Chapter 20
Courtney
This looks delicious. I’m starving.”
“Did you not have breakfast?”
Sasha took the seat across from me at the large table we rarely actually used, instead choosing to take most of our meals
at the island.
“I did. Grabbed a banana before checkout, but had more when I met up with Shae at Flying Biscuit before we went to get a workout
in.”
Sasha didn’t say anything. Instead, she focused on mixing her steak in before taking a bite.
“What?”
“What do you mean?”
“That was definitely a look you just gave me.”
Sasha sliced into a sliver of steak, loading up her fork with a little bit of everything from the salad. She shoved the bite
into her mouth and chewed, then she picked up her glass of lemonade to rinse it down before she spoke again.
“I’m tryin’ here, Court. I really am. I’m tryin’, but you took off without sayin’ anythin’.
And I understand, I do . . . well, I think I understand why.
But it does hurt to know you got back in town, didn’t call.
Didn’t come home. And your friends have seen you before I have.
With everythin’ else, it puts me in my feelin’s just a lil’ bit. ”
I took my own bite of lunch as her words turned over in my head. “The phone works both ways, Sasha.”
Sasha pressed her lips together as she stared into her bowl. She lifted her gaze back to meet mine. “You’re right.”
I waited to see if she’d say more. When she didn’t, I addressed her statement. “Yeah, I did everything you said I did. I told
you I needed time. I needed to think. Needed to figure some things out.”
She took in a slow breath then let it out. “I’m happy you’re home. I really am. And I mean everything I said about apologizin’
and wishin’ I had handled things better. And about not wantin’ to lose you. I really, really do. I know I fucked up. I admit
that, and I get why you’d want to punish me for that.”
“This isn’t about punishing you, Sash, not at all. It’s the exact opposite.” I paused and took a breath. If I wanted a change,
I had to see things through and stop bending for the misguided sake of peace, which was only an illusion at best. “I wasn’t
punishing you, Sasha. I was giving you the opportunity to make the first move.”
She started to speak, then stopped. “So, a test,” she finally said quietly.
I shook my head. “Not at all. There have been issues with us, and I don’t know . . .” I held up my wrist to look at my cast.
“It’s easy to ignore things when I’m not home, but being forced to stay put, I guess it highlighted all the things I wanted
to pretend weren’t a big deal. Like me always being the one to apologize or doing what’s needed to smooth things over between
us. I realized when things are broken, there can’t be only one person doing the fixing.”
She picked up her glass of lemonade and then set it down. “I need somethin’ stronger. I know you think I drink too much, and that that’s one of the reasons I’m gonna make a bad mother.”
I placed down my fork and knife and ran my hands over my face. “That was a shitty thing for me to say.”
She pushed back from the table and strolled over to the wine fridge, searching through until she came back with a bottle,
an opener, and two glasses. “Yeah, it was.” She opened the Pinot Noir, poured a generous amount, then took a long sip before
she filled the second glass and slid it over to me.
I didn’t really want it, but took it all the same. “I’m not tryna fight. That’s not what I want this conversation to be. Honest.
I think we’ve spent a lot of time talking at each other instead of to each other.”
“You did do a lot of thinkin’, huh.”
I shrugged.
Sasha loaded up her fork and took another bite, washing it down with another sip of wine. “I don’t wanna fight either, and
I’m just happy you at least wanna have a conversation.”
I laughed quietly and went back to eating. It was another slight dig, but fair. “Look, do I think your drinking gets a little
carried away sometimes?” I wiggled my fingers in the cast. “Yes. But what I said . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so . . .
I’ve seen you with your lil’ cousins, how you treat them, being present and attentive. Implying you’d be any less if we were
to have a child was fucked up of me.”
She pulled the corner of her lip between her teeth, then let out a sigh. “Thank you for apologizin’. And I mean, considerin’
my behavior lately, I could see why you would have that . . . worry.”
I wiped my mouth before taking a sip of the wine she’d served me.
“Let’s talk about it,” I said, pushing my bowl forward then crossing my arms on the table.
“Keepin’ it a hundred, the amount you drink does concern me at times.
I’m all for having a good time, and this isn’t me judging, but, baby, it feels out of hand sometimes. ”
Sasha started to pick up her wine, then dropped her hands into her lap instead. “I know, but . . . but it just helps me numb
the loneliness. I get upset, Court. I get jealous and frustrated, and if I’m havin’ a drink I can focus on that, on the party
and not everythang else. On being left behind.” She kept her gaze down as she spoke.
I leaned back in my chair and took in my wife. This was a new side of her. Reserved was never a word I’d associated with Sasha, yet the uncharacteristic behavior she was displaying was just that—reserved.
Or self-aware.
Even her earlier tears weren’t something I was accustomed to seeing. Sasha got angry, defensive, gave me attitude. Sasha didn’t
give me vulnerability, at least never like this.
“Sasha, baby, you knew traveling was part of my job.”
She lifted her attention to me. “But you took me. In the beginnin’, Courtney, you wanted me around. I flew to the away games.
You wanted me around!” Her voice cracked and it squeezed my heart. “Ever’body always too busy for me. My folks. You. Always
got somethin’ more important to do.”
We were headed down a familiar path. I took a moment before responding because I didn’t want us to end up talking in circles
like we often did. I started to retort, but paused, remembering her saying something about me being like her parents on Thanksgiving.
“What do your folks have to do with anything?”
I didn’t mind my mother-in-law so much. But her father .
. . the few times I was around him, the air of disapproval was strong.
Sasha always wrote it off as him having the “no one is good enough for his little girl” mentality, but it was something more, though neither of them ever came right out and said anything.
However, the bull he’d tried to start at dinner gave me some clue.
And at least they made some sort of effort to get to know me. The same couldn’t be said for my own parents. I couldn’t even
be sure if they knew I was married.
Sasha finished off her wine then promptly refilled her glass. She took another long sip and I held my tongue. I was here,
there was no loneliness, yet she was drinking as if there were something else to numb.
“I didn’t stay with Big Mama because it’s what I wanted. I mean, I did, I love my grandmother, but . . . I wanted to be with
my Momma and Daddy. But it was no place for a child. Or I was too rambunctious. Or whatever countless other excuses they told
me as they dumped me.” Her voice cracked and some things started to click.
She’d told me she spent a lot of time with her grandmother because her parents traveled and went to boring meetings for his
aspiring—though low-level—political career, and as a kid it was no fun. Learning that wasn’t actually the case only served
to highlight my thoughts and what I’d discussed with Shae and Doc. Sasha swirled the red liquid around in her glass before
downing the rest. I grabbed the bottle before she could, which resulted in her narrowing her eyes at me and flopping back
in her chair.
I pushed back from the table, pausing to reach for her hand as I passed by her. She flicked her gaze up at me, but slid her
warm hand into mine, following with no resistance as I led us to the couch. Vuitton looked up as if we were disturbing his
peace when we sat. He truly had too much attitude for someone who paid no bills and had his every need catered to by the humans
he was currently side-eyeing.
I kept our fingers intertwined while stroking her palm with my thumb.
“First, I’m not your parents. I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me if I didn’t want you around.
Second, the things I have to do are so that I can take care of you.
That is my top priority. Always has been.
You like stuff, Sash. You always have. When I met you, you had a certain lifestyle and it’s been on me to maintain that. ”
She rolled her eyes. “I know you’re not my parents, but . . . but it all feels the same. And I know you didn’t know because—”
She simply shrugged. “And yes, I like things. Always have. It’s how they showed affection. It’s how I learned to make myself
feel better. So, when you’re not here—I know you have to travel, but again, I get lonely, and pretty things, like the drinkin’,
make me feel better.”
So many things rolled through my head, and once again I held back my first response which, sadly, would be to dismiss her
admission even though I fed into the problem. Things. Giving her and Mya things was how I provided. To make sure neither went
without, fueled by all the letdowns from my own parents because they were too wrapped up in each other. Missed field trips
or registration fees. I’d learned early not to get my hopes up, but I’d been working since Mya’s first letdown experience
and hadn’t stopped.
“And I want you to have all the pretty things. That’s what I work—”
Sasha put her hands on either side of my face, interrupting me. “Gotdamnit, Courtney, you are more than a fuckin’ paycheck
to me. I know. I know how I’ve been, but I’ve also said plenty of times that I wanted you. Just you.” She held me there, staring
at me.
I wrapped my fingers around her wrists. “I know you have.” It was a sticking point in many of our fights, her wanting me home
more.