My Husband's Girlfriend (9 page)

“Rice? But didn’t you attend U of H?” I ask.

“Yeah, I didn’t get in to Rice, but by then I was curious about Texas. And on a whim I applied to U of H and they accepted me, so…Sounds silly but that’s how I came here.”

“I hear the West Coast is great. Why’d you want to leave?” I’m full of questions today.

“I like to get out in the world. I mean, sure, I packed my junk and planted myself in Texas, but after messing around in school a couple of years, I hightailed it to Chicago, stuck it out for a solid year, then doubled back to Houston. I love the people and everything, but I’m cold-blooded and Chi-town winters had me going nuts. I don’t see how Oprah can stand it.”

Neil finally finds the guts to talk. “Oprah has millions of dollars’ worth of real estate all over the country, so I’m sure she can escape Chicago’s winters whenever she wants to,” he says with a tense chuckle.

“Must be nice,” Dani says. “Anyway, I needed to get away from crazy Long Beach, meet a different brand of people. Hey, for all I know, Texas won’t be the be-all and end-all. I may venture over to Georgia or Florida eventually. Just not sure.”

I am amazed that Dani can look so relaxed. It’s like she’s accustomed to potentially explosive situations and is able to just chill out and take it all in stride. And even though one side of me says having this gathering is a good, mature thing to do, my inner she-devil is screaming to emerge.

“Incredible story,” I murmur. “But now that Braxton is in the mix, you probably aren’t gonna be hopping up dashing around here and there, or are you?”

“Oh, I haven’t thought about that. All I know is I do
not
want to go back home. That would be so humiliating. A lot of my cousins have moved out of the house just to come back and split the rent with their mother. We’re talking about thirty- and forty-year-olds. And hey, I’ve had tough times before here in H-town. When I was living close to downtown, my roommate stole my debit card out of my purse and then abandoned me. She left me in a real nice place that I could not even afford, especially after she charged a few expensive items off my account. Some friend, huh? And all I could think of was, Sink or swim, sink or swim. I had to either figure out what to do to survive or hightail it back home to my mama like a failure. I wasn’t about to end up on her doorstep.”

“So I assume you swam and—” Vette asks.

“I treaded water, backstroked, you name it,” Dani explains. “And fortunately, Sharvette, I am still here.”

“And so is Braxton,” I say with a sullen look, and glance under the table.

“Right, so is Brax.” Even though we spoke his name, he didn’t seem to care. All he needs is his bottle. A damn bottle filled with nasty-ass milk. I’m jealous as hell.

“And what about, uh, how can I put this, boyfriends?” Vette says matter-of-factly.

Uh-oh. Here it comes. My sister-in-law has never backed away from speaking her mind.

“Hey, Vette,” Neil scolds, knowing she likes mouthing off. “When Dani wants some shit from you, she’ll squeeze your head. Lighten up.”

“What?” Vette asks, playing innocent. I am energized by Vette’s boldness and want to laugh, but I’m dying to see how Dani handles the inquisition.

“No, Neil, it’s cool.” Dani shrugs. “I’ll answer Sharvetta. I don’t have a boyfriend right now,” she laments, and looks at her plate. “Haven’t been looking. No one has approached me. Haven’t had time to even notice.”

I can’t believe she’s telling us this, and that Vette hasn’t corrected her about mispronouncing her name. But since Dani seems sincere, and I’m confident I have Vette’s support, I sweetly ask, “Dani, do you normally date a lot of men?”

Dani’s face falls and she looks about wildly.

Vette jumps in, “And do you
want
someone to approach you?”

Neil narrows his eyes at his sister.

Dani glances quickly at Neil. “I don’t know. I–I just…Can we talk about something else right now?” She picks up her fork and slides it around on her plate, making a loud scraping noise.

I don’t know how old Danielle is, but after hearing her comments, I figure her to be about the same age as Vette. More innocent and more vulnerable than I first thought, like she’s mature but can crumble under pressure.

“Okay, Ms. Frazier,” Vette says, easing up after seeing Neil’s disapproving look. “What
you
wanna talk about?”

Dani blushes, relieved. “Well…I haven’t noticed a tree. Are you going to put up a Christmas tree?”

I tell her, “We traditionally go and get a tree the day after Thanksgiving—buy new ornaments, garland, throw it all together, light it up that night.”

“That sounds great. I love the magic of Christmas trees, the twinkling lights, presents underneath. Did you know I love decorating, too?” She smiles and lifts her head high. “See that huge gift basket over there? I assemble those all by myself for extra cash. I just love dressing up things, so it would be great to see your tree.”

“Yeah, it would be great, but didn’t you hear my sister-in-law say the tree will be put up
tomorrow
? You’ll be out of here by then.” I guess Vette couldn’t resist one last dig.

Dani looks genuinely surprised by this, then peers at her half-empty plate. I try to put myself in her shoes and realize she’s in my house only because she accepted my invite; I can take the lead here.

“You’ll have to excuse Sharvetta,” I say, and laugh. “Sharvetta is still in training.”

Dani grimaces. “I think we all are.”

Thanksgiving after dinner. With the exception of Dani, who picked at her food, we all go back for seconds and settle into “niggeritis,” a condition that can happen to almost everyone who eats a heavy meal. Eyelids droopy. An automatic “No” to dessert. Vette starts yawning so much she finally tumbles upstairs and says she’ll see us later. The rest of us relocate to the den. Neil slumps in the La-Z-Boy. Dani and I plunk down on the couch in front of the TV, sipping on tiny mugs of hot apple-and-rum cider stirred with cinnamon sticks, and taking turns flipping through channels.

Neil holds Braxton and plays with him for a while, but around five
P.M.
the baby is lying facedown on Neil’s lap. Neil’s leg is gently bobbing up and down. The baby’s eyes struggle to stay open. Both Neil and Braxton fall asleep within minutes.

Dani and I glance at the guys, then at each other, and shake our heads.

“Men,” she mutters, and laughs.

I hop up. “Dani, I’m going to get us something more flavorful to wet our tongues. Be right back.”

I scoot to the kitchen and return holding two ice-cold beer bottles. I hand Dani a bottle.

“Hey now, thanks. Thank you, Anya.” She pops off the top, tilts the bottle, and noisily slurps for a good minute.

“Dani, don’t be shy. If you need to burp, go right ahead.”

She widens her eyes and stifles a laugh. “I’ll have to remember that.”

We fully settle on
My Best Friend’s Wedding.
Midway through the flick, Dani has used the bathroom twice and is now on her fourth beer. I am still taking small sips from my first bottle.

“You know, Anya,” Dani says, her voice slightly slurred, “you not so bad, not like I thought.”

I glance at Neil. He’s quietly snoring. I grab the remote and mute the TV. “What do you mean by that, I’m not so bad?”

“Oh, I dunno,” she says, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess, usually when you think of someone’s wife, you picture some miserable, nitpicking hag, an overweight, evil, nappy-headed, bitchy-acting thing that nobody on earth can stand, but a woman everyone’s used to because she’s been there so long, you know, running the house, buying the groceries, fixing dinner—you know how that can be.”

She takes another long sip and wipes her mouth. I don’t say anything. Dani’s eyes are glassy. She looks very interesting right now.

“But,” she continues, “you’re actually kinda cute, and even nice, in a cautious way. To be honest, I know you’ve been checking me out, putting out feelers, but nothing major, so I’m not offended.” She waves her hand and swallows more beer.

“Okay,” I say, “I think I know what you’re saying. I’m not the ugly-ass bitch you thought I’d be.”

Dani smiles and shakes her head emphatically.

“Well,” I tell her, “wives are wives but they’re women, too. Always women. I may not wear it often, but I still have the sexy lingerie in my drawer, okay?”

“Dig that.” Dani burps and says, “Excuse me.”

“You’re excused. And since you brought up the topic, please don’t let the big thighs fool ya, Dani. Most men prefer women with meat on their bones. They want something they can hold on to. Something that feels good when they wrap their arms around it.”

She stares at her skinny arms, then looks up at me.

“Hey, get up for a sec,” I tell her. She struggles to her feet, trying to balance herself by spreading her legs wide apart.

“You could stand to put on a few pounds, sista,” I say, and walk around her, staring at her perky but sufficient breasts. “I can’t see with that vest on—take it off for a sec.” Dani removes her vest and sets it on the sofa.

“Not bad, not bad,” I tell her. “I can
kinda
see why Neil would want you,” I remark, partly humoring her.

“Hey, Dani. You ever check out that movie
The Fighting Temptations
? It talks about how most black men prefer women with a big ass. I always wondered if you had a fat ass.”

She bursts out laughing, then stops. “I don’t think my ass is big at all. It’s okay, I guess. Not as big as yours.”

I giggle out of shocked admiration. “Yeah, and quiet as it’s kept, Neil likes my fat ass, my big bones, and my bouncy breasts, too.”

She frowns and wrinkles her nose.

Dani may be the other woman with the new baby, but I’m the one who has his last name, the one who wears Neil’s rings. Inherently, I know I have power, and I can’t help but remind Miss Thang what’s rightfully mine.

I smile at Dani and say, “Neil loves sucking things. Did you know that?”

She makes a noise in her throat.

“Is that a yes or a no?” I ask.

Instead of answering, she takes a few backward steps and plops down on the edge of the couch, then clutches her beer and blankly stares into space.

“Anyway, Dani, I adore this movie, don’t you? I love the idea of weddings. So many people are getting divorced, but no matter what they’ve heard about how tough marriage can be, men and women still trying to find someone they can walk with down the aisle.”

I am pacing around the room, my hands clutched behind my back, speaking to Dani but also to myself. My voice is firm, assured. I know exactly what I want to say, and how I want to say it. There’s zero percent alcohol in my system. I have that one beer bottle sitting on the oblong table, but ain’t no beer in there. It’s full of water that I poured inside the bottle from the water dispenser on our fridge. It sure tastes good, too.
Real
good.

“Yep,” I continue, “even though couples run off to Vegas, the Little White Wedding Chapel, and all that jazz, saying your marital vows ain’t nothing to play with. Mmm-hmm. I mean, think about it. You are standing before God declaring what you will and won’t do, to the Creator of the freaking
universe,
you hear what I’m saying?”

Dani lets go of the bottle. It falls to the floor, topples onto its side. Beer spills on my purple-and-tan Oriental rug, soaking it. I don’t even care.

“Eight years ago Neil and I got married in front of one hundred people on July seventh. Lucky seven. Ha!” I say, still pacing.

Dani’s quivering on the couch. Her hands, shoulders, and head wobble like a ceramic bobble-head toy.

“We stood in front of that preacher and all those folks talking about how we’ll stick together, through sickness and health, riches or poverty, forsaking all others, till death us do part.” I flash a look at Dani, eyes blazing into hers. “But that ain’t even the best part, Ms. Danielle Frazier. You want to know what is?”

She shakes her head.

“I think you do. The best damned part of the whole damned ceremony is when the preacher made everybody in that damned church say, ‘What God has joined together let no man put asunder.’”

I walk up to her.

“Stand up.”

She stands and the way she’s trembling, you’d swear she’s at hell’s entrance, the devil waving at her to join him.

“D–do you know what that means?” My voice breaks. I am so close to this woman, my breath humidifies her nose, her cheeks. “What God has joined together, a man and a woman in holy damned matrimony, nobody better not ever,
never,
come between that. That’s what it means. And God is serious, Dani. We may forget our vows and blow them off when things don’t go our way, but he ain’t forget.” I place my finger on her chest, between her breasts, and poke with every few words. “And I don’t want
you
to forget, either. Because even though
you
were not there with
us,
standing in that
church
on July seventh, repeating what that
preacher
told us to say, you’re
still
a part of my
freaking marital vows.
”

“Shit, shit, ahhh shit!” Dani shrieks. Tears flood her cheeks, racing like water squeezed from a rag. “I swear to God, Mrs. Meadows, I swear I won’t—” She bends, clutches her stomach, and groans, a guttural sound that even I feel. I gasp, pull her back up, and hug her so tight our breasts mash together. She’s trembling, hot, shrieking, sobbing hard against me. “I’m sorry, I swear to God. I won’t, I won’t—”

“Shhh.” I wipe my forehead, which is now beaded with sweat, and I think about this young foolish girl who needs to understand where I’m coming from. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Dani. Just do what you know is right.”

I release her, retrieve every beer bottle, and walk away—trembling, panting, and feeling as drained as I’ve ever been in my life.

Last night, as soon as I left Dani, I walked upstairs and went straight to bed, exhausted, headachy, and knocked-the-hell-out. But I set my alarm for six
A.M.
and I wake up before the beep starts beeping. It’s Black Friday. I’m ready to race off to Super Target, the one near Reliant Center, and find my tree, some fabulous decorations, umpteen rolls of cute foil wrapping paper, important stuff like that.