by Cydney Rax
“You know, Anya, I haven’t always made the best decisions in life. But know this: I truly long for a sane, good life. I want normalcy. Don’t want to be poor, barely making it, and trying to raise a child. I’ve seen mothers struggling here in the city so many times. Life is hard. So while I transition, I…Well, I hope you know what I’m trying to say.”
“Sure, I understand. We all want happiness, huh?” I reply, and pat the top of Brax’s head. He squeals and squirms in my arms. “To quote the late Ann Landers: ‘The poor want to be rich, the rich want to be happy, singles want to be married, and the married want to be dead.’”
“And my starving ass wants something to eat,” Dani says, and rubs her belly. “You hear my stomach growling? What’s on the stove?”
“Hmmm, well, Dani,” I say, struggling to hold Brax, “we got some rice, smoked turkey, pinto beans, cornbread, and collard greens.”
“I’ll take a little of each, please.”
I just look at her.
“And I’ll be happy to make my own plate.” Her face reddens and she breezes to the stove, lifting up lids, which make clanking noises. I ask Brax if he wants any more bananas, but he just makes a face and laughs. I pick up a spoon filled with banana and direct it toward my mouth. Brax’s little legs start moving.
“Oh, so now you want some, now that you think I’m about to eat up your food, huh?” I press the spoon into Brax’s mouth and listen to him gurgle and baby-talk and say whatever it is he feels he has to say. And I pray this situation is doable. It’s so strange, painful, and challenging, but will it be doable?
“I don’t care what you say,” Vette tells me, “you are weird, weird, weird.”
It’s the first day of my playing stepmom/baby-sitter to Brax. Vette is standing in my face watching me dress Neil’s love child. We are in my bedroom. And I don’t appreciate how loud Vette is talking. It’s only seven-damn-thirty in the A.M.
“Don’t you have to be at school, young lady?”
“I’m going later on. I’m trying to figure out what’s up with you. I thought you said you hate Dani.”
“It’s not hate. More like love-hate. There’s a difference.” I shrug and pull a sock onto Brax’s fresh-smelling foot. He balls his hands into fists and is baby-talking to himself.
“You have a love-hate relationship with Dani?”
“We’re polite because it helps us to get through our situation. We do what we need to do even if we have to push ourselves,” I admit.
“And you’re satisfied with that?”
“People in struggling relationships sometimes play a role until sincerity takes over. That’s just how it is. The almighty Danielle Frazier is no exception.”
“Shhh, you shouldn’t say things like that around the baby.”
“Vette, he’s only seven months.”
“So what? He knows his mother’s name. He knows by the scowl on your face that you’re saying negative things.”
“I’ll cover his little ears with my big hands,” I say, and make a face.
“Weirdo, weirdo, weirdo.” Vette walks out the room.
“I’m glad she’s gone, aren’t you, sweetie?” I rub my cheek against the baby’s. “Mean ole Auntie Vette don’t know what she’s talking about. She’s an evil demon and she must be destroyed.”
I carry Brax downstairs and prop him in his carrier. After I feed him some cereal and hand him a bottle of juice, I pray that Reesy stays asleep for another thirty minutes. I am breathing hard and my back is starting to hurt. All this weight I’m carrying, plus hoisting Brax around all weekend, well, I need some rest.
I go pick up a book that’s in the den. Written by Lisa Bevere, it’s called The True Measure of a Woman: You Are More Than What You See. Riley loaned it to me—or, rather, gave it to me. She said, “Hon, you can keep my copy. That’s how bad I want you to read this. Tell me what you think when you get a chance.” So I took the book and promptly laid it on a table somewhere. I’ve glanced at the pretty orange-and-yellow cover, read the back-cover copy, but haven’t wanted to get deep into the material. But its laid-back, conversational style is now drawing me. The book challenges me to be open and honest with myself, and to not be afraid of what I find. I need that. It’s important to know I can develop to be the woman God created me to be no matter how I’ve started out.
I’m skipping around reading, based on chapter titles such as “Escaping Your Past” and “You Are Not What You Weigh.” I read for a while, then go upstairs to my room. I walk straight into the bathroom and close the door. I’ll only be a minute, I say to myself, thinking of Brax. I take a deep breath, look in the mirror, and appraise everything that physically makes up Anya Meadows. My eyebrows are neatly arched—that makes me feel good. But my nose is bigger than I’d like. It’s so big I wonder if it’s the first thing people notice when they see me. My hair—I still have the weave. It itches a lot and I’m tempted to ask Phyllis to remove the extensions so I can feel more like myself. When I look in the mirror and notice my neck, it’s like my eyes refuse to go any farther south. I’m not in the mood to view my wide shoulders, huge breasts, and puffy belly. I pat my stomach, wishing that it could flatten just by the stroke of my hands.
I don’t always appreciate how I look. Sure, I’ve seen much uglier women. But still…I wonder how it would feel to be a truly beautiful woman, someone with perfectly shaped cheekbones, wide, expressive eyes, sensual and even-toned lips. I wonder what it would feel like to wear low-riders. Show my belly button without feeling the need to cover up my love handles. I wince and sigh. I have to catch myself because even Tyra Banks admits that all the hot cover models have flaws. All women have defects, even the alluring Danielle Frazier. So I smile at myself, wave good-bye to the mirror, and know that in spite of how I look, the real measure of a woman is more than what the mirror shows her.
Although my true measure is based on the inside of me, I still find myself on the University of Houston campus. I feel I need help with the spiritual, the mental, and the physical. Vette has convinced me to try out the treadmills at the Campus Recreation and Wellness Center. As a student, she gets a free membership and it cost six bucks for my one-day visitor’s pass. This $52 million facility boasts two levels and includes basketball courts, a rock-climbing wall, steppers, elliptical machines, NordicTracks, and weight-training equipment. When we walk up the stairs and locate a locker, I hear the radio playing loudly. The ubiquitous 50 Cent is rapping over the airwaves.
“Anya, the reason why you stopped going to those other gyms is because you had no one to go with you. Now that I’m here, it’ll be more fun. I’ll help you.”
Now, why Vette is working out in a gym in the first place is beyond my level of understanding. She doesn’t have the perfect body, but she’s as svelte as they come. Folks like that make me sick. When I glance around, I see that most of the people (make that kids, because they look twenty-five and under) are shapely, toned athletes.
“They look this way because they work out,” Vette explains, like she’s reading my mind. I guess she can read me because I’m openly gaping at everybody. Vette has on this cute, cute, cute yellow workout shirt that emphasizes her perky breasts. And her purple biker shorts display beautifully toned thighs, curvy hips, and long legs. She has no problem moving from the treadmill to the stationary bike to the thigh abductor machine to the track.
At first I feel self-conscious, especially when the treadmill asks for my weight. Should I lie? I punch in a number, having subtracted three pounds off my true weight. One hour later, when I’m sweating and the moisture is making my hair feel curly and nappy, I am smiling. I feel invigorated, alive, and sexy. Working out makes me more aware of my body than sex ever did.
“I want to come back,” I say to Vette when we’re finished. “Let me know when you work out again, okay?” She nods and rolls her eyes. We pat the moisture from the back of our necks and go downstairs to toss our used towels in the bin.
“You looking good, sister-in-law
. I see a little strut in your step. You exude sexiness. As usual, you’re just too blind to recognize it. But I see it in you big-time.” She grabs me around the shoulders and squeezes. I nod my head, beaming, feeling good and energized.
Vette motions with her arms like she’s swimming. “Next time let’s jump in the outdoor pool.”
“Humph. The only part of my body that swims is my head, okay? You can go in the pool. I might do the hot tub.”
“You do that. I’m so proud of you. And even if Neil doesn’t notice, I’ll bet other people will. You’ll be fighting guys off. Watch.”
“You’re a silly dreamer, but I appreciate your kind words. I don’t know what I’d do without you, girl.”
“Good, because I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t be here for you.”
Vette ignores the stares of the young bucks who pass by on the way to the parking lot. And I look forward to the day when guys stare and I enjoy them staring, when Neil notices me like he’s never noticed before, when Dani sees the changes and feels threatened, and when I can’t deny the changes myself.
Part 3
* * *
Anya & Herself
21
* * *
Neil
“Okay, let’s do this,” I say to Dani. “We’ll have the U-Haul truck all day. That should give us enough time to move the bulk of your things to storage, and we’ll bring only your essentials back to the house.”
Dani is slumped on the couch, which is pissing me off. Time is money.
“Dammit, Neil. I hate Mr. D. People like him have a special suite in hell, I know that much.”
“Look, you need to get focused, and think about what needs to be done. So get off your lazy ass and start wrapping all your dishes with this newspaper. I thought I told you to do that yesterday.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Dani’s blasé attitude makes me want to shake her by the shoulders. But I suppress my frustration and head to the balcony. I’m waiting on one of her neighbors to come help me move the couch, the queen-size bed, and other furniture out to the truck. It feels like a sizzling July day on this early May morning.
“Neil, where’s my gift basket stuff?” Dani shouts out to me.
“Already on the truck.”
She steps out onto the balcony. “Is it? Okay…well, what about my CDs and DVDs?”
“They’re in that crate by the door. Since you have nothing better to do, why don’t you carry some of the lighter boxes outside?”
“Okay, okay, sure.” Dani’s hair is pinned up. Her ponytail is bouncing around as much as her breasts. She’s braless and wearing a tank top. I’ve warned her about doing stuff like that.
“What are you doing out here? Taking a break? You want me to get you something cold to drink?” Dani steps farther onto the balcony with me. She looks me up and down and her breathing seems to settle, like she’s calming down and accepting that she has to move. Even if she can’t visualize it now, I believe a woman of strength is inside her and she can get through this.
“I love you,” she whispers, and then strokes my cheek. I shake my head, firmly stopping her with my eyes.
“Follow me.” I walk toward the hallway.
She slinks behind me, right on my heels. I turn around and grab her tight by the shoulders.
“The past is gone, Dani. We’re shifting into a whole different gear. You’re going to have to get control.”
“Oh, like you have so much control?” She smirks. “Weren’t you the one who tried to slob me down three nights ago? Didn’t I have to force your horny ass to go back home?”
“I wasn’t horny, I was delusional. I’m sorry about that. It was just a tiny kiss.”
“Kisses are never tiny kisses. They always imply something. So, if you want me to keep my hands off you, you’re gonna have to keep your big, strong, sexy hands off me.” She pouts and blows me a kiss. Even though I know better, I want to grab her and toss her over my shoulder, whisk her off to the bedroom. But the bed is leaning up against the hallway wall. Erotic visions cloud my mind as I try to imagine us making love against a bed that’s leaning on—
The doorbell rings.
“Hey, you,” Dani says. “That must be my neighbor George here to assist you, so go on and leave so I can get back to being fo-cused. Take the crate out for me while you’re at it, will you, sweetie?” She talks loud, like I’m deaf. I want to swat her butt, but it switches away, so I can’t get to it like I wish.
For the next few hours we pack Dani’s and Brax’s things and make a few trips to the self-storage facility on West Bellfort. That’s where she’ll be storing most of her furniture. I’m somewhat angry at myself because I volunteered to pay Dani’s monthly costs—told her I’ll do it as long as she aggressively looks for another job, as long as she doesn’t file for child support.
A few days ago when we had this conversation, I said, “You never have to file. I’ll always take care of my son.”
“I know but my mama says—”
“Don’t listen to her. She’s old, bitter, and lonely.”
“Neil, stop lying!” Dani shrieked. But then she covered her mouth with her hands and giggled. And I knew I was relatively safe.
“Keep the state of Texas out our business and we’ll be cool,” I told her. So far I feel she has no reason to doubt me. It’s not like she doesn’t know where I work and live. It’s not like I’ve denied I am the father of her child, or demanded a paternity test. I’ve been there long before day one. I love my little man and will do what it takes to make sure he’s secure and well taken care of.
After all the furniture and other belongings are totally cleared away, we head back to the apartment so we can clean it well enough for Dani to get back half of her eight-hundred-dollar deposit. As we drive toward Holly Hall Street, Dani pulls up the bottom of her tank top to wipe sweat from her forehead.
“You lost it finally?” I yell. “Dani, cover yourself.”
“What?” She looks down. “Oops,” she laughs. “I’ll bet my life ain’t nobody trying to look at me.” She finishes drying her forehead, exposing herself while we drive through the streets of Houston. I grit my teeth and imagine my mouth covering her breasts, sucking them. I curse myself, order myself to get a grip. I know that her living under Riley’s roof for the next couple of months will present a challenge like no other.
A couple of weeks ago, when Riley was at our house and heard about Dani’s dilemma, she offered the spare bedroom in her home on a temporary basis. I felt nervous about the situation, and so did Anya, but Riley assured us that she’d be on top of things, and what better place could Brax be during this transition than close to his dad. Since we had no other fast fixes, we all said okay and crossed our fingers. And though it might be challenging, I think I can make life workable until Dani is out of my neighbor’s house and things settle down again.
We’re back at Dani’s. The room sounds hollow with all the furniture gone. I have a bucket, some Pine-Sol, sponges, and other cleaning supplies situated on the breakfast bar.
“Dani!” I yell.
“You rang?” she says, and enters the kitchen.
“Where were you just now?”
“Peeing, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay, anyway, don’t forget I’m gonna give you a hundred dollars out of the tax return when I get it in a few weeks.”
“You’re one of a kind, Neil. I appreciate that.” She smiles, then abruptly frowns. “But still, I don’t like living junky, you know? I’m pretty independent and this…this is something different for me. But then again, I’ve never had a kid before, so…”
“Kids change everything.”
Dani looks thoughtful. “Is Reesy excited about having her baby brother come live next door to her?”
“She’s excited, but then again, she’ll probably barely notice. He’s been at the house so much lately…”
“Ah, I gotcha. But Anya isn’t Reesy, and probably won’t share her excitement. And Vette, yuck…�
� Dani shakes her head. “She’s the one I gotta look out for. I notice her eyeballing me every time I’m over there. I feel like she’s my probation officer or something.”
“Don’t worry about her. Vette has mental problems.”
Dani laughs. “Only a brother would say that about a sister.”
“Well, it’s true.” I tease, “I just gotta remember to always come to Riley’s with a baby bottle.” I wink. “Trying to feed you, and bathe you, right along with Brax.”
She looks surprised, then smiles sexily. “That would be nice. You’ve never bathed me before, Neil.” Her eyes widen. “Hey, if I still have some body wash here, can we take a bath together?”
“No, Dani. Nice try, though.”
“You are no fun, Neil Meadows.”
“Then why are you with me?”
She’s silent, assessing me. “Am I with you? I mean, are we really together?”
“No, we aren’t. I was just kidding,” I pause, eager to change the subject. “Let me start wiping these walls. You vacuum.”
“But if I vacuum, it’ll be too noisy for us to hold a conversation. I–I feel like with me moving closer to you, we won’t be able to talk anymore. I don’t work with you…and I’ll miss that, Neil.”
I walk over to her and give her a quick hug, then back away. “Well, Dani, what if we still meet for lunch now and then? How’s that sound?”
She beams up at me like a little girl. “You think of everything, don’t you?” She dreamily rubs her shoulders. “Yes, that sounds good. We can meet every now and then and discuss raising our child. We can debate whether or not Bush is doing a good job running the country, and whether or not gays should be married. We can chat about the plight of the world economy, and if the Astros will go all the way and win the World Series.”
“Stop it, Dani, shut up.” She’s making me laugh. Her ponytail has become loose and her hair is now falling all over her shoulders. I feel myself getting aroused.