by Shelly Ellis
At the mention of C. J.’s name, Terrence’s pulse quickened. It had been eighteen days, fourteen hours, and twenty-two minutes, and his mind still leapt back to the moment he pushed open her bedroom door and found Shaun Clancy standing in his boxers next to her bed. He still remembered the heartache and sense of betrayal that had overwhelmed him that day, the rage that left him with an almost irresistible desire to beat Clancy senseless. And he would have beaten Clancy senseless—if C. J. hadn’t stopped him.
“We know how much you miss her,” Evan continued.
Terrence shoved Evan’s hand off his shoulder. “I don’t fucking miss her! Why the hell would I miss her? Fuck that bitch!”
“Terry,” Evan said, taking a deep breath and looking very tired, “please stop saying that! You know you don’t mean it.”
“Yes, I do mean it! She cheated on me. I don’t give a shit about her!”
“You do give a shit about her. You love her. That’s why you’re still so pissed.”
Even though he knew his brother was right, Terrence opened his mouth to deny it, but Evan waved his hand dismissively.
“And from what you told me, you kicked her out of your apartment, and then she hooked up with that other guy a few days later. I don’t know if I would necessarily call that cheating.”
Terrence sucked his teeth. “Man, I don’t need you to replay what I—”
Evan held up his hands again. “I’m just saying that I get how you feel. I understand! I’ve been there. Believe me! But you can’t let it take over like this, Terry. She’s obviously moved on, right? You’ve got to move on, too.”
“Like you’re one to give love advice! You’re still married to one chick while you’re living with another,” Terrence snapped, then immediately regretted the words after they flew out of his mouth.
“Actually, Charisse mailed the signed divorce papers back last week,” Evan answered proudly. “Once a judge signs off on them, we’re officially divorced. I’ll only have one woman in my life from now on.”
Terrence narrowed his eyes at his older brother. “And how the hell did you manage to pull that off?”
Evan shrugged. “I just talked to her.”
“Talked to her? Riiiiiight.” Terrence gave a mirthless laugh. He knew his brother well. Evan was lying through his teeth. “Some shit went down. Probably some shit I don’t wanna know about.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Evan replied, his voice going robotic again like it always did when he lied.
Terrence shook his head in exasperation. “Of course you don’t! You never do, do you, Ev?” He then shoved past his brother and walked back into the great room with the rest of the baby shower guests.
* * *
Two hours later, Terrence was slumped in a wingback chair in a corner of the great room while Leila and Evan sat in front of the limestone fireplace, opening baby shower gifts and pretending to be delighted by some ugly onesie and matching yellow blanket that would probably be tossed in the trash as soon as all the guests left. Several people sat on the chairs and on the sofa throughout the room, gushing over every item that Leila held aloft.
Everyone seemed so happy, so content. It was downright sickening!
“Evan’s right,” a voice in his head said as he gulped from his third glass of lemonade, which was spiked with vodka thanks to Terrence secretly raiding Evan’s liquor stash. “You are stuck in a bad mood.”
I’m not in a bad mood, Terrence argued as Leila opened yet another package and held up yet another onesie that made everyone in the room “ooh” and “aww.”
I’m just realistic.
He didn’t care that Charisse had signed the divorce papers and that Evan and Leila could finally get married. He knew their relationship was doomed to failure, just like Terrence and C. J.’s relationship, and like Paulette and Antonio’s. The Marvelous Murdochs, or M&Ms, had some genetic disease that made them incapable of maintaining relationships for the long haul. Evan and Paulette could live in la-la land and not acknowledge that truth, but Terrence refused to drink the Kool-Aid and do the same. He’d rather drink the lemonade instead, which is what he did, finishing what was left in his glass.
But part of him, the part that was more self-aware, told him that all of this was a lie. His breakup with C. J. had left him teetering on the brink of a bad mood that threatened to go full dark. He was on the cusp of real depression again, the same depression that had swept over him soon after his car accident. He could see the signs that his former therapist had told him to keep an eye out for: the irritability, the social anxiety, the drinking, the self-loathing, and the desire to just sit in a room alone all day with the only light coming from the television screen. He did that for hours at a time nowadays. Yesterday, he’d barely made it out of bed.
I should just leave, he thought, gazing down into his empty glass, feeling equally empty. I’m not doing anybody any good staying here. I should just take my ass back home.
“Hey, Terry, what’s up? What are you doing hiding over here?” someone asked, making Terrence look up.
He found Antonio smiling down at him, holding a plate covered with crustless sandwiches.
“I’m not hiding,” Terrence lied, staring at Antonio cagily, feeling the vodka kicking in. “I’m just chillin’.”
Antonio’s smile disappeared. He squinted. “Are you okay, man?”
“I’m fine! Are you okay?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” Antonio asked, now frowning.
On the other side of the room, Leila continued to open presents, but Evan was no longer paying attention to the floral box she was currently unwrapping. His gaze was drawn to the other side of the room where Terrence sat and Antonio stood.
“I don’t know!” Terrence exclaimed with an exaggerated shrug and a drunken snicker. “Who knows what could set off a dude like you! Just let me know ahead of time, though, just in case I need to break out a bulletproof vest.”
Antonio’s frown deepened. He set down the plate he was holding on a nearby end table and took a step toward Terrence. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Evan said, speaking for his brother, suddenly striding toward them and making several of the party guests look up at him in surprise. “He didn’t mean anything by it, Tony. He’s obviously drunk. Don’t listen to him.”
Terrence laughed. “Oh, I meant every damn word! I meant don’t put me in a body bag just because you—”
He was stopped mid-sentence by Evan, who grabbed him by the upper arm and yanked him up from the chair. “Shut . . . your . . . mouth,” Evan ordered with a firm iciness into Terrence’s ear as he dragged him from the room.
“Get your goddamn hands off me!” Terrence yelled, trying to yank his arm out of Evan’s grasp, but his brother’s grip only tightened.
Now the entire room of thirty or so people was watching them, including Leila and Paulette, who had been reading aloud the card that had been attached to the gift Leila had been opening.
Evan tugged Terrence into the corridor and then into one of the empty sitting rooms before finally releasing him with a shove.
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Evan asked his brother, shutting the door behind him, looking like he was struggling not to yell or punch him in the face. “Why the fuck would you bring that shit up with Antonio? Why would you do it here, Terry—of all places? Why would you do it with his wife standing on the other side of the room, with two dozen people hanging around?”
“Sorry if I thought our sister’s welfare was more important than your fucking baby shower, Ev!” Terrence slurred, holding out his arms. “My bad!”
“This has nothing to do with Paulette, and you know it! This has nothing to do with her welfare. This is all about your girlfriend and your breakup and you feeling sorry for yourself! You’re acting like a little boy left to play alone in the sandbox!”
“Fuck you! I don’t have to listen to this shit!”
“You’re ruining my day and L
eila’s day with your bullshit, Terry,” Evan continued, undaunted, “and you’re coming dangerously close to ruining Paulette’s marriage!”
“Like I have to try to ruin her marriage! Their marriage has been fucked up for a while now. That doesn’t have shit do with me!”
“No, it’s not fucked up. Unlike you, they’re acting like adults . . . grownups, and they’re making it work! They’re trying to piece their lives back together. They’re happy, Terry! Paulette doesn’t need you to—”
“They’re happy?” Terrence barked out a laugh. “Well, good for them! And all it took was for Antonio to kill her ex-boyfriend and get away with murder! We should all be so—”
“What?” Paulette asked.
The two men whipped around and found their little sister standing in the now open doorway. The pink card with the teddy bear on front of it that she had been holding fell from her hand to the floor. Her mouth hung open. She was blinking furiously like she couldn’t quite see what was in front of her.
Watching his sister there and witnessing the look of shock on her face, Terrence immediately sobered. His stomach plummeted.
“Wh-what did you just say?” Paulette repeated, taking a hesitant step into the room. “Did you say Antonio killed someone? That he . . . he . . .” Her words drifted off. She looked utterly devastated.
“Sweet Pea,” Evan whispered, walking toward her.
She furiously shook her head and raised her trembling hand to her mouth. “He said . . . he said he didn’t do it! Tony said that he didn’t . . .” Her eyes flooded with tears. She turned away from her brothers and rushed from the room.
“Paulette!” Evan shouted as he ran toward the doorway. “Paulette, wait!”
He paused as he stood in threshold and turned his ominous stare to Terrence. “Are you happy now? I hope you’re proud of yourself!” he spat before rushing down the hall after their sister.
Terrence sighed and lowered his head. “Shit,” he muttered.
Chapter 20
Leila
Leila looked around the clubhouse banquet room, pausing at the entrance. Several of the committee members were standing around the long wooden table in the center of the room, talking in small groups and sampling fruit, croissants, and tea from the complimentary banquet set up in the corner. Leila watched as Lauren Gibbons-Weaver turned, spotted Leila lingering in the doorway, and waved. Leila waved back, then anxiously glanced down at her phone screen, seeing if there was a text message or voice mail waiting for her from Paulette.
“Girl, where are you?” she muttered, then looked over her shoulder to see if she saw Paulette racing down the corridor.
Paulette was late to the country club fund-raising committee meeting, but she hadn’t called to tell Leila she would be late.
Paulette had assured Leila that she would be attending today’s meeting, especially since the fiasco that had happened with Charisse a few months ago. Charisse seemed to stay at a distance when Leila and Paulette were together, as if she had no desire to battle both women at the same time. But now it looked like Leila would have to go in there alone, and a confrontation with Charisse was inevitable, especially now that Charisse had, by some small miracle, finally signed the divorce papers. That woman would be bitterer than a dish of mustard greens doused in vinegar.
Leila had promised herself that she wouldn’t be goaded by Evan’s soon-to-be ex-wife. She told herself not to let that woman “drag her down into the gutter,” as her mother, Diane, would say. But she had often fantasized about grabbing a fistful of Charisse’s blond hair, punching her in the face, and slamming her head onto the ground over and over again. Leila didn’t know if she could keep that promise to maintain the moral high ground and keep her hands to herself if Paulette wasn’t there as reinforcement.
“All right, ladies,” Tilda called out, and the voices in the room died down to a murmur. “Let’s call today’s meeting to order, shall we?”
Leila puffed air through her cheeks, turned from the doorway, and darted into the hall. Her thumb flew across the screen as she dialed Paulette’s cell number. She frowned as she listened to the phone ring on the other end.
“Paulette, hey, it’s Lee,” she said, keeping her voice down to a whisper so as not to disturb the committee meeting that was already in progress. “I was just calling to see if you’re on your way or if you’re still coming to the meeting today. I hope . . .” She sighed. “I hope everything is okay. Even if you aren’t coming, let me know you’re okay. All right? Bye.”
Leila hung up and lowered the phone to her side. She hoped Paulette wasn’t avoiding calling her back because of what had happened at the baby shower that weekend. She had asked Evan why Paulette and Antonio had abruptly left the event, even though Paulette was supposed to be hosting.
“Something came up with Nate,” he had explained while giving one of those painted-on smiles that always made her wary, that always made her suspect he was lying to her. “Nothing big! They just needed to head home early.”
But that wouldn’t explain why Paulette still hadn’t called Leila back in days. It didn’t explain why, when Leila had caught a glimpse of Paulette as she left the party, the younger woman had looked almost in tears.
Leila dropped her phone into her crocodile handbag. She was about to turn to head back to the banquet room when she saw Charisse striding down the corridor, heading straight toward her. Leila fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“Hello, Leila!” Charisse called out, whipping off her sunglasses. “How are you today?”
Leila didn’t answer her but instead continued to glare at her openly.
Charisse laughed. “Well, well! I see someone skipped her etiquette classes.” Charisse’s fake smile stayed firmly in place. “A word of advice: If you’re really planning to be the wife of a man of Evan’s stature, you’re going to have to learn these things. When someone says hello to you, you’re supposed to greet them back.”
“Don’t start with me, bitch,” Leila said through clenched teeth. “You’re lucky I don’t slap you across the face for the shit you’ve done these past few months. Scaring off my clients. . . spreading rumors about me at my daughter’s school . . . Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I’m Charisse Murdoch, at least for the time being.” Charisse took a step toward her. “And you’re lucky I don’t slap you across the face for stealing my husband.”
“I didn’t steal him! By the time I showed up, you two were barely a couple—a fact you keep ignoring. You cheated on him. You dogged him out repeatedly, and he got tired of it. Now you’re getting a divorce. Move on!”
Charisse shrugged and pursed her lips, seeming unmoved by Leila’s words. “I guess I’ll have to, since Evan seems to be in complete denial of his feelings. But I know the truth, even if he won’t acknowledge it. The passion that we once had is still there. We could make it work, but I can’t force him.”
Leila sucked her teeth and dropped her hand to her hip. “What the hell are you talking about? He doesn’t feel anything for you, you psycho!”
“Oh, yes, he does! I felt it when he kissed me.”
Leila’s heart stuttered at those words, lurching to a stop and then picking back up again milliseconds later.
“Ev tried to hide it, of course,” Charisse continued, glancing down at her manicured nails. “He’s so emotionally repressed that he’d practically need a cattle prod to feel anything! But that kiss got to him. I saw it and I felt it, too. He can say whatever the hell he wants, but he’s not over me—just like I’m not over him.”
“He . . . He . . . Evan kissed you?” Leila asked breathlessly, trying to comprehend everything that she was hearing, but she couldn’t. She felt hot all over. Sweat sprouted on her brow and upper lip. The pantyhose she was wearing felt too tight. She felt the urgent need to sit down.
Evan kissed Charisse, she thought, allowing it to settle in. Evan kissed Charisse. Evan kissed her.
Charisse raised her brows. “He didn’t te
ll you? Oh, who am I kidding!” She waved her hand and chuckled. “Of course he didn’t! He didn’t tell me what he was doing with you, either. Evan likes to keep those secrets, doesn’t he?”
“You’re . . . you’re lying,” Leila said, vehemently shaking her head in denial, almost gulping for air. The room felt like it was spinning around her. “You tell nothing but lies! You’ve been doing it for months! Ev wouldn’t . . . he wouldn’t have—”
“You know I’m not lying, Leila. I’m telling you the truth and nothing but the truth. He kissed me after we had dinner together over candlelight. I made pasta shells and freshly made herbal garlic butter for him just last week—just like old times. It’s one of his favorite recipes. I could give it to you if you’d like.”
Leila blinked. Garlic . . . She could remember Evan coming home with the smell of it all over him last Wednesday. She had even made a joke about it.
“Whoa, trying to ward off vampires!” she had said, leaning toward him and wrinkling her nose.
“Huh?” he had asked.
“You reek of garlic, baby! Did you swallow a whole clove?”
“No,” he had said with a chuckle. “I guess the restaurant where I went at lunch put too much in the pasta. I won’t eat that dish again.”
He lied, she now realized, utterly devastated. Evan had lied to her!
Leila watched as Charisse smirked. “So how does it feel to be the last to know this time around?”
Leila couldn’t respond. She was too shocked to be angry, at least at that moment. Lucky for Charisse, it gave her plenty of time to walk around Leila and head to banquet room.
“Tell Ev I said hi!” she called over her shoulder before sauntering into the room, leaving Leila standing dumbfounded in the hallway.
By the time Evan walked into their bedroom several hours later, Leila had already cleared out her walk-in closet. Her clothes, hangers, and shoes were piled in a four-foot-tall heap on their bed. Some of it had tumbled from the bed to the carpeted floor, making a tangled mass of shirts, sweaters, leggings, and shorts that resembled a cloth octopus. Suitcases sat open on the footstool at the end of the bed, already filled to the brim with more clothes. She had run out of suitcases to use, so now she was shoving her things into black garbage bags. One leaned against her closet door.