“Later, honey,” I said to Joel, turning to the backseat.
“Later, Tess, thanks for the pecan pie and the pumpkin pie and the cheesecake I ate during football,” Rex shared his gratitude.
I smiled at him.
“I was in the mood for cake, so thanks for the three pieces I ate,” Joel put in so I smiled at him.
“Anytime, baby,” I said softly. “See you guys later.”
They waved and got out.
“I’ll be back, babe,” Brock muttered, waited for me to look at him and nod and he got out and followed his boys.
I watched.
Olivia met him on the front step.
I kept watching.
Joel and Rex gave their Dad hugs and disappeared inside. Olivia didn’t look once at the car as she engaged Brock in conversation. Brock started to look my way but didn’t get his head fully turned when her hand came up and curled around his bicep and she stepped in closer so his head turned back to her.
I stopped watching.
I was staring out the side window when I heard him get in, put the idling car in gear and reverse out of the drive and I kept staring out the side window as he pointed us home.
About ten seconds later, his fingers curled around mine, pulled them to his thigh and he asked quietly, “You okay?”
“Just tired,” I lied. “Too much food.”
“Right,” he muttered, giving my hand a squeeze and saying no more but not letting my hand go.
He took us to my house, we both got out, walked up, I let us in and I shrugged off my coat and took it to the hall closet. Brock shrugged off his and threw it on the sofa.
He went to the fridge for beer.
I went to the island and looked at him.
“If you’ve got football to watch,” I said, he turned from the fridge and his eyes came to me, “go ahead. I’m going to read up here for awhile.”
He stood in the opened fridge door and held my eyes.
And I knew why he did this.
Unless he was with his boys, we spent every night together and we woke up next to each other every morning.
And when we were together, we were together, watching TV, a movie, if he was watching a game. We were up together and when we went to bed, we went to bed together.
He did not go downstairs and watch a game while I stayed upstairs to read.
Perhaps, in future, this might change but now, I liked it like this. I liked being with him.
He was attentive, touchy, we cuddled or were close and it felt good.
And the fact Brock was attentive, touchy and we cuddled meant he liked it too.
And, clearly, from what would happen next, Brock was not ready for us to move on to a different kind of relationship.
I knew this when he closed the fridge and walked around the island. Then he came to me, grabbed my hand, pulled me into the living room, sat on the couch and pulled me to sitting astride his lap.
Once he had me in position and his hands settled on my hips, he said, “All right, babe, what’s up?”
“Nothing, I –” I started to lie, his fingers dug into my h*ps and he interrupted me.
“I got a new job, a new house, new f**kin’ furniture and a new woman in my life. That woman comes with a motherfucker of an ex who’s poising to strike, I know it in my gut and I gotta be prepared. My Dad’s sick, he may be dyin’ and my family’s f**ked up about it.
Somethin’ is goin’ on with my boys and I gotta look into that. And today, my bitch of an ex-wife shows up on Thanksgiving to inform me her husband is steppin’ out on her, she doesn’t care and she knew it was a mistake before she signed the marriage certificate. She went on to say she f**ked up with him and with me, she sees this clear now, feels that time is of the essence considering our boys are growing up without a stable family unit, so, upon a great deal of reflection, her f**kin’ words, regardless of the holiday, she felt it prudent she didn’t delay in informing me she wants me and our family back. With all that, you gotta see I do not have it in me to play guessing games. All I got left in me for today is to have a beer with my woman, watch a game, take her to bed, let her f**k me sweet like she always f**ks me then go to sleep.”
I stared down at him thinking there was a lot there, a lot, a lot, but I honed in on one thing.
So I asked, “She told you she wants you back?”
“Yeah, if you can believe that shit.”
I kept staring down at him.
Then I stated, not a question this time but still a question, “She told you she wants you back.”
His fingers dug in again and he said, “Yeah.”
“She walked up to your mother’s house on Thanksgiving and told you she wanted you back,” I, yet again but with some added detail, stated.
Brock didn’t reply. He just watched me closely.
“I don’t know what to say,” I told him and I didn’t. I buried my head in the sand, sure, but I knew people did crazy shit, case in point my own husband raping me but that, that was insane.
“Nothin’ to say,” he told me.
“Do you want her back?” I asked and he did a slow blink.
Then he asked, “Come again?”
“Do you want her back?” I repeated.
“Do I want her back?”
“Yeah, do you want her back?”
His brows drew together and his fingers dug into my h*ps again before he asked, “Have you lost your mind?”
“No,” I replied. “She’s beautiful. She’s the mother of your children. And you loved her once enough to marry her. I saw you outside holding her in your arms and I saw you when you got back into the house after that scene and you looked conflicted. Not annoyed, not angry, not frustrated, conflicted. So no, Brock, I haven’t lost my mind.”
His mouth got tight then he said low, “Babe, I was holding her in my arms ‘cause when the mother of your sons cries crocodile tears, your best play is to give her that play then, soon as you can, walk away. That’s what I did. And when confronted, again, with the knowledge that my boys got a Mom like the Mom they got, in other words, she’s the kind of woman who would walk into my house, see another woman in my kitchen and lose her mind when she sees someone playin’ with what she considers her toy and scheme in preparation for makin’ a play in my mother’s motherfuckin’ front yard on motherfuckin’ Thanksgiving, that is gonna make me conflicted. And I’m conflicted because this means, with all that other shit I just laid out for you, I gotta look into attorneys and whatever else I gotta do to make certain my boys don’t spend the vast majority of their time suckin’ up whatever acid she leaks not to mention whatever-the-fuck her man is like, steppin’ out on their Mom, if that’s even true, or anything else, and at least try to give them somethin’ good for more than four f**kin’ days a month.
“Later, Tess, thanks for the pecan pie and the pumpkin pie and the cheesecake I ate during football,” Rex shared his gratitude.
I smiled at him.
“I was in the mood for cake, so thanks for the three pieces I ate,” Joel put in so I smiled at him.
“Anytime, baby,” I said softly. “See you guys later.”
They waved and got out.
“I’ll be back, babe,” Brock muttered, waited for me to look at him and nod and he got out and followed his boys.
I watched.
Olivia met him on the front step.
I kept watching.
Joel and Rex gave their Dad hugs and disappeared inside. Olivia didn’t look once at the car as she engaged Brock in conversation. Brock started to look my way but didn’t get his head fully turned when her hand came up and curled around his bicep and she stepped in closer so his head turned back to her.
I stopped watching.
I was staring out the side window when I heard him get in, put the idling car in gear and reverse out of the drive and I kept staring out the side window as he pointed us home.
About ten seconds later, his fingers curled around mine, pulled them to his thigh and he asked quietly, “You okay?”
“Just tired,” I lied. “Too much food.”
“Right,” he muttered, giving my hand a squeeze and saying no more but not letting my hand go.
He took us to my house, we both got out, walked up, I let us in and I shrugged off my coat and took it to the hall closet. Brock shrugged off his and threw it on the sofa.
He went to the fridge for beer.
I went to the island and looked at him.
“If you’ve got football to watch,” I said, he turned from the fridge and his eyes came to me, “go ahead. I’m going to read up here for awhile.”
He stood in the opened fridge door and held my eyes.
And I knew why he did this.
Unless he was with his boys, we spent every night together and we woke up next to each other every morning.
And when we were together, we were together, watching TV, a movie, if he was watching a game. We were up together and when we went to bed, we went to bed together.
He did not go downstairs and watch a game while I stayed upstairs to read.
Perhaps, in future, this might change but now, I liked it like this. I liked being with him.
He was attentive, touchy, we cuddled or were close and it felt good.
And the fact Brock was attentive, touchy and we cuddled meant he liked it too.
And, clearly, from what would happen next, Brock was not ready for us to move on to a different kind of relationship.
I knew this when he closed the fridge and walked around the island. Then he came to me, grabbed my hand, pulled me into the living room, sat on the couch and pulled me to sitting astride his lap.
Once he had me in position and his hands settled on my hips, he said, “All right, babe, what’s up?”
“Nothing, I –” I started to lie, his fingers dug into my h*ps and he interrupted me.
“I got a new job, a new house, new f**kin’ furniture and a new woman in my life. That woman comes with a motherfucker of an ex who’s poising to strike, I know it in my gut and I gotta be prepared. My Dad’s sick, he may be dyin’ and my family’s f**ked up about it.
Somethin’ is goin’ on with my boys and I gotta look into that. And today, my bitch of an ex-wife shows up on Thanksgiving to inform me her husband is steppin’ out on her, she doesn’t care and she knew it was a mistake before she signed the marriage certificate. She went on to say she f**ked up with him and with me, she sees this clear now, feels that time is of the essence considering our boys are growing up without a stable family unit, so, upon a great deal of reflection, her f**kin’ words, regardless of the holiday, she felt it prudent she didn’t delay in informing me she wants me and our family back. With all that, you gotta see I do not have it in me to play guessing games. All I got left in me for today is to have a beer with my woman, watch a game, take her to bed, let her f**k me sweet like she always f**ks me then go to sleep.”
I stared down at him thinking there was a lot there, a lot, a lot, but I honed in on one thing.
So I asked, “She told you she wants you back?”
“Yeah, if you can believe that shit.”
I kept staring down at him.
Then I stated, not a question this time but still a question, “She told you she wants you back.”
His fingers dug in again and he said, “Yeah.”
“She walked up to your mother’s house on Thanksgiving and told you she wanted you back,” I, yet again but with some added detail, stated.
Brock didn’t reply. He just watched me closely.
“I don’t know what to say,” I told him and I didn’t. I buried my head in the sand, sure, but I knew people did crazy shit, case in point my own husband raping me but that, that was insane.
“Nothin’ to say,” he told me.
“Do you want her back?” I asked and he did a slow blink.
Then he asked, “Come again?”
“Do you want her back?” I repeated.
“Do I want her back?”
“Yeah, do you want her back?”
His brows drew together and his fingers dug into my h*ps again before he asked, “Have you lost your mind?”
“No,” I replied. “She’s beautiful. She’s the mother of your children. And you loved her once enough to marry her. I saw you outside holding her in your arms and I saw you when you got back into the house after that scene and you looked conflicted. Not annoyed, not angry, not frustrated, conflicted. So no, Brock, I haven’t lost my mind.”
His mouth got tight then he said low, “Babe, I was holding her in my arms ‘cause when the mother of your sons cries crocodile tears, your best play is to give her that play then, soon as you can, walk away. That’s what I did. And when confronted, again, with the knowledge that my boys got a Mom like the Mom they got, in other words, she’s the kind of woman who would walk into my house, see another woman in my kitchen and lose her mind when she sees someone playin’ with what she considers her toy and scheme in preparation for makin’ a play in my mother’s motherfuckin’ front yard on motherfuckin’ Thanksgiving, that is gonna make me conflicted. And I’m conflicted because this means, with all that other shit I just laid out for you, I gotta look into attorneys and whatever else I gotta do to make certain my boys don’t spend the vast majority of their time suckin’ up whatever acid she leaks not to mention whatever-the-fuck her man is like, steppin’ out on their Mom, if that’s even true, or anything else, and at least try to give them somethin’ good for more than four f**kin’ days a month.
