Chapter 18 Ace
Ace
I’m so glad Veronica left for the day.
Now, I can actually focus. And I get so much shit done after she left.
Now, I get to go home to my sexy ass wife. I get to eat dinner, then I get to fuck her brains out.
It’s the life I’ve always wanted.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s my dad.
I hit ignore, but he calls right back, and now I’m nervous that something’s wrong. He wouldn’t call back to back like that. The man is way too cool for that, even with his own damn kids.
“What’s wrong, Pop?” I answer.
He’s quiet for a minute, which sends my heart rate ratcheting through the roof.
“Dad?”
“I’m outside.”
I frown at that. “Outside, where?”
“I’m here. At the work site, man. Come to the car. We need to talk.”
“It’s cold,” I say. “Come inside my trailer. There’s heat in here.”
There’s a pause, then he says, “I’m on my way.”
Fuck.
I think somebody died.
Maybe not somebody close to him, because he doesn’t sound torn up, but definitely somebody close to me.
I pace for a good thirty seconds before the door opens and my father walks in, his jaw tight, his posture rigid.
“What happened?”
He points to my desk. “Have a seat.”
I exhale sharply as I round my desk and sink onto my chair, hoping he gets to it quick so I can stop anticipating the worst.
He takes the seat on the other side, then pulls out his phone.
“What is it?” I demand, my voice a little higher than I want it to be.
He shakes his head slowly. “I’ve tried my best to move past this, man. For your sake. For the family’s sake.”
“Past what?”
He looks me dead in my eye. “Your wife.”
I sit back in my chair, my blood running cold. “What about her?”
“I didn’t even wanna say anything. The whole way over here, I was trying to rationalize this shit. Weighing the pros and cons.”
“Of what?” I’m damn near begging at this point.
He raises his phone and turns the screen toward me. “She sent me this.”
What the fuck?
I recognize it immediately, but I wish I didn’t. I wish a whole lotta shit right now, but all I can manage to say over the voices in my head is, “When?”
“An hour or so ago.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
He puts the phone on the desk and slides it over to me. “You’ll notice there was no communication between us prior to this. I have no idea why she did it. I don’t know what was going through that crazy ass head of hers.”
“Aye, chill with that.”
“Quit defending her,” he spits. “Ain’t she done enough at this point? How the fuck can you still have any loyalty to a woman like that?”
I hate the fact that he’s right.
I flip his phone face down, then put my elbows on the desk and lean forward as my head drops. I can’t even look at it.
“I didn’t tell your mother,” he says, his voice softer now. Sympathetic, almost. Sympathy for his pathetic, punk bitch of a son.
I can only imagine how disappointed he is.
“Nobody knows but you, and it’s gonna stay that way. But son…” he trails off, and I nod, because I already know.
He scoots his chair up, getting closer. “Look at me,” he says, and the little boy inside of me submits to his authority without hesitation.
“I taught you how to fight,” he begins. “I taught you how to defend yourself and not let a nigga land a punch on you.”
I nod again.
“But I never taught you how to protect yourself from women. I didn’t know I needed to, I suppose.” He blows out a sigh. “And, frankly, you’re dealing with somebody that don’t fight fair. You know what I mean? That woman is a fuckin’….emotional sniper. Nobody could’ve seen this shit coming.”
That’s not entirely true, but I can’t bring myself to correct him.
“I think I know what you’re doing,” he continues.
“You think if you love her enough, if you’re patient enough, she’ll become the version of her that you hoped you were marrying.
But son, she ain’t, and that’s not good for you.
That shit ain’t healthy. You think you’re in a marriage right now, but you’re not. You’re a hostage.”
“Alright, now you’re taking it a little—“
“Too far? Look, it’s okay. We all been pussy-whipped before. You’re human.”
I sit back, shaking my head even though I know it’s true.
“Alright, you can’t admit it. Fine. But between us, man to man, father to son,” he says, leaning closer. “Ain’t no pussy in the world worth your dignity.”
I blow out a sigh and close my eyes, feeling his words wash over me like a tsunami.
“I got a friend. You might remember Jason. He’s an attorney.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute.” I open my eyes and force out a chuckle. “You movin’ too fast for me, Pop. Just…let me get my head around this.”
“What’s there to think about? It ain’t even been a year. Shit, you might could get this shit annulled if you want to. I can ask him.”
“I thought Jason did criminal law.”
“He does. Which, I mean…” he gestures at his phone. “This some criminal shit here, ain’t it?”
Part of me wants to ask him if he watched it. If he clicked off as soon as he realized or if he watched the whole thing. If he enjoyed watching my wife. If he pretended it was him in that video instead of me.
Because that’s how niggas are. Our homeboys. Even our fathers. Especially our cousins and uncles. The irony in all of this is that Raya knows that better than anybody. She’s up on the true nature of men, and we can’t blame nobody but ourselves.
When your old ass uncles grin at your girl and say I see you, nephew, what they’re really doing is giving you props for bagging a woman that’s fuckable, a woman they would fuck if they could.
And then they picture it, putting themselves in your place.
Just for a minute or two. Just enough to get a thrill. And it’s disgusting.
And we all do it.
So yeah, my father probably did enjoy it. Even just the thumbnail.
But I don’t wanna think about that.
“Listen…I apologize for this.”
He shoots me another sympathetic look. “It’s not your fault.”
“Nah, but I take responsibility. And I’ma handle it.”
His eyes narrow. “What are you gonna do?”
“I said I’ma handle it.”
He takes this well, almost looking proud as his eyes drift past me to the wall behind me. He won’t say it out loud, but I know he’s impressed by the charts and plans. Whatever else I fucked up in my life, my professional achievements are undeniable.
“I was just packing up to leave,” I say. “If you wanna hang around, we can walk out together.”
“Cool. Mind if I look at your drawings?”
I chuckle at that. “Have at it.”
I take my time getting my shit so he can get a better look. He makes his way from one end of the trailer to the other while I pack and repack and pretend to pack. I wish men weren’t so fucking afraid to talk to each other, because I know there’s some interesting thoughts in that bald head.
But we’re silent.
We hug in the parking lot, and then I’m headed home. Now that I’m alone, I feel more centered. There’s no judgment in here, no worrying about how to react. It’s just me in this motherfucker, and it all comes tumbling out.
“Fuck you,” I mumble. “Shoulda never married your crazy ass.”
I turn the stereo down and listen to the wind rushing by.
The near-silence is loud. So loud, it leads me to a very important realization.
She’ll never change.
Pop was right. I’ve been trying to love her through it, but this is who she is and who she’ll always be. And the worst part is, I knew the truth and fucking chose this shit.
I told my pops I’d handle it, and I will, but I need a strategy. Mrs. Raya Taylor will not go gentle into that good night, that’s for damn sure.
When I pull into the garage, I don't smile at the sight of her car. Just that quick, the marital bliss I thought I found is gone.
I'm cautious when I walk in. She's at the stove like she normally is, but I barely see her.
“Hey.”
She turns around, her face stony and tight. “Hey.”
“What you makin’?”
She blinks slowly. “Chili.”
I nod. “I’ma shower and then I wanna talk.”
“Good, because I wanna talk to you, too.”
At that, I turn and walk away, puzzled by her mood. She seems pissed, but that doesn’t make any sense. She’s the one who fucked up.
I shower quick, and by the time I’m done, the table is set. A big pot of chili, a bowl of salad, crackers, and our dishes and silverware are laid out before me.
I swear to God, I don’t even wanna eat tonight. My appetite is fucked, so there’s that, but then there’s the nagging thought in the back of my head that wonders if she did something to the food.
“Ladies first,” I say as I sit.
She grabs the ladle and gives herself three dips full. She won’t eat until I do, so I go ahead and grab mine, too. Then we both lift our spoons at the same time, but I wait for her to eat the first bite. She does without hesitation, so I feel safe to dig in.
She’s crazy enough to eat her own poisoned food, but I’m probably tripping.
It’s quieter in here than it’s ever been. We’re both off tonight.
“How was your day?” I ask, looking at her face for a sign.
She gives me nothing.
“Good,” she responds. “Had lunch with Tiffany and her friend.”
“How’d that go?”
She shrugs. “They’re cool.” She sets her spoon down and stares at me. “How was your day?”
“It was aight.” I take a sip of my water. “Chili’s good.”
“Thanks.”
Yeah, something ain’t right here.
After dinner, we both go through the motions of our nighttime routine. Once we’re in the bed, she’s still on her side and I’m restless on mine. But we don’t touch.
I fall asleep thinking about what life will be like without her in it.
By the time I wake up in the morning, I know what I have to do.
And what I have to do is at the Bank of America in downtown Decatur.