Four: Stories of Marriage

by Nia Forrester

  Brian and Ella lived uptown in Harlem, in an old brownstone that had been converted to apartments. Their unit occupied the second floor. Riley brought wine, and was greeted at the front door by Ella, barefoot and wearing black leggings with a long white cotton blouse that hung asymmetrically and exposed one smooth, dark shoulder. Her face was bare as well, her locs pulled high on her head into a sloppy cascade, going in all directions. And she was wearing black-framed glasses that made her, strangely, even more attractive, like someone playing the role of a sexy librarian.

  “Come in, come in,” she said, taking the wine from Riley and giving her a brief hug.

  She smelled like spices with an undertone of lavender which was probably her hair, or perfume.

  “And thank you for this.” She held the wine aloft as she headed further inside. “You like spicy food, I hope. Brian says you like anything exotic.”

  She pronounced the word ‘exotic’ with a flourish as though the very idea of exoticism was obsolete, which of course it was.

  Before Riley could respond, she continued. “I made Thai basil chicken. You’re not allergic to nuts are you?”

  “No.” Riley looked around the living room, trying to figure out where they might want her.

  “Sit anywhere, please,” Ella laughed. “I’ll get you a glass of wine. I hope white is fine.”

  She was more talkative, more at ease in her home, Riley realized, than she had been at the Campaign’s offices. This chattiness seemed to be more of her native personality, and only now did Riley consider that Ella might have been nervous that first time they met.

  “Brian is just getting out of the shower,” she said as she headed toward the back and, Riley assumed, the kitchen. “He stayed at the office while I came home to cook. It’s easier when he isn’t in the way, trying to ‘help’ me.” She made air quotes and winked at Riley over her shoulder as she left.

  While she was gone, Riley took in the room. It was a wide-open space, with furniture demarcating the different functions—a large dining table to one side with seating for eight signifying the dining room, and the burgundy leather sofa and loveseat both draped with several throws and crowded around a coffee table serving as a living area. There was no television in sight, but books piled in every conceivable corner, some of them acting as plant stands.

  On the mantlepiece, two candles burned, and there were large, vivid paintings and batiks, framed behind glass covering just about every inch of wall space. On a leather ottoman, a MacBook rested, tilting a little precariously as though it might slide off.

  Riley stood, walking around the room to look at art, and to read the spines of books on the shelves. She paused at a photograph, a print of the wedding photo that Brian showed her when he first mentioned that he was married.

  “Jamaica,” Ella’s voice said from behind her. Riley turned and took the wineglass being extended to her. “I feel like everyone gets married in Jamaica, don’t they?”

  Riley smiled. “Shawn and I honeymooned there. We loved it, but we haven’t been back yet. I’m not sure why.”

  The aroma of dinner wafted out from the kitchen, just as Brian emerged. He, too, was dressed casually, in worn out jeans and a plain white t-shirt. And he was barefoot as well. Riley felt ridiculous in her pencil skirt, heels and dressy top. She wanted to kick her shoes off and get comfortable. But she couldn’t of course. She was not a ‘friend of the family’ or even a friend, really. She was the moneyed ex-girlfriend with whom Brian had not been in touch for almost ten years.

  “You’re here,” he said.

  Before coming over to greet her with a brush of cheeks, he kissed Ella and stole a sip of her wine. Then he looked around and moved the MacBook, taking its place on the ottoman.

  For a moment there was silence, until Ella seemed to remember something.

  “Appetizers!” she said. “I made shrimp summer rolls. You two … carry on. I’ll be right back.”

  Brian looked at Riley and grinned.

  “So,” he said. “Welcome to my home.”

  And the pride, the contentment in those words caused a pang in Riley’s chest identical to the series of pangs she had been experiencing ever since that day not too long ago when Brian had first come walking back into her life.

  Over a series of small appetizers—shrimp summer rolls, mini “Indian” pancakes and chicken lettuce wraps—and then dinner, Riley listened more than she talked. Ella was definitely the better ambassador for the Campaign than Brian. She spoke matter-of-factly but not dispassionately about the work, readily admitted that some of their clients were not the most easily sympathized with people in the world, and even threw in a few personal anecdotes about being repelled by the details of some of their crimes.

  Just as it had been at the Campaign’s offices, her delivery was pitch perfect. But now, in her own home, it was more intimately delivered, like someone sharing with a friend something she might not otherwise share. While she spoke, Brian, sitting next to her, idly reached over and massaged the back of her neck, chiming in to add something here and there, but content to let her carry the conversation.

  Dinner was done, and they were having a dessert of sticky rice when the topic shifted to Brian’s idea of making them “social justice rock stars.” Ella leaned back and rolled her eyes.

  “I’m not entirely sold on that strategy honestly,” she said.

  “It could work, though,” Riley heard herself say. She hadn’t spoken much all evening so now, both Ella and Brian looked interested. “I have some friends in the industry, and of course, there’s Polis. I’m sure if we came up with an angle, you two and your work would make a good feature.”

  Brian smiled. “I didn’t want to be so crass as to ask, but yeah, I was kind of hoping …”

  “Not that he had any problem walking into your office and asking for hundreds of thousands of dollars,” Ella laughed.

  “Quiet,” Brian said laughing with her. “It was a Hail Mary pass.”

  “And you do love those.”

  Ella looked at her husband, he looked at her and for a moment, it was as though Riley wasn’t even there.

  “Well, I think it’s an idea worth pursuing,” she said clearing her throat and shifting in her seat, signaling that maybe it might be time for her to go. “We should discuss it. Once the other gets settled.”

  “The other being …?” Ella looked confused.

  “The grant,” Riley said. “Did Brian tell you? I’d like to make you a grant, but there are a couple of … there’s some details I’d like to …”

  Ella shrieked and then clamped a hand over her mouth. Turning to look at Brian, she punched him in the arm. “No! He didn’t tell me. Are you …?”

  “Babe, she said there’s some details to …”

  “I know, but …” Ella stood and came around the table with her arms outstretched. Riley stood and awkwardly accepted her hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. For even considering …”

  “It’s fine, really,” Riley said. “Brian and I have known each other a long time. His word goes a long way, and of course, everything I heard here tonight, and saw at the Campaign ….” She blushed. “I’m sure that if I’m able to do something, you’ll put those resources to good use.”

  She pointedly glanced up at their wall clock.

  “Oh! You probably have to … Brian will walk you out, right babe?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “D’you have a car coming, or …?”

  Riley smiled. “Nope. Uber or cab.”

  Jesus. He must really think she’d gone Hollywood. A ‘car coming’?

  “Uber takes like ten seconds in this neighborhood,” Ella said.

  “I’ll wait with you,” Brian said. “Lemme go put some shoes on.”

  When he disappeared into the back, Ella stared at Riley, still smiling, and now shaking her head.

  “You’re just the way he described you,” she said.

  “Oh? How was that?”

  Before she could answer, Brian w
as back and telling his wife he’d only be a minute while he made sure Riley was safely in a car and on her way home.

  15

  How did you describe me?”

  Riley and Brian were standing outside his brownstone, waiting. Her Uber ride was going to take considerably more than ten seconds, but instead, seven minutes, or in Uber-land, also known as ‘an eternity’.

  “What?” Brian asked.

  “Ella said I’m exactly the way you described me. So, how did you? Describe me, I mean.”

  Brian narrowed his eyes as if trying to recall. “I don’t know. Don’t remember. I’m sure it wasn’t anything bad.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Riley.” He looked at her more closely now. “Of course I’m sure. What would I have to say about you that’s bad?”

  “Brian. Seriously?”

  “What?” He looked genuinely puzzled.

  “It just seems … I mean, the way we ended …”

  He shrugged. “Relationships end. And most of the time someone gets hurt in the process.”

  “Yes, but you were the one who got hurt. In this instance, you were the one who got hurt, and …”

  “And I got over it. Obviously,” Brian said, looking up toward his apartment. “I let it go.”

  “Okay,” she said, staring out at the street.

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I don’t know that I am,” she admitted.

  “So, what? You think I’m faking right now? That I came slinking into your office needing money, so I put on a show of not hating you for the way we broke up?”

  Riley said nothing, her eyes beginning to fill. She shook her head, unable to speak.

  “I promise you, I’m over it, Riley. I mean … are you, though?”

  “I thought I was,” she croaked. “I mean, the way I treated you …”

  Brian sighed. He glanced up at his apartment once again and then took two steps closer to her.

  “Want to go get some coffee or something?” he asked. “There’s a place around the corner. Crappy coffee that costs too much, but reasonably quiet. We can …you know, talk a little more.”

  “Ella …”

  “Will understand. Look … cancel the Uber and let’s go talk.”

  She hesitated.

  “C’mon,” Brian said. “We’re probably overdue, you and me.”

  The coffee shop was a small corner hipster joint, with only three tables crammed into one corner of the small space. They coffee selections were all from far-flung tropical countries and incredibly expensive. The dessert cases were filled with confections that Riley couldn’t pronounce.

  Brian ordered them two green teas and they sat opposite each other at the table farthest from the door. But because the table was so small, it still only had them about two feet apart.

  Clasping his hands around his cup, Brian studied her. And Riley studied him back. He looked so much the same, and yet so different.

  Back when they were together, he had a softness about him, a naïveté that was charming, and endearing. Riley remembered comparing it—unfavorably at times—to Shawn’s intensity and drive. Shawn was fire, where Brian was still just embers. Though it hadn’t been conscious or deliberate, something in her was drawn to the fire, and it lit a fire in her as well, while Brian left her only lukewarm.

  Now, he was different.

  “How’re you and … Shawn?” Brian asked, his tone tentative.

  Riley shook her head. “This isn’t about me and Shawn.”

  “Then what is it about? I don’t …” Brian shrugged. “If it isn’t about you being unhappy, then I don’t get it. Is it that you never thought I would be happy?”

  “No, of course not. I wanted you to be. I want you to be. It’s just …”

  “Just what?” Brian sounded frustrated now, impatience edging his tone.

  “I don’t … It’s difficult to say, but …”

  “Just say it.”

  “I guess I’m … jealous of Ella, okay? I’m a little jealous of her.” And seeing Brian’s expression, she rushed on. “I do love my husband. I love him more than I loved him the day we got married, I love him more every minute I spend with him, so it isn’t about that. It’s just …”

  Brian leaned back and took a sip of his tea Something in his eyes grew cold. “It’s just that you want your cake and eat it, too. Just like back then.”

  “No.” Riley reached out to touch his hand, but Brian flinched, so she pulled away. “It’s not that, I swear. It’s …”

  “Say it!” Brian hissed. “Just … whatever it is, just say it, Riley.”

  “You were my friend,” she said. “Maybe even my … ideological soulmate. We saw the world in the same way, we wanted the same things, we challenged each other to do better, not just for ourselves but for … I don’t know, society, and …”

  “And then you went off and fucked around on me with a rap star,” Brian said matter-of-factly.

  Recoiling at his tone, Riley stopped speaking.

  “Stop romanticizing what we were, Riley. Yeah, we vibed back then, and it was good. But you found something better than good. And it might’ve stung like hell but y’know what? Then I found something that was better than good. I found my ideological soulmate, my everything. And I finally understand what you felt.

  “Now if what you have with your husband isn’t shaping up to be enough? Then I’m sorry for that. I really am. But what I have is more than enough. And I would never go back to where you and me were. Never.”

  “I’m not asking you to! That’s not even close to what I’m …”

  Brian exhaled again. “Look. I loved you then. And now, I love you still. As a friend who helped me define what and who I wanted to be. I give you so much credit for that, you don’t even know. And that’s why I came to you for help. Not to walk down memory lane or revive old hurts. But that was always your problem. You just …”

  “What was always my problem?”

  “You were always looking at the horizon, Riley. Always looking back, or at the horizon and never at what was right in front of you.”

  “I …I don’t …”

  “You’re looking at my life and you’re imagining that you missed out on some, I don’t know, some alternate existence or something. And the messed-up part is, I don’t even think it has anything to do with me.”

  They sat there for a while. For what seemed like forever, neither of them speaking.

  “Call your Uber,” Brian said finally.

  Woodenly, mechanically, Riley followed his instructions. This time, the wait was three minutes. It wasn’t enough time to repair the damage she had just caused, nor to erase the shame she was beginning to feel.

  When the screen of her phone told her that the driver was ‘Arriving Now’ she stood, and Brian stood with her. He walked her outside and opened the door to the rear passenger side of the Honda Civic that pulled up with the U symbol displayed on the windshield.

  “If this is too difficult,” he said when she got in, “with the grant and everything. Working on the other stuff. I mean, we can just … part as friends, no hard feelings.”

  “No, I don’t want …”

  “Talk to your husband,” he said, holding up a hand to stop her from continuing. “Think about what’s best for you two, and then give us a call. Or not. Either way, Riley? It really was good seeing you again.”

  He shut the door and patted to roof to let the driver know it was fine to go.

  Shawn was sitting in the kitchen again. Eating dinner and maybe waiting for her. Last night when she’d come in, she could tell he was barely containing his hyped-up emotions from being in the studio. When he was making music, it was as though his second-self emerged, his energy was a more frenetic, buzzing, electric thing. He looked for ways to expend it, like in lovemaking.

  Last night, from the moment she saw him, she knew from his dilated pupils, the pace of his speech, and the playfulness in his tone that he wanted her. It would have
been frenzied, almost furious sex, the kind that left her muscles aching, and her mind blank and her body still craving him. But she couldn’t do it, because it would have felt like she was using him to work out emotions that had been provoked by some other man. That was why she’d cried on Saturday.

  Not because she wanted to be with Brian. But because, to her eternal shame, she wanted for a moment to be the woman she had been when she was with Brian. Shawn always had sex with her out of love, but that night she had sex with him out of doubt, doubt that the life she had built with her husband was the type of life she truly wanted.

  “This is the only way I’m going to see you from now on, huh?”

  Shawn swiveled on the stool to face her as she entered the kitchen.

  Riley offered a dim smile. “I hope not.”

  “Come over here,” he said.

  He had that look again. That ‘give-me-what’s-mine’ look. She could. She could fuck her husband until they were both sore and scour every trace of Brian and Ella and the vision of their life together from her mind. Shawn always could do that, make her forget everyone and everything. He consumed her. Even now, he was still her fire.

  “No,” she said. “I need to tell you something.”

  “Oh shit.” He was grinning despite his words. “Nothing good ever starts like that.”

  “Shawn, please …” She put a hand to the back of her neck. “Could we …? I just need you to be serious right now while I tell you this.”

  “Okay,” he said, sobering up. “But come over here. Tell me from over here.” He opened his arms.