Shh...Mine (This. Is. Not. Over.)

by Dianne, Shannon

  “I’m just thinking and correct me if I’m wrong but white looks much better on my skin color, ya know?” Jasmine says within seconds of climbing into the cab. Oh, no. Not more wedding talk. “I mean, dark skin looks good in a bright color and cream is too drab for me.” She rambles on and on about her upcoming wedding this summer. I nod, glance out the window and then look at her and nod some more. Yeah, enjoy it now. In a few years, you’ll be divorced. She talks and I ride. I watch the street lights go from nonexistent to blinding and the buildings go from beige to grey shiny deco. I like Boston, I really do but what’s here for me? Not the men. Not family. My friends are here but that’s about it. I have my agency. I have memories here but to be honest, my best memories are in New Orleans during my college days and in Baton Rouge where the rest of my family is. If I had a choice, I’d probably move back to New Orleans. Boston is beautiful but it’s the past. Houston is nice but there’s heartbreak there now. In Louisiana I have the best memories of my teens and twenties, tons of family and the comfort of living in my haunting home state. I’m seriously contemplating relocating there, away from that house off of Kirby and that bar on Bobby Brown’s side of town.

  “Danielle!”

  “What?” I snap as I jerk my head to Jasmine.

  “You’re phone is ringing.” I break into my clutch; it could be about Nicky. To my relief it’s just Lola. She flew into Boston with me once she heard I was coming. Before I can even say hello, I hear tons of noise in the background. “Hello?”

  “Where are you?” She says, screaming into the phone. I plug one of my ears.

  “On my way back to the city, why what’s up?”

  “Come hang out with us!”

  “Us?”

  “Some friends from The Hill.” Hmm…do I really want to hang out with white people who are privileged and drunk? Let me think if I’ve heard this story before: rich white boy flirts with a girl, liquors her up, takes her home, won’t take no for an answer, then gets off because his daddy knows people… No thanks. I don’t wish to hang out with privileged and drunk white people. But I didn’t want to hang out with the unprivileged and drunk black people either. Go figure.

  “Okay, where are you?” But I’ll go.

  She gave me the name of the sushi bar that looks more like a club than a restaurant. I’ve heard of the place before and since it’s in the Theatre District, I figure the cabbie could find it easily.

  “Oh and Cadence flew up to surprise me!” Cadence is her husband. I haven’t met him or even seen a picture of him but my father said that he’s an idiot. He was brought in as international counsel for some domestic cases that have overseas ties in England. My dad has a family law practice so Cadence has come to help my dad with some clients of his. My mom says that Cadence’s presence is the result of a favor owed to Lola’s dad, a senator from Massachusetts. From what I hear, Cadence’s cases involve messy custody issues where the parents are from two different countries, divorces, wills, prenups. That kind of stuff. Even though he’s an idiot my father works him like a dog; I’m surprised he has time off.

  “Wow Cadence is here? That’s great!” Did I say that like I cared? No offense, but I’m getting divorced; I don’t want to hear about happy couples.

  “I want to reacquaint you with him and his brother.”

  “Sounds good, I’m on my way.”

  And before I can press End on the phone, Jasmine starts rattling off again about her wedding. I lean my head back on the cab’s seat and close my eyes as she talks. Lord, why me…I cannot believe my marriage is over. Is this my fault? Was I wrong? Did I do everything I could to make him happy? No. No, I did not. That is the answer. I manipulated him into marriage, I screwed with no emotion. For my entire relationship, my heart was never in it. I wanted him for the status of being a wife, of letting the world know that I was wanted. I needed that social acceptance and I received it. But I did nothing to sustain it. Did I degrade him? Did I berate him? Did I control him? I did. My marriage, or the end of it, is my fault. I could have tried to love him. I could have been loving. I was more satisfied with a ring, a house on Kirby and a son. I fucked up.

  “Earth to Danielle.” Jasmine giggles and leans her head back on the seat.

  “Cabbie, can you drop me off in Beacon Hill before you head to Watertown.” I close my eyes, tears threatening to fall. I just want to go back to my condo and feel utterly sorry for myself.

  “I thought I heard your friend ask you to come to a sushi bar?” Jasmine says as she looks at me and then bites her bottom lip.

  “What’s that look about?” She stares for a moment longer and then slides her mouth into a smile.

  “Ooh, I could have my bachelorette party at a sushi bar. But you know how mother is, which is totally lost on me because…”

  She goes on and on and on and I just shake my head. No I don’t know why your mother hates sushi bar’s Jasmine, okay? No I don’t fucking know.

  And then the next morning, the strangest thing happens; well not strange because it’s happened before, it just hasn’t happened since my wedding day. But, the next morning, I wake up to a knock on my door. The staff has a package to deliver.

  “Thank you.” I say as I smooth over my hair and close the door. As soon as I see the box, I hold my breath. Black box, white bow…no, it can’t be. Why now? How does he know? Who told him that I’m here? Does he know that I’m still married? I thought that was why I haven’t received these in nearly three years. I open the box and there they are. Cherry blossom petals and a note laying on top of it with just one word on it.

  Stay

  March 23rd

  You ever feel like when one thing is going bad in your life, it’s hard for you to enjoy anything else? I’m guessing that’s what’s wrong with me. So, I decide to go to Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles. The note shook me up and I desperately want to talk about it but that won’t be happening. Both Jasmine and Rena have ties to Jon so they can never know about my cherry blossom petals. God, I miss him. I don’t know him but I miss him. His school ID is in an envelope on my desk at home. Jasmine knows who he is and used to ask if I wanted her to tell me. That was before I was married. After that, Miss Housewife just assumed that my mystery boy was a cute crush but Jon, he was the real deal. Please. Anyways, I text Rena and Jasmine to tell them that I’m stealing Nicky from his godparents (a couple who doubles as my parent’s best-friends). I’ll be bringing him along for them to see him. He’s a well-behaved kid, no problem there. Rena texted back that she can’t wait to see her ‘hunny bunny’ and that she’ll bring hers too. Jasmine, gives us both smiley faces.

  So here I am, at Roscoe’s, with yet another sticky table. But this time, it has streaks of water across it that appears to be imbedded within the wood. Well, at least somebody tried. We’re at a table, the crowd around us is once again deafening and the music blaring from the sound system is rivaling for attention. Justin Timberlake is pumping out of it. I don’t understand pop lovers. Who in the hell would listen to pop music and gain any inspiration from it? Me, I’m an alternative, folk and oldies girl myself. My favorite male singer is Marvin Gaye, my favorite female singer is Adele, my favorite band is Coldplay, my favorite song writer is Carole King and my favorite indie artists are Iron and Wine and She and Him. Now that’s music, so imagine how I feel right now listening to Justin’s corny ass. In fact, Justin is the very reason I’m beyond annoyed at this very moment. Well that and-

  “So I’m going to go to the restroom and leave this.” Jasmine pushes a bridal magazine in front of Rena, her four month old son Georgie, Nicky and me. Geez! We all look at it and even Georgie gives a sigh. Leave us the hell alone about this damn wedding!

  “Great!” Rena says as she beams a smile to Jasmine and then drops it immediately once Jasmine turns her back. I laugh. “She’s driving me bananas.”

  “Let her have her moment. We’ve both been there.” I take a sip of my water and then jump. Is that something floating around in there? I grab th
e straw and play with the ice cubes. Oh, just lemon debris…whew.

  “That’s fine, I can let her have her moment but melon colored dresses? Is it not bad enough I have to wear ruffles but now I have to wear orange ruffles?”

  In all fairness, the melon dresses were a nod to me. Remember me mentioning Marla earlier? The junior I stole Jon from? Well she decided to date his roommate, Marlon. Marla and Marlon she wrote one day on a notebook of his, a heart around their names. I saw the notebook in Jon’s room and plotted. It was in poor taste for her to rebound with Jon’s roommate and I’m no fool, she wanted to keep Jon close. So I told Marlon about my bestie Jasmine from Boston.

  “Pretty girl. Chocolate brown, big boobs, tiny little thing. You’ll tower over her, completely eclipse her.” I told him one night that I lay with a sleeping Jon in his twin bed. Marlon smiled. Ah, that male ego. “Long jet black hair and she has dimples.” His eyes widened. Dimples? He was sold. I paid for Jasmine to come down to New Orleans her birthday weekend, Jon and I double dated with her and Marlon. And, what do you know, eight years later they’re getting married. Poor Marla. She’s such a bitch.

  “I hate Melon.” Rena says. “No offense.” I shrug and look at Nicky. He’s conquering half of a syrup laden waffle. His mouth is opened wide and syrup is everywhere. He tries to stuff it in his mouth. Fail. But at least he got some of it in. I give him an ‘eat your food properly look’, grab a napkin, dip it in my water and then lean into him and kiss the syrup off of his lips.

  “Yummy.” I say. That makes him smile. I wipe his mouth with the damp napkin while he’s diving in for another bite. “Pick a dress before she comes back.” I say to Rena as I point to her son who just spit up.

  “Ugh.” She jumps for her diaper bag. “The things that comes out of this kid’s mouth.” While she wipes his mouth, I glance over to the bridal magazine. I remember those days. I think I was more obsessed with having the perfect wedding than I was with marrying the perfect man. But he suited my needs for where I was at that point of my life. I wanted to be married. I wanted to marry someone I had a history with. I wanted to marry someone who I had friends in common with and though Marlon and Jon weren’t best-friends, they are frat brothers and old teammates. I wanted to marry the story of Jon and Danielle and their shared history, not the actual people. “Melon?” Rena says again.

  “Melon.” I repeat with a shrug. My family may be from Louisiana, but I never received the gene that made all Southerners slaves to loud ass colors. Louisiana is a dark and brooding place. Sunshine yellow isn’t our cup of tea. A melon scarf? Yes. Small melon colored stud earrings? Sure. I whole goddamn ensemble? Never. But bright and cheery fits Jasmine’s personality, so if she wants melon…

  “So which one?” Jasmine says as she slides back into her seat. Umm…She looks between us as Rena and I have our gazes frozen onto each other. “Whatever.” She slides the magazine over to her, rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

  “What?” I ask. Aww…I don’t want Jazzy mad at me.

  “Listen, I know you two are already married but when it was your time, I was completely happy for you both. I was all into it and everything. But now that it’s my time you both-“

  “Jasmine, stop.” I say. “I’m sorry, my love.”

  “Give me that thing.” Rena says, snatching the magazine from her. “Because you’re a pouter and once Danielle goes back to Houston, I’ll have to deal with your ass.” She starts looking through the magazine as I laugh.

  “Ass.” Nicky says.

  “No.” I say to him, my smile drops, my mommy look in full mode. Rena laughs.

  “Well I’m excited about this wedding Jasmine; it’s been a long time coming for you and Marlon.” I smile at her. See, I support you. I’m making small talk.

  “It has.” She says as she smooths her dress over, avoiding eye contact.

  “Jazzy, I’m sorry. It’s just that with Jon and I…” I let the words drift off and then look at Nicky. She knows what I’m trying to say.

  “You and Jon are fine.” Jasmine says.

  “We aren’t Jasmine.”

  “You are, trust me. Marlon says-“

  “Marlon knows?”

  “Well, I kinda told him.”

  “Not cool Jasmine.” Rena says while still looking at the magazine.

  “I’m sorry, I was concerned. I wanted to know if he spoke to Jon.” I look at her and hold my breath.

  “And?” I ask. Now both Rena and I are looking at her.

  “He said he did, two days before.”

  “And.”

  “And he said that this was just a breather, nothing serious.”

  I almost smile. So Jon thinks this is a breather. I can live with that. I can live with a breather. I’ll go back to Houston and wait then. Now that I have hope, I can wait.

  “Oh yeah?” I say, a slight smile on my face. So maybe Jon and I are going to work out after all. Maybe…and then in that moment my smile fades. Hmm…if Jon and I may still have a chance, why am I not totally thrilled about it? Stay. That’s why. He asked me to stay. I remember our talks, the way he was patient with me, his smell. His voice was deep, even back then and he created hope in me. This man was sending me flowers twelve years after we met. He’s been my fantasy for years. He’s the faceless man I think of when Jon and I are in bed together. He’s the voice I pretend to hear when Jon is whispering in my ear. Goodness…I wonder what he does. I wonder who is his. And how does he know that I would even consider staying in Boston?

  “Bitch.”

  “I know, I know.” I say as I strap Nicky into his car seat. Lola is seated in the aisle seat across from me, already drinking a glass of mimosa. “It was Jasmine and her wedding plans.” I’m fiddling around with the straps of the car seat. Of course Nicky is sleep so he’s dead weight as I try to prop him up and make him secure.

  “I wanted you to meet Cadence, but you’ll get another chance.”

  “Is he here?” I look around the first class cabin.

  “No, your dad called him back late last night.”

  “Sorry.” I look at her and cringe turning completely around to her now.

  “Eh,” She throws a hand at me before taking another sip of mimosa. “That’s what he signed up for. So how are Jasmine’s wedding plans coming along?”

  “Fine I guess.” I look to the flight attendant, point to Lola’s mimosa and she scurries away. Where the fuck is my glass bitch? “I was no help at all.”

  “Why not?” She scrunches her eyes.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head.

  I like Lola, we’re coffee buddies and sit beside each other at Mass but we haven’t discussed my failing marriage. The reason being hers seem to perfect. She’s the daughter of Senator Carlo Rossi of Massachusetts. She moved to England at eighteen to attend Cambridge. There she met her husband, Cadence Blair, a guy who went to St. Bernadette’s with me. He is the son of the former US Ambassador to Great Britain, a post his grandfather fulfilled as well. Cadence and Lola lived in London up until December when they moved to Houston. Cadence is qualified to study law within some of the states and in Great Britain. They’ve been married for four years and are enjoying each other so much, they have yet to have children. The Blairs are the Republican version of the Kennedys, originally from Massachusetts, highly opinionated and as plentiful as roaches. I swear, there’s a ton of them, it’s like they never die. I went to school with three of them, Cadence, Malcolm, and their cousin Jacob, though I never traveled in their circles. I remember their names because Cadence was a big prankster, Jacob was supposedly a Casanova and Malcolm was a jock. I always think it’s kind of sexy when a white man is good at basketball, since it’s a sport dominated by black men. So, whenever I would see Malcolm’s name come across my desk in an article proposal, I would read it. But I honestly couldn’t tell you what any of them look like. I wasn’t into making eye contact in college; I was a bit insecure with being only one of two blacks at St. Bernadette’s. But I did know the Blair Bo
ys were members of a clan where the men are powerful, the women are beautiful and their respect level is unattainable. To put it plainly, they’re fucking perfect. No, I am not telling Lola about my idiot for a husband.

  “Danielle.” She drops her head and looks at me through her lashes.

  “Lola…” She would never understand.

  “Don’t hold out, what’s up chica.”

  I take a deep breath…and then…exhale…sloooowly.

  “My husband wants a divorce.” We look at each other in silence. She shows no emotion. “He told me at our anniversary dinner and I haven’t spoken to him in three months. He calls on Skype for Nicky and pays the utilities but that’s about it.” She looks at me still and says nothing. She’s thinking. That’s Lola’s thinking face. And then I see…happiness? Is that what I see? No, it can’t be. “Speak.” I demand.

  “Leave that fucking loser.” Huh? She takes a sip of her mimosa. I’m not used to hearing that. I’m used to hearing that it will be okay, that marriages go through ups and downs, that we have a child so we should make it work.

  “What?”

  “Dump him.”

  “Admittedly, I’m not the greatest person to him Lola. I could have been a better wife.”

  “Shit happens.” She shrugs and then takes a polite sip of her champagne. “Let me tell you something, when you love someone, they can do anything and people will literally have to pull you away from that person. Interventions, rehabs, restraining orders…those are people who are relentless in their quest for another person, good or bad. When someone wants you, it doesn’t matter how you treat them. Sad but true. If they want you or if they love you, it is unconditional attachment for them. Be it right or be it wrong, be it healthy or sick. So if he can walk away from you…Let. His. Ass. Go.”