So I took my purse and spoke to the little boy only. “Juwan, I’ll be right back.” I gave Mr. Jackson a look that I hoped let him know that he shouldn’t have messed with me. And then I scurried outside. This was a job for the police.
“Um,” I heard my husband’s hum over my shoulder from where he stood at the entrance, “is there a reason you’re drinking at five in the evening?”
I turned to face Charles. I’d been so out of it, I hadn’t even heard him come in. My thoughts were still on what had just happened hours before.
The police had shown up within ten minutes, looking like they were ready for a fight. And Mr. Jackson had given them one, getting into a three-hour standoff with police. When Mr. Jackson fired two shots from his house, I just knew Juwan would be the one to end up dead and it would be my fault.
It had taken SWAT going in through the back of the house and safely removing Juwan before the police took his crazed—that’s the only adjective I had to describe him, with the way his eyes bulged—father into custody. Mr. Jackson had spewed obscenities at everyone within hearing distance, especially me, vowing that he would make me pay if it was “the last thing that he did.”
“Sleep with one eye open, bitch,” he’d shouted right before an officer pushed him into the back of a cruiser.
Once I made sure Juwan was safe, I’d called Karen.
“You have no idea what I’ve just been through.” I told her about the last few hours and ended with, “I’m resuming my personal leave.”
“Wait, you just got back.”
“I know. I’m resuming my personal leave.” I’d made that decision after the first gunshot.
“You won’t be paid, Aja. You know that, right?”
“I know, I’m resuming my personal leave,” I said again, wondering how many times I was going to have to say this to her.
She sighed, but all she could say was, “Okay.” There was nothing else she could do, and the job had become too much for me. I’d rushed home, opened this bottle of tequila, and been drinking ever since.
I was a little surprised to find out that it was only five. It felt like I’d been drinking for so many hours.
Charles lifted the bottle sitting in front of me and frowned. “Tequila? Really?”
“Yes, tequila.” I snatched the bottle back. “Because after the day from hell I had today, I need this and then some.”
“What happened?” Charles asked, sliding in the seat across from me at the dining room table. There was so much concern in his voice, I knew he cared. I knew he would listen, too; Charles always listened. I just never knew when he heard me.
“Baby,” Charles said when I didn’t answer, “talk to me. What happened? What’s going on?”
I took the bottle from him, poured another shot, sprinkled the salt on my finger, then turned the shot glass up. I grabbed a lime from the slices I’d set up, then sucked on the wedge.
“Baby . . .”
I set the shot glass on the table, dropped the lime wedge in the glass, and said, “Charles, I want a divorce.” My breath caught in my throat and my eyes widened. Did I really just say that? Oh my God. I didn’t want it to come out like that.
My heart beat in anticipation as a heavy silence filled the room. And then it was interrupted when Charles burst into laughter.
Chapter 14
My husband was still laughing, and not only was he messing up my buzz but I was getting pissed.
“Divorce?” He cackled as he stood and walked toward the kitchen. “You’re funny. Lay off the tequila, babe.”
Now I was suddenly sober. “Charles,” he paused and turned to face me, “do I look like I’m kidding?”
He blinked.
I continued, “You’ve been asking what’s wrong for weeks now. What’s wrong is that I want a divorce.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “Wait. Are you for real?”
I nodded.
Charles eased back into the dining room and slid back into the chair. “A divorce? What in the world? Where is this coming from?”
I shrugged.
“Is there someone else? Have you met another—”
Before he could finish, I said, “No.” Now I really regretted the way I’d let this come out. I rubbed my temples, mad at the tequila but grateful that I had finally found courage, even if it was at the bottom of my shot glass. “I promise you, this has nothing to do with anyone else. This is just about me. All about me.”
His eyes stayed on me as if he was trying to determine if he should believe my words or if he should just chalk this up to my being drunk. It was as if he was hoping I was drunk. “So”—he stopped, a long pause—“you’re not happy with me?”
“I’m not happy with me,” I said. “This has nothing to do with you. It’s me.”
My husband leaned back in his chair. The shock on his face told me that he had made the determination that yes, I was drunk, but I knew what I was saying. He believed me. He blew out a long breath. “You’re going to have to explain this to me, Aja. A divorce? That doesn’t make any sense.”
His voice was eerily calm, and I almost wished that he was the opposite. I would be able to handle him screaming, but this?
I took a breath before I said, “I told you I felt like something was missing in my life. That I was unfulfilled professionally and personally.”
“Yeah.” He squinted as if he didn’t understand. “But you said the vacation helped.”
“No, you said the vacation helped. You listened to me, but you didn’t hear me, so you came up with your own solution—the vacation. I never said that.”
He blinked as if he were trying to recall. “Okay, so the vacation didn’t help. Do you need another one?”
Really? “No, I don’t. A vacation isn’t going to fix this.”
“But a divorce will?”
I sighed. “I just need to do something different with my life.”
“So your definition of different is divorce? You just decide that you’re going to abandon your husband and kids?” he said, now echoing his mother’s sentiments.
“I’m not abandoning anyone. Our kids are grown and you’ll be fine. Don’t you understand, Charles? Aren’t you listening to me? I’m trying to save me.” I felt my voice cracking.
“Save you from whom? From what?” The shock was beginning to wear off and the anger, though he was trying to hold it back, was seeping through. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you needed saving from me.”
“See, Charles? You’re doing it again. I never said you. I’ve been saying me, me, me.”
“And maybe that’s the problem. Because when you’re in a marriage it can’t be just about you.”
I stared at him as a mist covered my eyes and the tequila headache intensified.
“But at some point it has to be about me. To this point, it’s been about everybody except for me, and I’m drowning and there is only one lifeline.”
He nodded, but I could tell he didn’t understand. “Let me ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“Have I ever cheated on you?”
The mist turned to full-fledged tears.
“Have. I. Ever. Cheated. On. You.” He yelled when I didn’t respond.
“No,” I whimpered. “But . . .”
He moved in closer and leaned over me, placing his palms on the dining room table. “Have I ever put my hands on you?”
“No. Can you just—”
He lowered his voice an octave. “Have I ever emotionally or verbally abused you?”
“No. I just want—”
“Then help me understand why the hell you’d want a divorce!” He slammed his hands on the dining room table, causing me to jump.
Maybe I didn’t want to see his anger verbalized after all. I kept my voice even, hoping it would soften my words.
“I’m trying to tell you, but you’re not listening. I just do. I just want out. I have to get out so that I can get up again.”
Charles stoo
d and paced across the dining room floor. “I’m not understanding this. I have loved you for over twenty years. I spend each day trying to make your life better. I think about you all the time. And now you sit here and tell me you want out? That this is about you. After all I’ve done, this is about you? Are you freaking kidding me?”
“Charles . . .”
It was like he was talking to himself now. “Do you know how many women approach me?” he asked, though he wasn’t looking at me at all. “Women come on to me all the time. I know how I look to them. They know who I am, they know I have money. So I’m rich and good looking and just a damn good catch. I can walk through the mall, or let me speak somewhere, and women throw their freakin’ panties at me like I’m a Hollywood celebrity. And not once, never, ever once have I said anything besides, ‘No, sorry, I love my wife. I’m faithful to my wife. I’m not interested.’ That’s all I say, no, no, no. For twenty years, I’ve said no, no, no and you come at me talking about you want out because . . .” Now he stopped moving. Now he looked at me. “Because, why again?”
My bottom lip trembled. I knew I didn’t have an answer for him. All I could say was, “I just do.”
He leaned his head back and released a laugh, a maniacal sound that I’d never heard come out of him before. “That’s right. Because you just do. Twenty years down the drain because you just do. I’ve been faithful to you and this is how you repay me?”
I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell him he didn’t get an award for being faithful, but I figured now wasn’t the time for that debate. “Charles, this has nothing to do with fidelity.”
“Fine. Let’s push aside the fact that I could have had any woman I wanted out there.” He paused as if he wanted me to hear his words. As if he wanted the words to hurt. When I didn’t blink or flinch, he continued, “Let’s just focus on the fact that I was good to you, was I not?”
“Of course you were,” I said, feeling and hearing the weariness in my voice.
“Then help me understand.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “Help me understand this, Aja, because I really and truly don’t.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks. “Charles, I don’t have anything more to add. You’re a good man, but . . .”
“But good guys finish last.” He let out that crazed laugh again. “Maybe if I had beaten your ass, called you out of your name, treated you like dirt, you’d be okay with me. Maybe if I had been an asshole husband, that would’ve turned you on and you wouldn’t be sitting in the dining room of our six-thousand-square-foot house that you just had to have, at a three-thousand-dollar imported table that you wanted, telling me you want a divorce.”
Now, those words hurt. Because Charles was right about all of that. He’d worked hard to give me all of those things. If it had been up to him, we would have been living much more modestly. But I’d wanted the house that was probably three times what we needed; I’d wanted the designer furniture, some pieces imported from places that I couldn’t even pronounce; I’d wanted art pieces that sometimes cost more than many Americans earned in a year. It was all me, and Charles had worked hard to grant my every desire.
“You’ve worked hard to give me everything that I’ve wanted, Charles, and I will always be grateful to you. You’ve given me that life, but the problem is none of that filled the void that has been inside me, probably since I was a child. I don’t think I even realized the void was there, but it was, inside me, growing and growing.”
“Yeah, that void that started because of your dysfunctional family,” he snarled. “I tried to help you, tried to make up for all the craziness you had to go through with your folks, and now you want to leave me?”
I took slow, deep breaths, appalled and hurt that he would go there.
“Charles, I understand you’re mad, but you do not need to talk to me crazy.”
“Why not? Isn’t that what you come from? That’s what you want so you can feel complete? Somebody to treat you like your daddy did your mama,” he spat. This side of my husband, the mean-spirited angry side—was something that I’d never seen. “Isn’t that all you understand? Abusive-ass men who hurt their families?” But then right away, he sighed, and I could tell he regretted his words. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment of angry silence. His shoulders slumped as he stood up straight. “I’m so sorry for that,” his voice lowered, “but I don’t know what to say, Aja. Am I supposed to just look at you and say, ‘Okay, cool’? You want me to agree to tossing away twenty years just because? You tell me how I’m supposed to reply to this news.”
It took me a moment to respond because of the stone in my throat. The stone that had risen there just from hearing the pain in Charles’s voice. In all our years of marriage, he’d never said such vile and hateful words about my family. But then, I’d never blindsided him with a request for a divorce.
“I don’t know how you’re supposed to respond,” I said. “This is difficult for me, too.”
More silence filled the room as we just looked at each other.
Then, “Nah.” Charles stood erect as he shook his head. “I don’t receive this. You’re talking crazy because you’re going through some kind of midlife crisis. Well, I get that. That happens to people every day. But we aren’t getting a divorce. For better or for worse, remember? Until death do us part. You recall that part? That’s what we will be doing. You’re not going anywhere.”
His words, his stance sent a chill through my body as I recalled those same words coming from my father once when my mother threatened to leave. “Is that . . . is that a threat?” I asked.
Shock blanketed his face. “What? Have you completely lost your mind? Hell no. I don’t threaten women. I’ve never in my life threatened you.” He exhaled again and threw his hands up in frustration. Then he slumped down into the chair. “I don’t know what to do with this, Aja. If you really don’t want to be here . . .”
He paused as if he was giving me a chance to change my mind. When I said nothing, he continued, “I don’t want you in a marriage that you don’t want to be in.” Another pause, another chance for me to plead insanity. When I said nothing, he sighed. “But maybe, maybe we just need a separation. Or rather, maybe you need a separation because I was fine.”
“You’ve been fine. You are fine. Please know that this problem is me, all me.” I had to inhale, I needed courage again. “I don’t want a separation. I want a divorce. I want out.” Those words made me choke. “I need out.”
He stared at me. For the first time since his father died, Charles’s eyes filled with tears. “Aja, why are you doing this?”
I lowered my eyes because if I kept looking at him, I’d jump up from my chair and try to kiss his tears away. “Because I’m dying inside,” I said, my voice quivering.
“Wow,” he said, leaning back in the chair as if I’d taken a sledgehammer and rammed it into his stomach. “Being married to me is killing you? Just wow.”
I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. “I wish there was a better way to explain this to you. But I don’t have the words. It’s not just the marriage. It’s everything. It’s us, my job, my life,” I cried.
He stood, turned and stumbled toward the window. “I have no words.”
Silence returned and hung from the rafters. Finally, I said, “I’m sorry, Charles. Since your mom is here, I’ll leave. I can go stay with Roxie.”
“Yeah, you’re right, you’ll leave. You want out, you leave,” he said, his back still to me. His tone was filled with anger, tempered by his shock.
I bit my lip, then continued, “Anika leaves for school this weekend. I would rather we just let her go on back and tell her and Eric after they both get into the semester. Maybe over spring break.”
After a moment, he turned, faced me, and said, “You’re making all the decisions about this family now. Do whatever.” He stomped past me. “Do whatever you want, Aja,” he said as he moved toward the door. “Tell them whatever you want. I’m out of it.”
/> I flinched as he slammed the door so hard, if it had fallen onto the floor, I wouldn’t have been surprised. When I heard the roar of Charles’s Corvette, I pushed the almost empty tequila bottle aside, then lay my head down on the table and cried.
Chapter 15
My husband very rarely got angry, and when he did, he hardly ever verbalized his anger. But those who knew him well could definitely tell when he was angry. And right now, Charles was beyond angry; he was at the highest level of pissivity.
His lips were pursed, his stare was hard as he looked straight ahead on the road. He navigated onto Interstate 85, and I wondered if he was going to remain this way all the way to Spelman.
It may have been a sunny seventy degrees in Atlanta, but a January chill was definitely filling the car.
I don’t know how I expected Charles to react to my desire for a divorce, especially since it had only been three days since I had dropped that bombshell. I definitely didn’t think he’d take this trip to Spelman with me and our daughter. But he loved Anika more than he hated me, at this moment, and he didn’t want to disappoint her.
I looked back over my shoulder and took a quick glance at our daughter. She’d slept the entire flight from Houston, and now, with AirPods in her ears, she was oblivious to the silent discourse. How could she notice when Drake screamed through her headphones?
I turned my attention back to Charles, whose eyes were still in the same place.
“So,” I began, and then searched for words to follow. I said, “What do you think about Eric’s new coach?” I was desperate to fill the car with some type of conversation.
That was a reach, I knew, because he’d raved about the coach when he was first hired a few months ago, but what else was I supposed to talk about? I was sure that Charles hadn’t said five sentences to me over the past few days. The only saving grace was that Judy was still on her cruise. I couldn’t imagine what life would have been like if she had been here.
More to Life Page 12