Chapter Eleven
Wendy
"Wow, mama!" Noah gasps as he climbs into my car after school.
"Do you like it?" I ask, turning my head back and forth so he can really see it, the fresh cut light against my shoulders.
Noah nods eagerly. "You look beautiful!"
My heart warms, "Thank you, baby. Close the door, we have to go get your brother, and then I'm dropping you off at Grandmom's."
Noah shuts the door and puts his seatbelt on, and I pull away from the curb to head to the middle school.
I make a quick stop at Noah and Liam's favorite burger place first and Noah cheers in the backseat when he sees, making me smile.
Noah’s snacking on his fries when we walk inside the middle school gym where Liam's team is practicing.
The squeak of basketball sneakers on the gym floor is oddly comforting, and Noah and I walk over to the bleachers to sit and watch the rest of practice.
Even though I'm biased as his mom, thinking both of my children are amazing, I know that Liam’s a good basketball player. Coach Trey tells me that he’s got a real shot at playing in college, especially as he keeps growing taller.
The aforementioned coach waves when he sees me, a smile breaking across his face. Coach Trey, also known as Morris Jefferson III, is the grandson of Morris Jefferson.
From the pictures in Mabel's office, he looks just like his grandfather did at that age—tall, close-cropped black hair, rich medium-brown skin, and big brown eyes that hold genuine warmth.
Taylor always comments on how yummy he is, like Michael B. Jordan, and that if she had the opportunity, she would totally "bounce on it.” To me, he's always just been Liam's favorite basketball coach, someone he looks up to and trusts.
"Hey, Wendy," Trey greets me with a smile. "Nice to see you."
"Good to see you too, Trey," I say, returning the smile easily.
"What's up, little man?" he says, holding his fist out for Noah to fist-bump. My boy does it quite theatrically, complete with an imaginary explosion, which makes Trey laugh.
"How's he doing?" I ask, nodding to where the boys are scrimmaging.
"He's doing great, as always," he says, glancing back at the boys. "We've been working on getting that jump shot off quicker. He's been taking on a more leadership role, and I'm gonna name him captain."
"Really? Oh, that's great," I say, excitement and pride blooming inside my chest.
My eyes immediately find my son posting up, pump faking, and then sinking a fade-away.
Noah and I clap for him, Noah cheering loudly, and it catches his attention. He smiles and waves when he sees us, before jumping right back into the scrimmage, completely focused.
"How are you doing?" Trey asks. "I feel like whenever I see you, it's in passing."
"Oh, I've been doing well," I say honestly. "Working at Mabel's. I see a lot more of your grandfather now."
"Yeah, he told me. I'm glad you're liking it," Trey smiles, gesturing to the seat beside me, silently asking if he can sit and I nod.
Noah is sufficiently distracted in front of me, happily eating, so Trey turns to me and lowers his voice. "I know it's not my place, but is everything alright at home?"
My stomach drops. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, I just... haven't seen Atlas in a while.
My dad says when he comes into the store with Trace, he's... different.
Shorter. Quieter. He asked me if you'd said anything, and I told him I'd ask," he holds his hands up slightly.
"I'm not trying to get in y'all's business. I'm just concerned, because Liam is..."
The grimace on his face makes my stomach twist.
"What?"
"Liam's... angrier lately. More intense.
Not in a bad way, he's not fighting anyone or anything.
He's been channeling it in his game. Which can be good, but.
.. I was just concerned, because when I told him he should practice his jump shot at home with his dad, he said.
.." he sighs deeply. "Well, he said, 'Yeah, and when should I do that? ' It made me a little concerned."
My eyes drop to the gym floor, the words getting lodged in my throat. I know this is only one of many times I'll have to tell people this, and at least it's Trey that's finding out first.
"The boys don't know yet, but Atlas and I are separating."
Trey winces, "I kind of figured, with your new job and the lack of Atlas around. I'm really sorry to hear that, Wendy."
"It's okay," I say, because it is and it isn't, both truths existing at once. "Please don't mention anything to Liam. I'm going to talk to him and his brother this weekend."
"I won't say a word," Trey says instantly, fingers crossed over his chest. "Promise."
"Thank you."
"And if you ever need anything," he adds, voice steady, "you know my family has always got your back."
I smile. "I really appreciate that, Trey."
"You're welcome," he says, then his eyes flick to my hair. "Taylor do your hair?"
I nod.
His smile broadens, something warm and approving there. "It looks real good."
That makes me smile once more, and I nod my thanks. He stands from the bleachers and walks down toward the court, blowing his whistle.
"Alright, guys, good job. Bring it in," he gestures the boys in, and they get in their huddle. "Bears on three, one-two-three—"
"Bears!" the boys shout, Noah joining in from the bleachers with his whole chest, making me smile despite everything.
Liam says something to two of his teammates, and I watch as he confidently gives them pointers. The two boys look up at my son with distinct admiration in their eyes.
My son. The team captain.
This seems like a day of growth for us.
◆◆◆
One hour until Atlas is served the papers.
My hands are clammy, my heart is pounding in my chest, and I try to just focus on breathing.
I've already dropped the boys off at Diane and Emmett's, the latter herding the boys into the living room so they can eat the rest of their food and watch a movie.
Diane wrapped me in a tight hug, complimented my hair, and told me to call immediately if I needed anything.
I drove home slowly, blasting music to distract myself and singing along obnoxiously to the Divorce Era playlist Taylor sent me to cheer me up.
When I get home to the quiet house, I don't do any chores—no laundry, no cleaning, no housework.
I shave my legs, put on a face mask, and use my new fancy body wash, bought with my own money. I do my makeup, restyle my hair, and pull on a black tank top and my good jeans, because this is a funeral of sorts.
I pull on a pair of diamond studs and an older gold nameplate necklace that I haven't worn in so long, glancing at the wedding ring I haven’t worn in a month.
I stare at it for a long moment before I firmly snap my jewelry box closed.
My stomach flips when I notice the time—right about now, a process server should be walking into Atlas' office. I wasn't going to embarrass him and have him served in front of the entire shop, and I know he usually does the end-of-day paperwork around 5, so I told Imani around then.
That's even if he's still there and not off with my nameless, faceless replacement. I know Atlas enough to broadcast what he'll do after he gets served, he'll come right home, storming through the door, and demand—what am I doing?
Why didn't I talk to him first?
Do I not love him anymore?
And I know my answers.
I am taking myself back.
I tried, and I tried, and I tried, and I tried until I finally gave myself mercy.
And I will love Atlas Durant forever. He's my first and only love, the father of my children, that will never go away, but love is not enough to sustain this... marriage.
In the living room, I dim the lights and sink into our comfortable sofa chair. It's like I can feel the energy coursing through me from the untapped anger I've built up over keeping silent this last year.
I've held my tongue, I've accepted being ignored, being neglected, even being yelled at.
But even worse, I've accepted that treatment for my children, and that is my worst crime.
Anger at myself rivals the anger I feel toward Atlas right now, and hell hath no fury like a mother scorned.
As I sit here and wait, I think of my boys' faces.
My Liam, with his father's dark hair and eyes, but with my smile, telling me that he's happy for me.
My sweet baby Noah, my little artist, with his father’s brown eyes and my ginger hair, giggling and telling me that he loves me.
I think of them, and I feel unstoppable.
My heart rate spikes when I finally hear the unmistakable sound of Atlas' truck barreling down our street, coming closer and closer.
I sit there as I hear him park in the garage, his heavy and frantic boot steps stomping in the garage, up the short steps, and through the door.
"Wendy!"
His roar echoes in the house, bouncing off all of the walls and reverberating right into my soul, but I don't make a sound. I just wait. He stomps past the living room, stops, before circling back.
"Baby," he growls, stopping short when he sees me and his eyes take me in from head to toe. Mine do the same to him.
His eyes are wild, his hair is a mess, he's still in his oil stained overalls, and the papers are clutched and wrinkled in his hand. He lifts them up,"What is this?!"
I stare at him for a long moment, letting the moment grow heavy and charged, watching him practically vibrate in his spot.
"Guess I finally have your attention," I gesture to the chair across from me, and I meet Atlas' dark, blazing eyes.
I hate confrontation, but I need to do this.
I know my own eyes are pure ice right now, and through gritted teeth, I snarl:
"Sit. I have a lot to say, Atlas, and you're going to listen."