Three years after Danny created a Facebook profile, I filed for a divorce. My husband was a married man in the throes of a midlife crisis at the ripe old age of thirty-five.
What happened to the good old days of those hidden furtive affairs in motels and parking lots? Or in some lover?s lane, grinding on each other to Bob Marley or the Beatles.
Where we are from the Islands, intercourse is referred to as ?commonness.? Here in good old Brooklyn, we call it lovemaking. When I?m peaking, sweaty, and naughty, I would say fucking. Then holding tight to the giddiness of afterglow in that sweet space, tired and centered, I?d whisper rom pom. In this place, a concrete jungle, as young and hungry as we were, quiet and dark spaces were left with the echoes of our sighs; the last row of the theater, or under the loading and unloading platforms at the Met grocery store, or on the L train at midnight.
?We need to talk.?
Those were the first words Danny grunted in my presence in more than a week. The aroma of cinnamon rolls, oven-fresh, filled the room. He sipped his black coffee and licked the tip of a finger to the sticky sweetness. My gaze was drawn to this singular fastidious mannerism. Solely mine to contemplate, mine to equate with proprietary glee, mine to hate. He was the one who cheated? He was the one who was on social media pretending that he was single?
My teeth sunk into a warm doughy roll. My throat rebelling, swallowing, dry and closed. I grimace and gaze into a cup of creamy hazelnut goodness. Why do I now feel hurt? Should I have taken the higher road and confronted him?
Those four little words convinced me that I must listen. Danny murmured something about the city, our jobs, and us needing time to reconnect.
The early morning sky was grey with barely glinting hints of light, cloudless and reclusive. With the windows down, the cool and refreshing air sauntered in like the Beatles down Abbey Road. The soothing tones, the lyrics intertwining in my brain with tumultuous musings of fidelity and loyalty. Shadows of emotions trickled like a broken faucet, through my veins, hot and cold, secretive, new, faltering, changing. The warm leather seat, ?something in the way he moves?, a heady feeling of nostalgia, sinking into my bones.
My heart, still filled with seeds of discontent, pulsed with sprouts of regret. A longing for the days when we were breathing for each other, breaths mingling, gazes enthralled.
This is his plan, I surmised. He is always purposeful, not excitable to the ups and downs of life?s challenges. He knew what he was doing. I need to focus on what makes me happy. Biting my tongue, eyes burning, I unwillingly surrendered my thoughts away from the music, his perfect eyebrows, his plump upper lip, and the casual ease with which he handled the steering wheel of this powerful car, and how he strummed the circular protrusion with his long fingers, a remembered strength to my cares.
?I saw your friend Susan on Wednesday.?
The nonchalance of the tone and words from Danny, contrasted with the rigidity of his profile.
My heart hammered in my chest. Convulsing in preparation for the words I must utter, singular and dismissive.
?Is there something I missed?? He continued in a questioning manner.
Susan started working at JTL about a year ago. We became fast friends and before I knew it. We had kissed.
The soft lyrics breathe into the silence. The lush greenery shrouded to the morning sunrise, light and dark, forcing intimacy, as the asphalt stretched over the horizon. Danny?s mouth clenched then release with a pout and a slow wash of his tongue, as if over parched lips.
He reached and gently grasp my left hand with his right. I fed my anger and shame with remembrances of his text messages and social media posts. Rehearsing comments to retaliate.
He switched to Bob Marley?s, One Love. Tears ached behind my eyes. Danny is now singing along. His gaze towards the road, his mouth wide, curling, and tasting the words. Shoulders swaying, caressing the rhythms.
?Nothing happened,? I finally entreated, my voice high and reedy.
?I know?, Danny responded, turning down the volume.
?I spoke to her.?
?She is in love with you.?
?Do you know what you really want?? he said curtly.
I looked up into his eyes, my gaze tracing his thick brows, and sensitive upper lip.
?I want you,? I said quietly.
He placed both hands on the steering wheel. Right index finger stroking the brown plush. Finally, he responded, ?we can do this.?
We both made mistakes, he continued.
My chest tightened, I was falling, dismantling remembered ghosts of discontent and vanity.
Danny did not ask any of the questions that I was expecting.
?Do you want to do this for real?? I repeated.
We were both out of our depths. Each other?s firsts and swimming against the tide.
?Yes, for reals,? he responded.
?You are the future mother of my children.?
We turned into the long driveway of his parents four-bedroom bungalow. A warm release besieged my limbs. Tears again pushed against the reservoir.
His mother answered the door and enveloped me in a breathy hug, carrying the familiar smells of curry with cumin. She prolonged the hug and I dug my face into her salt and pepper braids. She smiled and touched my face, the smoothness of her thumbs erasing the tears I had tried for hours to anesthetized as now they escaped from the corners of my eyes.
?I?m hungry,? Aunty, I whispered, looking at my mother in law. I called her Aunty in that honorary way Island folk called an older person. I blink furiously at the realization that this is my family. They are my family.
?He said he wants a baby,? I whispered, eyes wet and wide. ?A baby.?
Topic: Another Woman - 2nd Draft (Read 1517 times)