Chapter 1

“Don’t judge me. Yes, I am still married and the divorce isn’t yet finalized, but it’s almost done. We’re just waiting on a response from his side. I pray he’ll just sign it this time. I’ve made things so easy. I’ve asked for nothing, but full custody and rightly so. My lawyer says it’s not totally up to me what comes my way, but my goal is to simplify the process, reduce the number of reasons he could use to resist this divorce so that I can be free. So, no. I don’t feel guilty at all about the way this woman is driving into me. I love the weight of her, on top of me like this, sliding in and out of me with Big Pink attached to her. I love this position the best, the way she has me faced down pressed into the mattress, her fingers clasped into mine as she breathes on my face, nibbles on my ear, bestows upon me soft, fevered kisses.

Evelynn Harris.

Lynn.

I whisper her name as she climbs into me. My pussy quakes with her effort. She told me she loved me just a few weeks after we met. I said I loved her too. I admit it was quick, but I wasn’t looking for it and I knew time would tell how true our feelings were for each other. My mom used to say, if you want to really know somebody, all you gotta do is live with them. You can’t hide who you truly are twenty-four seven.

We skipped all the steps and went straight for the meat. In less than two weeks I knew exactly what to do if I wanted to set her off. I also knew what to do to please her. Despite all her apparent flaws, she was easy to fall for, but still, there was reason to wonder if our union wasn’t all just a matter of convenience, especially for me.

We’ve been together almost six months. We celebrate each month we’re together with a date-night, dinner, hit a club or bar, smoke a little maybe and do this, make love, where she fucks me senseless and I try to reciprocate her skill and intensity.

She was resistant at first, thought celebrating monthly was too much, but I love corny romantic stuff. I’ve never had it, so yes, I like to slow dance if a beautiful song comes on, feed her chocolate strawberries if the mood calls for it, buy her little just-because gifts to tell her how much I love her every chance I get.

It’s grown on her. I’m forceful and stubborn, I’ve been told, but I prefer the term persistent. Now she’ll ask me to dance if Alexa decides to play one of her favorite songs on shuffle. She’ll stop me right in the middle of doing dishes, wrap her hands around my waist and side step with me as she mouths the words to the song. This…is love.

When she found me, I was shit out of luck, out of a job, out of money and out of a home. She was there as the officer on duty to escort me off the premises, but in her better judgment, foolishly invited me into her home. I’m not sure how difficult the decision was for her, Kenzi probably helped my cause, but it was definitely to our benefit.

It might’ve been the Holiday spirit. Maybe it was serendipity. Maybe it was just a sad case of two lonely people desperately seeking refuge from life’s nasty little curveballs.

I’m not religious, but I’m a praying woman. Of all the people to send to my eviction, it was her, the grumpy, mean, hot mess who was knee-deep in a pity party of loss and regret. We were drawn to each other, a natural attraction, even before I knew she was a hot, off the presses, out of the closet lesbian. I think it was the way she looked at me. She walked in on me while I was getting out of the shower and didn’t know what to do with herself. I knew then, no straight woman reacts like that to seeing the female anatomy. She couldn’t even look me in the eyes after that.

I myself, had never really considered a woman before, it’s not like I had the space to, but she eventually confessed her feelings for me and honestly, I latched on to that for dear life and haven’t let go. I was in a place of need, stranded, and when you’re drowning like that, you tend to latch on to the closest thing to safety.

Just a few weeks turned into months. I’d say we passed the time test. Each day I learn to love her more, despite her impossible standards, OCD tendencies and mood swings. Mostly, she’s a sweetheart and her brand of love is intense and still catches me by surprise sometimes. It makes me feel secure, like it’s all on me whether or not this thing between us continues to fly. So no, I don’t feel guilty at all, still married, but free, flying high as she grinds herself deeper, coaxing sounds out of me I let out freely.

There is no chance of reconciliation with my husband. There can’t be, since I value my life and my daughter, Kenzi’s.
I have moved on emotionally and physically and for quite some time now. There’s a point when the one who claims to love you beats you so badly, they knock the stupid out of you and you’re just done making excuses. You see the light alright and you say enough is enough because you know the next time he has you pinned to the ground by your neck, he won’t let up until the light leaves your eyes.
I had Kenzi to think about now. He was well behaved the first three months of her life, but he quickly grew jealous of her, hated sharing my body. That meant cutting off breastfeeding prematurely so he could enjoy them again. That’s the kind of crazy I was dealing with, able to find a problem where there shouldn’t be, just so he could fuck with your mind.

He wasn’t always violent, at least not to me. That was new to our dynamic for the last couple of years before I started running away, but then again, he was never without football and he didn’t always drink. He had shoved me before though, hard. In high school when he thought I was being too friendly with his friend.
In retrospect, I should’ve seen it coming. Violence was in his blood, but what does a seventeen-year-old care about that. The most popular guy in school chooses you and you lose your damn mind. His own mother was in an abusive relationship with his brother’s father. He beat on all of them. The only reason the beatings stopped was because he got big enough to handle him, way bigger. He had a special hate for that man, was thoroughly disgusted by him and the few times he did talk about him, I always got the sense that his issues with him were personal, not just for his mom. He’d never go into detail about any of it. I was shut out of anything I didn’t learn for myself. I think now that he was actively burying memories he’d prefer to forget. Football was a good distraction and when that went away, alcohol did the job.

I should’ve known then, but he didn’t do that for years later, not until after the knee injury on the field and the limelight dimmed to darkness and all he had left were his memories and thoughts to wake up to.
That first time he got violent with me was a shock to my system in more ways than one. He came home late. I heard a glass shatter from downstairs and then later, the heavy, unbalanced thud of his footsteps.

I pretended to be asleep when he entered the room, but that didn’t stop him from sliding into bed behind me. I was four weeks pregnant and had my head in the toilet at least half the day. I could smell the distinct notes of cognac on his breath, feel his desire at my back. I gave him a firm no and he didn’t like it. I decided to leave the bed when he wouldn’t leave me alone, but he followed me out, demanded I perform my wifely duties and wouldn’t let up even when I got to the stairs. He held me so I wouldn’t go. But when it was clear I wasn’t going to return, that I wasn’t going to give in, he pushed me just enough so I would lose my balance and went rolling down the stairs. He had to call the ambulance. My foot was twisted and I was bleeding. The cops were called on my behalf. He was arrested and I was released from the hospital five days later, bandaged and childless.

He didn’t know. I hadn’t yet told him for one reason or another. Somehow we both convinced ourselves that he wouldn’t have done it, if he had known. More than anything, he was lucky it happened early on. His lawyer argued that what was miscarried wasn’t a viable fetus just yet and couldn’t conclude that it had anything to do with the fall. I helped his cause by coming to his defense, saying it was simply an accident, that I was walking away, and slipped down the stairs.
He was very sorry for that whole ordeal. Humbled himself wholly, cried at my feet for a week, promised he’d lay off the alcohol. I believed him.

He’s also kicked me before, when I was down on the floor after a tousle. I can’t even tell you what we were fighting about because at some point, he didn’t need a reason anymore. Kicked me so hard I had to go in to see the doctor after I could barely sit or breathe. Neither the nurse nor the doctor believed my story, that I ran into a gate. I didn’t care to come up with a better excuse. That incident produced a broken rib that still leaves me sore if I make a false move.

Things didn’t get much better after that. From there, he’d trip me up, once slapped the oxygen out of me, threw things at me, vases, books, beer bottles, food, and once or twice threatened that he had no problem killing himself and taking me with him. I never once doubted him on that.

Each day he was becoming less and less of the man I knew. Too many knees to the head my sister Noelle joked. But it wasn’t funny. Some days it seemed that was the only explanation. After he hurt me, I’d run to my mom’s house, stay there a couple of days, but then he’d come around, apologetic, flowers and expensive gifts in hand, with a fat envelope for my mother who would suddenly start lecturing me about working on this marriage.

It’s a bizarre thing, for your own mother to encourage her daughter to go home with her abuser, but it’s not like she hadn’t done the same thing herself. She never really did leave my father. He left her for a younger version of herself.
I tried resisting once. I didn’t want to go home with him despite all the new promises and assurances. His intentions were good. I believe he wanted to do better, but I doubted his capability. I knew it would just keep happening once the alcohol hit his system again. I locked myself up in the room, but my mom was damn near ready to kick me out. “All you gotta do is be a better wife,” she said.
And I thought maybe that was my problem, that I wasn’t a better wife. So I cleaned more, even after the house cleaners came through. I stepped up my cooking game, followed recipes, perfected some to the point where I surprised my damn self. I was as attentive as necessary. He didn’t need to ask me to get on my knees to pleasure him. I got really good at that too, and yet this good wife couldn’t seem to keep him happy long enough for me to forget that he was possibly the devil’s spawn.

The night I decided enough was enough, he tried to snuff the life out of me. I guess it was my fault for thinking I could actually have a good time with friends. I had too much to drink and forgot myself. It had been months since he allowed me to be out and I got sloppy.

He didn’t like that I laughed so loud at my best friend Regina’s husband’s jokes. Dustin was a professional comedian, everyone laughed, but I wasn’t allowed to.
We were all huddled around him as he told one of his crazy stories, the kinds Regina hated, but pretended to laugh at anyway.

“So listen,” he said, continuing one of his long-ass, hilarious stories. “So this crazy chick excuses herself and like twenty minutes later she comes into the room. But now she’s fully dressed, but not just dressed, the bitch is wearing my clothes. The whole nine. Pants sagging, my jersey down to her damn knees, even had my damn Jordans on talkin’ ‘bout I want you to fuck me like this.

“Oh my god. What’d you do?” I asked, like an idiot.

“I told her I’m not fuckin’ her creasing my Jordans up like that.”

“Oh she fucked up when she put the Jordans on?” Regina said, with the roll of the eyes. “Boy sometimes you make me wonder.”

I laughed, like everyone laughed.

Five minutes after we moved on from that story time, I was knee deep into telling Regina all about my exciting world of post-poterm bliss and isolation when Terrance, the man who promised before God, family and friends to hold and protect me pulled me aside to tell me to stop acting like, and I quote, a thirsty ass hoe.

“What? What did I do?”

“All that laughing and carryin’ on you did back there. Ain’t shit that funny.”

“Seriously? I can’t even laugh now?”

“Oh, ‘cuz you around people you think I won’t slap you straight?”

I noted the can of beer in his hand. Lord knows which number that was. I said nothing, knowing he was just looking for a reason to embarrass me in front of all of these people.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. This is why I don’t take your ass anywhere. Don’t know how to act.”

I didn’t take the bait. I kept my head down and waited for him to cool down and leave my side, but it seems he had already decided that I fucked up.

“You know what, let’s go.”

“But we literally just got here.”

“I said let’s go.”

I should’ve just gone with him, but I was upset. I was looking forward to this time away from the house and he was cutting it short like he always did. I didn’t know when he’d let me out again. I had never felt so trapped.

“At least let me go say goodbye to Regina,” I said, making my turn to go. The next thing I know, I was being snatched by the back of my hair. I was caught completely off guard. He nearly dragged me out. If I lost my footing, that’s what it would’ve been.

I could only imagine what the few people that caught it were thinking. But no one came to my rescue. No one came to say, Hey yo, chill T. You’re doing too much. Calm down. Not a damn soul.

He punched me even as we drove home, called me every derogatory name in the book. It was even a miracle we got home. He didn’t let up then. He settled down long enough to pay the babysitter and he was on me all over again. He wasn’t himself, like something had snapped within and he wasn’t right. You can’t trust someone like that. He had checked out. Someone else had entered the building and he was angry. He downed a bottle of Henny to calm his nerves as he continued to harass me as if I was the reason that Corey White came out of nowhere and connected his helmet to his knees. His thriving football career was cut short and somehow, I was to blame. Now he paced and drank and paced and I wondered how far this was going to go.

“Go to bed,” he demanded, after he had run out of things to call me. I stood up to do just that, but then he told me to take a shower.

“Like I need to be told,” I said.

I don’t know what possessed me. I was able to keep my mouth shut throughout his three-hour-long tirade, but this, telling me to shower as if I were some…nasty thing just took me out of my senses.

“You’ve lost your gotdamn mind,” he said, pulling me down from the stairs. I fell backwards hard. He reached for me and I slapped him so hard, my hand burned.
“Leave me alone,” I begged, but he was possessed. He crawled on top of me and put his hands around my neck. I could barely pry his fingers off. Then he proceeded to squeeze. My heart raced at this point, making it even more difficult to breathe. Panic. Terror. He wouldn’t let up. I started to cough and he smiled at that. It was only then I became afraid. It was that look in his eyes, almost as if he were daring himself to follow through. I could feel my own pulse under his grip, tightening and hot, firm and unyielding.

I clawed at him, scratched the skin off his arms, tried to twist myself from out of his overwhelming hold, but it was no use.

Dying like this wouldn’t be so bad I thought, the way I was so quickly fading. The only thing that hurt was my heart for Kenzi. My mother would fight for her…I think.

The doorbell saved my life. I don’t think he would’ve stopped otherwise. He let go as I coughed the air back into my lungs. It was the neighbor stopping by to tell us that our trash can was still upfront. It was the one time I was grateful for our friendly neighborhood Karen.

That was it for me. He wouldn’t be getting another chance. Two hours later, he passed out from all of his exertions. I managed to leave the room without waking him. I grabbed a small suitcase from the garage and filled it with items I had set aside for Goodwill just a month prior. I didn’t want to risk shuffling around in the closet upstairs. I hobbled up, grabbed every onesie I could carry. It was a smart move to keep pumping breast milk. I wouldn’t have to carry her food.
I found the phone my sister sent me where I left it, hidden in the back of the cupboard above the fridge. I could barely stretch far enough to get it, but I did. Stirring Kenzi out of sleep was the most nerve-wracking part. I debated on whether or not I should get the stroller. It would be difficult to carry her. So I picked her up, set her in it and together, we left the house.

My heart beat so hard I thought I’d pass out once or twice. I hid out at the neighborhood Karen’s house until my Uber came. I knew she’d be so hard up about the drama she’d welcome me with open arms. She helped me find the nearest women’s shelter, but I didn’t want one nearby. I wanted one several miles away. I had enough on my Cash App to get me at least an hour and a half beyond his reach.

It turned out someone did catch the incident. Rather than come to my rescue, they taped him dragging me out of that party and sent it off to the gossip sites. I could only imagine how pissed he was and I was grateful I wasn’t around for the aftermath. He took to Twitter to defend himself and lie about the matter. Some believed his version of the story, that I put hands on him first, but at least it was out there that he liked to put his hands on me.

I ended up at the Port Lucia Women and Children Center. I guess I didn’t really know what I expected, but the lack of empathy was jarring, almost like they had seen it all and another swollen face and blue neck was an everyday thing. And that’s how I felt in there, cold and alone. If not for a fellow resident Gizelle who introduced herself to me and showed me around, I probably would have gone home. But I stuck it out and in those three months of trying to do it alone I found myself making decisions I never thought I would have to just to survive. I had everything I would ever need back at that house in South Miami, but I would go through all that trauma again, if it means being free of him forever.

So yeah, this feels good, getting worked by my girlfriend. Still sounds weird when I say it. I never thought I’d end up with a woman, let alone this bag of nuts, my lover, the one who saved me at my breaking point. It feels like she’s filling me with butterflies. I push back against her and she responds in kind.
“I love you,” she whispers in my ears, I can tell she’s worked herself into something carnal.

I echo the sentiment, fading into the rise, losing myself to the heat and pressure and, ouuu, I don’t even know how to describe it.

Fuck.

Chapter 2

You don’t know the pleasures of the little things until they’re gone. Running water, electricity, refrigeration, the internet. I missed this, this simple little thing, being able to have friends over whenever I want. I missed having friends, period.

Gizelle is good people, kept me on track every time the comfort of my own bed back at home began silently calling my name. The women’s shelter didn’t exactly keep the kind of amenities I’ve grown accustomed to. I was grateful for such a place. Really I was. I got on my knees and thanked the Lord every night it was available to me. But the beds were so bad, I still suffer back pain from sleeping on actual springs. The staff, well, they seemed to be under the impression that being in a place of need equals being needy. Not that there’s anything wrong with being needy. But what I needed was a leg up, not advice on my marital affairs, not a lecture on what I should or shouldn’t be doing about money and certainly not to be treated like some destitute.

“You like your Iced Tea really sweet or just so?” I ask her. She’s sitting at the table taking in the space.

“Girl. Pile in the sugar. I’m not watching anything anymore.”

I shovel three large scoops into her glass and add a slice of lemon to the edge.

“Oh, fancy. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I take the seat across from her. “How have you been?”

“Ugh. Well you know. Same ole, same ole.”

“Are you still working over at that real estate office?” I ask.

“Yep. Got a little promotion. Fifty cents raise, baby.”

“A whole fifty cents? Girl! You rich.”

“I know right. Went and splurged on some ice cream honey. The premium stuff.”

“Oh those Magnums with the hard chocolate shell and caramel are so good.”

“The best,” she says through a chuckle. “How about you though? I did not expect to be coming to see you here. Looks like you ran into a come-up.”

“No, don’t say it like that. It really is the craziest thing. So I had to quit that job.”

“The one at the Import/Export Warehouse?  That was good money.”

“I know right. That’s why I think that asshole thought he could take advantage of me.”

“Well what happened?”

That was a loaded question. What didn’t happen is more like it. I got a gig I wasn’t exactly qualified for. I had no idea how to use an Excel spreadsheet which was 80% of my job. Ronald Zelenski, the owner and the one who interviewed me went down the list of everything I would need to be able to do, deal with merchants, sending off and receiving items, managing inventory, managing old accounts and securing new ones. There was a reason he was paying what he was paying, and even as it was clear the job was way beyond my capabilities he hired me with the promise that I’d catch on. 

I did, but not without the stress it came with. There were four of us in total and it seemed Paisely really wanted the job. She should’ve gotten it as she knew everything about the job I didn’t. I had to take a crash course on Excel sheets and from time to time I could see her rolling her eyes about how long it took for me to input and calculate data.

I heard her sniggering about my lack of qualifications to the other co-workers who were hot and cold on me depending on her presence. One of them told me she said the only thing I was competent at was being on my knees…obviously.

I quickly learned that Ray Zelenski also had the same idea. He was really understanding the first two weeks I fumbled around. I was a whole damn mess and he knew it. I think he enjoyed the fact I was floundering. Whenever he came in, he was sure to show me how to do my job and I had to act super grateful.

He called me into his office one day, to talk and evaluate my performance just a month into the job. I was sure he was planning on firing me, or at least demoting me to something more realistic like simple inventory. 

“I think you’re doing great,” he said, leaning back against his chair.

“Am I?”

“Yeah. Of course, you still have a lot to learn. A lot.”

“Okay. I’m really trying.”

“I know you are. You’re here on time, always with a smile. A beautiful smile by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“A couple of the merchants have already told me how pleasant you are. They definitely prefer you over Sheryll.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Actually, let me show you this email. Come around,” he said.

“Around your desk?”

“Yeah. Want to show you this email sent specifically about you.”

I got up reluctantly and walked around to stand next to him, mindful about keeping a comfortable distance. The large screen on his desk had several windows open. The one on the far right had a woman giving a man a blow job. He opened a new window with his email, allowing the video to play in the background. For a second, I wondered if he realized it was there, the way he so casually went about searching for that email. But then it hit me hard, it was very intentional.

“There it is,” he said. “Read it.”

“Can you forward it to me?”

“Nah, it’s got confidential information on it. Just read it quickly.”

I didn’t want to, but the whole thing was so bizarre, I didn’t even know how to react. I tried to read it like a damn fool, even bent over a bit for a better look and that’s when I felt his hand at the back of my thigh. 

“That’s really nice,” I said, moving away from him. “I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on so I’m gonna head on out.”

“Okay. No problem, but uh, Nola.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve got a great disposition, but you’re obviously in over your head. I’m letting a lot of things slide. You make more mistakes than you do anything right. I just wanted you to know that I am available whenever you need it…off hours.”

“Off hours…”

“Yep. Away from here, someplace more comfortable maybe. It’s important you put whatever skills you do have to work.”

I was clear on what he meant. That smug look on that stupid five o’clock shadowed, pastey face said everything. I pretended to be clueless to his advances though. Clueless worked for me many times, especially then, where I was forcing him to say what he wanted from me explicitly.

We played this game for weeks, where he’d call me into his office and either say something completely inappropriate or try to give me an unsolicited massage, ask me to have lunch with him or even slide his hand across my backside when he thought no one was looking. 

I let it slide for the most part, but I knew unless I played ball, my days were numbered. I started looking for other jobs. Nothing was going to pay me as much as he was, but I wasn’t interested in becoming his secretarial whore. I had too much pride still left in me.

Just four weeks into the job I had to quit. I was asked to stay a little later, which meant everyone got to go home and I’d be there with him, in his office. I was glad I wore pants that day. If he wanted to force himself on me, it would take work.

At seven, I knocked at his office door and he waved me in. He was clean-cut and well dressed, yet he seemed as slimy as Jerry from around the way that hung around the junkyard all day looking for something to steal for his next fix.

“Come on in. I just wanted to talk real quick about how things are going.”

I sat in the chair across from him knowing it was going to be all bullshit.

“I’m gonna have to let you go,” he said.

“I’m sorry what?”

“This isn’t working out is it? You’re just way too slow. I need someone quick. You’ve picked up some things, but not fast enough. It’s hurting business.”

“Okay,” I said, slightly relieved. 

He seemed surprised. I’m sure he was expecting me to beg him, but I wasn’t going to do that.

“I’m promoting Paisley.”

“Good for her. She obviously wanted the position. She seems far more qualified anyway.”

“I agree. You could have her position if you want it.”

“I could?”

“Sure. Do you want it?”

“I’d take it.”

“Yeah, but you don’t seem all that excited about it. I need people who want to be here.”

“I show up on time, I’ve been taking classes on my own, I leave after everyone, I am as dedicated to this job as anyone, so if you’re offering, yes, I would like the job.”

“How much do you want it?”

I rolled my eyes. “I have bills. I really need it.”

“How badly?” he whispered, his eyes fixed on me for a threatening long beat. He turned in his chair and shifted in a way that let me know he was working at his pants, unbuttoning, unzipping, pulling out his dress shirt.

“Don’t mind me. Just getting a little comfortable.”

We sat there, engaged in a tense staring contest, my heart beating out of fear and anger. Who the fuck does he think he is.

He leaned on his desk. “Show me how much you want this job and it’s all yours.”

I get to my feet and pull out my phone. I showed him I recorded the entire conversation. 

He looks shocked at first, but then he shrugs, like none of this is a big deal. “You think you caught me on something? All I asked was for you to show me that you really want this job.”

Dammit.

It’s true. He was experienced at this. He said nothing explicitly incriminating. There was no video showing him pulling out his privates. I have nothing and he could lawyer me under the table. 

I left the warehouse that night knowing I had very little time to find a new job, but working was the least of my worries. Keeping up with the bills I unmassed would be tricky. I’d need help, fast. I could say that was the start of my troubles.

Gizelle sips on her iced-tea like she hasn’t had a drop to drink in days. She’s gained weight since the last time I saw her, good weight, happy weight, and I guess the same could be said for me.

The scar on her face has healed a little better. When I first met her, the line that stretched from her forehead to the side of her cheek was fire red against her pale skin. Her boyfriend tried to remove the skin off her face while on an acid trip. Everytime I grew weak, she pointed to the scar as a cautionary tale of some kind. No words were needed.

“So is this your boyfriend’s house,” she asks.

“Girlfriend.”

Her brows move up, her head tilts and all she says is, “Oh. Girlfriend or girlfriend-girlfriend.” 

“Girlfriend-girlfriend.”

She looks around the kitchen again as if reassessing everything she thought she had figured out. “Well damn girl. I didn’t see that coming.”

“Neither did I.”

“Are you bi or is this a matter of…doing what you gotta do?” she said with a wink. 

I’m a little offended.

“We met under crazy circumstances. She was a cop at the time and she was enforcing my eviction.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Yes, girl. I don’t even want to get into it. I still get so emotional about it. If I had to sleep at that motel that night, I swear, I might’ve been back at the house getting my face beat in.”

“Wow. Well I’m glad to see you’re still free. You said you were going through the divorce last we spoke right? How’s that going?”

“We’re finalizing things next week. Maybe.”

“Okay. That’s great.”

“It took much longer than it should’ve, considering I don’t want anything from him. My lawyer says the judge will probably demand I take child support from him which I think is strange.”

“Okay but wouldn’t you take the money though?”

“I don’t want him holding anything over me. I’m just not trying to piss the man off. Child support? Alimony? He’d think he still owns me.”

“I get what you mean, but if things don’t work out with what you’ve got going on here, those checks might come in handy.”

“We’re good. I’m not worried about that at all.”

“So you’re feeling really secure with your situation here?”

“It’s real. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way for anyone else. Kenzi loves her. She spoils her rotten. If anything, she’s afraid she’ll come home one day and find me gone.”

“Why would she think that?”

“I don’t know. No matter how many times I tell her this is where I want to be, she’s always afraid somehow she’ll lose me because of karma I guess. Won’t get into that.”

“No worries. But listen. He’ll think he owns you whether or not you take the money. You have his daughter which I’m guessing he’s demanding some time with.”

“He’s abusive. He can only demand so much.”

“I get that. I’m saying, not taking the money won’t do much to keep him from claiming what he thinks is his. So you may as well take it. You don’t want to be in a dependent situation again.”

“And I’m not. I’m working part-time, got a little savings-”

“Yeah, but if it wasn’t for her having you live here, things would be tight right? Part time wouldn’t be enough while you go to school. That money can go a long way, especially for K. Think about college especially.”

She makes great points. Maybe I’ve made a mistake not taking the child support that my own lawyer has been shoving down my throat. I have been afraid of it, but Gizelle has dropped a bomb on my decision. If he wants to come for me, money or no money, he would come and I was only short-changing myself.

I’ll talk to my girlfriend, see what she thinks about it. She’s dealt with some domestic violence cases before. She’d have some insight.

The front door opens, I can tell by the beep. Speak of the devil. She’s home and with Kenzi who is singing her ABC’s all wrong, the song is still in her head from the car ride a new thing she’s picked up.

“They’re here,” I tell Gizelle.

My girlfriend walks into the kitchen with my baby and I feel a little wired, I always do when I haven’t seen them for a few hours. 

“Hey my love.” I take Kenzi and I give her a big squishy kiss on her cheek. And to my other love, I reach up for a kiss from her. She hesitates, as always, as if saying a silent prayer before planting her lips on mine.

“Did she make you crazy?”

“She was well behaved,” she says. She looks over at my guest, waiting for introductions.

“Oh, I’m sorry. This is my good friend Gizelle. We met at the shelter. Gizelle, this is Lynn, my girlfriend.”

“Nice to meet you,” Gizelle says. “Love your house.”

“Oh. Thank you. What you love is probably all from her though. She pretty much redecorated the whole house.”

It’s true. I did put my touch everywhere. I’ve painted almost every wall, stained the oak cabinets in the kitchen to a dark burgundy and upgraded the cabinet knobs to sleek modern handles; added a couple of art pieces and kitchen decor and it looks like a completely new space. I added a new plush massive rug in the family room and created a family picture wall. What used to be her late daughter Layla’s room is now Kenzi’s. That was a decision she came to on her own. Letting go has been a process and the more of that she does, the softer she becomes.

I’ve also redecorated our bedroom into something more befitting my personal taste. I did it little by little so as not to activate her anxiety about the loss of her things. She just walked into the bedroom one day and noticed the sky blue walls, drapes that allowed the light in and a brand new over-the-top bed set and decorative pillows that would take an hour for her to make perfect in the morning. She loves and hates it.

“Are you hungry?”

“No. We ate before we got here,” she says, as Kenzi begins to rub her eyes.

“Did she take a nap?”

“Fifteen minutes or so in the car. You want me to put her down for an hour?”

“If you don’t mind.”

She scoops Kenzi from my arm and heads upstairs. Gizelle shoots me a look. “Looks like I’ve been playing on the wrong side of the field,” she mumbles.

“Please. I just got lucky.” I make sure the coast is clear. “She lost her daughter a few years back which she blames herself for. I think she sees K as some kind of second chance blessing.”

“Awe. I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m glad to see that you’ve found yourself a new love and some peace.”

Peace.

That’s what this was. I thought I found myself another Terrance, when everything I touched seemed to set her off. I couldn’t breathe without messing up and I began to wonder if the problem was actually me. Maybe I was the one who was inconsiderate, stubborn and frustrating and maybe I did deserve a couple smacks to the face afterall. But unlike with Terrance, I decided right away what would be acceptable and raised voices, adult tantrums, violence of any kind and intimidation was no longer on the list. 

I overstepped my bounds during Christmas, dragged all the decorations and ornaments from the storage hoping to bring some life and joy into my temporary home, but it seemed they were shoved in there for a reason. She didn’t want to see them. I was wrong, I know. She did have a thing about me touching her things, and I may have willingly crossed some boundaries, but I didn’t expect that reaction. She got in my face, said something about me having no right and for a second, I was sure she was going to smack me. She says she would never now, but at the time, the threat seemed imminent and I was ready to pack my shit. I could go home to my husband if that’s what it was going to be.

I later learned those Christmas lights were tied to her grief. It was during the Holidays she lost Layla, a chain of events she connected to her failure to show up as a mother. She was too preoccupied with her mistress to remember to pick her up from school and it was during that time, her daughter lost her life in a collision with a semi-truck. Her husband was in the middle of calling her when it happened. They both blamed themselves and then each other and then themselves again.

I understood the feeling. I blamed myself for that miscarriage. I just didn’t have the courage to really leave sooner. In a way, our grief was one of the things that bound us, grief and the fear of being alone.

“Well, I think it’s a smart move,” Gizelle says. “Do what you’ve gotta do out here. I couldn’t do it myself, but hey.”

“You couldn’t do what?”

She smiled. “You know,” she whispered. “It’s not like you’re really gay right? This is just…convenient…right?”

And she does it again, insinuates that I’m only here for convenience as if I’m using her. I feel triggered. It’s rude really. “Does it matter what I label myself? I’m just in love with her and it’s real.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t saying that it wasn’t.”

“You said this was convenient for me.”

“Well, it is. You lucked out is all I’m saying. I mean look at your setup. I’m saying, I’d switch teams too, if this is what it provided.”

I give her a faint smile. I forget she gets like this. When she found out who I was married to and running from, she asked me all kinds of questions about my life with him. She wanted to hear all about the things I owned, how big my house was, the parties I attended, the celebrities I knew. 

“If he wasn’t beating your ass, you’d have the perfect life,” she said. “I don’t know if I’d be able to leave all that to stay here,” she said, eyeing our room in the shelter.

Maybe she thinks I’m some kind of gold digger. This house is nothing compared to the one I left, but it’s something. And maybe I am lucky.”

“Does he know about her?”

“Who Terrance? Are you kidding me? I am keeping this from him for as long as I possibly can.”

“He’d lose his shit I bet. So he doesn’t even know you’re here?”

“Nope. And I plan on keeping it that way. I haven’t even told my family.”

“Smart move. He’d be crazy jealous if it was a man, but he’d understand it. But ending up with a woman…well, he’d take that personally. It’s like you’re saying, he was so horrible, that you gave up on men entirely.”

I can’t tell if what she’s saying makes any sense. It sounds plausible. More than anything, I think he’d disapprove out of some strange moral place. He’s not religious, but he’s traditional in his views about love and marriage. He’d hate for Kenzie to be exposed to our same love and that’s what keeps me hesitant. It’s none of his business anyway. Okay maybe it is, but he forfeited the right to have any knowledge of my personal business.

Her phone rings and I’m hopeful it’s something she has to tend to. She dismisses the call and sips on her tea.

“So, I take it she’s the man in the relationship?” she asks.

She’s getting on my nerves now.

“No. It’s not like that. We’re just women.”

“Oh okay. I bet the sex is good though?”

“Hey. Do you know if Laura is still at the shelter? The girl with the twins? I meant to get her number before I left.”

“She went back home to her man, honey.”

I’m shocked to hear it. “Oh no. I’m sorry to hear that?”

“We can’t all be this lucky.”

She’s back to that. I’m starting to think she’s jealous and I don’t like that energy. I look at the time on my phone and I think of an excuse to end this weird conversation. Lynn comes down just then in her sweats and t-shirt and all I want to do is hang out with her now. 

“Is she out?” I ask.

“In less than five minutes.”

“I don’t know how you do it. She always fights me.”

“Magic touch,” she says. She gets herself a bottle of water and steals a couple of spicy chips from a bag and heads upstairs.

Gizelle watches her leave and now I want her to do the same.

“Well, thank you for coming by. I have to go run some errands before it gets too late.”

“Oh okay. Listen, I hate to ask this, really I do, but I don’t really know where to go with this.”

Damn. I can tell from her tone where this is going and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to help.

“I hate to ask this. Embarrassed really, but do you think you can lend me $200 dollars?”

Wow. She’s starting off high. She’s playing that game, where she only needs $50, but saying $200 first will make it seem like $50 is nothing. 

I don’t have a problem with lending her a little something. She’s out here trying to make it on her own. 

I fetch $60 from my purse sitting on the couch in the family room and pass it to her. She takes it, says thank you, but doesn’t seem all that grateful.

After a few dropped hints that I was done with her visit, I walk her to the door.

“Well thanks for having me girl,” she says, reaching out to give me a hug.

“Of course. Next time bring your babies and we can hang out for a while,” I say, praying she never takes me up on that offer. 

She gets into her 2009 Camry and creeps off. I take a deep breath and close the door. This was a reminder that I didn’t really like people over that much to begin with. Having company was a fantasy drummed up by the fact that I simply couldn’t have any. I’m good. 

CHAPTER 3

“Absolutely not,” Lynn says. “Don’t you take a penny from him. I’ve already told you, anything you need I’ve got you. What’s mine is yours.”

I’m well aware she has the means to care for me, for us. The 2.7 million dollars settlement from the lawsuit she and her ex-husband lodged against the trucking company was split evenly between them at the divorce. Turns out they weren’t maintaining their trucks properly. The accident that took her daughter’s life could’ve easily been avoided with a simple scheduled brake replacement.

It afforded her some luxuries. She quit being a cop just three months ago to pursue law school and now she subs at an inner-city school while studying for the LSAT. It means having her home more, being able to take more classes on and offline and free babysitting on those days I just need to leave the house.

“What do you need?”

I give her one of those smiles, the kind that says you’re cute, as I fold Kenzi’s shorts and set it onto a pile of her other mini clothes. I didn’t bring up Gizelle’s suggestion until now. I slept on it to see if her reasoning was strong enough to overcome my own convictions. It was.

“This is precisely what I’m trying to avoid babe. I love you, but I don’t want to have to depend on you like that. I can’t.”

“You can’t be Ms. Independent in a relationship. Interdependence is what we should be working on. I depend on you for many things.”

“Like?”

“Serotonin.”

I laugh only because she’s dead serious. When we first met, I wouldn’t have thought she’d be capable of this kind of vulnerability and I so want to give in to her desire for me to lean on her completely, but I can’t. Especially not where Kenzi is concerned. In a way, she’s taken her in as her own, but in all fairness, Kenzi is still his daughter. That money can do wonders for her down the line.

“I was thinking that I wouldn’t necessarily use the money now,” I explain. “Most of it would be put away for Kenzi to use for college or to buy her first place. I’d just like to set her upright. Lord knows I don’t want her depending on a man for anything.”

“Or woman.”

I hadn’t even considered it. She doubles down on her position, anyways, shakes her head. “It’s a bad idea babe.”

“Is it though? He’s gonna be an asshole whether or not I take the money or not. I may as well take it.”

She doesn’t say anything more about it. She’s staring at the television now. She doesn’t approve, but she doesn’t want to start a fight. I don’t need her input, I want it.

“I just want to make sure I’m not making a decision based on fear that could potentially affect Kenzi negatively in the future.”

She looks at me now, her thick unruly coils framing her brown slender face like a picture.

 “The divorce is almost final. You go changing things now and it blows open everything again. You may as well start from scratch because he’s going to punish you, hard. Knowing that you want something from him.”

She’s right, but now I’m more determined to go for it. I’d be disingenuous if I said I didn’t need the money. She wants me to rely on her, but that’s the last thing I will ever do again. I believe in us, but you just don’t know what kind of curveballs life has in store for you, so I’d rather not be caught with my pants down again. If I could set up a little security nest egg for us and secure a good start for Kenzi’s future as well, wouldn’t it be foolish not to?

I won’t ask for much. I’m not greedy. He invested wisely in a national chain of auto repair and tire shops and they’ve been doing well for the last ten years.

I finish the pile of clothes and set them in the basket so I can carry them, but she latches on to my hand before I can move. 

“I might be overstepping,” she says. “This is your marriage and you’re the one going through the divorce. This is just my advice, but ultimately, you have to make the decision you’re comfortable with. I just get really nervous about the whole situation.”

“I know. I’m anxious about it too. 

My sister tells me he’s still fishing for me, asking where I am and putting pressure for them to give my info. 

When I left that last time, he tweeted to the whole world that I ran off with his money and baby and that he’d reward anyone with the information of our whereabouts. Of course he never went to the authorities with that. I was well within my rights to run and he knew it. I bet he got all kinds of crazy people calling him all the time claiming they saw me at a 7-11 somewhere. 

He’s gone quiet since then which I find a little scarier. It’s hard to know where his head is when he’s silent like this. Is he plotting or just passed out drunk somewhere? I’m nervous, but Gizelle raised a good point. He’s going to be hunting me down or mad about something anyway.

More than anything, I’d hate fifteen years from now to look back and realize I’ve made a financial mistake out of fear. You can’t live like that. Fear cripples you, suffocates the life out of you, dims your light until you’re just a shell of yourself.

“I’m gonna think on it for a few more days and decide.”

“Take the path you’ll least regret,” she advises, like a sage soliciting wisdom. “Whatever it is, I’ll support you in any way you need me.”

My heart swells. Ouu I love her. I lean into her so she knows I want a kiss. She gives me one and I go about the house chores I’ve assigned myself, laundry, general upkeep. She takes out the garbage and does the toilets as she is extremely particular about how that gets cleaned. I do just as good of a job, but she doesn’t trust it, among other things, such as making the bed, it has to be perfect or she can’t move on. I’ve since removed the decorative pillows so she can make it to work on time.

She’s also taken over grocery duty and the pantry. She hates how I organize things. Dry foods need to be with dried foods, but snacks with snacks, tall boxes with tall boxes, short with short. I don’t have the energy so I let her. I can tell she tries really hard to let some of these things go. I catch her staring at it sometimes, the way I’ve arranged some of the pictures on the family room wall. She mentioned symmetry the first time. I did my best, but every other day she points it out, asks me if I’ll fix it. When I ask if it bothers her, she shrugs. But then she brings it up again and I realize, it’s her way of trying to be cool about it. She’d do it herself, but she doesn’t want to be weird. Too late. She’s highly aware of her tendencies or else it would probably become overwhelming for me.

I hear Kenzie crying in the room as I put away our clothes. I go to pick her up and she still smiles as if it’s happiness to see me.

“Hey sunshine. How was your nap?”

She stretches and stands up with her blanket, ready for me to pick her up. 

I hand her off to my girlfriend who is knee-deep into an episode of some weird show on one of the dozen of HBOs they now have available. 

My phone rings. I move quickly for it on the kitchen table. It’s my sister.

I debate on whether I should answer it. It’s been a while since we’ve talked. I make a decision.

“Hey Ella.”

“It must be my lucky day. Thank you for picking up.”

I’m not sure why she’s so surprised. Every conversation we’ve had since I ran off ends in an argument. She’s very much like my mother. I try not to talk to her either. Both of them suck my energy dry. Vampires. They think they’ve got more problems than I do, and for most of my life, I have been the solution to theirs.

“What do you want now?” I ask, prepping a bowl of spaghetti I made earlier for Kenzi.

“Don’t be a bitch.”

“That was a bitchy thing to say.”

“You’ve been acting real funny lately. Can I even call you a sister anymore?”

“You can call me anything you want.”

She breathes through the phone. “I don’t know anything about what’s going on with you. You keep your family out of the loop and you’re pushing us away. Why?”

“You know why. We both know why you’re calling and I’m just sick of this game.”  

My voice is surprisingly steady. I am over it, done with crying about the lack of trust between us. I have enemies I trust more with my life. She knows I haven’t gone back home and I’m sure the ‘help’ from my husband has been shrinking or maybe even stopped by now. 

You think they’d see this conditional support for what it is, but they see me as the selfish one. I’m the one who refuses to stay put and be a good wife, one that he would stop whooping on if I just learned how to be more obedient, if I stopped pissing him off, if I did a better job in the bedroom. At the very least, I should be taking one for the team. 

Their financial security has been placed at my feet from the moment he was drafted and it doesn’t matter that Noelle had the potential to snatch herself a ball player. Out of the two of us, she was the better looking one I feel, tall but built like a brick house. We get it from our mom who in her heyday, had every man in the neighborhood chasing after her. She’s still got it though. Ms. Tanya Scott. Her entire life is financed by men even now that she’s about to get the senior AARP stamp. She’s a Glamma, still wearing heels too high for most twenty year olds, shoulders still always out and that big ass always on display so even men twenty years her junior wouldn’t mind tapping that. 

She groomed us to be groupie material. I lucked out of the dating game by locking down Terrance since high school. At least that’s how everyone saw it. It was really the other way around. Anyway, Ms. Tanya loved that. Said all her hard work had paid off, keeping us dressed nice, absolutely age-inappropriate, our hair and nails done and giving us the necessary life skills for snatching a high networth individual. 

Noelle didn’t fare so well though. She’s dated a lot of basketball players and football players, got knocked up by a rapper whose career fizzled out as quickly as it started and after that didn’t pan out, she let herself go a little. Now she looks like a mom. Nothing wrong with that, but mom bods don’t attract high networth men looking for trophy wives. 

“I’m just calling to see if you’re okay. Do you need any help?”

I hesitate, thinking I might’ve heard wrong.

“I’m good. I’m safe and I’m taking care of myself.”

“Okay. That’s good. Well I’m doing great too, thanks for asking.”

I roll my eyes. She’s always been good at flipping the script on me. “My bad. How are you?”

“I’m moving.”

“Out of mom’s house? Wow. That is news. You got your own place?”

“Not exactly. I’m moving in with Roman.”

I stop all action. She’s just said something that doesn’t make sense and you’ll know why in a few seconds. “Roman? Why would you do that?”

“Cuz, he asked me to.”

“Doesn’t he live with like, two other women?”

“Yes, his other baby mamas. And we’ve become really cool.”

“So cool that you’re moving in with them?”

“Yes, we’re that cool. Real cool.”

“And Rio is cool with this?”

“He’s nine. He does what I say. And he’s okay with it. He’s already over there 50% of the time anyway. Loves his brothers.”

I warm the spaghetti in the microwave as I process this revelation. “So this is like some kind of sister wives deal?”

“We’re just trying to make the best of a chaotic situation. With all of us under one roof, our kids get to see him equally. It’s less stress on him financially and sometimes, we all get down. It’s a party.”

I blink hard. And I blink again. Kenzie’s wail brings me back.

“So when is this happening?”

“Right now. Got movers in here and everything.”

“This is crazy, and I think you know it. Living with people is a whole different story. You can get on each others’ nerves really quick.”

“I know. I’ve lived with people before. Don’t need the lecture. Just letting you know what’s going on with me, because that’s what a good sister does.”

“Well, good luck to you on that.”

“Well good luck on whatever you’ve got going on as well.”

I hang up, thrown by the whole conversation. I can’t tell if she was calling to show off or have me talk her out of it. Either way, she would always do what she wanted to do.

I stroll into the family room still processing our conversation.

“My sister just called to tell me she’s moving in with her baby daddy and his two baby mamas.”

Lynn looks at me as if I’m speaking gibberish. “She’s doing what now?”

“She’s got a whole sister wives situation going on and she sounds real excited about it.”

She laughs and it makes me laugh too. And when we laugh, so does Kenzi.

She reaches for the bowl of spaghetti from where she sits and I scoop some into her mouth. She goes back and forth between us, her favorite thing to do when we’re both on the couch. 

I love it when we’re like this. Never had this in my relationship before, just being. It’s nothing for most. But for me, it’s a luxury, a blessing really, not to be hiding in your own house, not to have to tip-toe, or watch your words or movements at all times of day. I feel like I’ve been living in a windowless prison and now, even the sky and trees amaze me.

By the time we’ve settled into bed for the evening, I’ve made up my mind about the child support situation. I won’t be keeping him from seeing his daughter, but there won’t be any talk of custody. Visitation is more than he deserves. And it’s only right he contributes to her well-being. 

I watch Lynn pop two pills and slide into bed. 

“Did you try to talk her out of it?” she asks.

“Talk who out of what?”

“Your sister.”

I laugh. She’s just as perplexed as I am about the whole thing. 

“No. Not really. I got the sense she was calling to show off. Like…look at me, I’m about to move into this big old house and there’s a big chance we’ll end up having group sex. Yay!” I say, with jazz hands.

Lynn shakes her head, removes her watch. “That’s crazy.”

“It is. But this is actually very much her M.O.

She slides in under the covers and fusses with her pillows like she does every night, moves them from behind her, rearranges them and then rearranges them again before falling back against them.

“Just so you know, I’m going to call Diane tomorrow.”

She looks at me. There’s some worry in her eyes and I feel like I need to reassure her. I don’t though. She’s going to worry, because that’s what she does and I can’t lie, it feels good for someone to be worrying about me, instead of me being worried about them. 

I slide in next to her and she lets me cuddle up on her, listen to her heartbeat, smoosh my face into hers for about five minutes until she needs her space. 

CHAPTER 4

“It’s about time,” Diane says. “I’m glad you came to your senses.”

She’s a cocky little thing. I learned from her, really short women have complexes about their height too. As I sat in her bright office, in front of that intimidating desk that swallowed her whole when she sat behind it, I listened to her chewing out a colleague who thought it would be funny to rest on top of her head mid-conversation with a potential client. 

“Don’t you ever in your life put your hands or any part of your body on me ever again or so help me, we will have a problem. That was unprofessional and disrespectful and don’t you ever forget that I can make your life a miserable hell. Yes, you do that.”

She slammed the phone down hard and proceeded to straighten her jacket.

“I’m sorry. Had to straighten out my so-called friend. I’ve got three things going against me, I’m a woman, I’m black and I’m short. Absolutely no respect.”

I definitely respected her. What she lacked in height, she made up for in smarts. She got favorable results for her all women clientele and she was pretty sure she’d be able to make things very favorable for me. 

“I don’t need half. This is money I’m going to set aside for Kenzie. I don’t need to clean him out.”

Listen. Men like him usually have far more than you think they do. They hide money everywhere and my job is to find it so you get your fair share.”

“And who determines my fair share?”

“We do, you and I. And the judge.”

Our meeting lasted thirty minutes longer than it should have and she promised she wouldn’t bill me for it. I was grateful, she’s expensive as hell. She talked me into much more than I intended and I don’t think Lynn will be happy about it.

I enter Heather’s Brew feeling a little anxious after our meeting. “Hey Pat,” I say, scurrying by the counter towards the back. “So sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay. You covered for me last time. My debt is paid.”

“Um…thirty minutes is not equal to a whole shift ma’am.”

“We’re not dealing in time. We’re dealing in favors. A favor is a favor.”

“Wow. Okay,” I say, slipping in behind the counter. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind the next time you have one of your wild weekends.”

“You know what. Nevermind. I’ve got you.”

“That’s what I thought.” 

I couldn’t have asked for a better coworker. We’ve created our own shifts in a way, the both of us taking several days full shifts so we can each have back-to-back days off.  Our manager Terra doesn’t like it much because it’s just not the way things are done, but there’s not much she can do to stop us other than fire us. Truth is, she knows she won’t find anyone who cares as much for this job as we do. 

I set my purse in the cabinet in the office towards the back, slip on my apron with my name tag attached and clock in at the computer in the tiny break area. I meet her upfront where she’s taking care of a customer who seems to be baffled by the small menu of choices.

Pat shoots a sharp look in my direction and rolls her eyes in a way only I can see.

“I’ve got it I tell her,” and she doesn’t need to be told twice.

“I’ll see you Thursday.”

I spend my shift with my nerves humming through me. I’m on edge. Turns out I am more afraid of pursuing child support than I initially thought I would be. I just don’t know how he’s going to take it.

At no time have I considered keeping him from seeing Kenzie. Of course those visits will have to be supervised, but I’m hoping it will be a consolation, knowing I could make it difficult for him to see her at all.

I look up and the creepy guy that comes in at two every single day for his Chai tea slithers in. I give him the same greeting I give everyone else. He smiles like he doesn’t really know how to.

“The usual I ask?”

He nods. 

I bring him his tea and add a complimentary muffin, both on me. He’s creepy, with his serial killer greasy hair and coke bottle glasses, walks funny and doesn’t say much. Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be kind to him. I’m sure no one else is. 

He thanks me with his eyes and I clear the tables these folks with no home training leave for me. The very opposite of creepy dude waltzes in. Mocha Latte bae we ladies call him in the shop. He’s just as good-looking as my ex, well-built, tall, cocky. He was working on a restaurant several doors down and has been coming in every other day for weeks now. I don’t even think he really drinks the coffee.

He openly flirted with me the first time he walked in. I let him know right away I was in a relationship. I made the mistake of letting him know it was with a woman. It only seemed to turn him on.

“Hey beautiful.”

“Hey Ray. What do you want?”

“You. I want you?”

“So your usual?”

“Yeah. That’ll work. When are you gonna let me take you out?”

I make my way behind the counter. I know his eyes are on my ass. “I’m not available. Already told you that.”

“Right. You’ve got a girlfriend. You should let me help you fix that.”

I roll my eyes. “What we’ve got going, don’t need fixing sir.”

“But…but all that ass is such a waste. It’s just all the way wrong is what I’m saying. Come on. One date.”

“Mind your business and for the last time, the answer is no.”

He pouts his lip and takes his Latte I slide in his direction. “Can we be friends though?”

“That ship has sailed. Have a good one.”

“That’s okay, beautiful. I’ll try again next time.”

“Please don’t. There are plenty of other women you can harass.”

“But none of them are you,” he says, leaving the cafe.

It’s less annoying because he’s easy on the eyes, but why do men force themselves on us? Or is it something about me? Should I stop smiling so damn much? 

I read somewhere once that smiling has massive health benefits, releases endorphins, reduces stress and boosts your immune system. Most importantly, it can be contagious. I prefer to bring up the mood than to be dragged down. 

I do it subconsciously now, don’t even know I’m doing it unless someone compliments me. It’s my default face and sometimes, it gives people the wrong impression, especially men who are looking for just about any reason to hit on me. 

My shift ends at ten and I close up shop. The parking lot is scarce at this time of night. I don’t mess around. I walk to the car Lynn has pretty much given to me and head home. I stop by the gas station to fill the tank. A black sedan pulls in by the air pump but no one gets out. 

I swing by the 24-hour Target to pick up some eggs and a bunch of things I really shouldn’t be eating and then pick up Kenzi from the babysitter. When I step out, I notice that same sedan from the gas station parked a couple houses down across the street.

My skin crawls, the tiny hairs on my arms stand erect. I make it clear I’ve noticed their presence and I stand there with the phone in my hand deciding whether to call my girlfriend or the cops. I don’t think it’s Terrance. He doesn’t know where I live. But maybe he’s hired someone who’s been able to track me down.

Kenzi is getting restless in her car seat, but I’m unable to move.

I call Lynn as the car pulls off slowly. I can’t see a thing through those dark tints. If I were a drug dealer, I’d assume they’re about to riddle me with bullets, but whoever it is simply keeps moving. I’m shaking.

“Hey baby,” her voice comes smooth and low. It puts me at ease immediately, pulls me from my frantic state.

“Hey. I was just um…I think I was being followed.”

She says nothing for a long beat. “Are you sure?”

“No. I don’t know if I’m just freaking out, but I saw the same car at the gas station and now at Sandy’s house. Whoever it was drove off.”

“Did you get the license plate?”

I slap my own forehead. “I didn’t even think to get that.”

“It’s okay. If you happen to see it again, take a deep breath and get that tag.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t go straight home just yet. Drive around a bit. Make sure you’re not being followed for at least twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” I said, chasing my breath.

“Take a deep breath. I can hear you panicking. Get in the car and start driving. If you think you’re still being followed, drive down to the station.”

I do as she says, but I drive for thirty minutes, and go down certain roads where it would be very clear if someone was tailing me. 

When I get home, I make sure all the doors are secure. I’m not sure what exactly I’m afraid of, but I know I’m worried that if I was in fact being followed, my ex would have something to do with it. 

I’m his property after all. That’s how he sees me, as something to be owned and who will give him the blind devotion of an attention-deficient German Shepherd.

I have humiliated him by leaving and staying gone. I can’t imagine that bruise to his ego would go unpunished. I don’t think he’d want to harm me. I know he’d think he’d have to for compliance sake. 

Lynn meets me at the bottom of the stairs. She doesn’t look as scared as I am, but she’s definitely concerned. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah. It was probably all in my head. Need to lay off the coffee.”

She moves in to hold me and she stays there until I let go. She pulls back to study me, knows I’m scared shitless and I hate that she can see through me, gives me a hug I didn’t realize I really needed. She kisses me and all is right again.

“Is Kenzi out?”

“Yep.”

I’m grateful she’s there to step in since I’m not all here. Since quitting the police force, her schedule is far more flexible. She’s gotten her nights back and I love coming home to find her here. 

I’m exhausted. I opt to skip dinner. It’s late and I’m way too wired anyway. The steam from the shower helps calm my nerves. I stay in there much longer than I need to. When I re-enter the room, she is waiting.

“It might have been your imagination, but you know he’s capable. Men like him don’t take too kindly to be blindsided.”

“I know. But there isn’t much I can do about it, is there?” I dry myself fully and pull on a nightdress.

She shifts herself up on the bed. I can hear her thinking, deciding. “You need a gun.”

I pull a scarf from my dresser and wrap my hair up as we stare down each other.

“Absolutely not.”

“But hear me out-”

“I heard you the first time. I don’t like guns and I don’t need one. Chances are I wouldn’t have access to use it when I need to anyway.”

“Which is why you would carry it with you in your purse. Take it everywhere. You work late sometimes. You should have one.”

“Baby. I’m good. I know you’re just looking out. Like I said, I might’ve just been paranoid. Changing my mind about child support does have me on edge. I know he’ll be really upset. Might punch a wall even. But nothing I need a gun for.”

She’s not satisfied with that assessment or my decision. She rubs her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.

I move to the side of her bed and hover above her. She looks up at me with those sad pretty eyes and I just want to put her mind at ease. 

“We can’t live in fear babe. I didn’t leave him only to still be worried about what he might or might not do. I got nervous tonight because it’s better to be over-cautious.”

My words don’t seem to assuage her. I climb into bed and straddle her. That simple move immediately disarms her and she looks at me the way I have yet to get used to.

I know what she fears and it has less to do with me. She doesn’t yet think she’s suffered enough for her late daughter Layla. She will never let herself live it down, not being there to pick her up from school when she was supposed to. It might not have been so painful if she weren’t in the middle of satisfying a selfish desire. Why she forgot to be there was almost as painful as losing her. She would never forgive herself. Losing her wasn’t bad enough. She had to punish herself beyond that, decided that she had no right to ever love again, no one other than the woman she chose over her. She just didn’t expect to meet me. And every day she waits for the shoe to drop, for God to snatch me out of her grip, wag a finger and remind her that she is undeserving of anything remotely good in her life. Not that I’m declaring that to be that good thing. But I’m the thing she wants and loves and I am flattered and lucky to have stumbled upon her brand of love. 

“I know it won’t matter what I say, but I want you to not worry so much about me.”

“I’ll never not worry about you. You and that chonk in the other room. I think at the very least, you should know how to handle a gun.”

“Babe. The very idea of even holding something so dangerous scares me.”

“You handle knives just fine. They’re just as dangerous.”

“Knives can kill, but they don’t accidentally go off.”

“It’s like anything you have to learn how to use. It’s intimidating at first-”

“Babe. I don’t want it.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m pissed,” she says unconvincingly.

“Oh you’re pissed?”

“Damn right I am.”

“Are you though?” I ask, my heart racing. 

“Baby, I’m kidding.”

“Oh, okay.” 

I get a little nervous sometimes. My ex used to do this thing where he was kidding and laughing in one minute and in the next second, he’d want to know what I think was so goddamn funny. 

She pulls me in and holds me close. My defenses are put in check and my heart slows to a solemn rate. Sometimes I think I’ll wake up any minute from a dream to a grave reality and all of this, her warmth and her love for me would disappear into thin air.

But this isn’t a dream and I’m no longer living in that prison I once called a marriage. When I drop a glass I don’t have to worry about cleaning it up before I get scolded for being clumsy and stupid. No watching how hard I breathe, what I wear, judgment on what I’m reading or watching. I am safe. I have to remind myself.

She presses her face in the nook of my neck, squeezes me in closer and I know we’re about to start something.

My body craves her like that, like it’s grown dependent on her affection and nothing else will do. Her hands run down my ass as we kiss long and soft. We’re in no hurry. She lifts my nightdress to feel the bare flesh of my belly there and it revs me up good.

She pulls back from me for a second. “You should probably consider taking some self-defense classes though.”

“Okay. I’m open to that.” I go in to kiss her but she’s not done.”

“And maybe you should get a taser. And some mace.”

“I’m good with that too.”

We lull ourselves into another heated lip lock, our tongues meet, do a little dance and the feeling of her hands sliding up my thighs, snaking up my belly and onto my breasts takes me up.

I get lost in the energy we’re generating between us. It’s different and I often wonder if it’s because we’re women or if it’s just her. 

She loves pleasing me, but I think I get off on pleasing her more. I’ve never been concerned about anyone else’s pleasure, there’s been only one other person to worry about really, and I don’t think either one of us cared about each other. He just wanted to get it and I just waited to get through it. 

I lost my virginity to him in the back of his Dodge. I can’t say I was exactly ready to give it up then, but as his girlfriend, I don’t think either of us thought I had a choice.

And that was the premise of our sexual situation. We fucked. And I may or may not come. He automatically assumed I did though. It was just best to get it over with. To tell the truth, that’s how I thought it was for everyone. I just didn’t get the hype. 

Now I do though. And I want her all the time. And I love to make her feel as good as she makes me, love seeing that smile the moment she knows where I’m headed, kisses down on her slender neck, as I unbutton her top, kisses down the middle of her chest, my lips grazing on her breast, nibbles on her nipples as she caresses me. I love sucking on them, love the feel of them in my mouth, love how she grows almost helpless at such a simple act. She’s already wet when I reach down to touch her. I rub her through the cotton barrier as I suckle on her pert little tits. 

She watches me do it and I can tell it’s getting good for her by the way she tightens her grip around the back of my neck. 

“This is one way to change the subject,” she says.

I laugh, but I don’t deny it. 

She helps me pull off her pants and opens herself up to make room for me. I move in between and get comfortable. I’ll be here for a while.”

I kiss her inner thighs. She shakes her head. She hates being teased. Likes me to get straight to it, so I take my time, move in close to my target, kiss everything around it, blow on it, and watch her try to keep her cool. One complaint and I prolong contact for another two minutes. She knows this and simply waits until I put her out of her misery. 

She shivers the moment I take her swollen clit into my mouth, eases herself into a more comfortable position as I suck on it. Her head falls back as her fingers slink through my silk press. She rolls her body beneath me, rocks me as I rock her. From time to time she moans, looks down at my work, and shudders before sinking her head back into the pillows.

I sop her up like a bowl of warm chicken soup, she tastes that good to me and since I missed dinner, I’m hungry.

I take my time the same way she takes her time when she’s down on me. It’s the best part I think. I call it pussy camping. Pitch a tent, start a fire, roast some marshmallows on that thang. Eat and tell stories on that pussy.

“Damn,” she whispers and I know she’s close. She grips my hair really tight and then loosens it. This is all she needs, no entry so I devote all my energy to that swollen nub and feeling up on her tits. 

 I’ve figured out the right combination to get her there fast. Lick, lick, suck, lick lick, suck, then just suck. Suck until she’s panting like a dog in heat, suck on it until she tells me she loves me, suck until she cries my name as her pussy quakes and expands in my mouth. She freezes, goes quiet with a fistful of my hair held tight within her fists, whimpers and goes completely limp.

Light work. 

She catches her breath, then pulls me in for a thank you kiss. In one smooth motion she pulls me up as she moves down, and then I’m over her shoulders with my pussy hovering over her face. I can’t see her buried underneath my nightdress, but I feel her hands on my ass, feel her face and tongue rubbing all over my snatch. I fall over, adjust myself just so she can suck me in exactly the way I like it. Apparently, she has a second pair of breathing holes. She never comes up for air even as I suffocate her with my twerking and grinding. Her face is slippery with my satisfaction and I’m losing it quickly. Her hands sliding up my naked ass and the friction she’s applying to my pussy, pulsating and hot has me moaning, whining, letting her know how good she makes me feel.

She hits a groove that has me climbing. It takes everything in me to keep from letting myself go on her face. My eyes roll back, toes curl tight and I lose my breath as my body unfolds through a glorious finish. It’s a long one, and I feel high, but even as I come down, winded and weak, my pussy gears itself up for round two.