The Outside Child

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “I’ve heard that a person never truly recovers from addiction. They always have to be vigilant.”

  “Not me. I am cured.”

  Brayden wanted to press for more details. It was like hearing someone else’s problems helped him deal with his own. Or maybe forget his own.

  “Well, no cocktails, then.”

  “It doesn’t bother me if you drink. It won’t tempt me.”

  Brayden wasn’t much of a drinker, either, so cocktails were not a prerequisite to dinner.

  “So . . . chicken?”

  Tia smiled, and her face transformed. Her eyes tightened to little slits, and the apples of her cheeks reddened with . . . glee? No, that wasn’t right. It was too fleeting. She quickly bounced back to her sullen mood as if she’d suddenly remembered some rule against smiles.

  They placed their orders for the exact same meal. Chicken, fries, and corn on the cob.

  “How long have you been going to the support group?” Brayden asked.

  “A month.”

  “Does it help?”

  “No. Not me.”

  Brayden wasn’t sure that it would help, but hearing the words confirming that fact still took a moment to process.

  “I don’t think anything will make it better. Not even time,” Tia said. “It’s just pain you get used to.”

  Brayden woke up heavy. That’s how his grief felt: like a large entity had centered itself on Brayden’s chest. During the course of the day, the load didn’t lighten. It wore him out. He was exhausted by nightfall, but couldn’t sleep. Was she saying it would always be this way?

  “You’re married.”

  It was a statement and not a question as Tia motioned to his ring.

  “Yes.”

  “How long?”

  “Almost five years.”

  “Was the kid you lost hers?”

  “Yes.”

  “But she’s not here, in counseling with you?”

  Brayden shook his head.

  “She doesn’t talk to me.”

  “Oh . . . how long has your child been gone?”

  “Six months.”

  “She hasn’t talked to you in six months?”

  Brayden did not want to discuss this. Not with this stranger.

  “What do you do?” Brayden asked.

  “Do? Oh you mean work. I don’t do anything. I am unemployed.”

  “Oh!”

  Tia curled her upper lip. Brayden couldn’t tell if this meant she was irritated or angry. He hoped he hadn’t offended her.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I just didn’t expect you to say that,” Brayden said. “Most people who are unemployed talk about the job they used to do or want to do.”

  “Not me. I stay in the now. Presently, I have no job. What do you do?”

  “I . . .”

  Brayden should have considered this line of questioning before he started it. She didn’t know who he was, and she was unemployed, so he definitely didn’t want her to know he was a ballplayer.

  “I have a lot of investments. I own a restaurant back in Texas.”

  “Nice.”

  Brayden was relieved that she didn’t want to dig any deeper. Surface level was better.

  After a few minutes, their identical meals arrived at the table. They dug in ravenously, as if they’d just left from running a marathon and needed to refuel. An emotional marathon, maybe. And it wasn’t over. This was just a rest stop.

  “Why is the unhealthiest food always the most delicious?” Tia asked.

  “I disagree with the unhealthy part. Chicken is protein. Potatoes are healthy carbs, and corn is just a perfect food.”

  “You have a nice face,” Tia said as she chuckled. “Friendly. Like a person could trust you.”

  “I think I look too friendly. Every panhandler I see asks me for money.”

  “You need to work on your resting bitch face.”

  “I don’t have one of those.”

  Tia laughed. Her braids swayed back and forth, as she tossed her head back and enjoyed the moment.

  “Feels good to laugh.”

  “I know what you mean. I haven’t found much to laugh about lately.”

  “You can laugh today.”

  Tia took Brayden’s hand in hers and just held it. Her hand felt soft, although she looked hard around the edges. Her touch was needed. And it was electric. His body awakened and responded to her touch.

  “You want to get out of here?” Brayden asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Brayden stopped thinking, turned the logic button in his brain to the off position. Now was not the time for thinking. It was the time for feeling.

  For feeling what he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Chapter 55

  This is the first time I’ve gone outside since my baby died. Kara is forcing me out of the house for a spa day. I’m sitting in the spa’s parking lot, not really wanting to go in. Not because I don’t think I’ll enjoy it. Who wouldn’t want a full-body massage, facial, manicure, and pedicure? Who wouldn’t want a full-body sugar scrub with honey? Who wouldn’t want to sit submerged in a hot tub while all of the toxins exited their body?

  I will enjoy it. But do I deserve to enjoy anything? My baby is gone from this earth. He’ll never get to enjoy anything ever again.

  I can’t say how many times I’ve thought of ending it all since Quincy died. The hurting and then the nothingness—the endless cycle of sadness, anger, guilt, and then sadness again. It’s too much.

  I’m watching Brayden heal. He says he’s with me, but he’s not. He’s moved past where I am. He’s like a paralyzed person getting the feeling back in their legs. I’m not there yet. Don’t know if I’ll ever be there.

  Part of me wants to tell him to go on and figure out how to live the rest of his life. The other part wants him with me, so that he can experience what I feel. The sadness. The anger. The guilt. Why should he get to be whole again?

  I’m glad he’s in Portland, though. Seeing him getting over the loss of our son is almost as hurtful as losing him. Because there’s no getting over this for me.

  There’s a tap on the driver’s-side window. Kara.

  “Come on, girl. Don’t stay out here in the car. Let’s go.”

  I roll my eyes and swing the door open.

  “You were thinking of going back home, weren’t you?” Kara asks. “You need this, Chenille. Stop thinking you’re not supposed to have any joy, ever again.”

  “Who said that?”

  “It’s not what you say. It’s what you do. Or don’t do. Today is about pampering.”

  I feel the tears well up in my eyes. I don’t let them fall. She’s right.

  She puts her arm around me, and we go inside. The girl at the reception desk smiles and greets us. We’re members here, although it’s been a while since I’ve had treatments.

  “Mrs. Carpenter,” the receptionist says. “It’s good to see you again.”

  I smile and nod at her. I’m afraid if I open my mouth to say something that I’m going to start sobbing. I don’t want to embarrass myself in here.

  “Come on,” Kara says.

  We go back into the locker room and change into our robes. I look at myself in the mirror. Shoulders slumped, eyes puffy and red. I look like hell. Ten years older. Grief ages a person. It’s aged me.

  “Yeah, girl. You look a mess. It’s all good. You already got a man,” Kara says.

  “Do I?”

  “Brayden ain’t going nowhere.”

  I shrug. “Don’t think I care either way.”

  “You do. Or you’d already be gone. You’re just punishing him.”

  Now this pisses me off. She must be ready to fight up in here.

  “He deserves to be punished. He killed my baby.”

  Kara sits down on the bench and looks me in the eye. “He pissed you off, being a jerk like he always does. But there was an accident. The baby’s death was an accident.”

  I swallow hard. There has to
be someone to blame. This can’t just be a random choice of the universe, because then what?

  “It’s his fault, though.”

  “Why do you think you’re still here?” Kara asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You survived the accident. Why?”

  “I don’t know. My injuries weren’t as severe. I’m healthy. Lots of reasons.”

  Kara shakes her head. “Nope. You’re here because God still wants you here. Every day that we’re here is because we’ve got some purpose.”

  “And my baby had none?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he was here to draw you and Brayden closer together.”

  “But we’re farther apart than we’ve ever been. So that mission failed.”

  “God doesn’t fail. But you’re resisting. You won’t talk to Brayden. You’re pushing him away.”

  “You think I should forgive him.”

  “I think you need him, as much as he needs you. I’m not saying let him all the way back in yet. But maybe when he gets back from Portland, you could . . . you know . . .”

  “Ugh. No.”

  “You need it, too. That’s why you look like that. All humped over like an old lady. Gone head and get some of that elixir.”

  I want to yell at Kara, but she is hilarious. I can’t help it. I’m laughing so hard that my legs are wobbling. I have to sit down.

  “Gone head and get you some, girl.”

  She is stupid as hell. But maybe she’s right.

  Chapter 56

  Brayden considered prefacing his confession with a gift of some sort. A piece of jewelry. Flowers. A pair of designer heels.

  But none of these would help soften the blow of what Brayden was about to reveal.

  Breakfast was the only atonement offering he had. It damn sure wasn’t enough.

  Chenille took her time walking to the table, using her cane, each footfall careful and measured. At least she no longer winced with each step. She’d be whole again soon.

  “What’s all this for?” She looked at the spread and chuckled. “What did you do?”

  Brayden swallowed and reconsidered his revelation. Chenille’s spirits were returning. She spoke to him every day now, and even, on occasion, accepted hugs and kisses. This would be a tremendous setback.

  They might never come back from this.

  But Brayden knew he didn’t want a marriage of secrets. He didn’t expect perfection from Chenille, but he did expect honesty. He couldn’t ask of her what he wasn’t willing to give.

  “Let me get your chair.”

  Brayden jumped up from his seat to help Chenille into hers. He took the cloth napkin and laid it across her lap like he was a waiter in a fine restaurant.

  “All your favorites,” Brayden said. “Bananas Foster French toast, quiche, shrimp and grits and fruit.”

  “I know you didn’t cook this.”

  “You are correct. I had it delivered. It’s way more delicious that way.”

  “Well, I’m glad about it. I’m starving. Do you want to bless the food?” she asked.

  How was he supposed to send up a prayer for his wife when he was about to say what he was going to say?

  “Um, okay. Lord, we thank you for this food. Please bless it and make it fit for nourishment. And Lord, we ask you to forgive us our sins. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  “Amen.”

  Brayden got up again to put food on Chenille’s plate so that she didn’t have to lunge across the table or stand up.

  “Full service, huh? Do I have to leave a tip?”

  She gave him a tentative smile, but he couldn’t smile back. In an instant Chenille’s smile faded.

  Usually, in the time before he’d broken his vows, Brayden would’ve made a cute joke about her leaving him a tip in the bedroom. But his mood wasn’t lighthearted. Outside of burying Quincy, this was the hardest thing he was ever going to do.

  “Why are you so quiet?”

  “Babe, I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Remember when I went to that counseling session?”

  She nodded. “The one I didn’t want to go to?”

  “Yes, that one. At the session, there were other parents who’d lost their children. We talked. Shared our feelings. It was a very emotional session.”

  “Okay . . .”

  Brayden cleared his throat and exhaled before he continued.

  “While I was at the session, I met a young woman . . .”

  Chenille scoffed and shook her head. She slammed her fork down on her plate.

  “I can’t believe this bullshit,” Chenille said. “You cheated on me?”

  He should’ve known Chenille wouldn’t let him get the words out. She could damn near read his mind sometimes.

  “It was one time, and I know this is a cliché, but it meant absolutely nothing. We were just in pain and turned to each other.”

  “You were supposed to turn to me.”

  “Was I? This is no excuse, but, Chenille, you just started talking to me a couple weeks ago.”

  “Oh, my bad. Sorry for trying to heal from a devastating injury and mourn my only son.”

  “We’re both mourning. I miss him every day. I miss you every day.”

  Chenille rolled her eyes and her neck. “I sure can’t tell.”

  “I never saw the girl again. She didn’t come back to the next session. She didn’t leave a number. I only know her first name.”

  “Why are you telling me?”

  “Because I don’t want any secrets between us. Because I love you, and I am not giving up on us or going anywhere.”

  “Really? Are you sure this isn’t about to be front page news? I know how you like to live your life in the media.”

  “No. No one knows.”

  “How you know this chick isn’t about to sell pictures of your penis to the blogs?”

  “I don’t think she knew who I was.”

  Chenille laughed. A loud, throaty sound that filled the room.

  “You are so damn stupid and gullible.”

  “I really don’t think she knew.”

  “Hoes always know, fool! Did you use protection?”

  Brayden didn’t want to answer this, although he had known she’d ask. Chenille thought of everything and pondered every possible solution.

  “You’re taking too long to answer. So, you met a ho, and screwed her raw, but you up here telling me you’re not going anywhere? You’re getting the hell up out of here, Brayden. Nasty ass. Bet you ain’t even get tested for STDs.”

  Brayden took all of her verbal assault without a word. He deserved it. Every bit of it.

  “I will get tested tomorrow. You’re right.”

  “I don’t care what you do.”

  “I love you with everything in me. That is the only reason I’m telling you this. I have made a mistake, but I’m going to fix it.”

  Chenille’s nostrils flared and she rolled her eyes. She pushed the food away from her.

  “You know what’s funny? I don’t even feel anything. I can’t even cry about this. This is like the rotten cherry on top of a bullshit sundae.”

  “I swear it’s gonna be the last time I hurt you.”

  She laughed again until tears filled her eyes.

  Then, she finally said, “Whatever, Brayden. Leave or don’t leave. Screw who you want. Just leave me alone.”

  She pushed herself up from the table. Brayden jumped up to help, and she shoved him away.

  Brayden wanted to follow her out of the kitchen, and beg Chenille to forgive him. Their son had been gone for months, but it felt like there was a lifetime full of pain between them. Maybe she was numb and couldn’t feel, but Brayden felt everything all at once: anger and grief at the loss of his son, and overwhelming love for the wife that he had probably just lost.

  Their son’s death was not supposed to separate them. That wasn’t a part of the marriage vows. And although Brayden had no idea how he was going t
o fix this, he was going to fix it. Chenille was his everything. She and football were all he had left.

  Chapter 57

  I call Kara and tell her to come over, mostly to keep me from doing anything stupid like destroying all of the expensive stuff in this house. All of these things are mine, too, so tearing it up isn’t worth it. At all.

  But I still want to break things, if that makes any sense. I want Brayden to pay for this.

  A damn groupie.

  With no damn protection.

  I don’t even know why the hell he told me about it. Was I supposed to say “I forgive you”?

  I let Kara in and take her straight to the bar.

  “Oh, we need wine for this?”

  I just give her the look. The one that communicates that shit is about to hit or has already hit the fan.

  “Oh, snap,” she says.

  I pour two large glasses of Pinot Noir. This is not a fun, flirty Moscato tale. This needs a robust and full-bodied wine.

  I take a long, satisfying gulp. “He cheated.”

  “Brayden . . . noooooo.”

  “Some chick in Portland.”

  “How you find out? Did you check his phone? His in box? His DMs? She reached out to you, didn’t she? Hoes don’t never know how to stay in a ho’s place.”

  “He told me.”

  “You didn’t have any clues at all?”

  “Not one.”

  Kara drinks her wine, probably trying to come up with a non-wretched strategy. I can’t think of one, but then, I’m not opposed to doing something wretched, either.

  “Is he leaving you for her?”

  “I wish he would leave. He’s apologizing and begging me to forgive him.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh? I need you to get angrier than this.”

  “Did he give you an STD or something?”

  “No. We haven’t slept together since Quincy died.”

  Kara’s eyes widen. “Since January?”

  “Yeah, and?”

  “That’s a long time, girl.”

  I know she’s not trying to imply that this might be my fault for not giving him some ass. I have called the wrong friend over. I wish I had another one, but she’s it.

  “How many times did they hook up?” Kara asks.

  “He says once.”

  “Does he love the girl?”

  “Why does any of this matter?”