More to Life

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  “That is a beautiful sight,” he said.

  “It is.” I let out a long sigh. “I’m so grateful that I was able to get up and move.”

  “It’s just absolutely wonderful,” he said.

  I’d listened to my girls and decided not to berate Charles for that stunt at his birthday dinner yesterday. After all, what did it look like getting upset because my husband wanted to plan a vacation for our anniversary? I had to talk to him. I had to tell him that I was leaving. However, I decided that I’d tell him about moving forward with the gallery first, as if my good news would soften the blow of the bad.

  “So, I was thinking,” I said, taking a seat on the edge of our bed. He rushed over to help me ease down. I raised up my hand to stop him. If I was going to be independent, I needed to be independent all the way around. “So, what I was thinking,” I repeated once I was seated, “I’m ready to move forward with my gallery. I was thinking I could make it like a wine and cheese bar, where you can view original artwork. Maybe even do some painting classes to help offset the bills. We told the owner three months and I don’t want her thinking the building will just sit there empty. I want to call the owner and see when I could pick the keys up.”

  Charles lost the smile on his face. “I . . . I just assumed you wouldn’t want to do that anymore,” he said.

  I stared at him. “Do what anymore?”

  “You know. Open a business. You’re in no condition to run a business.”

  “I’m walking,” I told him, confused because we had talked about this. He knew this was my dream. I’d shared my dream while I was still in rehab. He acted like he supported me.

  “Yeah, but your full recovery is still a while away. You don’t need to be running a business,” Charles said. “I know you want to paint, but maybe you can just paint here after you get off from work. I know you told Karen you quit but she’ll give you the job back.”

  I took his hands. “Honey, I know you’re worried,” I said. “But, it’s fine. That’s my dream. I don’t want it to die.” I left out how being a wife and mother for twenty years had left my dreams dormant.

  “But I thought this all was a phase you were going through.”

  “A phase?” I said, cutting him off and pulling my hands from his.

  “No, I . . . I mean,” he stammered, “a business just takes a lot of work. I know you love painting. You can just paint more here.” He motioned around the house.

  My hands went to my hips. “I don’t want to paint here, Charles. I want to open my own gallery like we discussed.” I stood and walked toward the closet, not about to indulge in this debate. “Where did you put the box with all my paperwork from the car when you went to total it out?”

  “Uh, well. I went through everything.”

  I stepped out of the closet and flashed him an “and?” look. “Please tell me that you didn’t throw my stuff away,” I said when he didn’t answer.

  “No. No. Of course not,” he replied.

  “Oh good,” I said, going back into the closet. I searched on the top shelf until I saw the box I’d seen when he’d put in the closet. I pulled out the stuff from my mangled car. I sifted through the box and pulled out an envelope, and shattered glass fell to the floor. I shook off memories of the car accident, refusing to get sidetracked by my memories from the day I almost died.

  “Here it is,” I said, pulling out the lease agreement. I walked back into the room with a huge smile on my face. “It’s a good thing we paid that deposit and rent.”

  “Um.” Charles’s eyes darted from side to side.

  “What’s wrong, Charles?” I asked.

  He paused, then blew a long breath and said, “Well, she actually refunded your money.”

  “Refunded? What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

  It was his turn to pace. “Well, you had me call her, and since the doctor said you probably wouldn’t walk again, I thought—”

  I interrupted him. “Charles, we talked about this. You said you called her.”

  “I did, but I just . . . I didn’t think you wanted to still do that.”

  I blinked. Paused, pushed down the bile in my throat and blinked again. “So you lied.”

  “No. I mean, I did call her back, but . . .”

  “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. I want to still do it.”

  “Well, I told her you were no longer interested in the property because of the accident. And she put it back on the market, and in fact she said she had someone else that wanted it, so she wasn’t even that upset and that’s why she refunded your deposit.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I said. I had to sit down. I was so stunned. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

  “Aja, just calm down.”

  “You lied to me.” I stared at him in disbelief.

  “I was looking out for you.”

  “You sabotaged my dream.” My voice was calm, like it was coming from someone on the brink of exploding.

  “Sweetheart, I was just thinking about your well-being. You need to be taking it easy. I get it that you want to paint. That’s cool. Everyone needs a hobby.”

  “It’s not a damn hobby!” I screamed. “It’s my passion! It’s a dream I’ve had since I was a little girl and you destroyed it!”

  My outburst must have caught him by surprise because he took a step back. “Look, I told you you can paint here or I could even lease out a small space for you, that way you can get out of the house for a little bit. I understand if you don’t want to go back to social services. I can more than afford to take care of both of us and we can just enjoy each other.”

  “I don’t want to paint here or in some small space you rent for me,” I said, wanting to add that I didn’t want to enjoy him either. My fury was building. “You’re always making decisions for me,” I snapped.

  He paused, even more taken aback. “Well, somebody had to make decisions. You weren’t able to. You were incapacitated and mentally . . .” He let his words trail off.

  “Mentally what?” I snapped.

  He took a deep breath. “You haven’t exactly been in the right state of mind. Even before the accident. And after the accident, you’ve been too busy around here snapping at everyone, treating us like your servants.”

  “I never asked any of you to do a damn thing for me.”

  “You didn’t have to ask,” he said. “That’s what families do.”

  I closed my eyes and willed my anger to subside. I wasn’t about to fight with him. “Well, I am making a decision now. And I want my gallery. I want to proceed with my original plan.”

  “You know you sound like a spoiled child right now.”

  “I. Want. My. Gallery!”

  He took a step toward me, his eyes bucking in surprise. “Okay. Calm down, baby. Let me give you time to sleep on this and then we can figure out an alternative.”

  “Unless that alternative includes telling that owner you messed up and want to get my building back, I don’t want to hear it.”

  He sighed, his expression resolute. “Look, I’m going to have to put my foot down on this one. I don’t believe now is the time for you to open a business. Maybe this is something that we can revisit later,” Charles said. “You’re fragile, and that’s not a smart business move right now.”

  I stared at my husband. “You must think I’m Eric or Anika. I’m not your child and you don’t get to command me.”

  He shook his head like I was being unreasonable. “Nobody is commanding you. I’m just making a decision that is in your best interest. And right now I need you to go to bed and get you some rest.”

  Suddenly I lost it and just started crying, “I can’t do this,” I told him. “I just can’t.”

  “Okay,” he said, trying to hug me. “Calm down. Good grief. I will find you another facility. If that’s what it will take to make you happy, I will find you one if it’s that big a deal.”

  “You’re missing the whole point,” I screamed, wiggling from his embrace.
“It is a big deal. I told you it was a big deal, and not only do you not listen to me, you just straight lied to me! Nobody told you to take this from me in the first place.” I lowered my voice and began emphatically nodding as the break-free voice grew louder. “You don’t respect my dreams, that’s why you did this.”

  “Okay. See, now you’re being ridiculous,” he said.

  “I can’t do it,” I cried, now muttering to myself as I paced back and forth across the room. I felt delirious, like I was having an out-of-body experience. “I need to go. This place is suffocating me. There’s more to life, there just has to be more to life,” I looked around the room, “than this. Than you.” I didn’t mean for those last words to come out, but it was too late, and I could tell they cut Charles to his core. I closed my eyes and wished I could snatch those words out of the air and ram them back down my throat.

  “So,” he cocked his head as he studied me, “after everything?” He took a deep breath. “In spite of everything, you still want to leave?”

  I nodded, the tears streaming down my face. “I need to leave. I’m better now, I just have to go,” I said.

  “You’re better thanks to me,” he growled.

  His tone made me step back. But I composed myself and said, “Yes, and I appreciate you because of that.”

  Before I could respond, he picked up the lamp that sat on the nightstand and threw it across the room. “But you want out because I’m such a terrible husband!”

  I jumped but kept my voice calm as I said, “This isn’t about you.”

  Judy came running in our bedroom, Sunnie right behind her. I’d lost track of the time and forgot Sunnie was coming for a PT session. Though my therapy wasn’t as intense, Sunnie still came once a week.

  “Is everything okay?” Judy asked. “I heard a crash.” Her eyes went to the shattered lamp, then back to us. “What is going on?”

  “No,” Charles said, slipping his shoes on. “Everything isn’t okay.”

  Sunnie stared at me and then at him. “Mr. Clayton, is everything all right?”

  “Y’all need to help Aja pack. She hates it here. She hates being married to me. She wants to leave. So help her get the hell out of my house,” he snapped.

  Sunnie looked stunned, like she never envisioned walking into the middle of a marital dispute. Judy looked pissed.

  “She’s leaving after everything that you’ve done?” Judy said in disbelief.

  I looked at Charles, thinking he would say, “Mom, I have this,” or something to somehow put a leash on his mother. But instead, he glared at me, grabbed his keys, and headed toward the bedroom door.

  “Where are you going?” I said, following him down the hall. I wobbled trying to keep up with him.

  “Out.”

  “Out?”

  “None of your damn business,” he said. “I’m through begging you to be my wife. You want to leave? Go. I’m done.” He threw his hands up as he stomped down the stairs.

  “As well you should be, son,” Judy called out from the top of the stairs. “You don’t have to beg anybody to be with you. I have a Rolodex full of women I can fix you up with tomorrow.”

  Charles didn’t say anything as he went out the front door, slamming it so hard that the picture on the wall fell off.

  “Sunnie, go with him, please. He doesn’t need to drive like that,” Judy instructed.

  My physical therapist took off after him. Then Judy turned her wrath on me.

  Chapter 32

  My mother-in-law and I were in a face-off. Every ounce of her that disliked me but she’d kept bottled up was being unleashed from the fury in her eyes.

  I’d seen that look before—though it was a tamer version. That look said one thing—she wished her son loved anyone other than me.

  Mrs. Clayton sat on the sofa, her back straight, poised like she was about to take a family portrait.

  “Why do you have a problem with me?” I asked.

  She ran her eyes up and down my body, a stoic expression plastered on her face. She hesitated before speaking. “Charles is all I have.”

  Her voice had lost its usual confidence. She sounded surprisingly defeated.

  “My husband, God rest his soul, always told me that I babied him. But that is my baby. He has a big heart and I don’t want him hurt.”

  “I won’t hurt him.”

  “You already have.”

  I flinched.

  If I ever doubted whether Charles had told his mother about my breaking up with him, this confirmed it.

  “I was the one Charles came to when you left him,” Mrs. Clayton continued. “I watched the sadness and pain in his eyes. Pain that was multiplied because he didn’t even know why you left him—at least that’s what he told me.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I had left Charles right after he professed his love for me because all my time was devoted to my brother, and when Charles’s ex had shown up, claiming that the two of them were having an affair, I believed her, and instantly broke things off with Charles without ever telling him why. Later, when Charles had found the real reason, he’d demanded that his ex come clean and reveal that she had lied.

  “I was relieved when he first told me you broke up with him,” Mrs. Clayton continued. “I was hoping that he’d get over you quickly and move on. So imagine my surprise when he told me you two were back together.”

  I struggled to keep my composure. “I’m sorry I hurt Charles. I was just confused. I come from a background where you don’t put a lot of faith in relationships,” I responded.

  “Well, we come from a background where you do. My Charles is a good man. Are you a good woman?”

  I lowered my eyes. Was I a good woman? I had enough drama to fill a lifetime of soap operas. I reflected on Mrs. Clayton’s words. Then finally, I said, “Yes, I am a good woman. And I will make Charles happy.” I paused, letting that sink in. “I don’t ever want to disrespect you, Mrs. Clayton,” I continued, “but I love Charles and we’re together now. I hope that you will learn to accept that.”

  Mrs. Clayton sighed heavily. “I guess I can learn to accept it. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  I blinked away that memory. On second thought, that was disdain back then. This was full-on fury now, but I wasn’t going to let Judy get to me today.

  “Judy, I’m not in the mood,” I said, stopping her rant and pushing past her.

  “You think I give a damn what kind of mood you’re in?” she snapped.

  “Call your Rolodex, Judy,” I said, heading toward the staircase.

  “Don’t worry. I will,” she sneered as she followed behind me. “And I’m going to make sure that you don’t try and take my son for all he’s worth.”

  “We’re worth,” I corrected. “We’ve been married twenty years.”

  “And you’re a damn social worker,” she snapped.

  I took a deep breath as I massaged my temples. “Judy, I don’t want to fight with you.” I didn’t want to, but a fight with Judy was like that Waiting to Exhale book I’d checked out from the library when it was a new release—long overdue.

  “Oh, we’re not fighting,” she said, stepping in my face. “I’m telling it like it is. Everyone around here walks on tiptoes, trying to make sure Aja is taken care of. Trying to make sure Aja’s needs are met, and meanwhile, Aja doesn’t care about anybody but herself.”

  I didn’t care about anyone but myself? The whole reason I was losing my mind was because all of my life I’d cared about everyone but myself.

  I turned to face her. Not that it mattered, but I hoped that Judy could see my sincerity. I suppose if someone had hurt Eric like Charles was hurting, I’d be mad, too. “You’ve got to know that I never wanted to hurt my husband.”

  “And yet you did. Again,” she said. “I’m just trying to make sense of it because he surely can’t. We didn’t the first time and we sure don’t now.”

  “Judy, it’s just . . . I don’t expect anyone to understand. But I’m at a po
int in my life where I have to live for me.”

  “That’s a bunch of bull,” she snapped. “You created this life and now you just want to walk away from it.”

  I knew she was right, but I couldn’t help but feel like my life was like those emergency situations on the plane when they advise the parents to put on their mask first.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Judy warned. Her words sounded ominous. “You reap what you sow,” she continued, “and the hurt you do unto others will come back to you tenfold.”

  “You never thought I was worthy anyway,” I said.

  I expected her to protest, try to tell me that I was overreacting. But instead she said, “Because I saw you for who you were.” I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like she was misty-eyed. The anger had somewhat subsided and her voice filled with painful regret. “My mother used to always tell me, never marry somebody who you love more than they love you. My son loved you more and now he’s paying the price. That’s why I’ve had issues with you when it comes to him. His love is genuine. Yours seemed to be a part of this perfect story you were trying to create. I know about your past. Your abusive father. Charles is everything that your father was not. My son gave you the family that you wished you’d had. And when you’d had your fill of him, you repaid him by walking out.”

  Her words brought tears to my eyes. Was she telling the truth? Did I want this life because it fit some type of narrative? No, I told myself. My love for Charles was real.

  “I loved Charles. I love Charles,” I protested.

  She stared at me, her anger now gone, replaced with sadness. “If this is your definition of love, I’d hate to see what you did to people you hate.” Her tone turned icy. “You’re right. You’re not worthy of my son.”

  Her words were shaking me to my core. “Judy, I am not doing this with you. I really am sick and tired of you,” I said.

  “Then the feeling is mutual.” She stepped to me like we were two girls about to go at it on the playground.