7) There will be no questions about children. If/when Ace impregnates me, you all will be notified when we decide it’s time for you to know.
8) All of you need to compliment him at least once.
These are my terms. If I think of more, I’ll email you an addendum. And I wanna make this clear, Vanessa: you all have allowed the elder Mrs. Taylor to create an environment where Ace feels unappreciated. He craves his mother’s love and approval, and for whatever reason, she enjoys withholding it. That ends TODAY. I mean that with my entire being. If she changes her ways, Ace will be around. If she doesn’t, he won’t. It’s that simple. Because I love that man more than I love my own life, and when he hurts, I hurt.
Yall don’t wanna see me hurt. Trust me.
Feel free to relay my terms to the family, and make sure they understand and agree. Me and you are cool, and I look forward to seeing you.
Talk soon,
Raya
7
Ace
I hate how quiet the house is when I come home on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
I pull into the garage, glancing over at the empty space next to me as I put my car in park. My wife is at school tonight, and while I’m happy she’s doing what she enjoys and fulfilling her dreams, I miss the fuck outta her when she’s not here.
I let myself in and drop my keys on the hall table. Like always, the emptiness screams loudly, reminding me that I’m alone.
I didn’t get married to be alone.
In the shower, I let the water wash the day off of me. Veronica was on her bullshit again today, but my shoulders finally relax under the steaming hot drops that are cascading down my body. I stand in this spot long after I’ve washed, palms braced against the tile, breathing slow and steady.
After, I walk down to the empty kitchen and grab a beer out of the fridge. I plop down on the couch and take a long pull of the cold, sharp liquid. It takes the edge off, but it doesn’t soothe me.
Only Raya can soothe me.
I don’t think men truly understand the value of a woman until they have one and she isn’t there. Because when I was single, I did this every day and was good and content with my life. But now? I know exactly what I was missing.
And I’m missing her now.
Once my bottle is empty, I heave myself off the couch and head down to the basement.
The light flicks on with a faint buzz. I got it finished a few months ago, and it still satisfies me to see the space as it is now. But I didn’t come down here to marvel at the decor. I’m down here for my ritual.
Raya’s notebooks are right where they always are—in her cedar chest. All different colors, a few different sizes, most filled from edge to edge with her handwriting.
These are her books of grievances.
I found them when I was moving her out of her father’s house. I flipped through a few back then, but I didn’t snoop.
Now, I’m a full-blown investigator.
I foundmynotebook a month after we got married, and I’ve been reading it ever since. I feel like it’s my duty as a husband. I know Raya. I know she doesn’t always share her feelings. In fact, more often than not, she lets shit simmer. She holds onto slights like a life raft. So as the man who vowed to make her happy, I need to know when I’m fucking up.
That’s the story I tell myself.
And it’smostlytrue. But there’s a small part of me, way deep down, that needs to know I’m safe. I feel like a little bitch for thinking it, but my wife ain’t no ordinary woman.
So here we go: I open my notebook.
My chest hitches a little when my eyes scan the last page, wondering what I’ll find this time. Three weeks ago, there werethree grievances; the toilet seat, me eating the last of the lasagna, and me dismissing something she said.
It’s honest. Hell, it’s human. She has the right to feel how she feels. I just wish she’d tell me instead of holding it inside.
