More to Life

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  I pressed my lips together. This was going to have to be Charles’s lie.

  “We were,” he said. “But something . . . uh, important . . . came up at work.”

  Anika pouted. “But I wanted to spend more time with you.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Charles said. “I’ll put some extra money in your account and then you can do a little shopping at Lenox Square.”

  That wiped the pout right off her face and instead, she squealed again. “Oh, Daddy. You’re the best.” She kissed his cheek. But when she stepped back, she added, “But still, you have time to meet Cynthia’s parents.” She opened the door before we could reply and stepped out into the hallway. “Oh, here they are now. Mr. and Mrs. Greene, come meet my parents,” she said.

  I turned and watched the Greenes walk in the room. Cynthia and Anika had been roommates first semester, but although I’d spoken to her mother on the phone, we hadn’t had the chance to meet, even though they lived in Kingwood, a suburb of Houston.

  “Hi!” Anika sang.

  “Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Clayton,” Cynthia said as she stepped into the room. She hugged us before she turned to her parents. “Mom and Dad, these are Anika’s parents.”

  I would’ve definitely mistaken the Greenes for sister and brother. I don’t think I’d ever seen a couple that looked more alike.

  We exchanged greetings.

  “Mr. Clayton,” Cynthia’s father leaned in and shook Charles’s hand. “I’m a big fan.”

  “We both are,” Mrs. Greene said. “Nice to meet both of you finally.” She extended her hand and shook mine. “We’ve had lots of phone calls, haven’t we?” Her laughter filled the room with warmth. “I’m sorry we haven’t connected. I always tell Greg it’s like we don’t even live in Houston, we live so far out.”

  “Well, we’re meeting now,” I said, managing a smile.

  “And I’m just thrilled,” Mrs. Greene continued. “Cynthia just adores the two of you.”

  “We adore her,” I said.

  We really did. Anika was lucky with her roommate, Cynthia, a sweet girl she’d met on Twitter their senior year of high school once they’d discovered they were both attending Spelman.

  “Well, I really wish we could stay and talk, but I have to get back to Houston,” Charles said.

  “Okay, well, we’re walking out, too,” Mr. Greene said. “We just came up to meet the two of you.”

  So with the girls behind us, we walked through the hall. The men chatted as Mrs. Greene and I followed with the girls.

  Outside, Anika hugged us again. “My parents are relationship goals,” she said as she hooked her arms through ours.

  I felt like a deer caught in the headlights.

  “This is what I want when I graduate from college,” she added.

  Mrs. Greene laughed. “Isn’t it wonderful to have a child who admires you so much?”

  “I admire you and Daddy, too, Mom,” Cynthia piped in.

  “Oh, of course, sweetheart. I know you do. But it’s always nice to see another wonderful family,” Mrs. Greene replied.

  “That’s what we are,” Anika gushed.

  I didn’t even want to glance Charles’s way.

  “You know,” Mrs. Greene began, “I’m a freelance reporter, and right now, I’m working on an article for Essence and I would really love to include you two in our black love edition. I’m doing a story on the secrets to longevity in marriage.”

  That deer that I thought I was now wanted that oncoming car to just hit me. Take me out. What were the chances of this?

  It must have been the twin expressions on our faces that made Mrs. Greene back up. “I mean . . . I know how private you are.” Her eyes darted between the two of us.

  “But it’s Essence.” Anika beamed. “Oh my God. That would be so totally cool.”

  I had to save all of us. “Why don’t I take your number and give you a call about it?” I said, trying to get the words out quickly. Trying to get ahead of either Anika noticing me and her father or him saying something.

  “Take the picture now,” Anika said. “The picture for the article. You’ll have to have one, right?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Well, if you take it now, I can be in it,” Anika said.

  “Now you know your brother would blow a gasket,” I said, looking for any out just in case Mrs. Greene was considering it.

  Mrs. Greene laughed. “Well, I’m just a writer. We’d have to send a staff photographer, but I have a great one in Houston, so when we get back I can set that up. But,” she paused, then proceeded, “I’d love to interview you. It’s a simple article; I’m just speaking with several couples, getting tips on how to make a marriage last.”

  The way my daughter was beaming, all I could do was take Mrs. Greene’s information and figure it all out later.

  “Here’s my contact information,” Mrs. Greene said, handing me a business card. “Please give me a call when you get back.”

  I nodded, not wanting to speak my lie out loud.

  “Well, we need to get going,” Charles said, turning to Anika.

  The ends of her lips dipped. “I hate to see you guys go, especially since I expected a few more days.” Anika was a daddy’s girl, and it gave him immeasurable joy to make her happy.

  “Oh, I’m sure you have your plate full,” Charles replied. “And remember Lenox Square?”

  “Yeah, that’ll help,” she said, trying to contain her excitement about a Daddy-sponsored shopping spree.

  “And then there’s the Omega party at Morehouse tonight,” Cynthia said.

  Anika gave her friend an exasperated look and Cynthia said, “Oops,” before they giggled.

  “Morehouse, huh?” Charles said.

  “Daddy, it’s just a party.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Don’t have me come back to Atlanta with my shotgun.”

  “You don’t have a shotgun.” Anika laughed.

  “I’ll go buy one,” he said.

  And when they all laughed and Anika and Charles hugged, the moment squeezed my heart. We would no longer have family moments like this.

  “If you need any suggestions on what kind of shotgun to get, let me know. I stay locked and loaded,” Mr. Greene said, and he and Charles bumped fists.

  While they laughed, I stepped back. But when I glanced at Mrs. Greene, her eyes were on me. Her journalist’s eyes.

  Yeah, she knew something was up. And she had probably figured it out. But of course, she had far too much class to say anything—at least not now.

  I wondered if she would still bother to call me or expect me to reach out to her. Probably not. She’d figured out that on the subject of a long, happy marriage, I was definitely not the one to talk to.

  Chapter 17

  I don’t know how I thought this was all supposed to go. I hadn’t had an ugly breakup in my life, so, I dang sure didn’t know how a divorce was supposed to play out. All I did know was that it broke my heart to see my husband walking around alternating between depression and anger.

  We’d gotten home from Atlanta late last night after several plane delays. Charles had retreated to our bedroom. The only thing he’d said to me was, “Let me know if you need any help carrying your suitcases out.” And then he disappeared. I often heard about divorced couples who led productive friendly lives with one another. I hoped that one day Charles and I could get there, though I really didn’t see how.

  I groaned at the sight of my mother-in-law standing in my doorway watching me as I pulled a suitcase on my bed. “So, you’re really going through with this?” she asked.

  My stomach had tightened when we returned home last night and saw her car parked in the driveway. I suddenly wished that her cruise had been one of those two-week Alaskan cruises instead of the six-day Caribbean cruise out of Galveston.

  I ignored Judy as I walked over to my dresser and pulled some more clothes out.

  “When Charles told me about this this morning, needless to say I was dumbfounde
d. Just like him.”

  I kept ignoring her.

  “He thinks there’s someone else because that’s the only thing that makes sense.” She paused. “Is there someone else?”

  I was so sick of people asking me that question. Like the only reason I could possibly leave the great Charles Clayton was for another man. “Judy, there is no one else. It’s just me.”

  She folded her arms and glared at me. “My son has sacrificed so much for his family.”

  “So have I,” I said, stopping and matching her glare.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing. I hope that this isn’t some midlife impulse. I hope that whatever it is you’re leaving your family for brings you happiness since you’re sacrificing everything.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or if she really wanted me to be happy. Regardless, I wasn’t going to waste one moment trying to figure out which it was.

  “Well, I better get going,” I said. I zipped my suitcase, then stood, inhaled, and glanced around the room that I’d shared with my husband for the past two decades.

  “Are you going to stay with him?” Judy asked.

  “There is no him,” I yelled. I took a deep breath and calmed myself because my outburst actually startled her.

  “There’s just me,” I repeated. I grabbed my suitcase off the bed and headed down the stairs. Charles stood with his back to me looking out the living room window, a glass of bourbon in his hand. I stood for a moment, not knowing what to do or say.

  “Charles,” I said. My voice was soft as I approached.

  His shoulders tensed to let me know he heard me. But he didn’t turn around.

  I shifted, fighting the urge to go hug him. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am.”

  I had expected him to turn around and plead but he didn’t say a word. His body just remained stiff. I glanced back up at Judy, who was standing at the top of the stairs, her arms folded, her lips pursed, hatred oozing from her pores.

  I walked over and touched Charles on his shoulder since he wouldn’t look at me. “I’ll always love you.” And still, he didn’t move. I took another deep breath, and this time without looking at Judy, I turned and walked out of the room.

  Chapter 18

  I stood at the door of my friend’s apartment, a bag of mixed emotions. You’d think that I’d be filled with remorse. But while I was sad, I wasn’t remorseful.

  Roxie opened the door, stepped aside, and let me in. I was greeted by Al Green belting a sorrowful tune about mending a broken heart.

  “Please help me mend my broken heart and let me live again.”

  I cocked my head at Roxie.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled and raced over to change to something more upbeat.

  I know Roxie had a ton of questions, but like the good best friend that she was, she’d been content with waiting on answers. She eyed my suitcase, then took it from my hand.

  “Come on in. I made martinis,” she said, setting the suitcase by the door. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  I entered her spacious loft condo and sighed at the beauty of the waterfront view from the floor-to-ceiling windows. As a real estate agent, Roxie had a knack for finding rare and amazing properties, and this penthouse was no exception with its open floor plan and modern décor.

  I settled on the sofa and in just a few minutes, Roxie returned with two martini glasses.

  “Dirty martinis.”

  I took the glass, turned the entire drink up, then handed the glass back to her. Instead of saying anything, Roxie handed me her glass.

  “Take this one slow,” she said.

  She returned to the kitchen, refilled her glass, and then walked back in the living room. She sat on the other end of the sofa.

  “Do you want to talk? Or just sit here?”

  “We can talk.” I had called Roxie last night and told her that I needed to come stay with her for a while. I didn’t get into details, but I know she assumed this was all behind a fight.

  “Okay, let’s start with you telling me what kind of fight would lead you over here with that.” She pointed at my suitcase. “In twenty-plus years, you’ve never so much as spent one night away in anger.”

  I shrugged, a little surprised that I had no tears. “Nothing really left to say. Charles and I didn’t just have a big fight. We are divorcing.”

  Her eyes bucked and she grabbed her martini glass like she had to keep it from toppling over. “What? Divorce?”

  I nodded.

  “Where did this come from?”

  I took another sip of my drink. “I asked him for a divorce.” I downed the rest of my drink and set the empty glass on the table.

  Roxie sat forward in shock. “Oh my God. Don’t tell me he was cheating. I just knew he was the last good one.”

  “No, it has nothing to do with another woman. There is no one else.”

  Roxie hesitated, frowned, then said, “Um, are you cheating?”

  “No. I repeat, it has nothing to do with anyone else.” It was a sad testament that people automatically assumed any couple breaking up had to be because of a third party.

  I debated whether I should pour myself another drink, but my head was already pounding from how quickly I’d downed the first two drinks.

  She looked at me in confusion. “Okay, if it’s not someone else, then I really don’t understand. Do you guys have some financial problems? With the financial gurus you both are, I would find that hard to believe, though.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s not that either.”

  “Then what in the hell . . . ?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Obviously.” She sighed, then set her drink down. “Okay, sweetie. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  I stood and began pacing across her living room floor. I needed to check my Fitbit because with the amount of pacing I’d been doing recently, I knew I had to have broken some kind of steps record.

  “Well, you know how when we were in the Dominican,” I began, “you guys kept asking what was wrong.”

  “Yes, and you stayed behind to get your head together.”

  “Well, I did.”

  “And?”

  I let out a long breath. “It’s just a lot.”

  “Okay. What’s a lot, Aja? You know this isn’t making sense.” Roxie was getting exasperated. She scooted to the edge of the sofa.

  “I told Charles I wanted out.” I stared out of her floor-to-ceiling window. Maybe I could see if Roxie could find me a place like this—once I got my life together.

  “But why? Why do you want out?”

  “Do I have to have a why?”

  “Yes,” she exclaimed. “You don’t throw away twenty years of marriage without a why. So you gotta help me understand this.”

  “You yourself have said that I lost me in them.”

  “When did I say that?”

  “You always say that. Maybe not in those exact words, but . . .”

  “Okay, maybe so. But I meant stop doing everything for them. Pull back. I never said leave. Oh, God, if I had anything to do with you leaving Charles . . .”

  I turned to face her. “This has nothing to do with you. All I know is this is something that I have to do. So can I stay here until I work this out?”

  She sighed and it looked like she wanted to cry. “Of course you can, that’s a given. I mean, it’s a long way from your job, but if you don’t mind the drive, it’s cool with me.”

  “I’m quitting my job,” I announced. I’d made that decision after the SWAT standoff with Mr. Jackson. Roxie was the first person that I’d told about my decision. If I was recharting the course of my life, I might as well go all the way.

  She blinked. Sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then she blinked again.

  “What do you mean, you’re quitting your job? Quitting to do what?”

  I released a long sigh. The dirty martinis had won. “My head is throbbing. Can I just lie down and we talk about this later
?”

  Roxie blew an exasperated breath. “Okay. Fine. Go lie down. Maybe when you wake up, you will have come to your senses.”

  I heard the voices before I opened my eyes.

  “You think she caught some disease that messed with her mind? One of those bacteria diseases or something?”

  “No, I think that voodoo rock lady put some kind of mumbo-jumbo spell on her.”

  “It’s the eggplant.”

  “The what?”

  “That fine Dominican dude that she was dancing with on her birthday. I saw the bulge in his pants. She snuck off and got some. That’s what happened.”

  “I can hear you all,” I said, groaning as my friends stood over me, whispering.

  “Well, get your behind up so we can stage an intervention,” Nichelle said.

  I squinted, then forced back my headache. I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep, but I opened my eyes to see my three friends standing over me like I was some sort of scientific experiment.

  “Really?” I asked. “What time is it?”

  “Nine o’clock. You’ve been asleep almost five hours,” Roxie said.

  I sat up in the bed, stretched, and looked over at Roxie, who was standing in the corner, worry all over her face.

  “You called them?” I asked.

  “Girl, she put out a mayday call, one of those test of the emergency broadcasting system alerts,” Simone said.

  “This is some serious stuff,” Nichelle added. “She needed to call us, and once we get you back in your right mind, we’re going to kick your behind for not telling us yourself.”

  I swung my legs over the bed, stood, almost lost my balance, caught myself, and then headed to the living room. “Guys, it’s really not that serious.”

  All of them followed me.

  “If you’re talking about divorcing Charles, this is definitely a serious matter,” Simone said.

  My head wasn’t pounding as much, but I knew I probably should’ve just had some water or something. But as I looked into the faces of my friends demanding answers, I knew water wouldn’t cut it.

  “You guys want some wine?” I asked. “Roxie, do you have any Stella Rosa?”