by Nikki Rashan
However, we had never had a conversation like the one we were about to have, and I wished it were as simple as the last time she sat and awaited my arrival. Kyla had accidentally told my mother we had decided against adoption, which my mother had been ecstatic about. Kyla, for some reason, thought I had already shared the news, and she mentioned it one evening when they spoke on the phone. My mother’s silent shock instantly proved Kyla had been incorrect in her assumption. She felt terrible and had to reveal the innocent error in judgment to me. At the time I was upset. I had wanted to explain the reasons for our decision when I talked to my mother myself. Instead, I had to listen to my mother’s tearful cries for ten minutes before I was allowed to speak. In hindsight, Kyla’s confession of that mistake was minor compared to the conversation I knew we were about to have.
“Can I talk to you?” she asked, doleful.
I paused. Her expression was still, but strained. I noticed the tightness through her jawline and her clenched teeth, and though she had spoken her words softly, they were articulate and as rigid as her jaw.
“Of course,” I answered. “In a minute.” I walked past the room, her eyes following me, and I went upstairs. My insides hurt from brewed anger and aggravation. I needed one additional moment.
The bedroom was not as I had left it that morning. Kyla’s clothes from the day before were balled up on the bed, and the work clothes she had taken off lay sprawled across the chaise. In the bathroom she hadn’t wiped the sink; dried toothpaste and mouthwash spatter spotted the granite basin. Her toothbrush lay damp at the bottom. She knew I hated that.
Back in the bedroom I picked up Kyla’s clothes and unraveled them. I smoothed them out, in search of a trace of anything curious: an out-of-place wrinkle on her shirt, where Angie might have rested her body on Kyla’s; or an unfamiliar scent, such as the combination of their sweat, the forbidden stench of betrayal. Bitches. I balled up the slacks and sweater again and ran downstairs.
“What’s up?” I asked after I took a seat alongside her, so close our thighs touched. Kyla, startled, scooted slightly to her right. I scooted the half inch as well. I wanted to test her courage.
“So what’s going on?” I asked again.
Kyla cleared her throat. “How was your day?” she began.
I ignored her question and glared at her. Finally, I answered, “Probably not as eventful as yours. I should probably ask you that question. How was your day?”
Kyla seemed instantly frightened, visibly taken aback, like a politician with a broken teleprompter. I had thrown off her well-rehearsed speech, and she didn’t know what to say. I continued to watch her. Her taupe skin warmed to a reddish hue. Her clenched jaw tightened further in an effort to conceal her shaking lips. Her eyes began to tear, and mine did too, but out of contempt. Her expression questioned my knowledge. What does she know? she wondered.
“You know?” she asked carefully.
My heart throbbed faster than it had in my entire life. Again, her inability to answer a question directly confirmed the answer I feared. A tear fell from my eye. Not from sadness, but from the exhaustion it took to constrain the fury I felt inside.
“I know what? What is it that I know, Kyla? Hmm?” She didn’t answer but instead picked at her fingers. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said finally. Her voice shook.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I repeated, mimicking her whiny voice. “Same shit you said to me yesterday, but you went on ahead and carried your ass to Angie’s. So what’s your excuse?”
“I don’t have one. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” I spoke louder. “For fucking Angie? For being weak for some new pussy that you had to fuck up all this? Everything we have? Oh, wait. It’s not even new pussy. It’s old, worn-out, used-up pussy, so what the hell is wrong with you? I trusted you all these years, thinking you had actually changed. Believing you had actually learned what commitment and fidelity mean.” I pointed a finger in her face.
“Well, guess what? You don’t. You’ve mistaken me for one of your old groupies, like you can do this kind of shit to me and I’m supposed to keep running up behind you, kissing your ass. Best believe nobody’s pussy is that good to me, not even yours. Fuck you. Fuck this relationship. I don’t give a shit what happens from here.”
It was all out before I could control it. I meant about half of the words; the rest were just to hurt her. Did I mean she was weak to have messed up our relationship? Yes. Did I mean I didn’t care what happened now? No. As much as I wanted her to, inside I was petrified that she would walk out the door.
Kyla cried. She cried a painful, remorseful cry. I had no desire to comfort her for her wrongdoing and make it easy for her to feel sorry for herself and wallow in her own pity. No. I wanted her to feel bad. I wanted her to feel like the same shit she had just trampled into our relationship.
“Tell me what you’ve done. Admit it. Say it, Kyla. That’s what you wanted to tell me, right?”
“I messed up, Asia, I know.” She hesitated. “I slept with Angie today.”
Though I already knew the truth, I responded as if I had learned it for the first time. I lashed out further, letting her know how it felt to waste nine years of my life on her, and how embarrassed I felt for having fallen for a cheater.
“I knew it. You were a slut then, and you’re still a slut now,” I growled.
I forgot the words of reason of Mrs. Johnson. I ignored the classy upbringing and the “Always act like a lady” lessons my mother had given me.
“Say it right, Kyla. Don’t go trying to soften it up. You fucked Angie today. That’s all you two are good for? A piece of ass, right? Is that all I ever should have expected from you? Why waste all these years pretending to be something you never could be? Faithful. You cheated on Jeff, and you fucked half of Atlanta before me. Silly of me to think you knew how to actually love and be committed to somebody. In the end, you always do what pleases Kyla. It’s all about you. So what now? You’re ready to go be with Angie? I hope she’s worth it. Hell, you might not even be worthy of her.”
Kyla continued to cry shamefully, her face in her hands. “I don’t know what’s next. I’m not ready to leave.”
“Ha! Really? Don’t you think you should have thought about that on your way to Angie’s house?”
She nodded.
“Look. I’m going upstairs. Do whatever the hell you want to do, and don’t even think about saying shit to me until I talk to you.”
I got up, with a sense of déjà vu from the previous night, and walked toward the stairs.
“Wait, Asia,” Kyla called after me.
“Fuck you, Kyla,” I responded and continued to the bedroom.
I paced around the bedroom in an effort to calm down. I hated the things I said to Kyla as much as I despised the reason behind my words. I was furious at her for disregarding everything we had built together for an experience she thought she had missed and now longed for. As much as I already dreaded the next phase of my life—separating from her, dividing our possessions, and moving on—I knew there was no choice. I would never take her back.
I heard the garage open. I ran to the window. Was she really about to leave? From upstairs I watched her car exit the garage and disappear into the night. I didn’t have the energy to worry if she was off to seek refuge at David’s or to open her legs for Angie again. Did it even matter?
Eleven
Kyla
“It’s over.” I sniffed into my sleeve. “I told her what happened, and she went off. She’s so pissed, and I don’t blame her. I have no idea what to do.”
“Where are you?”
“Midtown.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
I put my phone down and continued to sit at the bar of the dark corner tavern, a little spot where it mattered not how I appeared. I was frazzled, with swollen, red eyes. The bartender still handed me a drink nearly before I sat down.
“Rough night?” the old serv
er asked me. He seemed tired, his eyes heavy with dark bags, like those of a bruised boxer who lost his fight. He had a glass in hand, ready to pour.
“Yes. Vodka and cranberry please.”
He filled the glass with vodka, then added only a few drops of cranberry, enough to turn the libation a sheer light pink. The vodka burned my chest with each swallow. I felt I deserved it. That was my first drink, and I had been there an hour. The two drinks that followed were the same.
I left home because I couldn’t sit in that big house with Asia after our argument, if I could even call it an argument. It was more like a one-sided verbal ass whipping. Asia insulted me in ways no one ever had, not even Jeff, who had been furious when I confessed to sleeping with Stephanie, but he hadn’t been hateful. I had never seen Asia speak to anyone else like that. Sure, I knew she had a sharp tongue; it had always been a quality I admired in her. I didn’t know she’d use that tongue to lash at me so harshly. I appreciated her knack for speaking candidly. I knew this from previous conversations we’d had, which I played in my mind. But the conversation we had just had, I had not envisioned.
Asia’s response to my actions with Angie proved there was no hope for our relationship. Her stance was clear: we were done. I couldn’t find a reason to stay home, separated from her for another night, while we tried individually to cope with the new division. I had made the decision to leave, and I had no excuses and no justification for it, other than I had found myself at another confusing juncture in life, unsure what decision was best for me. I probably should have stayed home and tried to resolve the disturbing discord between us. What did I do when I was unsure? I continued to disengage, and I chose the alternate plan.
“I’ll have a Miller,” Angie told the attentive bartender when she sat on the stool next to me. When I told her over the phone that I was in Midtown, there was no need to provide a specific location. We frequented this spot in the past, before a night of sex at my place or hers.
“Hey,” she said to me. Her eyes softly took in my distressed appearance and disposition. She reached for my hand and squeezed.
“How did this happen, Angie?” I asked her, although I had just answered the question for myself.
“It happened because we’re both fools. Fools for messing up what you have, and fools for not pursuing us in the past.” She paused a moment. “That would make you the only fool, though.” She smiled at her poor joke.
A tear dropped from my eye onto the dull, scratched bar counter. I smeared it with my fingertip.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly.
“It’s all right.” I finished my drink and raised my glass to the bartender for another. Angie spied the bartender. He returned her gaze and held up four fingers as he handed me another drink.
“I’ll be fine,” I told her. “It’s just vodka.” I gulped half the drink.
Angie sighed. “What’s next?”
I laughed and looked at Angie. She was blurry, like the fuzzy little letters on an eye chart during an eye exam.
“You sound like Asia. ‘What’s next, hmm?’ What do you think is next?” My tongue suddenly disobeyed me. My question sounded more like “Wha thoo thi ith neth?” “She said it’s over. I guess one of us has to move out, right?”
“You can stay with me,” Angie offered, jumping at the opportunity.
“Ha! Stay in the place your ex just moved out of? One out, next one in, huh?”
“It’s not like that, and you know it.”
“Sure it is. Your revolving door has swung just as many times as mine.” I had started to talk louder. The table of three patrons behind us, two male and one female, took notice. I saw them through the mirror behind the bar and whirled around on my stool to face them. I almost lost my balance.
“What are you looking at?” I asked, the words slurred together. They looked at each other and burst into giddy snickers. Angie swiveled my chair back around.
“Let’s keep this between us,” she instructed.
“Sure, sure.” I finished the rest of my drink. The bartender was at the opposite end of the bar, catering to no one but seemingly deaf to my request for another.
“Hey. Hey!” I yelled to him. “Another please.” “Un-uthu pleath.”
He held his finger up to me and disappeared somewhere behind the magical mirror behind the bar.
“What’s wrong with him?” I turned back to Angie. The circular movement hurt. My eyes seemed determined to linger on the place behind me where the bartender had stood. I still saw traces of his disappearing act while I struggled to bring Angie into focus.
“You know this is your fault, don’t you?” I poked a finger hard into her breast. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be home in bed with Asia, sound asleep. No, wait. What day is it? Monday? No, we’d be having sex tonight.” I started to laugh so hard and didn’t stop until it was difficult to catch my breath. Tears fell. “Yep, tonight would have been our night. That’s how predictable we had become.” I wiped my eyes with the already damp napkin underneath my perspiring glass.
“But you . . .” I poked Angie again. “You and that good-ass sex of yours.”
The table behind us tuned in once again.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s right,” I yelled to them. “Yep, I’m about to leave my four-bedroom house and my beautiful woman for this one right here.” I pointed my finger high above Angie’s head, as if she was the grand prize on The Price Is Right. “What do you think about that, hmm?”
I stood up. Barely. “Tell me. Should I do it?” I walked over and propped my elbows sloppily on their table. “Should I stay, or should I go?”
They didn’t respond.
“Hey!” I slammed a palm against the table. “Don’t you hear me?” I sighed. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I think I have to go.”
Angie reached for my waist and held me erect just as I was about to stumble sideways. I couldn’t see her, though. She was too blurry.
“I think you’re right. It’s time to go,” she said.
“But that’s not what I meant,” I protested. “I mean, Asia won’t let me stay now, will she? I have to go. You all understand, right?” I asked the table, but Angie dragged me toward the exit.
“Come on, Kyla.”
We were out the door and in the cold air within seconds. My legs wobbled until they met the front seat of Angie’s car. She got in beside me, started the car, and backed out of the small parking lot. The glare of the streetlights we passed was as harsh as direct sunlight. I closed my eyes. When I reopened them, I struggled to control the surge from my belly as we sped down an Atlanta highway. I closed them again.
When I opened my eyes again, I was home, on the family-room couch. My clothes were damp with sweat, and a foul-smelling wastebasket sat on the floor at my side. I attempted to sit up, but the weight of my head forced me back down. “Ouch,” I murmured.
“How do you feel?” It was Asia. I squinted through my left eye and found her across from me, in the chair. She was dressed and ready for work, keys in hand.
“Not well,” I groaned.
“I see that.”
“What happened?” I tried to recall how I got home. Last I remembered, I was lying in the passenger seat of Angie’s car. Oh. Shit.
“Ask Angie.” Her voice was tense. She attempted to control her anger. “Look, Kyla, you have to go. It’s one thing that you cheated, but to continue to disrespect me so blatantly is unforgivable.” She got up and walked toward the door to the garage. “Be gone by the time I get home.” Without another word, she left.
I began to replay in my mind the events from the previous night. The bar. Angie. The funny group at the table. “I have to go,” I had told them.
I was right.
Twelve
Asia
It was eleven when I heard the alarm system beep, a sign that the front door had opened. Although I wanted to ignore Kyla’s return home, the painful moans and groans and the stubborn protests I heard from the foyer jerked me out of
bed.
“Let me go!” Kyla shouted, her words thick and obscure. I reached the landing of the staircase and found Angie attempting to keep Kyla upright, despite Kyla’s insistence that she could walk alone. When Angie loosened her grip, Kyla immediately stumbled forward. Angie caught her again.
“I can walk, Angie,” Kyla swore.
Angie looked up and saw me. “Don’t worry. I got you,” she told Kyla but continued to stare smugly at me.
“What the hell is going on here?” I asked, heading down the stairs.
“She had too much to drink,” Angie explained.
“That’s obvious.” I finished my descent down the stairs. “Take her to the family room.”
Angie dragged Kyla, who gave in and slid across the floor as Angie pulled. I went to the guest bathroom, grabbed the wastebasket, and followed them. Kyla immediately threw up in it. Together, Angie and I watched Kyla release all the emotions she had tried to swallow with alcohol.
“I’m so sorry,” she cried. I didn’t know who she was apologizing to, me or Angie. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said, a repeat of her latest mantra. “I feel like shit. Please forgive me.” Again, whose forgiveness did she need?
Eventually, she turned her head to the side and passed out. We stared at her, an awkward, stiff silence between us. Until the reality of what had happened hit me again.
“Why did you bring her here?”
“Because she lives here. I thought she needed to be home,” Angie responded.