’t get caught up in this,” I mumbled. I tried to take slow, deep breaths as I figured out my next move. Fran! My sister. She will know what to do.
I snatched my purse off the bathroom counter, fumbled for my cell phone, and nearly dropped it. At last I managed to call the only other person I knew who could help me out of this mess. I numbly watched my fingers scroll through until I came to Fran’s number.
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