It’s quieter in here than it’s ever been. We’re both off tonight.
“How was your day?” I ask, looking at her face for a sign.
She gives me nothing.
“Good,” she responds. “Had lunch with Tiffany and her friend.”
“How’d that go?”
She shrugs. “They’re cool.” She sets her spoon down and stares at me. “How wasyourday?”
“It was aight.” I take a sip of my water. “Chili’s good.”
“Thanks.”
Yeah, something ain’t right here.
After dinner, we both go through the motions of our nighttime routine. Once we’re in the bed, she’s still on her side and I’m restless on mine. But we don’t touch.
I fall asleep thinking about what life will be like without her in it.
By the time I wake up in the morning, I know what I have to do.
And what I have to do is at the Bank of America in downtown Decatur.
19
Raya
Veronica has a nice house.
She struck me as a high rise baddie at first sight, but no, she has a cute little ranch house out in Conyers.
I’m surprised she doesn’t live closer to downtown. Ain’t really shit out here but chain restaurants, builder-grade subdivisions, and nature.
She definitely lives alone. The blinds are open at the front of her house, and I can see her living room with my binoculars. The decor just screams single woman, no kids, no nigga. And that’s not an insult.
Ace is particular about decor, which I don’t mind. It’s his house, and he lived in it before I came along. But if I ever lived alone, I’d decorate my space like Veronica—lots of pinks and yellows and light blues. Very whimsical.
It’s still fuck her, though.
Last night was terrible. I gave Ace a chance to talk to me, and he said nothing. In fact, it almost seemed like he was pissed offat me. The nerve of him. But I’m glad I didn’t fly off the handle. It was good for me to take a beat and let things play out, because now, when I take action, it will be well thought out. That means there’s less of a chance I’ll get caught.
My phone rings just then. I bet it’s Ace.
Spoiler alert: It’s not my husband.
It’s my fucking brother.
My heart booms in my chest. Beads of sweat break out across my forehead. I let it ring out, then wait, praying there’s no voicemail.
When five minutes safely pass with no notification, I call Aunt Tori and forget all about Veronica.
“Hey, baby. You okay?” is her greeting.
“Rashad just called me,” I say. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
“I swear I didn’t, sweetie.”
