Christine’s eyes pleaded with me, however, for the truth about her husband. Who was I to deny her that information? On the other hand, who was I to break up a marriage? Just because mine had dwindled down to the size of a pea didn’t mean I wanted to shrivel someone else’s hope.
After a few more seconds of hesitation, I replied, “He was…friendly.”
Christine buried her face in her well-manicured hands, and I wished I’d never said anything at all.
The brunette shook her head. “It takes time.”
“How muchtimedoes it take for a man to stop cheating on his wife?” Christine asked—more frustrated than sad, it sounded.
“We cannot answer that ageless question,” Eileen stated in the solemn tone of a funeral director.
“Is cheating the reason your marriage ended?”
For some reason, I was happy to answer. “No. We divorced because my husband checked out emotionally a long time ago.”
A collective “Hmph,” arose, with nods of approval. No one asked if we could have worked it out, if he was otherwise a good man. No judgment. This was a room full of women who knew that relationships were hard work, and neither me nor Christine should be judged for deciding to stay or leave. Unlike my daughter, Eric’s family, and even a few of my friends.
“How long were you married?”
Eileen said, “Althea, ladies, we’re not interviewing Joyce for a position.” And yet, Eileen’s slightly parted lips said she, too, wanted an answer.
I made note of the other Black woman’s name. Althea.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I—I think maybe I need to talk about it.” I knew no one in this room. There was nothing to lose. And a part of me—the part that always tried to make everyone feel better—was happy to get the spotlight off Christine. “We were married for thirty years. It’s a silver divorce. Two years ago.”
“Oh! So you’re still in your A.M. phase.”
“What’s that, Lupita?”
Lupita—Latina woman with long eyelashes and a chin dimple.
“A.M. means ‘anti-man.’ I’m Valerie—it’s a Valerie-ism. It’s the time right after a divorce when you can’t stand men. Like, you woke up mad at them. A.M. Get it?” She aimed the question at me.
Valerie—huge brown eyes with bushy brows.
“Yes, I do.” And her philosophy made sense. Iwasmad at men, on the whole, even if I didn’t want to be. “What about P.M.?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been A.M. for seven years now. And my lady parts are not happy about it.”
The room roared with laughter, and I let myself shift into sister mode. Guard down, giggles ready to spill out at any moment. Finally, a safe space.
Eileen’s neck reddened. “Does anyone have a book to recommend?”
Althea snorted. “Not one that’s better than our discussion.”
It took us a minute to reel in our laughter.
Sonia held up a hand. “Seriously, y’all. I’ve been married since I turned nineteen. I’ve never wanted anyone except my Paul. He’s as good as God made ’em. But there are days when I wonder if we’re gonna make it.”
“Make it to where?” Christine asked. “There is no destination except death. Isn’t that what makes a marriage successful—just staying together until one of us dies? Does it matter if you wanted to kill the other person the whole darn time?”
The one woman whose name I still hadn’t learned shook her head. “You can’t even say a cuss word, can you?”
Christine sat up straighter. “No, I was taught that cussing is unladylike.”
“Well, I don’t trust people whodon’tcuss,” Sonia blurted out. “It ain’t normal!”
“Hell no, it ain’t!” Sonia gave Lupita a high five.
