Midlife Crisis

by La Jill Hunt

  “Are you gonna go over there and say something?”

  “Nope, why? He’s not my man. He can go wherever he wants to with whomever he wants to,” Janelle told her. She finished her second margarita and ordered another one. “Can I get a double shot in this one?” At least now she knew why Jarvis hadn’t responded to her message. He was too busy being entertained by someone else.

  “Hey, isn’t that your boy over there?” Kenny walked over and asked. “Jamie?”

  “Jarvis,” Janelle corrected him. “And yeah, that’s him.”

  “Are you gonna speak to him?”

  “I asked that same question,” Nivea told him.

  Janelle cut her eyes at her friend and said, “Nope, no need.”

  “Why not? I thought Sylvia said y’all were a thing.” Kenny leaned back on the bar.

  “No, we’re not a thing. We’re just cool.”

  “They just hang out, meaning she’s letting him hit that.” Nivea giggled.

  As if he could sense them, Janelle looked over and saw Jarvis looking at them. She smiled and raised her glass. Jarvis walked over and gave her a hug, then kissed her cheek.

  “Hey, Janelle, I didn’t expect to see you here,” he told her.

  Janelle inhaled his scent, and he smelled divine. “I can say the same thing.” She shrugged and smiled.

  “Yeah, it was a last-minute thing. It’s one of my coworkers’ birthday, and we came out to have a few drinks to celebrate.”

  “You remember my friend Nivea and my sister’s business partner, Kenny.” Janelle smiled.

  “Hey, how are you guys?” Jarvis nodded.

  They made small talk for a few minutes until the shortest of the three women that Jarvis was with walked over and grabbed his arm.

  “Jarvis, can you get another round while you’re over here? Our waitress is slow.”

  Janelle looked the woman up and down. She was an average build with an asymmetric haircut. There was nothing really special about her other than the glasses on her face, which Janelle thought were cute. Compared to Janelle, who was wearing fitted jeans, red corset-style top, and stiletto pumps, the lady seemed casual in the simple black shirt and pants she wore.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. No problem. Um, Janelle, this is Sade. She’s the IT specialist at our school.” Jarvis introduced her.

  “Nice to meet you,” Janelle said.

  “Same here,” Sade said. An Usher song began blasting from the speakers, and she pulled Jarvis away, saying, “I love this song. The drinks can wait. We have to dance.”

  Jarvis gave Janelle an uncomfortable look, and she just smirked as he went with Sade onto the dance floor. Janelle turned back around to the bar.

  “Wow, that wasn’t as awkward as I thought it was gonna be,” Kenny commented.

  “Why would you think it was gonna be awkward?” Janelle frowned at him.

  “Because he’s smashing you, and by the other chick’s behavior, he’s smashing her too,” Kenny said. “Well, I take that back. He may not be, but he could if he wanted to, because she would give him some ass in a Mississippi minute.”

  “And how is a Mississippi minute different from um, let’s say, a Tennessee minute? Please tell me.” Janelle laughed.

  “It’s way faster. If it makes you feel any better, she would probably let me smash too if I wanted her,” Kenny told her.

  “You think any female would let you smash, Kenny.”

  “Not true. I know you wouldn’t.”

  “I’m glad you realize that.” Janelle shook her head. “Because you are so right. But I don’t care if he’s smashing her. He’s not my man. He can do what he wants to, and so can I.”

  “Then why are you mad?” Kenny asked.

  “I would be mad too,” Nivea said. “That’s an asshole move.”

  “I’m not mad,” Janelle told him.

  “You a damn lie, and you ain’t gotta lie to me. How long have you been letting him smash?” Kenny asked.

  “Six months,” Nivea answered.

  “Yeah, you mad,” Kenny said, still watching Jarvis and Sade on the dance floor. “You wanna dance and make him mad?”

  “No, I don’t,” Janelle told him.

  “I do.” Nivea hopped off the barstool.

  “I bet you do.” Kenny laughed then turned to Janelle and said, “You sure you don’t wanna join us? I can handle both of y’all.”

  “I’m sure,” Janelle told him.

  She watched as her friends went onto the dance floor next to Jarvis and Sade, who were swaying to the music. Again, her eyes met Jarvis’s, and she forced a smile. Sade reached and pulled his head down so that she could say something to him. Janelle ordered another drink. She knew her limit was normally three, but she needed another one. She was telling the truth when she said that she wasn’t mad about Jarvis being at the club with another chick. What she was feeling wasn’t anger; it was disappointment. She had actually thought that maybe there could be something between her and Jarvis. Now, once again, she was wrong. If she did have any feelings for Jarvis, they were now gone. She hoped he and Sade would be happy together.

  Janelle reached into her purse and took out her phone. There was one person she knew she loved and who loved her back. She typed the words I Love You into a text message and sent it. Within minutes, she received a message back confirming, I love you too, Nelly. She smiled and decided that it wasn’t another drink that she needed at all. The only thing she needed was to see Titus.

  Sylvia

  “Baby, are you sure you’re okay?” Sylvia asked as she sat in traffic. Any other time, she would’ve been stressed and worried that Peyton would be late for school. Instead, she was grateful for the temporary pause, and she took it as an opportunity to talk. Peyton really hadn’t said much about her father’s recent revelation. Both she and Garry had made it clear that his transgression had nothing to do with her, and they wanted her to know that they were both there for her. She and Peyton had always had a fairly open relationship, and they talked about everything from sex, drugs, and dating to college, fashion, and current events.

  “Mom, please stop asking me that. Are you okay?” Peyton raised an eyebrow and asked.

  Sylvia took a sip of coffee from the silver travel mug she was holding. “Don’t try and deflect, Peyton.”

  “I’m not the one deflecting. You just keep asking me the same question over and over.”

  “Fine, let’s start over.” Sylvia relented and decided to try another approach. “How are you feeling today, Peyton?”

  “Oh my God, that’s the same thing just worded differently,” Peyton whined in exasperation and leaned her head against the car window.

  “Peyton.”

  “Mom.”

  “I’m trying here.”

  “I know you are, but you want me to do all of the talking, but you don’t wanna talk.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means that you want me to be all open and share my feeling about all of this that’s going on, but you don’t want to open up and share with me,” Peyton said.

  The car in front of Sylvia’s eased up, and Sylvia followed suit, now hoping that traffic would move faster. But they only moved about a car length ahead and came to a complete stop once again.

  “There must be a major accident somewhere,” Sylvia said, reaching for the radio button and turning up the volume.

  “Nope, that’s not gonna work either.” Peyton turned the volume back down and said, “You wanted to talk, so we’re gonna talk.

  “Okay, I have no problem talking,” Sylvia told her.

  “Good, so, how are you feeling, Mom?” Peyton was now turned toward her.

  Sylvia sighed and said, “I’m fine. Worried about you, but I’m fine.”

  “You can’t possibly be fine, Mom. You can be a lot of things, and you can be worried about me, but what you can’t be is fine. No way. You’re not fine.”

  “Touché.”

  “So, I’ll ask you again. How are yo
u feeling?”

  Sylvia stared at her beautiful daughter, the perfect combination of both her and her husband. “I’m coping, Peyton. Honestly, that’s the only way to describe it.”

  “Coping.” Peyton nodded slowly. “I get that.”

  “You do?” Sylvia asked, wondering if Peyton really understood or if she was saying it to be supportive.

  “I do. It’s kinda like my Calculus class. I hate it. It’s stressful, confusing, difficult, and I struggle, but I press through every day because it’s important.”

  The last thing Sylvia would have compared her current life situation to would be a Calculus class, but in a way, it did make sense. For the past week, she had woken daily, stressed and confused, and it was a struggle, but she pressed her way through because her daughter was important. And despite the turmoil, her family, which included her husband, was still important.

  “That’s an equitable comparison,” Sylvia told her.

  “Equitable? Really, Mom? You sound as boring as Dr. Khan.” Peyton shook her head and stated, “But I’m glad I got the analogy right.”

  “You did. And now that you know how I’m doing, you can tell me how you’re doing,” Sylvia told her.

  “I’m doing the same as you, I guess. I’m coping. I am so mad at Daddy for doing this to you, to us. Like, how? Why?”

  Sylvia was tempted to tell her that those were the same questions she’d been asking herself, but she didn’t. She just let Peyton continue to talk.

  “And we’re not the only ones he’s done this to,” Peyton said.

  “What do you mean?” Sylvia frowned, wondering if Peyton had somehow found out about another secret family Garry had that she didn’t know about.

  “The girl, his other . . . uh, daughter. Can you imagine how she’s feeling right now? Did she know Daddy had a wife and daughter somewhere? Or were they just as clueless as we were? And now her mother’s dead and gone. She has no one and nowhere to go. Daddy was living a double life, pretty much. How am I feeling? I feel like I’m living in a Lifetime movie, for real.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but I get what you’re saying.” Sylvia smiled slightly.

  “And I’m mad at myself.”

  “Yourself? Baby, why? There’s no reason for you to be mad at yourself. You haven’t done anything wrong. Your daddy and I told you that.” Sylvia touched Peyton’s arm.

  “I’m mad at myself because I feel sorry for Daddy because he’s so sad and dealing with all of this, and the last thing he deserves is my sympathy. Why should I feel sorry for him? He’s a cheater. He cheated on you, and you’re the best thing that ever happened to him—his words, not mine.”

  “Don’t be mad at yourself, Peyton. Despite all of this, he’s still your dad, and you love him. That’s why you feel sorry for him,” Sylvia said. “It’s fine.”

  “Do you feel bad for him? Or are you mad at him?”

  Again, the traffic began moving, and Sylvia eased along the highway, pausing before speaking. She was livid with her husband, and even though he brought this entire situation on himself, she hated to see the stress and grief he was dealing with. “Both, I guess.”

  “Who does that to people they love? This is just . . . unforgivable.”

  Sylvia saw Peyton looking out of the corner of her eye, and she asked, “Is that a question or a statement?”

  “I guess it’s a question.”

  “Then I don’t really have an answer to it right now,” Sylvia told her.

  “I understand. But I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  Even though she understood exactly what Peyton meant, the last thing Sylvia wanted her daughter to be thinking about was Garry’s mistress, dead or alive. She was grateful that they were finally talking about the situation and she had opened up. It was time to bring this conversation to a close.

  “Peyton, you don’t—”

  “I mean, she’s gotta be just as confused as we are, huh?”

  “Who?” Sylvia asked.

  “Dad’s other daughter. It’s sad. At least I have you to talk about it with, but she doesn’t because her mother is . . . dead. Is Dad going to stay with her?”

  “I don’t know, Peyton.” Sylvia sighed, slightly relieved that she had assumed incorrectly. It was not Miranda that Peyton had been concerned with, but her daughter.

  “Mom, is he going to bring her to our house?”

  “I highly doubt it.” Sylvia shook her head.

  “But what if he does? Are you going to let him? I wouldn’t be mad at you if you said no, Mom. That’s a lot for anyone to deal with, and you’re already dealing with a lot right now,” Peyton said.

  “We’re all dealing with a lot right now, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “But what if it does? He already said she has no other family other than him. What if our house is the only other option? What then?”

  “Then we’ll have to decide as a family. It will have to be a family discussion,” Sylvia told her, then said, “Finally, the traffic is moving.”

  “Can we stop and get coffee? I’m already going to be late, so it won’t matter.”

  “It will matter. Stopping for coffee will make you even later.”

  “Please, Mom. I need caffeine to help me take the edge off. You know I’m dealing with a lot right now.”

  “Don’t even try it, sis. It ain’t gonna work.” Sylvia laughed.

  A few minutes later, they pulled in front of Peyton’s school. Most of the students had already gone inside, but there were still quite a few late arrivals. “You’re not the only late one, so they shouldn’t say anything. But if they do, just call the house phone,” Sylvia said, remembering her cell phone was broken.

  “It’s no big deal. I’m sure they won’t say anything. I’m never late. Oh, look. There’s Treva, and she has Starbucks.” Peyton waved at another young lady walking toward the car carrying a Starbucks cup.

  “Bye, Peyton. See ya, love ya, bye.”

  Peyton gave her a quick kiss. “Bye, Mom. See ya, love—” Then, Peyton stopped mid-sentence and looked like she was going to cry.

  “What’s wrong?” Sylvia asked.

  “I’m just lucky. I can still kiss you and tell you goodbye. She can’t.”

  Sylvia hugged Peyton tight, grateful for the opportunity to do so. “I love you too, baby.”

  Peyton got out of the car and turned around. “I know you, Mom, and I support you. So while you’re coping, whatever you decide, I got your back no matter what. One thing about it, you always do the right thing, even when it’s hard. And whether we like it or not, she’s family.”

  * * *

  “Syl?”

  Sylvia looked up from the proposal she was working on to see Garry standing in the doorway of her office. He looked as if he’d been run over by a truck and for a second, she felt bad for him. Then she remembered what he’d done. Her thoughts went back to the conversation she’d had in the car with Peyton. Despite everything he’d done, she still loved him, and it was normal to have sympathy because she knew he was hurting. But she was still angry and hurt.

  Instead of saying anything, she just stared and gave him a slight shrug. He must’ve taken it as an invitation to come in, because he walked over to her desk.

  “I just wanted to talk for a few minutes before I uh, left.”

  Again, Sylvia stared at him, saying nothing.

  “I know you’re sick of me saying this, but I’m sorry. You’ve gotta believe me. I truly am.”

  She rolled her eyes at him and said, “I know you are, Garry. So please stop saying it.”

  He looked relieved that she’d spoken. “It’s just . . . and I know this is going to sound selfish, but I need you, Syl. I’m going through hell, and I’m at the end of my rope. I’m trying here.”

  Hearing him say that he was at the end of his rope caused her heart to tear even more. “The end of my rope” was the phrase they used when life came at them too fast and they needed a different kind of support
from one another—not just the typical “I’m having a bad day and need to vent,” or “I need a hug from my spouse right now” kind of support. It was a cry for help. The times they’d used it had been few and far between.

  The first time she’d said it was shortly after both her parents died, Janelle’s tuition for her senior year was due, and Sylvia wasn’t working. Life came barreling at her all at once, and she felt as if she might lose her mind. Garry called one day and asked how things were going, and that was her response. He became the knot that she held onto until she found the strength to hold herself and eventually climb back up the rope. Garry had always been her knot when she was at the end of her rope, and now he needed her to be his. The question was, could she?

  “Garry, I know this isn’t easy for you,” she muttered.

  “It’s not, Syl. I want to do the right thing—for everyone, especially you and Peyton. Y’all are my everything. But I also . . .” His voice drifted, and he looked down at the floor.

  Sylvia exhaled slowly and asked, “How is she?”

  Garry’s eyes quickly met hers, and he said, “She’s sad and scared and confused.”

  “Sounds exactly how Peyton is feeling these days.”

  “But Peyton has her mother.”

  “Don’t do that, Garry. Don’t try and guilt me into feeling bad,” Sylvia warned.

  “I’m not trying to do that, Syl, I swear. Besides, you haven’t done anything to feel guilty about.”

  “What do you want from me, Garry? Just tell me.”

  “I’ve made the funeral arrangements, and Jordan is being released in a couple of days, hopefully. I need to know—”

  “Garry,” Sylvia said before he could even finish his sentence. Her thoughts went to her earlier conversation with Peyton and the question her daughter had asked. Had Garry mentioned something to her about the girl coming to stay with them, or was Peyton just that intuitive?

  “It would just be temporary, until I figure everything else out, Syl. She has nowhere else to go except with me. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I want to be home, here with you and Peyton. If I’m not here, then there’s no way we’re going to be able to get through this,” Garry said.

  “Do you really think we’re going to be able to get through it, Garry?” Sylvia asked. It was a question she’d been asking herself over and over, and she still didn’t have an answer.