I Almost Forgot About You (29 page)

“I did.”

“Why didn't you say anything when I saw you?”

“What was there to say?”

“Well, how was he or how was it?”

“He was fine. Still is fine. Almost married. He's a farmer and living deep in the South.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“No.”

“Well, I guess after all this time it's safe to tell you that I did.”

“Say that again. I couldn't possibly have heard you right.”

“You heard right. I fucked him. I don't know how you left all that.”

“You know, you always were a skank, Violet.”

“Yeah, maybe, but so what, and just so you know, we're having a surprise birthday party for your ass, so act surprised.”

“I don't want a surprise party,” I said in a voice message I left for Wanda, who's just pulled up in front of my house and is sitting in her car because I told her not to come over here trying to persuade me that I'm being childish, unreasonable, and ungrateful.

“Why not?”

“Because I don't.”

“Well, it's too late now. The stripper's already booked.”

“Why didn't somebody ask me if I wanted a party?”

“Because we knew you would say no. Last year we sent you flowers because you pretended like you were sick so you wouldn't have to go out.”

“Well, I don't want a party.”

“And why in the hell not?”

“Because I'm too old to have a surprise birthday party.”

“Did you take some kind of pill to depress you?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“Violet told me she slept with Abraham.”

“That's old news.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. I think he only did it to get back at you after you dropped him.”

“So that made it okay?”

“No, but it's ancient history, Georgia.”

“How would you feel if I told you I slept with Nelson before you did?”

“I wouldn't believe you.”

“And why not?”

“Because you would've told me before he even looked my way. Besides, you've got too much class to stoop that low. Look, girl, we've always known Violet doesn't take morals into account when she makes a lot of decisions, so why hold it against her now?”

“Some secrets you should keep to yourself.”

“I agree. Anyway, your mom and Grover and his son and his son and Dolly and her sons are all coming.”

“What?”

“So is Michael.”

“You've got to be kidding me.”

“Niles and his wife might come. Your daughters, of course. All the folks from your office—too bad Lily might not be back in time. But that outrageous young fella Mercury and Marina, who's supposed to be leaving on a red-eye right afterward, and some of your good patients, but not Mona Kwon, who said she can't stay up that late, and even the techs said they wanted to come.”

“What about President Obama and the First Lady?”

“They're busy.”

“Anybody else I don't know?”

“You'll see,” she says. “I know you couldn't possibly be this upset about what Violet said.”

“No. I just find her timing a little questionable. I mean, why'd she have to wait all these years to admit it, especially when in the same breath she tells me about my fucking surprise birthday party? She's not my friend. Period. And I don't want to see her ass if I decide to come.”

“You're going to come. And she's going to be there. And you will pretend to forgive her, and that's that.”

“When is this frigging party?”

“It's a surprise.”

“It's already not a surprise, Wanda.”

“We'll see, won't we?”

“He's gone,” Estelle says to me after I return her call. I'm at the grocery store. I leave my full cart in the produce section and head out toward the front door.

“Who?” I ask, knowing, of course, she's talking about her husband.

“Justin.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don't know. And don't care. I kicked him out.”

“Do you think you might be suffering from postpartum depression or something?”

“He's got a boyfriend.”

“A what?”

“You heard right. A fucking boyfriend.”

“That's impossible.”

“No, it's not impossible, Mom.”

“Did he tell you he's gay?”

“Mom, he's got a fucking boyfriend! Not a girlfriend, so I think that makes him gay. But I don't care what he is. The one thing I know for sure is he's a father and he's going to take care of his children.”

Justin never struck me this way, although people are damn good at hiding all kinds of things. But why wait until she has another baby to come out of the damn closet?

“Are you sure you're okay, Stelle? I think I need to come over there.”

“No, don't come over here, please!”

“Where is Justin right now?”

“At the emergency room.”

“The emergency room! What happened?”

“I just hit him in the head with a rolling pin. He'll live.”

“I'm driving over there.”

“Mom, please don't. I'm fine. I'm asking you to just respect my privacy right now. I had to tell you so you'll know why he's not going to be coming to your surprise birthday party. Oh, shit, now it's not a surprise! I'm sorry.”

“I'm already aware of it. You know black folks can't keep a secret. How did you find this out, is what I want to know.”

“He's been acting different for almost a year. He blamed it on working long hours. Which is why I was surprised when I got pregnant, and he definitely wasn't happy about it. Everything I did started getting on his nerves. He was testy. He would do and say things he knew would piss me off, but now I know why. So I would turn my back to him. And it worked. Anyway, I saw the same number on his cell over and over, so I called it. The guy's voice threw me for a loop, but when I confronted Justin, he just came out and told me. It was a dumb mistake for him to follow me into the goddamn kitchen. He should be glad we don't own a gun. And I'm sorry for swearing, Mom.”

“I still think I should come over there.”

“No. Please. Justin's just acting like a little bitch. He drove himself to the emergency room, which is all of ten minutes away. It's just a tiny cut.”

“Where were the kids when all this was going on?”

“Sound asleep. He better be glad he's finally making some real money again, because I'm going to take all of it.”

“Estelle, you're terribly upset right now, which is understandable. Look for me in about an hour.”

I drive fast without any music for a half hour. I have no idea what I'm going to say to my daughter. Maybe I'll bring all of them back home with me. He's not dangerous. He's just gay.

I hope Estelle doesn't think she's to blame for this. I'm more worried about her heart. Her girls. Their future. Is she going to keep her job? Will she have to move? If so, how, and where? And what if they reconcile? But this isn't the type of thing you can negotiate. By the time I approach the entrance to the Dumbarton Bridge, she calls.

“Mom, where are you?”

“Almost on the Dumbarton Bridge.”

“Please turn back around and go home.”

“Why? I'm worried about you, Estelle. You need some kind of support right now.”

“You're right, Mom, but just not tonight. Please. I'm not falling apart. The kids are fine, sleeping. And to be very honest, I've had my suspicions that Justin might have another side to him, and this just confirmed it.”

“Are you saying you thought he might possibly be this way?”

“I don't know. I thought he might be cheating on me. What I do know is Justin loved me. I just never thought it was possible for a man to love a woman and also be attracted to men. Anyway, I need some time to think about all this without any input.”

“Well, I'm here if you need me,” I say. “Don't be too proud to reach out. This is what parents are for.”

“Love you, Mom. Oh, and please don't tell Frankie. I want to be the one to tell her.”

“I won't,” I say. “And I'll help you get through this.”

When I pull into my driveway, there's a car parked in front of my house. It's Justin.
Oh, Lord,
is all I'm thinking as I wait for the garage door to open. I walk out to his car, where he's just sitting like he's in a trance. I've always seen him as warm and respectful of my daughter and me, but right now he looks like he's been convicted of a crime he didn't commit and he has nowhere to go.

“I'm so very sorry, Dr. Young.”

“I suppose you are,” I say. “Since when did you start calling me Dr. Young?”

He wipes his eyes with both hands. I see a small railroad track on the side of his head. Dry red. “I wish I could still call you Mom. But I know that's over. I didn't do this to hurt Estelle. I swear I didn't. I just want you to understand that.”

“I don't think you
did
anything, Justin. It's just really unfortunate that your timing is extremely bad. Why'd you come all the way over here?”

“Because I know Estelle hates me right now, and I needed to tell someone who knows her that I didn't do this on purpose.”

“Do you want to come in?”

“No. I don't think that would be healthy, and I didn't drive over here to try to get you to feel sorry for me.”

“I don't. I'm more concerned about my daughter and your children's well-being, but I can say I don't know what it's like to live a lie.”

“First you have to admit to yourself that you are lying.”

“Well, my first husband did a good job of it. And he's not gay.”

And I start laughing. He wants to, but he just can't go that far right now.

“I hope you didn't jeopardize my daughter's health, just tell me that.”

I feel myself cutting my eyes at him, and am prepared to split that railroad track in half if he gives me the wrong answer.

“I would not and did not.”

“So now what?”

“I don't know. I just hope she lets me see my daughters.”

“She will. Don't worry about that. But I'm sure she's going to have to get used to all this, Justin, so bear with her.”

“I know, and the worst part of it is I so want to comfort her even though I'm the cause of her pain. How sick is that?”

“I get it. But let me ask you this. Are you going to be living with this boyfriend?”

He turns his head away and looks down. Shakes it no.

“Why not?”

“Because I can't.”

“Don't tell me he's married, too?”

He shakes his head no.

“So this means he must be in a relationship, then, right?”

He nods.

“A live-in situation?”

He nods again.

I would really like to kick his ass right now. How dumb can you be? But this just goes to show: gay or straight, they're all the same—stupid!

“Well, that's just too bad, isn't it, Justin? So where are you going to go?”

“Probably a Holiday Inn or something until I can figure out how Estelle wants to deal with all of this. I'm so sorry.”

And I believe him. I bend down and give him a hug, the hug I wanted to give my daughter, but I know he needs one, too.

I don't tell Estelle that Justin came over here. I want to tell Frankie, but I have to respect Estelle's wishes. I do tell Wanda, who says she'd like to shoot him. But then she takes it back. I check in with both daughters on an almost daily basis until they tell me to relax, that they have their lives under control, and I should carry on with my own.

Estelle tells me Justin found an apartment and she's already filed for divorce, that she and the kids will continue to live in the house and Justin will, of course, continue to pay the mortgage, child care, and provide her with whatever monthly support the court tells him to. Plus whatever will make her and the girls' lives comfortable. He'll have visitation rights and promises not to subject them to anything he feels a need to explain, until they're old enough to understand.

During the remaining three weeks left of not going to work (which I could definitely get used to), I feel like I'm possessed. I spend most of my waking hours in my garage. I paint. I glue. I sand. I make decisions. I love that I have choices. Options. Cracked glass or sand? Gravel or tiny seashells? Mosaic tiles or green grapes? Marbles or safety pins? Glass paint or metallic? Satin finish or flat? No one is more surprised than I am when I look out the only window and see daylight. This is what I hoped for.

I painted the original stool first. Flat black and then glued pennies all over it and sprayed it with a clear satin finish. No one will ever be able to sit on it, of course, but it will certainly provide some sort of interest for a dull corner. I went back to the wood-furniture store and bought two more stools in addition to two side tables, a magazine rack, and a shelving unit for knickknacks. I painted one stool metallic blue and glued broken glass on the legs but not the seat. I like it.

It's ten o'clock at night, and Naomi, who's on the long road to recovery, scares the hell out of me when she crawls under the garage door and just stands there with her hands on her denim hips and yells, “What the hell are you on? I mean, have you moved out here, or do you just not sleep anymore? And I want to buy that frigging stool with the pennies on it even if it's not for sale.”

I take my mask and goggles off, then toss my gloves on top of the metal cabinet. “You know what, Naomi? You can have that stool.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she says. “When did you become an artist, Doc? And why've you been hiding all this?” She walks over to the side table I've glued and splattered with three different shades of yellow sand. “How much is this?”

“Come on, Naomi. It's my new hobby. It's a great way to get rid of stress and confusion. I wouldn't call it art. Anyway, how are you?”

“I'm fine. I've met someone. But it's not serious. Of course, Macy's trying to crawl back in, but I've locked the door on her. What are you stressed about, unless I'm being too personal? And this
is
art, bitch.”

“Just the usual. Nothing heavy-duty,” I say.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Don't lie,” she says. “I know what it's like to be pissed off, so if you ever feel like spilling your guts, your secret's safe with me.”

“I appreciate that, Naomi, but I'm good.”

“So when did you start doing this?”

“Probably before you were born. I used to sew, but I've always wanted to try making things out of wood and metal and glass because I like the idea of using materials for purposes they weren't intended. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. I should mention I'm also having a helluva lot of fun.”

“This is all just so freaking awesome. I never saw you as an eye doctor, to be honest. You should sell your work.”

“My work?”

“Your art. What the hell else would you call it? It's beautiful, it's funky, it's original, and it's got the wow factor going for it. That's what art is.”

“Slow down, Naomi. I'm flattered, but—”

She holds up her hand to push the air. “Just let me say this. When you get a body of work large enough to show, then we'll talk. But for now, honey, even with this cute partition you've got going, you're going to ruin this garage.”

“I know. I might eventually need to find a little studio.”