Jason walked in the kitchen in a pair of striped pajamas and made his rounds, kissing me, rubbing the kids on their heads, and hugging Momma.
He grabbed a plate of food and sat down at the table. I was sitting there sorting through the mail.
“Have you decided what time you want to leave on Thursday?” I asked. “Did you rearrange your schedule? I don’t want to travel on Friday. The traffic will be a mess.”
“Everything’s set,” Jason replied, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “I had my assistant change the hotel arrangements to Thursday already as well.”
“Adjoining rooms?”
Jason smirked. “Yes, ma’am. A king for us and two queens for the kids and Nina.”
Momma turned the gas down on the stove and leaned on the counter. “Did someone say my name in regards to a trip that I have heard nothing about?”
Jason chuckled. “Uh-oh, she’s going to pull out a switch on you.”
I sighed. “Momma, I told you that we’re going to Charlotte next weekend . . . for the tournament.”
“Well, it’s not like I have any choice.”
Momma had a serious attitude and I wasn’t quite sure where it was coming from. I never liked to have adult conversations in front of the children, so I decided to drop it until later. Jason and I locked eyes—he’d also picked up on it—and he shrugged.
• • •
Momma rode with me to take Kayla and Kyle to karate class while Jason and Peter went cycling. We believed in having an active family, no matter how many other obligations we had. Even though our children had all of the latest gadgets, there was no substitute for being healthy. We kept all three kids in various sports throughout the year.
While the twins were engrossed in their instructions with fellow class members, Momma and I sat in the waiting area with other parents and grandparents.
Momma was sitting there with her arms crossed defiantly and acting like she was irritated to even be in my presence.
“Momma, what’s wrong with you?”
“Not a thing,” she replied with much sarcasm.
“Then what was that about earlier, when you implied that you didn’t have a choice about going on vacation with us? You always have the option to not go, but I thought you enjoyed spending time with the kids.”
She glared at me. “Don’t go there. My love for my grandchildren is everlasting and unconditional.”
“And what about your love for me?”
She didn’t respond.
“Really, Momma?” I turned in my seat to get a better look at her face. I was a spoiled daughter and I didn’t like her vibe. “I love you.”
“Zoe, I love you, too. You are well aware of that, but . . .”
“But?”
She took a deep breath and then glared at me. “Why did you get home way over in the morning last night?”
I opened my mouth to come up with a fast lie, but she held up her palm.
“Don’t even attempt to say that you were meeting with a client or at a showing. That’s bullshit!”
I was taken aback by Momma cursing, and so was the woman sitting in the row in front of us. She was working a Sudoku puzzle in a book and I heard her gasp. She glanced over her shoulder and then look back down as if she hadn’t heard a thing.
“I wasn’t going to say any of that,” I said.
“So where were you?”
I bit my bottom lip as she stared at me. “This is going to sound crazy, but . . .”
“But?”
“I fell asleep at the office. Yesterday was a long day and about six, after everyone had left, I laid down on the sofa in the reception area for what I thought would be only a few minutes. Next thing I knew, it was after three. I’m overworking myself. I need to slow down, but you know how ambitious I am. How passionate I am about my career. That’s the last time I’m going to lie down on that thing. It’s too damn comfortable, and . . .”
I realized that I was rambling and none of it was doing any damn good. She was not buying it; that was obvious.
“If that is the story you wish to go with, so be it,” Momma said. “But let me say this to you and then I’m going to leave it alone. Jason is a good man, a great man, and he’s worked with you and forgiven you for your past . . . transgressions. Don’t think for one second that he’s going to tolerate any more of your mess. If you’re up to no good, I hope he divorces you.”
“I cannot believe you’re saying these things to me.” I could tell the woman in front of us was listening to every word. “I cannot believe you would throw my past up in my face like this. If you recall, you and Daddy kept things from me that could have prevented it from day one.”
Momma looked like she was about to break out in tears. “That’s very painful to hear you say, Zoe. Your father and I—God rest his soul—did everything we could to protect you, up to and including relocating to Atlanta so you would not have to be around those boys who attacked you.”
I felt like shit. “I apologize. You’re right. None of this is your fault.”
“I would’ve given everything—my life, even—to turn back time and watch over you better.”
“I was walking home from school, like every other kid in the school. It should have been safe. You couldn’t have prevented it.”
This was not the conversation to be holding where we were. The class was finishing with their cool-down exercises, anyway.
I took Momma’s hand into mine. “Listen, everything is fine. Jason and I are better than ever. I realize that coming in so late looks bad, but I promise that I was not doing anything that I shouldn’t have been doing. And I was not cheating on Jason.”
Momma stared at me so hard that I let go of her hand.
“Seriously, everything is fine. I promise.”
The twins came running over to us, so that immediately ended the conversation. I wanted to come clean with my mother about the entire Orpheus/Eurydice thing, but it was not a conversation I was prepared to have. There are some things in life that others will not understand, no matter how you explain them. My mother was one of those “others.”
“Mommy, can we get some ice cream on the way home?” Kayla asked before she even had one of her shoes back on.
“You’re starting early,” I replied. “Exercising and then eating junk right after. That’s supposed to be saved for us adults.”
Kayla giggled. “You have a point. I’ll wait until tomorrow on the ice cream.”
Momma couldn’t help but laugh. The kids always lightened her mood. Her attention focused back on them as she made sure Kyle did not leave anything behind. He had a habit of forgetting something almost everywhere he went.
“Kyle, don’t forget your towel,” Momma said to him. “And tie those laces up all the way.”
“We do have to stop by the store to get Kyle a glove,” I informed them all.
“Ooh, shopping!” Kayla exclaimed.
“Ooh, a glove!” I came back with. “No throwing random things in the cart today.”
Our kids loved to run around in stores—no matter what kind—and pick up random items to purchase. And if the store had shopping carts, it was a wrap. I had to keep taking things right back out and putting them on random shelves out of place. I often imagined security officers monitoring the cameras, shaking their heads as I created extra work for those who were assigned to restocking items that were tossed wherever after people changed their minds about impulsive buys.
I was still going to buy the PlayStation controllers for the twins, but I planned to creep over to the electronics section to get them. There was no way that I was going to let them waste time by testing out new games and fighting over what to purchase next.
“Let’s go,” I said, standing up. “We have a fifteen-minute time limit in the store and I am sticking to it.”
Momma and the twins gave each other glances, indicating that I could say that if I wanted to but they were all going to do them.
• • •
“Dinner was amazing, baby!” Jason sat back from the dining room table a few inches and rubbed his six-pack abs. “I’ll have to wait on dessert, even though it smells delicious.”
“I made a Caribbean bread pudding, but I haven’t put the bananas Foster on top yet. I’ll do it when you’re ready to eat it.”
Peter was at a sleepover and Momma had taken the twins home with her. She was over our house so much that it often seemed as though she did not have her own home; not to mention that she was remarried. My stepfather, Rush, was a retired homebody who built train sets in their attic that ran on tracks overhead. The kids loved those train sets, so I was sure they were over there playing to their hearts’ content. Even with all of the electronic gadgets, there were still things that kids enjoyed from back in the day.
“Bread pudding? Aw, man,” Jason said. He stood up and headed into the family room to plop down on the sofa. “Give me an hour and I’m going to wolf it down like crazy.”
It had been a big meal. Something had overtaken me when I went grocery shopping alone. So much for the kids and Momma piling things into the cart. It is true that people should never go shopping when they are starving. I had prepared a wedge salad with bacon, onion, and homemade dressing with mayonnaise, heavy cream, lemon juice, garlic, and blue cheese crumbles. I followed that with a shrimp risotto with fresh corn, grilled salmon, and jerk steak, with sides of roasted asparagus, escalloped potatoes, and garlic toast. I was kind of stuffed myself.
I joined him on the sofa, bringing two glasses and the rest of the pitcher of blueberry coconut mojitos that I had prepared. Our friends and relatives always raved over my drinks. In another life, I could have been a mixologist. I often toyed around with different concepts, so I had mixed some fresh blueberries, sugar water, and red wine in a Mason jar to allow them to fuse with one another, then made the actual drink with that mixture, some coconut rum, club soda, and fresh mint that I grew in my herb garden. It was the kind of drink that would sneak up on you. I was hoping that it had snuck up on Jason enough to make him as horny as I was.
He turned on ESPN—typical man—and kicked off his shoes. I poured us two fresh glasses and then pulled his feet up onto my lap, removed his socks, and started kneading and massaging them. I was hoping that the night would end with Jason blowing my back out, like Orpheus had done the night before.
“You are too good to me.”
He sighed and put his hands behind his head as I continued to massage his left foot with one hand and took a sip of my mojito with the other.
I stared at him.
“What?” he asked and shrugged.
“Momma confronted me today about coming in late and accused me of cheating on you.”
Jason frowned. “And what did you say?”
“I told her that I wasn’t cheating on you. What else would I say?”
“Did she buy it?”
“I doubt it. I just want to know how you always manage to sneak in here and I’m always the one who gets caught.”
“If I could manipulate Hades, what makes you think I can’t get over on your mother?”
Jason broke out in a chuckle while I smirked and threw his feet off my lap.
“What?” he said, still laughing as I stood up and headed toward the kitchen.
“I’m going to top the dessert.”
“I love you, Zoe, and this is forever.”
“Always has been. Always will be.”
Turn to the next page for an excerpt from Zane's The Other Side of the Pillow
JEMISTRY
Prologue
“Violence can only be concealed by a lie, and the lie can only be maintained by violence.”
—Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
2000
It had been three weeks since the abortion. What a way to kick off the new millennium. At a time when I should have been happy—recently getting my master’s in Education, working as a high school Social Studies teacher, and making decent money—all I felt was ashamed.
Wesley had been making an attempt to improve his behavior. He had no idea that I had been pregnant. As far as I was concerned he never would find out that I had killed our child. I didn’t want to do it, never thought that I would find myself in that place, not to mention that I had never imagined that I could go through with it. But I had, and not another living soul knew about it with the exception of the people at the clinic. I had not shared it with any of my family or friends. I could not bear to have them think anything negative about me.
“What’s for dinner?” Wesley asked as he walked into the kitchen of the town house we were renting in Georgetown. “I’m starved.”
“I made some chicken and noodles, and a spinach salad,” I replied, washing the pots in the sink. I always preferred to clean up before eating. Afterward I would be too stuffed to do it and I did not believe in leaving dirty dishes overnight. “I’ll get you a plate. Why don’t you go wash up and I’ll have everything together by the time you get finished.”
After I had served both of us, I sat down across from him at the dining room table.
Wesley started digging into his food like there was no tomorrow. I stared at him and even though he was incredibly good-looking, that was not enough to overshadow all of his actions.
You’re too good of a woman to keep putting up with his shit!
He was guzzling his beer, having not noticed that I had yet to touch my plate, when I blurted out, “I’m leaving you.”
He almost spit the liquid out but managed to swallow it as he placed the bottle back down. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jemistry. You and I both know that you’re not going anywhere.”
“I am . . . going. I’ll leave tonight and come back tomorrow, or this weekend for my things. If that’s cool with you?”
“No, the shit is not cool with me!” he yelled out in anger. “You’re not going anyplace. I won’t allow it.”
I sighed. “I’m grown and I can do what I want. We’re not married and—”
“Yet!” he interjected. “We’re not married yet, but we will be.”
“Never!” I exclaimed, getting loud myself. “It’s over, Wesley!”
He smirked and took another bite of his food. “All you’ve ever wanted was me. Now you think that you’re going to walk off into the night like everything is everything? You sound foolish.”
“No, I’ve been foolish, and that’s the point. I’ve allowed you to walk all over me for two years and I will not do it another day. Not even another second.”
I had truly reached “that second.” The second that I realized that I would not tolerate his bullshit for another second of another hour of another day.
“You act like you can keep doing whatever to me and I’m going to take it,” I added.
He smirked again, his gray eyes staring me down as if I were an enemy, which is how he treated me half the time, like a gladiator he was facing in an arena. “You’ve been taking it. What’s the difference now?”
“Wesley, I’ll admit that I have been weak. I’ve held out hope that one day you would wake up, a light bulb would turn on in your head, and you would understand that cheating on me, beating on me, and treating me like your property isn’t appropriate.”
He sighed. “I haven’t done anything lately, Jemistry. Give me a break.”
“It’s true, and ironic, that I’ve finally arrived at this point when you’re actually acting decent. But it’s only a matter of time before you fuck around on me again, or have me getting bandaged up on an emergency room table.”
“I thought you were over that,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Over it? You put a pillowcase over my head and beat me half to death. How does one get over that exactly?”
The bastard actually laughed. “You tell me. Yo
u dropped the charges, came back home, and went right back to sucking my dick every night. Seems to me like you got over it pretty damn quick!”
“You disgust me!”
In truth, I disgusted myself because he was right. I had relinquished all my common sense and self-respect in the name of love. I used to scoff at women who stayed with men who cheated on them, or hit them. Yet, there I was with one who took pride in doing both.
I got up from the table and headed to the kitchen to get my purse and keys. I didn’t plan to stay there another minute. I would get a hotel room for a few days and figure things out from there. Look for an apartment that was available immediately or at least within the next few weeks.
Before I could even get the strap of my purse situated on my shoulder, Wesley was punching me in the back of my head. I dropped to the floor and covered myself to prevent his rage from causing too much damage.
“You filthy bitch!” he screamed. “No one leaves me! I leave them!”
He hit me until he lost his breath and, eventually, his footing. That was all the opportunity I needed. I got up onto my knees and grabbed the cast-iron skillet out of the drainer in the sink, then stood up, and with a swinging motion, hit him across the temple.
He was caught completely off-guard and stunned and then dropped to the floor, wincing in pain while I grabbed my keys and headed to the door.
I paused and looked down at him. An expression of shock was still on his face. “You’ll live,” I said. “I did, and I hope this makes you think twice before you put your hands on another female. I’ll be back here tomorrow with a sheriff to get my things. Now you can go to the emergency room and say that you fell.”
When I got outside into the fresh air and started walking toward my old 1987 Buick Century, a sense of pride overcame me. It had been a long time coming, but I was reclaiming my life, my dignity, and my heart.
I refused to believe that all men were like Wesley. I had simply made the wrong choice and had attempted to change him. I now realized that it was never about me. It was about a sickness within him and a need to humiliate and control women.