Big Girls Do Cry (26 page)

I tiptoed down the hall to his room. When I opened the door, I found him sleeping peacefully with the comforter pulled up to his head. He was turned on his side, and I couldn’t help it; my first thought was that he looked so cute.

“Why couldn’t you love me the way I love you?” I whispered as I watched him sleep. Jerome once told me that you have to love someone in order to hate them. I think I understood exactly what he meant now, because as much as I loved Leon, I hated him. In fact, as an image of LaKeisha popped into my head, I hated his fucking guts. Without a moment of hesitation, I lifted the pot of hot water and threw it on him.

Leon sprang up, screaming. He threw off the comforter and rolled out of the bed, onto the floor. “Awww! Help me! Help me! I’m on fire!”

The loudness and intensity of his screams snapped me out of my drunken haze for a minute, enough to recognize the seriousness of what I’d just done. If he hadn’t been covered by a heavy comforter, I could have permanently injured him. As angry as I was, I really wasn’t trying to kill the man. I was just trying to get his attention so I could get him out of my house. The way he was rolling around on the ground and patting himself like he was on fire, I felt sorry for him—but only for a split second.

He was in such a panic that it took him a while to even realize I was in the room. Even then, he called out, “Loraine, help me!” not realizing that I was the cause of his pain. Only when he heard me drop the pot to the floor did it dawn on him what I had done.

“Oh my God, woman, are you crazy?” He tried to get up but fell back to the ground.

“I’m not crazy, Leon. Drunk, yes, but crazy? I don’t think so.” I’m sure it was the alcohol that was giving me the courage to stand my ground. Even so, I had to stay alert and prepared for the worst, because that pain was only going to last so long, and then he would come after me.

“What’d you put on me? You trying to kill me or something?” He was rubbing his left side and still attempting to get up.

“Oh, please, Leon, the pain you feel is nothing compared to the pain you’ve caused me.”

“What are you talking about? You’re acting crazy.” He was looking at me like he was trying to see through my skull and into my brain. “You’ve finally lost your mind, haven’t you?”

“No, I’m not the crazy one—but your bitch tried to make me think I was the one losing it when she left her panties in my bed and in my house.”

“Are we back to this shit again? What, did you find another pair of panties?” His pain must have subsided a bit, because he was standing up now, and his anger was evident. I wasn’t ready to back down yet.

“You damn right we’re back to this shit! You can thank your little girlfriend—or should I say your
big
girlfriend—for that.”

I got a blank look from him. I guess his girl hadn’t let him know that she paid me a visit. Good. The fact that I’d caught him off guard definitely gave me the upper hand, because he’d had no time to concoct some bullshit lies to feed me. Not that I would have believed him at this point anyway.

“How could you do this to me? I would have done anything for you!”

“Do what? What are you talking about?” he shouted. “I’m seeing a shrink two times a week—three times, if you count marriage counseling. What the hell am I doing?”

Damn, he was a good actor.

“Leon, you’re pathetic. You know that?”

“And you’re crazy! Did you know that?” He sat on the bed and removed his wet shirt. The skin on his side was bright red.

“What I know is that you’re a liar and a fucking cheat.”

“Oh, and who put this in your head? That little faggot?”

“No, your bitch, LaKeisha.”

He hesitated for a second, which gave him away. “LaKeisha? LaKeisha who? Who the fuck is LaKeisha?”

“Why you denying her? You know she’s in love with you? At least that’s what she told me. I’m not stupid, Leon, and I’m not a fool. Now, get your shit and get the fuck out.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Loraine. I’ve been working on my life and this marriage too hard to walk out on it.” He took a step toward me, and I pulled out Jerome’s gun, which I had been holding in my pocket since I dropped the pot. I’d taken it when I left Jerome’s, just in case Leon decided to act up when I told him to leave. It looked like it was gonna come in handy.

“Don’t make me have to kill you, Leon, because I will. Now, you’re going to leave this house. The question is whether it’s of your own volition or on the coroner’s gurney. The choice is yours.”

He kept his eyes locked on the gun and spoke carefully. “Loraine, you’re making a big mistake.”

“No, Leon, the mistake I made was marrying you. Now you’re the one who will be making the big mistake if you don’t get your shit and get out my house.” I pointed the gun at his head. Nothing makes a person understand the severity of a situation better than a gun to the head.

“Do you remember what you told me about guns?” I asked.

“Don’t pull one out unless you’re willing to use it.”

“Exactly. Now, I really didn’t want to have to take it this far, but you just too hardheaded for your own good. And the way my hand is shaking, this thing could go off at any second. You might want to get your shit and go before something happens that we’ll both regret.”

Leon didn’t say anything as he picked up a shirt and some sweats that were draped over a nearby chair. He threw a few of his belongings in a pillow case, and a few minutes later, he was down the stairs and out the door, yelling, “You’re wrong for this, Loraine,” as he exited. I heard squealing tires as his car left the driveway.

I was satisfied that I’d gotten him out but was still a little shaken by how far I’d gone. I needed to do something to calm my nerves, and I knew just what would work. I went to Leon’s
closet and started pulling out all his Armani suits, bought with my hard-earned money. Every last one of them went into the garbage bags I’d brought up from the kitchen.

I dragged the bags out to the curb, went inside, and then put the chain lock on the door. I shut off my cell phone, took two sleeping pills to calm my still-anxious nerves, and went to bed. After the day I’d had, things had to be better tomorrow.

From the moment I pulled up to the house, I could feel my mother’s presence like a thick fog taking over a country road. She was sitting up in her Queen Anne’s chair by the bay window, obviously waiting for me to come home, like she used to do when I was a teenager staying out late or when I first learned how to drive. This time, it was four o’clock in the afternoon, not one o’clock in the morning, and I was thirty-eight years old, not sixteen, so I knew I was not walking into a good situation.

I paid her no mind as I entered the house and walked over to my father. I kissed his cheek, trying not to block his view of the game as I handed him his keys.

“Where’s Rashad, Daddy?” I asked. “I’m surprised he’s not—”

My mother’s head whipped around like it was going to fly off her shoulders. “He took his
wife
to see that new Will Smith movie.”

“What?” I whined in disbelief. “They were supposed to take me to see that.”
And besides, I didn’t ask you. Is your name Daddy?

“You ever think that maybe he wanted to take his wife out alone for a change, without you?”

I wanted to say something smart like,
No, not really
, or
Why would he want to do that?
but I resisted the temptation. It was never a good idea to be smart with my mother, so I reserved it for occasions when it was truly necessary.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. They could use some time alone. And to tell you the truth, I could use a break from them too. It was so nice to go and do what I wanted without a chaperone.”

“Hmph. Where have you been anyway? You had us all worried to death. Your poor sister spent half the morning trying to track you down.”

“For what?” I asked, unable to keep the attitude out of my tone. “I told Daddy where I was going. I went to IHOP with my friend Canard, and then I went over to the mall.”

She smirked at my answer, and that’s when I realized I’d messed up. Damn, I was a grown woman, and I still let my mother get the best of me every time. She was happy to let me know I’d just told on myself.

“Canard, huh? Your father said you told him you were going out with Coco.”

I glanced over at my father, who was too wrapped up in the Redskins game to pay either of us any mind.

“Well, Daddy was mistaken … or maybe I said Coco by accident. What’s the big deal anyway? I’m thirty-eight years old. I come and go as I please.” She had always been that way with me, watching over me like a hawk, while Egypt could do whatever the hell she wanted. “What I wanna know is why are you questioning me like I’m a child?”

The stern look she gave me told me I’d be better off if I just backed down. My mother was not one to tolerate disrespect from anyone, especially her kids.

“As you can see, I’m home in one piece.” I bent down and kissed her on the cheek, wrapping an arm around her shoulder in hopes that she would take it as a peace offering. But she didn’t soften one bit. She pushed me away, not accepting my embrace.

In all my life, as many times as my mother had caught me telling lies, I’d never seen her look at me as coldly as she was now. A chill ran through my body.

“What have you been up to?”

“Nothin’,” I said, concentrating hard on keeping my expression neutral. I didn’t want her to know she had me rattled. “What are you talking about?”

“My office, now!” She got out of her seat, and I knew it was useless to protest. I followed her with my head hung low. If Daddy tore his eyes away from the game and realized what was going on, even he couldn’t save me now. She’d ordered me to her “office.”

I hadn’t heard her call the kitchen her office since I was eighteen. When I was a kid, I hated when she did that, because it always meant I was in some kind of trouble. I could always bullshit Daddy and get whatever I wanted out of him, but Momma—no way. She had this sixth sense when it came to me; she could always tell when I was doing something I knew I shouldn’t have been. Looking back, there were times I was convinced Momma was a mind reader; either that or she was perched up in some satellite tower and could see me acting a fool from miles and miles away. Whatever it was, she could read me like a book, and it pissed me off.

“What is it, Momma?” I said innocently when we entered the kitchen.

“I don’t know what you been up to, but I hope it don’t come back to bite you in the ass.”

“I’m not up to anything.” I rested my hands on my stomach, hoping that the subtle reminder about her grandchild growing inside of me might soften her mood a little. Not a chance. She wasn’t buying it.

“Look me in the eye, Isis Rene. I know you. I carried you nine months, two weeks—”

“Three days, sixteen hours, and twenty-four minutes. I know that, Momma.” She’d drilled those numbers into my head many times before, like every second was torture for her. Sometimes she acted as if she were the only woman to ever be in labor. It damn sure didn’t make me feel loved whenever she pulled that line out on me.

“Who you getting smart with?” She raised her hand, and I have to admit I flinched. “I will still smack your face. I don’t care if you’re grown and pregnant or not. I’m still your mother.”

I apologized because I knew she wasn’t joking. My mother would never hesitate to smack me if she thought I needed to be put in my place. “Sorry.”

“I know you are.” To be honest, I couldn’t tell if she was accepting my apology or if she was calling me sorry, and I think that’s exactly how she wanted it. She wasn’t about to let me off the hook with one little “sorry.”

“It’s a great thing you’re doing for your sister and her husband.”

Her husband
. She’d been calling Rashad by his name for almost fifteen years, but now that I was pregnant with his baby, she was throwing around a whole lot of “her husband” and “his wife.” I rolled my eyes, which I’m sure my mother didn’t appreciate.

“Anyhow, I’m only going to say this to you once: You better not break your sister’s heart when it comes to this baby. Do you understand me? You are the one who signed up for this madness, and you better see it through.”

“Why are you coming at me like this? All I did was go out for one afternoon, Momma.” Shoot, if I had known that disappearing for one day was going to cause this much trouble, I would have just stayed out all night and made it worthwhile.

“It’s not what you did. It’s what you are, Isis. You’re selfish.”

I felt like I’d just been punched in the stomach. I can’t begin to describe how much it hurts to hear your own mother say such negative things about you. And she’d always done this to me. No wonder I had so many problems. But like always, I sat silently and took it as she continued to tell me about myself.

“You have never been able to share anything with your sister. And you expect me to believe you’re going to just hand over a baby—Rashad’s baby, at that? Not everyone is as gullible as your sister.”

I felt exposed. They were some shitty things she said about me, but unfortunately, they weren’t wrong. My mother really did know my ass like a book—though I wasn’t about to let her know it. “Momma, what are you talking about?”

This time, she laughed. “What am I talking about? I’m talking about you still being in love with your sister’s husband. That’s what I’m talking about. I see the way you look at that man. You still want him.”

I never stopped wanting him.

“Are you trying to get Rashad away from Egypt since you know she can’t give him a baby? Is that what this is all about?” I didn’t answer. I just stared at her blankly. I knew the way this went when my mother was lecturing me. She wasn’t really looking
for a conversation; she just wanted to speak her mind, so I let her ramble on and kept my thoughts to myself.

“‘Cause if it is, I’m here to tell you it won’t work.”

How the fuck do you know? You have no idea how much he wants a child.

I offered only this much: “I’m not trying to take Rashad.”

“Good, because your sister has something you don’t have, and it’s just as powerful as any child.”