Who Asked You?

by Terry McMillan

  “First of all, knowing that Dexter was coming home and all the mess that’s been going on in your house, I thought it would be best to wait until Venetia felt like she wanted to tell you herself.”

  “She’s our sister, Arlene, and this is not the way we were brought up—to just let folks fend for themselves, suffer on our own, you know that! I’m driving out to her house as soon as I leave here.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

  I’m out here in Woodland Hills sitting in my car waiting for potential buyers to show up. The house is more than six thousand square feet and is really a souped-up tract house disguised as a custom home but some people don’t know the difference. As long as it’s big, has high ceilings, granite and marble, and a chandelier greeting them when they open the front door, they’re impressed.

  When my cell phone rings, I see it’s Venetia, but I don’t have the heart to answer it right now. So I let it go to voice mail. When it rings again, it’s the buyers, telling me they’re stuck in traffic on the 405 and could they possibly reschedule for tomorrow. I agree.

  I get on the 405 and can’t help but notice that there is no traffic on the other side. I don’t understand what this means. If they found another house with another broker, then they should just have come right out and said so. I dial my voice mail and Venetia has left me a message: “Arlene, I just wanted you to know that I wish you had let me be the one to share my personal information with our sister, since you don’t fully understand what’s going on, and it would also have been better if you had called me to get the real truth instead of relying on a sixteen-year-old’s interpretation of it. Thanks for caring so much about me.”

  After Betty Jean’s lashing, I certainly don’t feel like defending myself so I don’t call her back. I decide to call Omar, who’s at home since he gave up his last job to have this elective surgery. His phone goes to voice mail, so I call the house line and it goes to voice mail, too. Where in the world could he be? I’m suddenly worried that maybe something is wrong. So I step on it until the traffic begins to slow up and I’m forced to a crawl like usual.

  When my cell rings and it’s Omar, I pick it up immediately. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

  “Take it easy, Ma,” he says. “I was out looking at apartments.”

  “For who?”

  “Me.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause it’s time.”

  “But you don’t have a job, Omar.”

  “I know that, which is why I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to cosign for me until I get on my feet.”

  “When did you make all these plans, Omar? First it was the Lap Band and now you want to move out?”

  “Ma, I’m twenty-eight years old and have never lived on my own. Every time I’ve tried telling you I was thinking about it, you always came up with reasons why I shouldn’t.”

  “That is not true.”

  “It is, Ma.”

  “Well, if you need my help, how do you call that living on your own?”

  “Never mind.”

  And he hangs up.

  When I call him back, it goes to voice mail again. And when I pull into the driveway, his BMW isn’t in the garage, and it won’t be for quite some time.

  Venetia

  Who’s there?” I ask when I hear my doorbell chime. It’s not a solicitor, since this is a gated community and I wasn’t expecting any deliveries, which means it has to be someone on the approved list. But I can’t imagine who it would be this time of day. I press my ear to the door, which is silly, but since I don’t have my glasses on I can’t see through the peephole.

  “It’s your sister.”

  “Which one?” I ask.

  Sometimes I can’t tell their voices apart but I open it anyway and am relieved it’s BB and not Arlene. As I open the door I take a deep breath and quietly pray that there is nothing wrong that can’t be remedied. “BB, what in God’s name are you doing here this time of day and what made you drive all the way out here without giving me a heads-up?”

  “Arlene just told me about Rodney.”

  “What about Rodney?”

  “That he left you.”

  “He did not leave me. We’re just taking a break from each other.”

  I step away from the door and she walks right past me. I love that plaid suit she’s wearing, even if it is a little tight. “Come on back to the kitchen. I’m pretty sure this is Arlene’s doing, isn’t it? Don’t even answer that, BB. She is notorious for spreading misinformation even though I know she means no harm, but she needs to learn how to verify stuff first and since I’m the person who was supposed to have been left why hasn’t she bothered to call me?”

  “She made it sound like she was trying to give you time to sort out your feelings.”

  “How in the world did she find out?”

  “She said Lauren called her.”

  “Lauren?”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  “That is absolutely not true!”

  “Who gives a shit—excuse me—no, I meant it, who gives a shit what Arlene thinks? She has no idea what being married is like and at the rate she’s going she’s never going to. Anyway, are you okay? Talk to me?”

  “Sometimes I like it when you swear, BB. It means you’re feeling passionate, and I’m glad it’s about me this time. You want something cool to drink?”

  “No. Tell me what in the world is going on?”

  “Rodney is seeing someone and has been for quite some time. He feels conflicted about it but doesn’t want a divorce. So he asked me if I would give him a little time to sort out his feelings.”

  “I know you didn’t agree to that?”

  “I did. I married him for better or for worse.”

  “But this isn’t the first worse, is it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, BB.”

  “Arlene told me about a few other times and you took him back then, too.”

  “Men don’t always know how to say no to temptation.”

  “You sound like a damn fool, Venetia. What do you think would happen if you didn’t say no to temptation, huh? You think Rodney would be so forgiving and keep giving you more chances?”

  “I don’t know. Would you like a smoothie?”

  “What kind of smoothie?”

  “Mango, strawberry, and banana.”

  “Okay. But just a small glass.”

  I slide the blender out away from the cabinet.

  “Wait a minute. You mean you have to make it?”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  “Never mind. I don’t want one. So how are the kids handling this?”

  “Lauren refuses to speak to him when he calls.”

  “Good for her.”

  “He’s still her father, BB.”

  “And Zachary?”

  “He left him quite a disrespectful and scary message and called him something I can’t repeat.”

  “Repeat it. You won’t go to hell, since they’re not your words.”

  I shake my head. I don’t like using profanity even though sometimes I don’t mind hearing it. Sometimes it’s melodic and is not offensive, depending on the tone. I pour myself a glass of Arnold Palmer and BB watches me.

  “Is that an Arnold Palmer?”

  I nod.

  “Then why didn’t you ask me if I wanted a glass of that? Anyway—”

  “Because you said you didn’t want anything!”

  “I still want to know what Zachary said to Rodney.”

  “And I just told you I wouldn’t feel comfortable repeating it.”

  “Pretend you’re an actress auditioning for a great role and you have to say these lines or you’ll miss the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “He said, ‘You are one
sneaky, lying, cheating, poor excuse for a husband. This isn’t the first time you’ve hurt our mom but it’s going to be the last, and I hope whoever the gold-digging bitch is, that she knows you’re nothing but a selfish bastard who can’t be trusted and the only person you really care about is yourself.’”

  “Wow. He said all that?”

  “Every word of it. So that should constitute an Academy Award. And I’m ashamed to admit it, but it felt kind of good saying that.”

  “And you’re not on fire.”

  I hand her a glass and sit down at the end of the island. The black granite is so shiny I can see both of our reflections in it. I cleaned it this morning. Like I do every morning. “I just don’t feel like destroying my children’s lives right now, since they’re so close to graduating.”

  “Kids? They’re almost in college, Venetia. Do you see some of the stuff they watch on TV? They are hip to all of this mess. Which is why Zach could cuss out his daddy and not think twice about it. And he was being honest. Something you might want to try.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, aren’t you tired of making excuses for him? Aren’t you tired of being lonely, which you have to be, since he’s never here?”

  “I am tired. But the Lord gives me strength to just hang in here until this passes.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me, Venetia?”

  “If you have to keep using this kind of language talking to me, BB, I might have to ask you to leave. I’m not kidding. I’ve heard enough ugly words from you today and I’m not going to be talked down to by Arlene and even the kids have accused me of being a doormat, but I don’t need this right now. I really don’t. God is the only one who doesn’t judge me.”

  She gets up.

  “Are you leaving?”

  “I am. I drove out here just to make sure you were doing okay and I see that you’re obviously in good hands since God is your best friend and, I hope, in the process of offering you a little common sense, so maybe you don’t need a sister’s input at all.”

  “You’re starting to sound a lot like Arlene.”

  She cuts her eyes at me and takes her now empty glass over to the sink. I’m tempted to wash it but I will myself to not notice how much empty space surrounds it.

  “Let me just ask you this. Do you still love Rodney?”

  “That’s a very good question. I don’t know. What I do know is I don’t like who he’s become.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Dishonest.”

  “You think that’s something a person becomes and not who they always were because sometimes love can blind you so it makes it hard to see?”

  “I don’t think that rule applies to me. Rodney used to be a good husband and father.”

  “You just said ‘used to’ like he’s going to get back to being that way again, as soon as he gets over this little bout of cheating, is that it?”

  “You know what, BB, if your goal was to come out here to make me feel better, you have failed to do that.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. But tell me this, sis. What will you do if he says he wants a divorce?”

  “What choice would I have?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  She gives me a kiss on the cheek and lets herself out. As soon as she leaves I call Arlene and leave a long message giving her a piece of my mind. I don’t care if she gets mad at me for not telling her about Rodney and me, and the reason I didn’t is because I did not want to hear her criticize me for the way I’m handling all of it, which she would most certainly do, and now BB is reacting the same way. I don’t need their advice and I didn’t ask for it. And until my marriage issues are resolved, and my husband finds his way back home, I don’t think talking to either one of them will be such a good idea.

  Dexter

  Hi,” I say to my nephews and Miss Tammy as soon as I walk up the front steps. They’re peeking out from behind her. “Welcome home, Dexter,” she says without much enthusiasm. She used to like me, but I can tell I’m on her shit list now.

  “Lee David is fine and the boys have been on their very best behavior, so I’ll see you later, BJ.”

  Ma thanks her and holds the screen door open and she heads across the street. I can’t believe she’s still living in this neighborhood after all these years. But from what Ma has told me, a lot of the original folks haven’t left either. The boys run away and go sit down on the sofa. Then they both stare at me with a look of disdain, if I’m reading them right.

  “Say hi to your uncle Dexter,” Ma says.

  The oldest one lifts his hand up like it weighs a hundred pounds and, without looking at me, waves. The other one mimics his brother. I’m wondering what Ma might have told them. Maybe they’re scared of me. I hope not, so I say, “What grade are you fellas in?”

  “I’m going into fourth even though I’m only supposed to be going into third,” Luther says.

  “I’m almost in second,” Ricky says.

  “Why you have to take my bed?” Luther asks, throwing me off guard.

  “It might only be for a few weeks.”

  “Then you leaving, I hope,” he says.

  “Don’t talk like that to your uncle, Luther. And it’s not your bed,” Ma says. “It was Dexter’s bed when he was a little boy.”

  “He not little now.”

  “I can sleep on the couch,” I say.

  “No, you won’t. We’ve already talked about this, haven’t we?”

  They both nod.

  “So let’s try to be more respectful. Your uncle’s been away for a long time and now he’s going to live in the little apartment over the garage, but he has to fix it up first. I told you this.”

  “I wanna live on top of the garage,” Ricky says. “You can have my whole room, Uncle Dexter.”

  “Thanks for the offer, Ricky, but it’s okay.”

  “Why don’t you have no wife to go live with now that you home from jail?” This is Luther. He’s pissed because I am messing up his entire setup. I get it.

  “Well, I made a big mistake a long time ago and I went to prison, and while I was in there, the lady I wanted to marry didn’t want to wait for me to get out, so that’s why I’m here.”

  “Why can’t you go find her?”

  “I think she married somebody else.”

  “So, you a criminal, then,” Luther says, not asks.

  “I was accused of committing a crime, so I guess that would be a yes.”

  “Boys,” Ma says, ’cause I guess she can see how much I’m perspiring and looking like I might want to run and hide but I can’t. “Be nice to Uncle Dexter. I’ve already told you both that a lot of people make mistakes and then they get another chance to do right. Just like when I have to put you both in time-outs. Ring a bell?”

  “Yeah, but good thing time-out don’t last as long as being in prison, huh, Grandma?” Ricky asks.

  “Your uncle Dexter is going to be fixing up the space over the garage. How long do you think it might take you, Dexter?”

  “It depends.”

  “Nobody’s been up there in years, since your uncle Monroe spent a month up there after his wife chased him out of Shreveport—remember that?”

  I shake my head no.

  “That was about twelve or thirteen years ago, before your daddy started getting sick, and for a while we tried to keep it clean but then we just started using it for storage. We had it insulated but it might have a few leaks in the roof, and the floor might need to be secured, and you know there’s no air-conditioning or heat up there. We did put in a tiny bathroom, but when you want to eat you have to come down here. It’s livable.”

  “I’ll go up there in the morning and check it out.”

  “I know how to measure,” Luther says. “I can help you.”

 
“I can hammer,” Ricky says. “And I know how to carry stuff.”

  “Thank you, boys,” I say. “I’m sure I can use your help.”

  “Go peek in at your daddy,” Ma says, and I do.

  He doesn’t recognize me, and I don’t recognize him either. He’s shriveled up. Sunk inside that pillow. He looks like he’s in a casket, and I don’t like seeing him like this so I know I’m going to avoid coming in here. “How long can he live like this?”

  “Like what?”

  I just point.

  “As long as he can breathe,” she says.

  “I mean, how long can he live like this at home?”

  “I have an attendant who cares for him when I’m at work. Nurse Kim. Be nice to her and don’t even think about trying to hit on her because she’s pretty.”

  “She’s fine!” Luther yells from the living room. “And she’s mine!” he says.

  I crack up. Nothing like your first crush. It feels good to laugh out loud. I can’t even remember the last time I did. I pick up my small suitcase and take it to my old room. It’s still light blue, and the paint is chipped in some spots, showing a different shade of blue underneath. The twin bed is still in here, and it almost looks like the same bedspread, too. I don’t care. Pictures of me swinging a bat when I was seven on up to about eleven fill one whole wall. I feel weird being here, in the house I grew up in. It’s much smaller. And I don’t know how five people lived here for so many years. I’m not complaining. It’s just striking how physical space stays the same and your perspective changes. I’ll take this room and the one above the garage over a prison cell any day.

  As I walk back out—and nobody has to use a key, so I can—I feel small and now the house feels like a mansion. “Everything looks the same,” I say to Ma.

  “That’s the problem,” she says. “Let’s eat.”

  After we eat her famous spaghetti and meatballs and a real salad with real sourdough rolls, she surprises me with her famous peach cobbler. She has always gone overboard to make us happy, and I can see that hasn’t changed, and now she’s doing the same thing for these boys. After they’re in bed, we go into the living room. Ma sits in her chair and I sit on the couch.