Married on Mondays (17 page)

“You’re going to make things worse. Nothing good can come out of you tracking Winton. Stay,” Dallas said, hugging her tighter.

“You never tire of asking me to stay?” she said, squirming away from him.

“Never have. Never will. But it’s Saturday, and you always stay with me on Saturday nights. We’ve had a great evening. Dinner,
concert, plus I gave away my VIP passes to be here with you.”

Foxy sat on the edge of the bed. Tonight she was more concerned with where her husband was. Softly she said, “I want to stay,”
not knowing if Winton would come home. Had she asked for more of her husband’s time than she wanted? Maybe her timing was
off for asking him. She’d assumed her request went unheard. Wasn’t sure what she’d do if Winton stayed at Isis’s all night
again. Not knowing was better. She could pretend her husband wasn’t cheating. Knowing the truth hurt. Dallas was right.

“Dallas?”

“Yes, baby,” he said, massaging her back.

“Make love to me.”

She didn’t have to ask twice.

Dallas gently laid her body down. He caressed her feet, kissed her arches, licked the ball, then sucked each of her toes.
Tears escaped Foxy’s eyes. Tears of joy, pain, love, and sorrow connected as they flowed into her hair. Why was love a complicated
emotion to grasp? Love definitely wasn’t everlasting.

Hate was hate. If someone said, “I hate you,” their feelings were clear. If someone said, “I’m happy,” happiness was happiness.
When Foxy said “I love you” to Dallas or confessed to herself “I still love my husband,” the meanings manifested the greatest
love and the deepest hate.

Why couldn’t Winton love her the way Dallas had?

Dallas raised her leg, pressed his lips to the back of her knee. His tongue danced in the groove. Lowering her leg, he trailed
his fingertips over her pubic hairs, between her thighs separating them.

His movements were slow and deliberate as he passionately kissed her clit. He nestled his tongue in the upper left side of
her crevice next to her shaft. His tongue stiffened. The tip flickered in her left groove.

His hands slid up her stomach to her breasts. He teased her nipples, suctioned her shaft into his mouth. Foxy came and cried
at the same time. This time she didn’t say, “I’ll see you in a few hours.” Foxy eased out of bed and went home.

Opening her eyes, Foxy rolled over. Her husband’s side of the bed was neatly tucked. Not because he’d tucked the sheet as
he’d normally do when he got out of bed. Two nights in a row, Winton hadn’t come home.

She sat on the floor, exercised, stretched, then went to her bathroom. The tub was filled with used water and their four wedding
albums.

“Fuck you, Winton! Stay with that tramp-ass bitch!” Foxy cried. “I hate you!”

Why hadn’t she kept walking that day in the mall? Why had he done and said all the right things to win her heart? She drained
the tub, sat on the bathroom floor, placed her hands over her face, and cried. “He used to hold my hand in public. Open doors.
Surprise me with red and white roses. He told me, ‘The white is for our everlasting friendship. Red is for the love I have
in my heart for you, baby.’”

Foxy cried louder. It dawned on her. She’d lost her best friend. She tossed the photo albums in a hefty black garbage bag,
then tossed them in the trash.

Maybe her sister DéJà was right. Foxy should choose before she lost her man and her mind. She’d been so consumed with her
situation, Foxy had forgotten to check on Victoria. No need to call now. Today was sisters’ day, and they’d see one another
at church.

P
ray

Listen

Wait

Sit still

Fast

Meditate

Do unto others

Parents

Siblings

Lovers

Breathe

Repent

Confess

Give thanks

You are

Blessed

Victoria arrived at church before Sunday school. She sat in the third pew with her purse on the bench to her left and her
Bible to the right. Other adults sat in front, beside, and behind her. Victoria’s purpose for arriving early was to reserve
seats close to the altar for Foxy and DéJà to join her in prayer during service.

“Be faithful unto the Lord. What does that mean?” the teacher asked, standing before them.

Victoria hadn’t answered or asked questions of the pastor’s wife, who was also the teacher. She wondered if the pastor’s wife
was faithful. What was her definition of faithful? Her sins? Had her husband slept with any members of the congregation?

The woman seated next to Victoria’s Bible said, “That means we must adhere to our duties to the Lord and not put our needs…
sexual needs or our desires… before His, and we must keep our promises to Him. We must fast and pray to cleanse our souls
for Him. And we should yield not to temptation.”

“Anyone else want to add to that?” the teacher asked.

Victoria listened to the other comments. Each person had their own interpretation of what faithful meant. Were their definitions
tailored to suit their lifestyles? Victoria hadn’t dwelled on the meaning until now. She had an obligation, a duty, and a
responsibility to do right by Naomi. Her not doing right by Naomi also meant she wasn’t doing right by the Lord.

As Sunday school ended, DéJà and Foxy walked in and sat on opposite sides of her. Foxy wore a beautiful red and gold sleeveless
dress. DéJà had on a basic black dress with short black lace gloves. They hugged. Teary-eyed, Victoria said, “I love you,
guys.” They might not have agreed on certain things, but Victoria was happy her father had made sure his girls were close.

“Love you too,” they said in unison.

The pastor preached about the Sunday school message: being faithful. Foxy quietly stood, went to the altar, and knelt during
the sermon. People stared. Victoria held DéJà’s hand, stood. They knelt on opposite sides of Foxy.

Silently Victoria prayed for her sisters, her mother, their mothers, their dad, and their spouses. She prayed for Rain, his
parents, and she prayed for herself. Tonight she’d tell Naomi the whole truth.

T
he sermon was fitting for you two,” DéJà said, unlocking her car.

Foxy sat in the front passenger seat. Victoria sat behind Foxy.

“I’ll admit that,” Victoria said.

Foxy replied, “No comment.”

DéJà drove east along North Shoreline Drive to their favorite spa. “Church always makes me feel high-spirited. I can’t wait
to take off my clothes and get on the massage table for two hours.” She’d soon tell the masseuse, “Harder, faster, deeper,
harder, faster, deeper.”

“I’m getting a mani, pedi, and a facial,” Victoria said. “Foxy, what are you having?”

“A coffee ground thigh wrap, a brown sugar body scrub, and massage,” she said.

“Oh, that’s what I should’ve gotten,” DéJà said.

White gauze soaked in coffee, then lined with wet coffee grounds was the best treatment for eliminating her hard to get rid
of cellulite on the backs of her thighs. The first time she tried the coffee ground thigh wrap, DéJà had immediate results.
She threw out her expensive cellulite creams that didn’t work.

“So what moved you to the altar?” DéJà asked, looking over at Foxy.

“You want to hear me say you were right? Is that it?” Foxy asked, staring at her.

“No, that’s not it. I just asked you a question.”

“Yes, it is,” Victoria chimed in. “Admit you want to hear both of us give you credit.”

“Okay, I admit it. But am I wrong for wanting what’s best for my sisters? You’re both married to good people. If you change
your ways, you can work things out. I want you two to have happy marriages like Acer and I.”

Foxy adjusted her seat belt. Stared out her window. “I prayed for peace. I do want my husband back. And,” she paused, then
said, “I’m ready to have a baby.”

Victoria shouted, “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout! Let it be a girl. I’ma name her Precious.”

How dare Foxy try to give their father his firstborn grandchild. DéJà hadn’t considered having a baby, but she’d bet that
would make Acer happy. Her too. Starting today, she’d stop taking her birth control pills.

“Too much estrogen in the family already. No girl,” DéJà said. “I want you to have a son. We will give him a nice, strong
name like Solomon Brown. People will look up to him all his life. You have to dig deep in your gut and add bass to your voice
to pronounce Solomon.”

The name Solomon was a suitable first name for Foxy’s last name. DéJà would name her son Adam Acer Mason Montgomery-Dawson.
Adam would always come before Solomon, with his birth, in the Bible, and with their father. Naming her son Adam would give
him his own identity. The name Acer would make her husband happy. Ending his name with Montgomery-Dawson would allow him to
know how to identify with both sides of his families.

“Listen at you, guys. I’m not close to getting pregnant. I haven’t had sex with my husband in three years. I have to stop
taking the pill, then wait three months to get the contraceptives out my system. I have to talk to Dallas. And I have to see
where Winton’s head is. If we can’t work things out, I’m not having his baby.”

Good. Foxy’s procrastination would give DéJà the time she needed to get pregnant first. DéJà said, “A woman has the power
to salvage her marriage. You can do this. But by the time you do all that, that just means you’ll get pregnant on the first
try.”

They all laughed as DéJà valet parked at the spa.

DéJà’s prayer at the altar had been answered. She’d prayed that her sisters turn away from the negativity and darkness in
their marriages, embrace what was right, and see the light. Victoria and Foxy honestly had good-hearted spouses who needed
their help in order to have a change of heart.

T
he scrub and massage were exactly what Foxy needed. She drove DéJà’s car from the spa to the mall. They started their shopping
spree in their favorite store, Spectacular Stilettos.

Foxy picked up a pair of yellow leather slip-ons with brown and red snakeskin-covered heels. “I have to have these.”

“Let me see the heel,” DéJà said, getting a closer look. “No, you don’t. Put them back. The snakeskin is too thin. You’ll
only wear them once, maybe twice, before the heel starts to peel. And you can never wear these while driving.” DéJà reached
for Foxy’s shoes.

“I protect my heels. I wear flats while driving; you know that. This is a battle you will not win,” Foxy said, handing the
shoes to the clerk. “I’ll take these in a size eight.”

Victoria held up a pair of clear open-toe stilettos with cherry metallic heels and the same style in green apple. “Which ones?”

Foxy and DéJà both pointed at the green apple–colored shoes.

DéJà bought a pair of bright purple and green stilettos with a shimmering gold heel. She didn’t solicit her sisters’ opinions.
She said, “Omega Psi Phi and Mardi Gras rolled into one, baby. You can’t beat that.”