Chapter 2
AUSTIN
—Wish I Had The Why
by Shelley Fraley
I am going to die.
And I’m not even being overdramatic—no matter how many times people have told me I am.
This is real. I’m pretty sure this is how it ends for me.
I can’t believe Sandra opened her big mouth and told her husband we fucked.
Okay, her mouth isn’t big. It’s actually kind of cute, which makes this worse somehow, because how can something that cute lie without remorse?
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m fully supportive of their sex positivity and their open marriage. Good for them. Love that for them. But why mention my name when I didn’t do anything with her?
And now her husband probably hates me. He might even punch me without knowing he’s reacting based on bad information.
Oh God, I’m going to be stuck with him all summer, playing for Nigeria in the World Cup.
Yeah, I know he’ll be at goalpost, but how am I supposed to play on the same field as him when I have to keep watching my back?
“Why did you have to give him my name though?” I squeak out. “And why would it even matter who you slept with when you’re in an open marriage? You could’ve hypothetically slept with anyone, that’s the point of an open marriage!”
I had laughed when Sandra rushed into my house earlier, tossing over her shoulder that she had told her husband we had sex.
I fully believed she was joking; I still kind of think she is.
Or maybe I want it to be a joke because the alternative is unacceptable.
I would have to leave Lagos, to disappear from Nigeria as a whole, and hope our teams don’t meet in the premier league.
The water running behind the bathroom door stops and I barely have time to brace myself before the door opens and Sandra steps out. Any hope I have that she’s kidding flies out the window when I see her face looking pale and the tightness around her mouth.
She really did tell Johnson we slept together. And I might actually be in trouble.
“What happened?” I ask, peering into her eyes, which are red rimmed and glassy.
She doesn’t answer. She heads straight for the living room, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and sniffing like she’s trying very hard not to cry again. I pad after her, barefoot on the cool tile, my mind already sprinting ahead of me.
Did Johnson do something to her? He’s not exactly scary, but people can surprise you. And if he were secretly the possessive type, then his wife sleeping with her best friend could make him violent. Open marriage be damned.
“I was just so frustrated with him, okay?” She huffs. “I just blurted it out, to test his reaction. And like I expected, it didn’t do anything. He even said he understands. I just—” she breaks off and sighs. “I’m divorcing him,” she adds after a few seconds of silence.
I’ve been told I have the emotional bandwidth of a wet towel, but even I know this isn’t the moment to say something stupid like are you sure or wow that escalated quickly. Sandra sinks into the couch, shoulders slumping, and I cross the room in two steps.
“Come here.” I tug her towards me.
She folds into my chest as I wrap my arms around her. Her hair smells like her shampoo, something clean and floral. She exhales, long and shaky, and I feel it soak straight into my shirt. We stay like that for a while.
Eventually, she lifts her head and looks at me, eyes still wet. “I’m sorry I involved you.”
“He’s so going to kill me.” I squeak out again.
It’s not intentional. The high-pitched, wounded sound just escapes me. It has no business coming from a grown man, and if any of my teammates could hear me right now, I would never hear the end of it.
She gives a small, tired shake of her head. “He won’t. I just got so tired of always being the one holding the marriage together.” Her body sags against mine again. “I was really angry with him.” she continues, “So I said the first thing that came to my mind.”
“But we—” My voice cracks. I stop and clear my throat. “Telling your husband you slept with someone else is a big deal. Especially if you gave him a name.”
“It’s not a big deal.” Sandra rolls her eyes and sighs like I’m being unreasonable. “I just wanted to leave with a clear conscience.”
Clear conscience.
I turn that over in my head, trying to make them fit and make sense. Clear conscience suggests guilt. Guilt suggests rules were broken. My stomach tightens as the pieces start clicking together in a way I don’t like. Does she even have an open marriage?
“Sandra,” I say slowly. “What are you not telling me?”
She winces just a little, it’s barely there. Anyone else might miss it, but not me.
I straighten and gently hold her at arm’s length, so she isn’t leaning on me anymore. “You don’t have an open marriage. You,” I say, pointing at her, “You’ve really been cheating on him?”
I drop my hand and stare at the side of her face, my chest going tight in that slow, creeping way that means I’m about to be very annoyed.
“This is really fucked up,” I say, mostly to the floor. “You fucked up.”
Sandra has stopped sniffling. She’s watching me with that same look she’s had since we were kids. The one she used to give me when she caught me staring a second too long at my shirtless teammates on game day.
“You’re even angrier on his behalf. Did you not hear what I said? He doesn’t care.”
“You shouldn’t have mentioned my name to him, regardless!” I snap, throwing my hands up. “Do you even know who Roland Johnson is? He can make my life hell if he wants to!”
She scoffs. “Please.”
I run a hand through my afro. “I cannot believe you would lie to him about something like this—and do so without giving me a heads up.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. You don’t cross a man like that and walk away fine. Jesus Christ, Johnson could actually tell Coach to drop me from the team, and no one would question it.
Sandra sighs and sinks into the cushions. She smooths her shirt and crosses her legs, suddenly calm and put together. I hate her a little right now. Possibly a lot.
“He’s not going to tattle to the team,” she says calmly. “You know he’s not like that. Also, it’s not true.”
“That’s not the point,” I say, my voice climbing even though I try to keep it steady. “The point is he thinks I helped you cheat on him. On Roland Johnson.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “You make it sound like he’s a god.”
A hysterical laugh bursts out of me. To me, he is more than a god.
But that’s the part I never say. Not to Sandra. Not to anyone. I barely let myself think it, because it opens a door I’m not ready to walk through.