“You still have sweet blood…” he whispers, and I lie on my side, one with the sofa, paralyzed, praying to a God I no longer believe in—Please, please, please, dear Lord, please let him say it. Please let him say it. Please let him remember. Please—“…Sweet Potato.”
With that, he’s gone, a whisp of night spiriting across the room, and I’m left reeling right where I am. Lame. Lava. Bones liquid, melted together by an idiotic mix of relief and something way, way more stupid.
He remembers.
It’s so fucking silly, but it matters to me. And he remembers.
As soon as I’m able to scrape myself off the sofa, I hot-foot it to my room and call Lexi. I give her a feverish play-by-play of the evening, going into excessive detail, even for me.
“So wait, his eyes went funny before or after you said you and Sam had broken up?”
“Jesus, Lex, get it together. We were at the table. He was across from me. He was looking right at me and his eyes went all watery and calm when I said it, and then…”
“And then a split second later, they turned to thunder.” She sounds mildly bored, and I can’t say I blame her. “Yeah, yeah, I got that part.”
I’ve been through all this three times already and have yet to adequately find a way to convey the minutiae of Romeo’s facial expressions and how they changed when Selby said Sam was good-looking. For some reason, it’s absolutely essential to me that Lexi understands this, so I’m about to start from the top and have another go when it dawns on me just how unhinged I sound. And I haven’t even gotten to the sofa, the bites, my renewed faith in the Lord, or the Sweet Potato business yet.
“Oh God. You think I’ve gone crazy, don’t you?”
She’s quiet for a second, and I can almost hear her nodding down the line. “I think your grip on reality is a little shaky, yes.”
I give that the chuckle it deserves and then sigh as she offers to come and save me from myself. “Do you want me to come out? You know I only have two days of leave left, but I'd still be happy to come.” She went on a trip to Brazil in the spring and used most of her leave then. That’s why I’m here and not her. “I could fly out tomorrow and spend Monday and Tuesday with you. I’ll call Mom and Dad, let them know that one of themhasto come up and take over from you. It’s a fucking emergency. You can’t be in Alabaster by yourself. And you can’t be under his roof. It’s too much.”
I sigh heavily. The thought of my sister swooping in and handling this whole Romeo nightmare for me does have enormous appeal, but I shake my head and say, “No, I’m fine. I mean, I will be fine. In a few years, I’ll be fine. It’s called closure, Lex, or something like that.”
“Okay,” she says, “if you’re sure.” Then, she starts telling me how she’s been. There’s a new guy, Todd, in her team at work, and so far, we’ve been on the fence about him. “I’m telling you, Jude, he came into his own on Friday.” She pauses, and a muffled sound lets me know she’s settling in, tucking her feet under herself to get comfortable. Tea is about to be spilled. “So, we were in the boardroom and Leslie was running the meeting, and you know what she’s like.” We’re not on the fence about Leslie. She’s toxic and we hate everything about her. “And you know that thing where you point to your own mouth to show someone they have something on theirs?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Todd did that to Leslie, and she brushed it off and ignored him. So he did it again, more insistently. She ignored him again. Finally, he says, ‘You have some ketchup on your top lip there, Leslie.’ And she’s like, ‘No, I don’t, Todd. It’s a cold sore.’”
I hoot and writhe on my bed in secondhand embarrassment. “Noooo! Oh God. Did he resign on the spot?”
“He looked like he was giving it some serious thought, but no. He’s still gainfully employed, but he’s no longer as chipper as he was when he started, and that’s ahugeimprovement. I think I probably definitely like him now. He’s all right, old Todd. He has the potential to be interesting, you know.”
“Well, that’s good news, I suppose. Not for Todd, but for you.”
“It is.” We cackle a bit at what assholes we are and start making moves to wind the conversation up. Before we hang up, Lexi’s tone changes, and she says, “Jude. You know men don’t leave their wives for their…holy shit, what’s the male equivalent of the word mistress? No! Do not tell me there’s no word for that!” I can tell she’s milliseconds from launching herself headlong into an epic feminist rant, and as much as I consider myself a die-hard feminist, it’s getting late, I’m tired, and the patriarchy will still be full of shit tomorrow.
“There isn’t. But point taken, say no more.”
I definitely don’t need to hear more. I’m ashamed she feels the need even to say this much. Of course she’s right. Romeo is married. He’s been married for five years, and he and Selby are considering having kids. They are very, very married. Those are the facts.
How he looked at me across a dinner table is neither here nor there. Of course it isn’t. I appear to have taken a brief trip to the land of Delulu tonight, I admit it, but no more. Lexi’s right. Men don’t leave their wives for their mistresses, and in this case, the man in question didn’t want me when he had me, so why, in God’s name, I’m letting myself get caught up in the tiniest, most grasping-at-straws details of a completely inane interaction, I can’t possibly imagine. Even my most delusional self can’t concoct a half-decent explanation.
“’Kay, night.”
“Night.” My finger hovers over the End button, but just before I hit it, I say, “Hey, Lex, can I let you know if I change my mind? You know, about you flying out here?”
“Of course you can, Brother. Anytime. Just shout, and I’ll be on my way.”
Lexi rarely calls me Brother. I think she saves it up for special occasions so it packs a punch when she does say it. It levels me and reminds me of the unshakable bond we have. A bond forged in a childhood littered with fights to near-death about things that don’t matter and never did. A bond that comes from living under the same roof with the same embarrassing parents and knowing the best and worst about each other. But mostly, reminds me that our bond is forged in blood.
I respond the same way I always do when she says it.
“I love you, Sister.”
18
