“What about you and Brother Malcolm?” Pill said, entering the depth of her closet while Shae sat on the edge of the bed. She had at least six piles of jeans on a shelf. She came out with a stack of jeans from the back that she set between them on the bed. Surely one or two of these pairs can go, she thought.
“It’s Morris, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
Pill stopped shifting through the pile long enough to catch her friend’s crestfallen expression. “It seemed as though you all were a match made in heaven.”
“He’s dating around, but I don’t want to talk about it,” Shae protested.
Pill pulled a pair of distressed jeans from the pile and played with the frayed edges of one of its many strategically placed holes. “Dating around? What is that exactly?”
“How come you don’t get to talk about certain subjects, but I’m expected to be an open book?” Shae pushed her ruby glasses back in place with her thumb.
“Because you are so much stronger and wiser than I, and I always learn something from your stories. So, tell me,” Pill commanded, crossing her legs. She placed the jeans on top of the pile this time. She knew she wouldn’t be able to part with any of them.
“That’s what the brother told me, Pill, okay? He’s dating around, hoping he’ll find the one, which is translation for the one that will sleep with him. He said he likes me a lot, but—”
“But . . .?”
“That’s just it. I’m supposed to trust him to be my first—everything—first love, first partner, but he can’t tell if I could be his next girlfriend unless we sleep together? Shoot, that brother’s crazy. So, I decided not to be used and recycled and just stay new like God intended. Shoot, I’ve come twenty-four years,” Shae said with all the poetry of a preelection campaign speech, but with the disappointment of one conceding defeat. “Now I’m commuting to school. You can have all that relationship drama. I’m not pressed for the heartache.”
Pill could already tell heartache had moved in with her friend. She hated that she had been right about Morris all along.
“Well, that is his loss. I’m proud of you, though. That’s the good Pentecostal girl I know.” Pill let her mind wander back to the many days and nights she’d go over to Shae’s house and find out she wasn’t there because she was in church. That all ended when her momma died. “You know you scared me off from church? I couldn’t figure out what you all did in there all day and all night. You’re the reason I stayed a heathen for so long.”
Shae cracked a smile. “I stayed in church to be forgiven for crimes I committed with the Jones girls.”
What was volleyed as a joke had landed like a fault. “Am I forgiven?” Pill asked, crossing her arms across her chest.
“Dag, Pill, I was just joking,” Shae said, crossing the divide between them to pull Pill into a one-armed hug. “Have you asked God for forgiveness?”
Repeatedly, she thought. She only nodded her head in reply.
“You don’t do that kind of stuff anymore, so you’re good. The question, I guess, is, have you forgiven your mom?”
Pill knew she couldn’t get away with saying she didn’t want to talk about it like Shae had tried earlier, but this was a topic she’d rather avoid because she didn’t know how she felt. She thought she’d be over the pain of neglect and the tragedy of what her mom had done by now.
“She doesn’t need my forgiveness. I wasn’t the one she shot and killed,” Pill said.
“The forgiveness is extended to her, but it heals you.” The silver bangles chimed a confirmation as Shae tapped Pill’s hand with each syllable. “I’ll take the drive with you if you ever want to go.”
Pill mouthed the word “okay” to bring closure to that issue, at least for the time being. “I’m glad you went back to church. Your momma would be happy,” she finally voiced.
“It was time. Like I told Candy the other day, God wants us to come back home. Even if we didn’t start out in Christ, or in church, all roads in life, good or bad, lead to Him eventually anyway. Even the road that is paved with heartbreak leads to Him, and the road of clutter and utter confusion.”
Pill scanned the room. Her system of grouping her things that once made sense to her was now perplexing. “I need to get rid of some stuff, huh?”
“You think?” Shae asked sarcastically. “You need to give it all to Goodwill. Trim back to your basic work clothes, a few casual separates, church clothes, and maybe one or two evening wear pieces.”
“You’re trippin’, right?” Pill said, throwing what she considered as sarcasm back at her.
“Certainly, ’cause you sport your evening wear to work. You are the only person I know who is always runway ready.”
“Don’t hate, just help,” Pill demanded.
“You can’t possibly expect me to do manual labor after working for six hours at the shop. I’m here to take what I can get. Those frilly tops and skinny jeans can’t do a thing for me. Getting your shoes and handbags are the closest thing I’m going to get to designer anything.”
“I got a pair that may fit you. You’ll like them, a pair of True Religion. The stitching was so cool I could not pass them up.” Pill looked around as if to consider what bag the showcase jeans were placed.
“Who does that, I mean, really? Who buys jeans they can’t fit in because they are pretty?” Shae stood. This time she entered the depths of Pill’s walk-in closet. Pill could hardly stand to look at what her friend would unearth. If it was still in her closet, she knew she couldn’t bear to see anyone in her things, even if it was her best friend.
Shae emerged with a new strut and a handbag on each of her shoulders. Pill rose from her bed. She couldn’t speak at first.
“Oh no, friend, that’s my first Coach bag,” Pill explained.
Shae did a model spin to give Pill a good look at her choice on the other side. “You said I could pick out something.”
“Shae, not my Dooney & Bourke. Do you know how long it took me to get one?” Pill said, suddenly hoarse.
“Why are you pretending like you are really going to get rid of anything?” Shae shrugged her shoulders with the bags still in place. “Let go. You got to start with something.”
All of a sudden she wanted to be alone with her belongings or in the clean aisles of her favorite store with a million choices and money to start anew.
“Forget your stinkin’ bags,” Shae said, going back in the closet. This time Pill was on her heels.
Shae’s smug smile irritated her. She couldn’t explain why it made her spine crawl to see her friend upset her piles of purses like they were playthings and rifle through the rummage of shoes as if they were remnants.
Her closet had been her myth. It was her phone booth that she went into and morphed into a classic and in control chick. She was no more than the Wizard from Oz projecting a persona from behind a curtain, and her friend knew it. Everyone would know of her wardrobe without the smoke and mirrors.
Shae bent at the waist and came up with Pill’s favorite ivory boots. Anticipating Pill would object, she tucked the boots under her arm like a football receiver and made a break for the door.
Pill was determined to catch her before she left the bedroom. Like a defensive player, Pill aimed to knock the boots loose from her friend’s grasp or take her down altogether. She reached out and caught a hold of the pointy toe on one of the boots. Shae had no alternative but to tug at the heel to maintain possession. It was a tug of war that brought them directly in front of the doorway. Shae was laughing, but Pill was scrapping.
“It’s not funny. I told you that you can have something, and you go after all my best stuff?” Pill yelled.
They had not heard Corey come in or ascend the stairs. When Pill looked up, she saw her husband. His expression was not his usual weariness from work. He looked wounded. Pill didn’t know what hit the ground first, the boot she was fighting over or the packages he held. He threw open the hall closet door parallel to where he stood and extracted a la
rge duffel bag.
At first, Pill thought he was going to join in on their de-cluttering efforts as he charged the bedroom like an angry bull. It took him what seemed like seconds to tear his shirts and pants from hangers and shove them in the bag. Pill and Shae stood like children caught with their hands in the candy jar as he stormed back past them as quickly as he had come.
If Pill thought she might hyperventilate before, she knew surely her heart would stop now. She chased after him into the hallway, “Wait—Corey. You’re leaving? Why?”
“I intercepted two packages addressed to you at your sister’s place. You don’t want me, you want more, and more, and more,” Corey cast over his shoulder. He kicked a path through the two packages he had dropped. “Since I always ultimately pay, consider them my parting gifts.”
“They were from before. They were on back order,” Pill screamed as if he weren’t just a few feet away from her. This wasn’t making sense to her. She demanded, “Why do you get to walk away and not work on this relationship?”
He stopped on a dime on the landing of the stairs. “Those boots you were just fighting over were a knockoff. I was there when Rico got them secondhand for you. I never said anything because I didn’t know you then. I figured a man shouldn’t have to tell his wife not to strut around in a pair of boots another man gave her.” His eyes were bloodshot red instantly, as if he had spent a hundred sleepless nights thinking about her in those shoes. “The funny thing, Pill, you were always my prized possession. I guess I was just the knockoff.”
The word were was not lost on her. She watched him skip down the remaining stairs as if he were chasing his dignity. She stood in the shadow of where her husband once stood, at the top of the stairs, wanting to beg and plead for him not to leave her. She didn’t have to ask if this was the deal breaker. She knew. She couldn’t watch him leave.
He didn’t open the front door or leave immediately, so she took a chance and called to him, “Divorce is not an option, Corey.”
“No, but a separation is,” wafted the emotionless voice of her husband of six months before she heard the door open and slam shut.
Chapter 30
Corey felt hollowed out by the time he reached his parents’ doorstep. He was thankful his mother didn’t interrogate him further with questions about his unexpected visit when she let him in with his oversized duffel bag. They spoke in the general sense before she ushered him to his old room.
He was strangely comforted by the space, both mentally and physically. His parents lived in the kind of house he could lose himself in his own wing if he wanted to. His room was at the top of the hidden staircase off the kitchen. Although Dani was older, she had preferred the slightly smaller room that was closer to the bathroom when they all lived together. He and Rico got the bigger rooms farthest away from his parents’ master suite. He remembered his cousin taking full advantage of the locale by sneaking girls up to his more-than-humble abode when they were in high school. By college, when Rico visited on breaks, he didn’t even feel compelled to have them out by morning.
Corey’s room was meticulously preserved with his photos and posters. He spent the first two days of his visit reminding himself of a time when his only aim was business school while everyone else in the family breathed basketball.
Just like now, he came and went as he pleased. Why was he so fast to leave this comfortable, carefree environment, branch out on his own, and marry a woman that would not only take over, but also topple his independent world upside down?
One look through his high school yearbook, The Senior Booster, and he knew. Page twenty-two, Rico Jr. voted Most Likely to be a Millionaire; page thirty, Most Likely to Marry a Fashion Model. There in the midst of a hundred or so candid and not so candid shots of Rico was a photo of Corey. He was pictured with a dozen of his classmates both standing and sitting on chairs. Ironically, they were on the same gymnasium floor he was forced to play basketball on with a banner that read Future Business Leaders of America. Stuck in the back of his yearbook between the autograph page and the back cover was a blank application for that organization’s annual scholarship.
It seemed like eons ago to Corey when he gave up on his dream and himself. In actuality, it was less than ten years ago. Now that pain and disappointment collided with the pain and disappointment of a failed marriage. He contemplated if only he had pursued his degree right out of high school when he had a chance to take a free ride. If only he had married the right girl—one in Egypt somewhere who had never heard of his cousin, would never be impressed by his wealth, or come in arm’s length of his prowess. The world was too small.
He thought about Crystal, especially when he went to work. He couldn’t look at the dock platform the same. He didn’t go inside for any reason and wouldn’t think about calling in for anything less than a real emergency for fear she might answer. Tyson and five other of his colleagues had been fired. Drivers were under particular scrutiny for any improprieties.
He wasn’t surprised he was in the same outdated truck, driving the same route. Somehow Mr. Thomas’s Medicorps deliveries were back at the top of his docket. He was just thankful that Crystal was totally vengeful. He thought about calling her but had to ask himself what could he really say. It seemed that I made a mistake; I wanted you, not my wife. I failed at one relationship. Let’s give it another try. Neither of them was fathomable; neither was true. Crystal was right. They weren’t really friends because he hadn’t set the foundation for one.
Corey’s solace was short-lived when he heard a knock on his bedroom door as he settled in after work on day three. He could tell from the relaxed rap that it was his dad.
Emory Taylor ambled through the door and took a seat on the opposite edge of the queen mattress as if he were staying awhile. He looked at his son as if they were already in conversation and he was waiting on a reply.
“I came to see if there was anything I can help you with,” Corey’s dad said. “Look, I assume you’re having problems with your wife, son. She called the other day just trying to figure out where you were laying your head, I guess. What’s going on?” he asked, scratching his head as if he’d been trying to think of the answer himself all day.
Corey knew then his mom had sent him. His dad lived by the creed that men let men sulk in private. He was a man of few words and anything said between them would be reported back to his mother immediately. His father was like his mom’s puppy. His Uncle Pop was his mom’s hero. Although that was his mom’s brother, she never looked at his dad in the same way she did Uncle Pop. That always bothered Corey.
“You know what, Dad? I don’t know. I guess I’m trying to figure that out.”
“It can’t be that bad, can it? You got to look at the merits of marriage; you know, why you married her in the first place. She’s beautiful. Even a blind man can see that, but she’s also—”
“Wait a minute, Dad,” Corey interrupted. He couldn’t trust his parents to talk about Pill without talking about her. “Stuck up,” “gold digger”; he had heard it all before from various members of his family. Despite the circumstances, he didn’t think he could stomach an insult against her.
“I was going to say a Pollyanna, idealistic in a weird kind of way. God love her, she came over to me at your mother’s party and told me if I wanted to really impress your mother, that I should get her a Jaguar. She told me that was going to be her next car, like the two of you had just come from the lot. She has a way of making you think you deserve more and feel like you can accomplish it.
“Guess what your momma is getting this Christmas?” his dad smirked.
“Does she really need a new car, Dad?” Corey noticed his inquiry changed his dad’s countenance.
“It’s not about what she needs, son. It’s about what will bring a smile to her face, especially now. We’re retired. Our bills are paid. Don’t be such a stick-inthe-mud. Be frugal but make sure to enjoy life too. You might try a little blind optimism every once in a while like that wife
of yours. I think that’s what drew you to her.”
His dad’s comments had him thinking about sandcastles on the beach. Pill would always say, “What’s stopping you, Corey?” when he mentioned something he wanted to try or do. Sometimes they talked a lot, sometimes very little on those early dates at the beach. Being with her gave him that feeling that he could not only accomplish his goals, but exceed them. She never stopped him. It was he that never moved forward.
He had seen Pollyanna on TV Land. He wondered if Pill, like the little girl in the story, had been told she “can’t” so much that when bad things started to happen to her, optimism crumbled under negativity.
“Did you know she used to date Rico?” Corey asked.
“How was I supposed to know that? You didn’t tell me, and do you think your cousin would have told me you stole his girl?” his dad smirked.
That made Corey smile as well until he realized he couldn’t continue to claim that prize unless he held on to the title. If the old adage warned to be careful what you prayed for, he had learned what you boast about may not be what you bargained for.
“You got to forgive and forget. I wish you’d find it in your heart to make amends with your cousin. Life is too short to fall out with family and leave your wife out there on her own. You can’t be mad now about what you already knew.” His dad stood as if Corey had enough reality for one day.
“You wanted a trophy, and she’s as impressive as they come. You also can’t be mad when you have to continuously shine it up. You certainly don’t throw it away when it tarnishes. But what do I know? I’m just an old man. But seriously, I hope that helps.”
Corey watched his dad cross in front of him as he made his way to the door. He had a lot to think about. It wasn’t that he couldn’t forgive Pill. He just didn’t know what would heal them. He didn’t want to go back and watch it fall apart again.
The weekend was upon them, and he knew that he not only had to eventually answer to Pill, but his entire Marriage Maintenance class. He decided he could avoid them all by just going to church with his parents.
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