The Ex Factor: A Novel

by Whitaker, Tu-Shonda

  “Get outta here.” Celeste couldn't believe it. “I thought you saw Monica as the great black hope.”

  “Now, don't get it twisted, that's my sister and I love her dearly, and she has always been there for me, but wrong is wrong and you're my sister too.”

  “Well, thank you, Imani.”

  “Do you think you'll ever speak to her again?” Imani asked.

  “I've spoken my peace.”

  “But Celeste, there's Jeremiah, and he's innocent in all of this.”

  “He's not my innocence, Imani. He's my husband's guilt. Listen, I know you mean well, but don't worry about it, I'm only here for a short time today and then I'm leaving. I don't have to deal with it.”

  Starr walked over and interrupted their conversation; she had a local journalist who was interviewing and photographing Red and his family in tow. “This is a reporter,” Starr said to Celeste and Imani. “He's interviewing the wives of the rich and famous—well, in my case, the famous. Now smile for the camera.” Imani and Celeste quickly posed.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Brown,” the reporter said, walking away. Starr spotted Monica as soon as she walked in the door. As Monica walked toward them, Celeste walked away.

  “Monica,” Starr said once she was standing next to them, “I expect you to speak to your sister.” And she walked away.

  Monica and Imani walked toward Celeste, who was introducing Mama Byrd, Buttah, and Roxanne to Myles. “You into the family thang?” Mama Byrd asked.

  “Excuse me?” Myles was confused.

  “Do you date a bitch's cousin, her mother, her stepfather's mother, her sister?”

  “No.” Myles felt a little embarrassed, but Celeste had already explained to him that Mama Byrd was senile. “I don't do things like that.”

  “Oh.” Mama Byrd winked at Celeste. “Don't believe the hype. He'll be the one to get with Imani.”

  “Mama Byrd, hush,” Buttah said.

  “Don't tell me to hush, bitch! I don't care what you say, De-aunt and De-uncle ain't Jimmy's kids.”

  “It's De-niece and De-nephew, and they is his kids!” Buttah screamed.

  “Whatever they name is, they ain't Jimmy's.” “If you don't mind me interrupting,” Monica said, “I just wanted to say hi, Celeste.”

  “Awwl shit,” Mama Byrd laughed, “it's on.”

  “Mama Byrd!” Roxanne said. “Don't start no trouble.”

  “Shut up, chicken wing!” Mama Byrd saw Sharief walk in the door. “There go y'all's baby daddy.” She pointed. “He look good than a ma'fucker too.”

  Kai, Kayla, and Kori spotted Sharief as he walked in. “Daddy, Daddy.” They hugged him tightly.

  “Mommy said she got a gift for you, Daddy,” Kai whispered.

  “Yeah, Daddy,” Kori said, “I saw her wrap it this morning while Myles was driving.”

  “Myles?” Sharief said.

  “Yup, that's her new boo. He's really nice,” Kayla insisted. “But Mommy said that he will not be living with us because she has to get life right for the four of us, without a man.”

  “Yeah, Daddy,” Kai said, “Mommy said the only man she wants in our house all the time is Jesus and the one who delivers your child-support checks.”

  “Is that so?” Sharief looked up and spotted Celeste. “Daddy will be right back.” Walking toward Celeste, he couldn't help but notice Myles. He nodded and extended a hand. “Sharief.”

  “Myles.”

  “Nice to meet you. My daughters were just telling me some good things about you,” Sharief said.

  “Oh yeah,” Myles said reluctantly, “they're good kids.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sharief,” Celeste said, excited, “I have something for you. Something I should've given you awhile back. Myles, sweetie, hand me that red box in my bag, please.”

  Myles handed Celeste the box, and she and Sharief stepped away from the small crowd that surrounded them.

  “Look, Celeste, before you go off, I need you to hear this,” Sharief said.

  “What is it?” she snapped.

  “Please, just hear me out. I know you don't want my apologies but I owe you a thousand. You don't have to accept them, you don't even have to own them, but I owe them to you. I know that I hurt you and I need you to know that I always loved you. And what I did wasn't right, I know it wasn't. And all I can simply say is that I wish I had done things differently.”

  Celeste blinked. “You fucked me over and you think because you lay some sappy-ass apology on me, I should jump up and down and feel wonderful? All those sleepless nights I begged and I asked you if were you cheating on me.”

  “Celeste—”

  “Don't Celeste me. You cheated on me with a mistress that will never go away and now, after you've lived with your mistress, had the son you've always wanted, and the shit didn't work out, you want to apologize to me? When did you feel apologetic? Before or after the shit fell apart? You can't do shit for my pain but get the fuck out of my face. I had feelings and you spat on 'em. And you know what, I'm not exactly over that. And I don't have to be. So this is it, I wanna end this. There's no restrictions on you seeing your children or the time that you spend with them, but when you do come or you call for them, make it your business not to say shit to me.”

  “Damn, it's like that?” Sharief couldn't believe it.

  “Pretty much…now take this.” She shoved the red box in his hand.

  As he took the lid off, she lit a cigarette.

  “What are these?” he asked.

  “You've officially been served.” Celeste took a drag. She called Myles and the girls over. “It's time na roll!” As they prepared to walk out the door, she turned again to Sharief and said, “Just so you know, I've highlighted the dotted line for you to sign.”

  (Starr)

  “WELL, I REALLY don't know how I made it this far,” Starr said, sipping on a glass of Chardonnay. It was her fifty-fifth birthday and it had been a year since she and her daughters were all together, so she told them that since fifty-five was the new thirty-five, she was giving herself a party in celebration of her youth— and she expected the three of them to attend.

  “You don't know how you made it this far?” Mama Byrd said, looking confused. “Didn't you walk down the stairs and flop ya fat ass to the table? Didn't you just get finished eatin'? Oh, now I get it, since all the food is gone you can't remember shit? Ain't this 'bout a bitch and they say I'm senile.”

  “Be quiet,” Buttah said, “just hush.”

  “You be quiet.” Mama Byrd squinted. “And I don't give a damn what you say, them is not Jimmy kids.”

  “They is Jimmy kids! De-niece and De-nephew is Jimmy kids!”

  “Shut up lyin'! You worked roots on Jimmy.”

  “I did not, Jimmy loved me!” Buttah screamed.

  “I swear,” Mama Byrd said, pulling her bottom lip down and packing it with snuff, “you gon' bust hell wide open. You know them ain't Jimmy kids. Not De-niece, De-aunt, De-uncle, De-mama, or De-daddy! Ain't none of them cockeyed bitches kin to Jimmy.”

  “Buttah, don't say nothin' else, please,” Starr said, placing her glass of wine on the table and slicing a piece of her birthday cake. “Just give it up. If she don't wanna claim De-niece and De-nephew, just fuck it, give it up.”

  “But them is Jimmy kids, Starr,” Buttah said. “You know they is.”

  “I know, but it's my birthday.” Starr wiped a string of chocolate icing from the knife and sucked it off her fingertip. “So let's not argue tonight.” She turned to her daughters, who all sat quietly at her dining room table amid the multicolored streamers, confetti, and red and white balloons. “Y'all just gon' sit here all night staring at me, huh?”

  “Truth be told,” Mama Byrd said, “they can't help but stare at you. You big as a bear sittin' in that chair. And I don't know about them but you is all in my eyesight. Hell, anybody that step in this room can't help but stare at you.”

  “We gon' ignore her,” Starr said.

>   Imani looked down at her left hand and stared at the blue streaks running through her pear-shaped diamond engagement ring. She cleared her throat. “Damn,” she said, “this is Mommy's birthday, and y'all act like we're in recovery. Hello my name is Imani… and I'm sick of y'all shit.” She pointed at Monica and Celeste.

  “Welcome, Imani.” Starr stuffed a piece of cake in her mouth. “My name is Starr and I'm sick of their shit too.”

  “Welcome, Starr.” Imani nodded. “Keep coming back, Starr. They gon' either go hard or go home.”

  “Don't say that,” Celeste said, taking a pull off her cigarette. She crossed her legs, stroked the short curls in her hair, and folded her arms across her chest. She'd lost close to fifty pounds, and her breasts were no longer as voluptuous as they'd once been. But her thighs were still thick, which was the way she wanted them. “The last time I heard ‘go hard or go home' was from Kayla's triflin'-ass daddy.”

  “I would've cussed him out,” Monica said, almost in a whisper, feeling unsure if she should speak about any of Celeste's men or not. She took a sip of wine and blew the Shirley Temple curls that fell in her face away from her eyes.

  “Men can say some shit,” Imani said, “that can rock the pit of your belly and have you feeling like you about to die.”

  “Yeah,” Mama Byrd said, “reminds me of the way milk hits the bottom of my stomach. I'm tellin' you, it gets in there and it gets to churnin' and to bubblin' and then it starts to boilin'. And the next thing I know I'm fartin' my ass off.”

  “Oh my Jesus!” Buttah said. “What does that have to do with men?”

  “Buttah,” Starr snapped, “what did I tell you? Anyway, what I was going to say was, when men cuss us out and treat us like shit our biggest problem, as women, is that we take it.” She took a sip of wine. “Now, say we don't. All of us here know we done been cussed out a time or two.”

  “Humph,” Celeste said, taking a long drag off her cigarette. “And on top of it all, the niggah do us wrong and we don't want him to leave, so we fake forgiveness.”

  “Uhmm-hmm,” Monica agreed.

  “And they still,” Celeste went on, “run right to the next bitch.”

  “Or ya sister,” Mama Byrd interrupted. “It ain't been that long ago, don't forget that.”

  Celeste ignored her. “And we sit at home crying, confused, and fucking ourselves with a beaver dildo, sucking our own titties and shit.”

  “I will kick yo' ass discussin' my business!” Mama Byrd yelled, standing up. “All in my damn sex life. I gotta good mind to tear yo' damn mouth out! Tell somebody else that I be suckin' my own titties.”

  “That's why they sag like that?” Buttah asked. “That's some nasty shit.”

  “Oh, now you wanna come for me?” Mama Byrd said, reaching for Buttah.

  “Sit down, Mama Byrd!” Starr yelled. “Right now!”

  “Why you yellin', baby?” Mama Byrd asked, looking around. “You mind if I sit down? I just got out of church and figured I would stop by.”

  “Oh Lord.” Imani sighed. “Now, Celeste, what did you say about faking forgiveness?” Imani batted her eyes. “I'm surprised that you even know how to do that. I have never known you to act like you forgave anybody.”

  “Excuse you?” Celeste said. “Everybody can't be as talented as you in the fake-forgiveness-of-a-dirty-niggah-department. 'Cause we all know that you ride or die, or better yet, ride and crash. Walik has been doggin' yo ass just about the entire time I've been knowing you and I'm your sister. And every time Walik goes to jail he begs you to take him back. And you do, so it seems you fake forgiveness very well. As a matter of fact, isn't Walik in jail? So I guess you'll be giving Kree his engagement ring back?”

  “Oh I know you ain't talking to me, trick. I'm the one who felt sorry for yo' ass but in a minute I'ma rethink my sympathy.”

  “Whatever.” Celeste frowned.

  “Whatever?” Imani couldn't believe it. “You just one bitter bitch.”

  “You know what,” Monica said, getting out of her chair, “I think this is my cue to leave.”

  “Why?” Celeste asked. “Who are you running from, me? I live in Atlanta, honey. I'm only here on a miserable-ass visit, you don't have to leave.” She mashed her cigarette in the ashtray. “But before you do, I just have one thing to ask you.”

  “What?” Monica threw her shawl over her shoulders.

  “Are you still fucking him?”

  “Boom—chaka-laka-boom! Duck, the bomb just went off.” Mama Byrd laughed.

  “Didn't no bomb just go off,” Monica said, grabbing her purse. “ 'Cause I'm leaving.”

  “No, I need to know,” Celeste said. “Are you still fucking him? And don't lie, and don't dress it up. And don't try to be concerned about my feelings. Just answer the question.”

  “I'm not answering that.” Monica shook her head. “I'm not re-hashing it.”

  “I don't want to rehash it, I want to get over it, but I need to know, are you still fucking him?”

  Monica was silent.

  “Answer me, dammit!” Celeste screamed, pounding her fist into the table. “Answer me!”

  “Sit down, Monica,” Starr said. “Celeste put the shit out there, answer the question, you owe her that much.”

  Monica stood still.

  “You fucked my husband, had a baby with him, and a year later you still can't look at me and speak to me like a woman!” Celeste screamed. “This shit is real, it happened, and I want to know if you're still fucking him! Did you know that my anniversary has been replaced by your son's birthday? Do you know that it's taking everything in me to not jump up and beat yo' ass? Everything inside of me is playing referee and you can't sit down and answer my question? So I'ma ask you again. Are you fucking him?”

  “You want the truth?” Monica turned to face Celeste.

  “Every bit of it.”

  Monica flopped down in the chair. “I promised myself that I wouldn't fuck him.”

  “But you did.”

  “I almost did. I got this close to letting my confusion and hard-to-let-go-of love for this man take me to a whole 'nother place.”

  “And what happened?” Celeste pressed.

  “Jeremiah started crying and I looked at his father's face and remembered that I didn't want my belly to be in knots anymore, I didn't want to always feel like I wore a sign that read, fucked my sister's husband so don't trust me with your man. And what's so fucked up is that just when I was getting ready to forgive myself for what I did to you, just when I was ready to let it all go, he kissed me… and feeling his skin against mine made me want to try, just once, with him again.”

  “So why didn't you?”

  “Because I can't. I can't revisit that pain, that confusion, the not knowing. I don't want to be in a relationship where I have to pretend that the bad memories don't exist. And more than that, I don't want to spend the rest of my life being separated from you. I know I messed up… but I need you to be my sister and whatever I feel for him doesn't measure up to the pain that I have caused you.”

  “Damn, your speeches are good, girl.” Celeste lit a cigarette, took a drag, and flicked the ashes. “Almost good enough to make me want to forgive, well scratch that, make me want to think about forgiving you.”

  “I can't believe you said that to me!” Monica started to cry. “What the fuck do you keep crying for?” Imani said. “I am so sick of this shit. You know what, Celeste? Monica keeps trying and trying, but quite frankly I don't want to hear no more apologies. Fuck it. Now I'ma put the shit out there. The truth of the matter is you are nasty and have always been nasty. You say mean and hurtful things and then you think because you are fat and fuckin' miserable that people should take shit from you. Well guess what? It doesn't work that way. So you were her sister, my sister, our sister, but you have always treated us like shit.”

  “I have not always treated you like shit!”

  “Yes you have!” Monica dried her eyes. “You have never treated us lik
e your sisters, so get off your high horse and kill it! ‘Let's see if ya rotten-ass womb makes you a baby.’ Remember that shit?”

  “Yeah, and?” Celeste said. “Did it?”

  “You tell me. It seemed you learned the lesson the hard way.”

  “Monica—” Starr said, attempting to interrupt.

  “Oh please,” Monica continued, “don't Monica me. 'Cause it's not just me, it's you too!” She pointed to Starr. “You created this ex-factor bullshit. You taught us how not to let go. When we were kids, every time we turned around, it was man after man after man. Never once did we have anybody stay around. And the ones we liked—seemed like they left the fastest. So when we grew up and got a man of our own, we struggled to hold on to him! And now look at us. Look at us!”

  “Wait a minute now,” Starr said, surprised. “You can't sit back and say that I'm responsible for every fucked-up decision that you've made because I've had a lot of boyfriends.”

  “Ma,” Celeste said, “as much as I hate to agree with Monica, we each have different fathers that we don't even know.”

  “Okay,” Starr said, not sure how else to respond.

  “Ma,” Imani said, “what do you mean okay? I'm not really the one to talk… but how do you stop making the same mistakes? Don't get me wrong, I love Kree and I want to be with him for the rest of my life, but I'm scared. I'm scared of this love that feels right, one day feeling wrong, and how will I know when that has happened? And what will I do? I mean, how many times did I go through love feeling right with Walik and then some kind of way it turned out to be wrong.”

  “Then it was never love,” Starr said. “You have to understand that although the way Walik treated you was messed up, you always had the choice to walk away.”

  “Yeah, but you have to be taught different to know different. And what I learned from you was that I needed to find a man to hold on to. That's what I learned, which is why I always chose Walik—”

  “And Sharief,” Celeste added.