Chapter 48
“Was that message a joke?” It was Jay.
I sped toward the bus stop, keyed up. “Why would it be a joke?”
He sounded out of breath. “It’s not like you ever gave me an answer so I assumed we were still on a break. Is that… is that not reasonable?”
“It’s not about being unreasonable. It’s like, you want to be open when it works for you, but as soon as it doesn’t, you want to be monogamous.”
“Is that what you think?”
“Is that not true?”
“No, it’s not.”
“But do you see how that picture might be upsetting?”
He paused. “Okay. But we’re on a break. Why would I stop my life when you haven’t even given me an answer?”
“You’re talking about your life like I’m not also a part of it.”
“That’s what you do to me.”
I paced the bus stop like a rabid animal. “How?”
“Has this whole journey with nonmonogamy not been about you? Which I get, I do, but where was I even supposed to fit into that?” he cried. “Tell me where I fit into that.”
I pictured him in mesh basketball shorts with the name of his high school, standing over a pot of angel hair or falling asleep on his sofa, his lesson plan binder on his face, or climbing carefully onto his table to water a plant.
All these versions of him I could conjure with ease because I’d seen them all.
The bus edged up to the stop. I filed onto it. “We were supposed to be doing it together.”
“I was going to lose you if I didn’t say yes. How is that doing it together?”
“And now what are you doing to me?! You want me to say yes, or it’s over.” A guy in front of me angled around. I hated how thin and high my voice sounded.
Jay said gently, “You have a choice, you always have a choice.”
“The choice between who I am and who I love is not a choice I want to make.”
“Well…” He paused for so long I thought the call had dropped. “If it’s that core to who you are, maybe that’s what you need to choose.”
It felt like someone drove their fist into my jaw. “That’s it?”
“I just meant—”
“I guess this break is working out for you then.”
“I—”
I hung up. I’d never hung up on him like that, always seen it as a childish response, a cut below walking out of the room when someone was speaking to you.
And doing it then was no less painful than I expected, like I’d snatched the words straight out of his mouth; it felt violent, and my throat hurt thinking about it, his startled, confused face looking at his screen.
But when neither of us called the other back, I knew we’d crossed into new, ugly territory.
My aunt was standing in the living room window when I walked up to my house, her eyes tracking me like those terrifying cat clocks with ticking tails.
Even though it was a cool March afternoon, I was sweat-soaked, tormented over whether to text Jay, apologize.
Beg even. But for what? He made his stance clear.
It was me who was either coming over to his side or not.
I decided not to text him even though the silence strangled me.
The door opened as I made my way up the porch steps. “Welcome home, sweetpea.” Aunt Lisa turned on her heel, gliding down the dark hallway. I was starting to think she had killed my parents, but then I walked into the kitchen and found them arguing about the Democrats.
“They just need to do their damn jobs. Y’all messed this up, now y’all fix it.”
My mom was shaking her head. “What do you expect them to do?”
“Something! Anything!”
I noticed a king cake on the table, purple, green sugar, drizzled with cream. Aunt Lisa passed me a slice. “So what’s going on with the job search, Joel?”
He picked through his cake but didn’t eat it. “I’m looking.”
“How about unemployment benefits? That’s the least you could do.”
His head snapped up. “Don’t you know it’s all backed up in this city ’cause of the firings?”
“Well, Dori says you’re not trying hard enough. Who’s lying?”
“Don’t start,” my mom said.
The two of them stared at each other. Auntie Lisa blinked slowly as if insulted but demonstrating restraint, then turned to me. “You’ve gotten so big, look at you, looking just like your mama.”
I didn’t know what to say so I said, “Thanks, I guess.”
“When’re you leaving, Lisa?” my dad asked.
My mom said, “Joel,” then stood to rinse off her plate.
She took my father’s too, scraping his half-eaten cake into the garbage disposal.
Briefly, she turned and stared at me, shaking her head before returning her attention to the dishes.
This wasn’t any different from how she’d expressed disappointment in me before, but that day it pissed me off.
“Why do you keep shaking your head? Just say what you have to say.”
“I already said what I have to say.” I thought that was going to be it, but after a pause, she said, “I just don’t understand why you would mess up a good relationship over something silly.”
“I know you don’t understand.”
Her voice softened. “Baby, it’s normal to want to explore. But at some point, you’ve got to commit.”
“I can commit and explore.”
She laughed curtly. “You’re too young to understand anything.”
This incensed me. Maybe I was young and didn’t understand, but I knew things about myself she could never know. “Aren’t you exploring?”
She didn’t flinch like I’d hoped. “I don’t know what that’s meant to mean.”
“Who’s Sam then?”
There was a slight pause, a stutter, before she reached for a dishrag to dry a plate. My aunt reached over to touch my hand, a warning. I yanked it back.
“You need to let that go,” my mom said.
“Why? Because you’re having an affair?”
My mom crashed the plate into the sink. “Do you know what the fuck is going on in this city right now? In this country? Every day it’s something new, some new bullshit.
I’m at work terrified the whole time that I’m gonna be fired—I can’t even do my job.
But I have to. Why? Your dad doesn’t have a job.
Are you gonna step in? I’m over here trying to figure out what we’re going to do if there’s a recession and you’re asking me about some stupid man. ”
It was skewering, the shame I felt then. But there was something off still, like what she was saying was true but not the truth. My dad must’ve sensed this too because he watched her silently, more alert than I’d seen him in months. Years.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
But it was my dad who spoke next: “Who the hell is Sam?”
My mom opened her mouth, then closed it. Turning away from us, she leaned slightly over the sink, the wisps at the nape of her neck trembling with the rest of her.
My dad rose abruptly, storming into the hallway. I looked at my mom, rattled, but she was frowning at the broken plate in the sink like everything was the plate’s fault. My aunt rushed over, grabbing her by the shoulders to steady her. I longed to go back in time and say nothing.
When my mom finally met my eyes, about to speak, footsteps thudded above. After a tense pause, my dad came barreling down the stairs with the gun.