Second House from the Corner

by Sadeqa Johnson

  “Preston.” His name feels like home in my mouth. He looks at me sideways. I fold my feet underneath me. “Once my mother was taken away from me and my father died in prison, I was alone in the world. I had Gran and sometimes Crystal. My friend Shayla, who you’ve never met. But for the most part, I felt alone. I loathed myself. I thought I was unworthy of love because my parents left me.”

  “Felicia—”

  “Let me finish. I started seeing a man at church. Martin.”

  Preston shifts away from me.

  “He was older and suave, he knew all the right things to say to a young girl who was dying on the inside. I gave him my virginity in the backseat of a car. Thought we were in love. Thought we’d live happily ever after. When I wound up pregnant, he was nowhere to be found. Gran shipped me down to Virginia on the Greyhound, alone, to have the baby with relatives I didn’t know. I delivered the baby in a back room with a midwife that had scaly skin and missing teeth. When they told me it was a girl and asked if I wanted to hold her”—my voice cracks—“I turned my back. If I didn’t hold her, then she wouldn’t be real and I could go back to Philly with a real chance of getting on with life.”

  “Wait. You had a baby?”

  I shook my head and willed the tears to heel.

  “A baby, and you never told me?” Preston stands. “What else have you been hiding from me?”

  “That’s all.” I pinch my thigh.

  “I don’t even know you.” He drops his head in his hands and starts rubbing his face.

  I pull the throw around me tighter and catch the tears in the corner of my eyes before they fall. Preston looks at me and I can’t read his thoughts.

  “How come you never told me this?”

  “It was the lowest point in my life. I was ashamed. It was easier for me to bury it and pretend like it never happened.”

  “Where is the child?”

  I lower my eyes. “Dead. Lived only a few days.”

  Preston beats his fist on his chest. “You should have told me.”

  “You wouldn’t have asked me to marry you. This is all about your picture-perfect idea of family.”

  “No, this is about you lying, Felicia. Boldly deceiving me.”

  I drop my head. Preston sits down on the arm of the chair. I wish he would sit closer and touch me. “Why can’t we just move on?”

  “Because.”

  “Because what?”

  “Because I don’t know if I was in love with you, or the idea of you.”

  My fingers feel the sting of his words and I tuck them between my knees to keep from slapping him. Anger rushes to my skin’s surface. “How could you say that? We’ve had seven good years of marriage, Preston. I’ve been good to you.”

  “Our whole foundation was built on a lie. Can’t you see that? I don’t trust you. Honestly, this is a deal breaker for me, Felicia.”

  “Fuck you, Preston.”

  He stands while backing up, like I’ve got something he doesn’t want.

  “That’s all I’ve been thinking about since you’ve been gone is how to split up the assets and what to do with the kids.”

  “I just bared my soul to you,” my mouth mumbles.

  “Don’t turn this around on me. This one is all you.” He glares at me. I glare back. I don’t see even the tiniest glint of hope in his eyes.

  “Fine, then. I’ll give you what you want. I’m done. Draw up the fucking papers.” I walk up to him and shove him with all of my might. He stumbles but barely moves. I stomp up the stairs and then slam the door as hard as I can.

  I run upstairs, lock the door, and crawl into my bed. A poem I wrote for Martin, after I watched him drive away with that woman, chants in my head.

  It struck me like an accident.

  It hit me like a ton of bricks.

  It made me realize, it made me understand.

  It’s over.

  There was nothing left for me to do but accept it.

  FORTY-THREE

  The Crude Truth

  My eyes flutter open with Two crawling into bed. It’s the weekend, so I have time to adjust to the kids’ schedule and my new singleness.

  “Mommy, what’s today?”

  “Saturday.”

  She thinks a minute. “I don’t have school?”

  “No.”

  She bounces on my bed, and her face breaks out into a huge smile. “Yes.” She pumps her fist. “Do I have dance class?”

  “Yes,” I remember, pulling her to my chest and cuddling. She pops her finger in her mouth and then tells me that she’s hungry. The sun is barely in the sky and I try coaxing her back to sleep.

  “But I’m hoongry. I’m so hoongry, Mommy. Can I have some cereal?”

  “Okay.” I throw the covers back. Two crawls up my body and demands to be carried to the kitchen. Rory and Liv are still asleep, so Two and I go downstairs. I listen at the basement door but I don’t hear anything.

  “Daddy down there?” Two asks.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “How come he likes to be in the basement all the time?”

  “He’s having private time. What type of cereal would you like?” I say, changing the subject.

  “Let me show you.” She’s climbing up my leg to get into my arms when I hear the basement door open and see Preston.

  “Daddy!” Two shouts and runs.

  Preston says nothing to me as he makes the coffee. I hear Rory on the steps and I walk to meet him at the bottom for a hug.

  “Morning, son.”

  He holds me tight. “Liv is up. Can I have cereal?”

  “It’s on the table.”

  When Liv sees me she starts crying harder. My poor child probably thinks I’ve abandoned her again, and I scoop her from the crib and hold her to my chest. I could really use a dose of her healing energy, and I take her to the glider and rock her against my breast.

  “Mommy!” Two shouts.

  I head down the stairs.

  “What do you need, Pudding?”

  “A paper. I spilled it.” She points to her milk.

  Preston carries his coffee upstairs. I place Liv in the high chair and put on water for her oatmeal.

  “What do you want to do today?”

  “Can we go to the park?”

  “We will see.”

  “I want to go to Chuck E. Cheese,” says Rory.

  Preston showers and leaves without saying a word. I’m done begging him for his forgiveness. I take all three kids with me to Two’s ballet class in Montclair. The weather is summery and warm. I don’t feel like being trapped in the house, so we head over to the Turtleback Zoo. I know I’m supposed to go with Erica, but we’ll just go again. It’s so lovely having them back. I can’t get enough of their voices, touch, and faces.

  In the car on the drive back home, I keep having a two-sided conversation in my head with Preston over the split. I want the house and he will have to continue paying the bills and the children’s tuition. The commercial should set me up as long as the hair thing isn’t an issue. I’m Gran’s offspring, so I do have a stash. I can cover regular expenses, groceries, and dance lessons, but he’s still going to have to pay me alimony and child support. I hope a good divorce lawyer isn’t expensive. And he’s going to have to find an apartment in town because I want him to take the kids to school every day. These children deserve to have their father on a daily basis. He better not bring any bitches around them, either. I’m keeping my car and—

  “Mommy, turn your brain on,” Two says from the backseat.

  “Huh?”

  “When your eyes look like that, Mommy, your brain is off. You need to turn it on. I’m talking but you aren’t listening. I see your face in the mirror.”

  “Sorry, baby. What is it?”

  “I need a Band-Aid.”

  “Okay, dumplings. We are almost home. You guys want to hear some music?”

  “Yes! Michael Jackson!” shouts Rory.

  I hook up my phone to the system and p
lay it.

  * * *

  As soon as we get home, Two is in my face, showing me an old scratch that has scabbed over, but still I oblige her with the Band-Aid.

  “Rory, I’m going to go change Liv. You and Two may have a freeze pop.”

  “Yes.” He smiles at me. “You’re the best mom ever.”

  “No fighting.”

  Liv has exploded in her diaper, and not only does she need a changing, she also needs a full sponge-down and fresh clothes.

  “Doesn’t that feel better?” I kiss her neck. She squeals. When I come back downstairs my phone is vibrating with a text. It’s Shayla.

  I’m in your backyard.

  That girl.

  “Kids, let’s go out back and play.”

  “Can I ride my bike?” asks Rory.

  “Sure.”

  “Bubbles, Mommy? Please.”

  “Yes, Two.”

  I grab a few bottled waters, bubbles, sidewalk chalk, my cell phone, and sunglasses.

  Shayla looks as if she has just stepped out of a high-end department store and was personally styled by the buyer. Her hair is straight and glossy and she’s wearing orange pedal pushers with matching platforms. Everything on Shayla is done.

  “Mommy, your friend is here,” says Two.

  “Hi, sweetie pies.” Shayla bends to the kids.

  “Hi, Auntie Shay-Shay.”

  Both kids mill over and wrap their arms around her. Rory loses interest the moment he spies his basketball and starts throwing it up toward the hoop.

  I hand Two the bubbles and chalk. “Go play so Mommy can talk.”

  Shayla gives me a hug. I hug her back, hold her longer than I have since she’s resurfaced in my life.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything. Hold the baby while I go get the bouncy seat.”

  I return with the baby contraption and two orange sodas I found in the fridge. Once Liv is settled and occupied, I sit across from Shayla.

  “How did it go with Brave?”

  “Everything went well.” She slides my mortgage documents across the table. “You look like shit. What’s happening with you?”

  My belly flip-flops. “Shay, can I trust you?”

  “Of course.”

  I look at her.

  “I mean it, Faye. What the hell happened?”

  In that moment I realize that there is no one else I can tell. Shayla is it. I look around the fenced-in yard to make sure my children are out of earshot, and then I scoot my chair closer to Shayla and recount everything. From Martin’s phone calls to Preston pulling me offstage in front of the Dames. I tell her about him banishing me to Philly and how I went mad at Martin but it only took a second for that anger to thaw and for me to land in his bed.

  “We did it so many times, I lost count.”

  Shayla listens as I tell her about Preston bringing the kids but refusing to talk to me. Crystal’s crazy ass and Gran’s will, and how I got back home because Rory was lost.

  “I found him curled in the bottom of the linen closet, talking about he knew I’d come back to rescue him.”

  I sip my soda and then tell her the latest, how I told Preston about the baby but he didn’t take it well.

  “I’m tired of trying, Shay. I told him to draw up the papers, shit. That’s where this is heading, anyway.”

  “Did you tell him about Martin?”

  “Which part?”

  “The most recent part, in Philly?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Cause you don’t ever tell a man something like that unless you want your family reading about you in the paper. Carry that to your grave.”

  “Okay.”

  Shayla whips her hair behind her shoulder as she leans in. “Listen, I know this all feels like you want to jump off the bridge with your children in your arms, but don’t. You have it, Faye. You have what we dreamed about on Sydenham, right down to the picket fence.”

  “That fence is chain-linked, girl.”

  “You know what I mean. Faye, you’ve beaten the odds. You are giving your children something we never had. A good middle-class life with two parents. Don’t throw this away over some past secrets that happened before you even met the brother.”

  “He doesn’t want me, Shay,” I say, feeling the strain in my throat. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Work this shit out.” Her beautiful eyes bore into me. “Honey, it’s cold out here. Trust me. I would trade my life for yours in a baby’s heartbeat.”

  I let her words settle over me while I sip my soda. Rory goes up for a layup and somehow ends up on the ground.

  “Sweetie, are you all right?” I move toward him and bend down to look at his leg. It’s a scratch with no blood. He glances over at Shayla and tells me he is fine.

  I smile at the effect she has on this family. When I sit back down, she grabs my hand.

  “If not for any other reason, work it out for your children. Don’t give up on this dream, Faye. You’ve come too far and I’m proud of you.”

  Her phone rings in her purse.

  “That’s Brave. I’ve got to go.” She stands. “Oh, and I’m not one for apologizing”—she swings her hair—“but I’m sorry for blackmailing you to get Brave out. It wasn’t right, but I knew you wouldn’t say yes without the threat.”

  “Just don’t let it happen again.”

  She taps the table twice with her knuckles, reminding me that her promises are golden.

  “Be careful out there.” I go in for a hug. She squeezes me good-bye so tightly, it feels like the last time I’ll see her.

  Shayla pulls out two sticks of bubble gum and hands one to each kid. “’Bye, cutie-pies.”

  She tips her chin at me, then sashays across the asphalt in my yard.

  FORTY-FOUR

  The Last Dance

  Rory, Two, and Liv have long been tucked into their beds when I hear the front door push open. It’s been hot and the wooden door rubs against the swollen wooden frame, causing a loud friction. Preston stops to flip through the mail, remove his shoes, tuck his keys into the second door, and walks in. I’m wearing terry cloth shorts and a fitted capped-sleeve top.

  I look at him from where I’m seated on the living room sofa. He’s wearing his golf polo and khakis. “How was your day?” I ask flatly.

  “Nice, played eighteen holes.”

  His skin looks radiant from being in all that sun.

  “Did you have dinner?”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll just order some Chinese.”

  “I made spaghetti. It’s on the stove.”

  “This came for you.”

  It’s a letter. It’s addressed from the Dames. I stare at it. He stares at me.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “Yeah.” I run my finger along the inside of the envelope and pull at the seal. There is a single sheet inside. When I unfold it, it reads,

  Dear Felicia,

  Thank you for your interest in the Dames and Culture Club. I am pleased to inform you that the chapter has accepted your request for membership. We are excited and look forward to welcoming you to our family.

  The letter continues with the steps I need to take to complete my membership. My face is frozen with shock. I made it in.

  “What does it say?” Preston stands.

  “I made it in. I’m a Dame.” I can’t stop the grin from brightening my face.

  “Congratulations. It’s what you’ve wanted.”

  “Thanks.” I hold the letter and read it again. Preston moves into the kitchen. I poke out my lips and do a shoulder shimmy. I am a mother-freakin’ Dame. I can’t believe it. After everything that has happened to me in the past few weeks, I’m a Dame. I’m reading the letter for the third time, adding the listed dates to my electronic calendar when he returns with a bowl of food. He sits on the opposite sofa. I toss him the remote.

  “You aren’t watching this?” he asks, formal and polite.

  I shake my head.

>   Next thing I know we are watching a special on Barbados on the Travel Channel. All of the two-sided conversations that I’ve had all day go flying out of my head. I feel shy to be the first to bring it up.

  Preston finishes his spaghetti and goes for another bowl. “This is really good.” He resumes his place on the couch.

  “Thanks.”

  We watch television from our respective corners. When the Barbados show goes off, it’s ten o’clock and he flips to our favorite show, House Hunters, on HGTV. When the show gets down to decision time, Preston asks me which house I think they will pick.

  “Number three.”

  “I knew you would pick three, but they’re going to pick two.”

  They pick house number one.

  “What? That’s crazy,” he says.

  We have been occupying the same space for almost two hours. I have no idea what’s going on with us, but I can’t help but think of Shayla. It’s cold out here. I would trade my life for yours in a baby’s heartbeat.

  But I’m not going to be anyone’s doormat, either. No more apologizing.

  Preston disappears up the stairs. I lower the television and play Pandora from my phone. Marvin Gaye comes up first, crooning, “Got to Give It Up.” The song reminds me of the one good memory I have of my parents together. We lived in a little apartment around the corner from Gran. I woke up from a bad dream and when I scurried into the living room, they were in the kitchen, kissing and dancing. I think it was my father’s birthday or their wedding anniversary. It’s the only time I really remember them being happy. I question what happiness really means in a marriage. Could my parents have made it work, or did my mother throw in the towel too soon? Would things have turned out differently if she hadn’t? Would he be alive? Would she be normal and whole?

  When Preston returns, he has showered and is wearing loose pajama bottoms and a T-shirt that has two fists pictured with the word “Sandwich.” He sits back down on the sofa. I glance over and he is chewing his bottom lip. He must be ready to discuss the divorce. I take a deep breath and brace myself.

  “How did you feel afterward?”

  “After what?”

  “The baby died.”

  Relieved, I tuck my feet under me. “I didn’t feel anything. I just shoved it down like it never happened.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that at such a young age. It must have been hard. Did you ever talk to anyone about it?”