Nappily Married

by Trisha R. Thomas

  “Your friend, the attending physician at Jackson Memorial, really thinks Mya is special.” Her smile tightened. “First I thought he was an overbearing jackass, asking how my patient was doing, making recommendations for Mya’s follow-up care as if I didn’t graduate from the top of my class. Then, he says, ‘I’m Venus Johnston’s friend. Very good friend.’ ‘Who?’ I said. ‘Mya’s mother,’ he said. ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘that makes more sense.’”

  Dr. Wong maneuvered past my extended leg still bundled in the cast from my knee down. “Your friend, he started to sound good to me. I was tempted to ask him on a date, but I thought, he’s got to be married. The good ones always are. How are you doing, Miss Mya? Let’s see what’s going on here.” She lifted Mya’s little arms and instructed her to hold them up for a moment. Mya was quick to touch her head like she’d learned in our Mommy & Me class, her normally wobbly body erect from the steel armor around her back.

  Dr. Wong moved Mya’s head from side to side, back and forth. More baby talk to make sure she was distracted before popping the brace off. It happened quickly. No scream. No pain. “Tough and beautiful, can’t beat the combo.”

  Mya smiled on cue to the word beautiful. Early programming.

  I bent over and picked up the brace. “What do you do with … stuff like this?”

  “Return property to the issuing hospital. Jackson Memorial is one hospital we make sure to give their stuff back. That place is three seconds away from closing. The county board of health is threatening to shut them down.”

  “Really, that bad?”

  “That bad. Mishandling patients is one thing, but money and medicine—” She shook her head. “—that’s going to cost them. Nurses were accused of stealing patient’s meds to peddle on the street. Medicare funds being mishandled. One woman was six feet under and the hospital was still charging the government for her stay.”

  “Shit,” I mumbled, not just from the story but also from the sharp pain crawling up my knee.

  “So your friend has his work cut out for him.” She made Mya wiggle her fingers and grab for the rubber ducky she held out of reach. “As for you, I’m surprised you came alone. You shouldn’t be driving yourself.”

  “My husband is in the waiting room.”

  “Thank goodness. You don’t look good.” Dr. Wong didn’t believe in superlatives. The best thing about people who spoke English as a second language was they left out the niceties and got down to business. “Let me take your blood pressure.”

  I stuck my arm out. She strapped the black pad tight and pumped till the little needle couldn’t go any farther.

  “Good grief, woman. Are you breathing? Low blood pressure, just as dangerous as high blood pressure. Who’s your doctor?” she said, reading the dial as it inched down to 90 over 50.

  “You gonna rat me out?” I eyeballed her then took my arm back.

  “Yep.”

  I believed her. “Then I don’t have one.”

  “Exercise and take some iron. Mya, you take care of your mommy.” Dr. Wong looked back at me before going out the door. “You have to have a physician. Who is attending your broken bones? You planning to see your doctor friend at Jackson?”

  “I … hadn’t…”

  “Watch yourself and be good.” She winked and started out the door.

  Jake was coming in as she was going out. He said hello to Dr. Wong and went straight to Mya, picking her up, kissing her about a dozen times. She kissed him back. Their union was a remarkable miracle I witnessed every single day.

  I came and stood next to them, feeling as pitiful as Dr. Wong said I looked. The ibuprofen had worn off, and I was tired. Once we were in the car, Jake turned to me. “I think we need to hire someone for Mya until you feel better.”

  “My mom is helping.” I reached in the back and checked to make sure Mya’s car seat was secure. Since the accident, it was my habit to check and recheck the belt straps to make sure they were locked and in place.

  “Your mom comes over and visits. I’m talking about all day, and into the evening. I heard Dr. Wong tell you how tired you look and about your blood pressure.”

  That made my blood pressure rise for sure. What else had he heard? Maybe the part about Dr. Ex-Lova being a fan, of Mya not me. He turned onto the freeway and sped into high gear.

  “Jake, baby, you need to slow down.”

  I could see the muscles tighten in his neck. He disliked me correcting him on any level. He shifted in his seat and eased off the gas slightly so it wouldn’t be obvious he was doing it at my request. “So you want to tell me why Dr. Ex-Lova was calling to check on Mya?” He said it so slowly, I was still reading his lips when he finished the question.

  “What were you doing, standing outside the door the whole time? Why didn’t you just come inside and have a seat?” I turned to look out the window at the brown hillside along the Los Angeles freeway, destined to rise up in flames after someone flicked their cigarette butt out of a speeding car. Fire season. Earthquake season. Clint season. “Mya was his patient, remember?”

  “Long as he doesn’t make any house calls,” Jake said, turning toward me.

  “Are you serious? I mean really. Are we having this conversation?”

  “The question is, would we be having this conversation if you hadn’t lied?”

  “What did I lie about?”

  “You know what I’m saying.”

  “So now I have to deal with your eavesdropping, listening for innuendo that isn’t there because you think I deceived you in some way?”

  “Face it, Venus. You have a history.”

  “I have a history? Okay, this is getting sillier by the minute. I see an old friend, who happens to be in charge of Mya’s medical treatment, and now you’re accusing me of what … what?” I shook my head. “I knew this day would come.” I rubbed my throbbing head.

  And here it was, the day Jake would use my past, our past, against me. Iron-clad proof that I was no good. Yes, I’d cheated on Airic with Jake. Yes, I’d lied to Airic on a few occasions, but … okay, I lied and cheated. But it was all for a great cause. I loved Jake more than anyone I’d ever loved in my life. I reached out and touched his hand. He released the gear and settled both our hands in his lap.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am, okay.” I squeezed his hand. He had to know. The love I felt for him could flood the parched valleys and drown the surrounding mountains.

  Something of a smile formed on his face before he turned his attention back to the fast-moving traffic.

  Rap Star

  If anyone had predicted I’d be married to a rapper (an ex-rapper—nonetheless, the title still sticks), I would’ve slapped him or her for the insult. Dating a hip-hopper was equivalent to dating a drug dealer with sagging pants, backward hat, gold teeth, and all the bling-bling one could reasonably stand. Serious cause to run in the other direction. How were they expected to support you if the rapping thing didn’t work out?

  Then there was the small problem of hoochies lined up to get the goods when the hard work finally paid off. I pictured Jake with women, many women, all beautiful and barely covered, with big butt cheeks and high heels. No, he swore it was all lights, camera, and fantasy. His brief, vigorous brush with fame brought the women to his door, but he swears he opened it only a few times and hated every minute of it.

  Okay, whatever.

  Those days were over. Short of a few not-so-super-models, a Grammy-winning songstress as a spokeswoman for his women’s line, and on occasion a couple of groupies who couldn’t quite remember why he looked familiar, he was all mine.

  Jake turned around. “What do you think, too much going on up here?” He brushed his hands against the red, blue, and orange felt patches on his chest while he faced the mirror.

  I sat in bed with my cast propped up on a pillow, enjoying the impromptu fashion show. The best part, the only good part, was when Jake undressed in between changes. “Love it,” I quipped when I was really looking at his solid
thick arms, the width of his chest, and the lines of his true six-pack.

  “It was Shaun’s idea to put the patches. First I thought it was a little played … but it’ll work.”

  “Oh yes, Beverly’s outdone herself. Did she think of those little buckles on the shoulder, too?” When Jake first mentioned Beverly, his senior designer, he referred to her as Shaun—his right-hand man. So imagine my surprise when Shaun (Beverly Shaun) turned up as a flawless beauty. No magical airbrushing. For Beverly it was all real. She wore little makeup, her face, neck, and chest were a blanket of brown silk. Her eyes danced with fascination with any subject discussed, thereby making anyone and everyone in her presence feel special and pretty damn lucky to be near her. Yes, one of those women.

  Still, as beautiful as she was, I didn’t find her a threat. I trusted her relationship with Jake as purely platonic. Jake was a no-nonsense businessman. He didn’t play at all when it came to JP Wear. If anything, Beverly Shaun may have felt a little overworked and underappreciated so I tried to give my support whenever possible. Especially knowing what kind of taskmaster Jake could be. His inability to accept excuses and total refusal to cut slack to those who weren’t carrying their weight made him seem hard and on edge most of the time, not conducive to office romances.

  “I saw an old friend.” He said while he finished the last snap closure on the yellow, black, and white plaid shirt.

  “You see Beverly every day.”

  “I’m not talking about Beverly. I’m talking about Trina, somebody I grew up with, and went to elementary and junior high school with. She takes care of children for a living. I was thinking she could come help out with you and Mya until you get your cast off. She’s a good person—she just had a series of unlucky breaks.”

  I sensed danger in this Trina person, but the killer itch traveling up my shin overpowered my train of thought. I began looking around for something to scratch the itch. I grabbed the pencil next to the notepad where Jake had asked me to take notes on the clothing line and eased itdown my cast. Still no luck. I looked around the bedroom for something longer.

  “You want this person to take care of Mya? Why would … never mind, what kind of unlucky breaks are we talking about—drugs, prison, a couple of murders thrown in for good measure?”

  He pulled the jersey over his head and reached for another shirt. “Trina’s a good person.”

  “You’re in the zero category for judging what’s considered a good person. Example A, Legend Hill, your best buddy and my worst enemy.”

  “Legend rubs every female the wrong way. I don’t know why you take it so personal.”

  “It’s always personal,” I said, unwinding a wire hanger. “You’re not instilling much confidence, here. So what’s Miss Trina been doing all this time?”

  “Taking care of kids, other people’s kids. I saw her when I went to my mom’s last week. We talked, she’s working for a family, the kid is autistic and the parents are doing nothing for him. She thinks if she quits, they’ll have to find him a school or someone better qualified to handle him. But she can’t quit until she has another job lined up. I told her we were looking for someone to take care of Mya.” He paused, facing me after buttoning his next shirt. “What do you think?”

  “I like it,” I said, funneling the hanger down the side of my leg, almost there.

  “Cool, so I’ll tell her she can start.”

  “Huh? No. I meant the shirt.”

  “What are you doing?” He caught a hold of my wrist before I reached the magic spot. The hanger stuck out of my cast where it was wedged against my skin. He eased it out.

  “You’re going to scratch a hole in your skin, get an infection, then your leg’s going to swell up and have to be cut off. You want that?”

  “If it would stop the itch, then yes, that would be fine.”

  Jake shook his head, his wife’s irrational behavior never ceasing to amaze him. He went to the bathroom and came back with a wad of toilet paper. He wrapped it around the end of the hanger until it resembled a small animal’s paw. “Here.”

  I worked with MacGyver speed to push the hanger to the flaming spot. Relief.

  “You back with me?” he asked, standing over me bare-chested and sexy.

  “Yes, you have my full and undivided attention.” I kept focus on his tight abs.

  “But seriously, I really think Trina will work out. Plus, I want to pay her a little more than she’s used to, see if it helps her get back on her feet.”

  “I don’t know, Jake. Sounds like you’ve known her, but you don’t know her. People change. Or sometimes don’t,” I said quietly.

  “She’s cool people, Venus. Trust me.”

  “Things aren’t that bad around here. I don’t need help.” I peered around at the unfolded laundry. I thought about the garbage bags full of baby diapers stacked near the garage door. The kitchen sink held mildly crusted sipper cups I’d been meaning to soak. Still, my housekeeping was no indication of my caregiving ability. I was a good mother and a good wife. Everyone was clean and fed, the basics covered. I hadn’t left my child on top of the car and driven off or anything.

  I relented. “I should at least meet her.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t do what you and Dr. Ex-Lova did to me. Oh yeah, by the way, this is Mya’s doctor, and did I mention my ex-boyfriend,” he drew out playfully, though a small trace of hurt was still in his voice.

  “So you and Clint are ex-lovers?” I said, horrified.

  He pointed a chastising finger. “Don’t even try it. You know exactly what I’m saying.”

  “I know, I know. I’ve apologized and I will keep apologizing until you feel better.”

  “Hey, I’m over it. Like I said, long as Dr. Ex doesn’t make any house calls, I’m cool.”

  I scooted out of bed and hobbled up to him. I pushed my hands into his back jean pockets, kissing and inhaling his smooth chest. “Is the fashion show over?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. My audience of one has left her seat.”

  I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the zipper down. “I’m still here. Great show, by the way.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it. Did you happen to take notice of the actual clothing?”

  “Yes, I did.” I gave his jeans right along with his boxers an even push to his ankles. I felt around to what I knew was waiting at firm throbbing attention.

  He stepped out of the clothes and reached underneath my nightshirt, grabbing my plump cheeks. “You’re not wearing any panties.”

  “They’re kind of hard to get on over a cast.” I pressed my naked pelvis against his.

  “So you’ve given up panties until the cast comes off. I think I like this injury.” Our tongues swirled in a kiss.

  Before hitting the mattress I remembered, “Mya’s going to be up any minute.”

  “Keep it quiet, then.” He pushed his fingers inside me and worked them in and out.

  I took a hold of his thickness and squeezed gently before straddling him. He let out a soft groan.

  “You’re the one better keep quiet.” I slid the length of him, pretending to take control. The truth, I couldn’t stop moaning from the second his lips touched my body. He stretched wet kisses across my neckline, pulling up my nightshirt. He tasted the milk that still leaked from my breast. His tongue encircled the thin center of my navel. My entire body was awash with the wetness from his tongue.

  I did my best to suppress the grunts every time Jake pushed deeper inside me.

  The precise moment my toes started to curl, I heard Mya’s faint cry. Her soft whine blended with mine, then continued like an echo when I was through.

  “Told you not to make all that noise.” Jake kissed the center of my moist chest, threw on his boxers, and went to fetch Mya from her crib.

  Nanny Love

  Jake was right. Trina Simpson made our life easier. I suddenly understood the hubbub in Utah, where polygamy was an acceptable practice. Having an extra wife (without sharing the marital bed, of cou
rse) was the greatest idea since family-share plans for the cell phone. I commended Jake on his excellent idea and relished each day Trina arrived, ready to make my day go smoother.

  Monday through Friday she let herself into the house with the key. She started coffee precisely at 7 a.m., not a minute late. She cooked. She cleaned. She took care of Mya. On occasion we had good conversations. She liked to tell funny stories about when she and Jake were kids. Although, I can’t remember laughing. In fact, I thought it a little tragic holding on to recollections with such detail, hanging on to the past and all. But I humored her and asked the requisite question now and again.

  “So Jake was the shy type, huh?”

  “Oh yeah, every time I turned around, he was getting chased home by some girl claiming he was her boyfriend. This one girl, Helena, she threatened to beat him up if he didn’t come out and kiss her. His mama came out instead and did her own threatening. Jake’s mama was something else back then.” Trina’s eyes squinted with memory, “Oh … and there was this one time—”

  “All right, I can see where this is going.” Jake breezed into the kitchen, dressed for work. He leaned near my ear and whispered, “Don’t believe anything she says. I was a saint.”

  Trina coughed out a laugh. “Right.”

  “You don’t want to start exchanging war stories.” Jake shot Trina a look that shut her up pretty quick.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Parson. Can I get you your coffee, sir?” she mocked.

  “I think I can manage.” He poured his own fresh cup. “But you can bring me the newspaper.”

  “We don’t take the paper,” I helpfully interjected.

  Jake and Trina chuckled, looking to each other like I was the only one who didn’t get the joke. Mya even grinned, showing her wet teeth and gums covered with half-eaten Cheerios.

  “All right, I’m out of here. Have a good day, babe.” Jake kissed Mya and then me. On his way out, he squeezed Trina’s shoulders. She shrugged him off. I wasn’t concerned about the playfulness I witnessed. Lately Jake wasn’t in the joking-around mood, so seeing him light and happy was a relief. Trina was hardly a threat, at least from a physical aspect. And for good reason. Girlfriend could use a makeover. Then again, so could I. But their friendship was obvious, the kind built from growing up together, the foundation of childhood memories.