I inhaled slowly. He wasn't wrong either. "I needed space," I said.
"For what?" he asked. The question felt like a trap. For myself. But I couldn't say that. Not fully.
"I needed to breathe," I answered instead.
Evie watched us like she was observing something fragile. Saint leaned back, arms crossed. "Do y’all two still love each other?" Saint asked bluntly. The question cut through everything. It should've had an easy answer, but it didn't. I felt my throat tighten. Of course I did. But love had changed shape. It didn't feel like fireworks anymore. It felt like an obligation. Like memory. Like a habit. I looked at Jules. He looked back at me. In that moment, I saw fear in his eyes. Quick. Fleeting. But there.
"I ain't left yet," he said. Like that was his answer. I swallowed. Neither had I. But staying and being present weren't the same thing.
The kids finished eating, and Evie shooed them back into the living room. The house felt quieter now. Just us. Four adults sitting around a table that had seen holidays, birthdays, arguments, and reconciliations. I rubbed my palms together under the table. "What you scared of?" Evie asked softly.
The question wasn't directed at either of us specifically. It was for both. I stared at the wood grain of the table. What was I scared of? That if I grew too much, I'd outgrow him. That if I stayed the same, I'd lose myself. That if I admitted I was unhappy, it would confirm something broken. I opened my mouth. Closed it. Jules looked at me like he was waiting. Like he wanted me to say something that would either save us or end us. "I'm scared," I said slowly, "of building my whole life around something that might not look the same in five years." The honesty surprised even me.
Jules' expression shifted. "You talking bout me?" he asked.
I hesitated. And that hesitation said enough. The silence that followed wasn't explosive. It was heavy. "I been here since I was a kid," I continued. "I don't even know who I am outside of being somebody's wife. Somebody's mama." Evie nodded slightly.
Jules leaned back in his chair. "So what that mean?" he asked. His voice was too controlled.
"It mean I'm trying to figure that out," I said.
"And if what you figure out don't include me?" he asked.
There it was. The thing neither of us had said. My chest tightened. I didn't answer right away. Because the truth was, I didn't know. And not knowing felt like betrayal. "I ain't saying that," I finally said. "But I can't promise I'll keep shrinking so you feel comfortable either." The words came out softer than they felt.
Jules' jaw clenched. Nobody said nothing for a second. Not Evie. Not Saint. Not even me. The room stayed still in that strange way it does when something true finally gets said out loud and can't be tucked back in nowhere. Evie looked between us, then reached for her glass like she already knew this wasn't a conversation she could finish for us. Saint leaned back in his chair, eyes steady, like he was waiting to see if one of us was gon lie next.
Jules looked at me like he wanted me to take it back. Like he wanted me to soften it and make it sound prettier than what it was. But I couldn't. Not this time. I had spent too many years rounding off my truth so other people could sit with it easier. "I'm not trying to hurt you," I said finally, my voice quieter now. "But I can't keep disappearing just because that version of me make this easier for you." He looked away first. That used to mean something, too. Used to mean I won the argument. Now it just felt sad. Because nobody was winning here.
Evie exhaled slow through her nose. "Well," she said, pushing her bowl away, "at least somebody said something honest tonight." A small laugh almost left me, but it didn't make it all the way out.
Jules rubbed his hand over his beard, eyes low, shoulders tight. He looked distant then. The kids' laughter floated in from the living room, bright and careless. Still alive. Still moving. Untouched by the exact shape of what had just happened inhere. And maybe that was the blessing in it. This didn't have to become damaged. It could just become the truth.
I picked up my glass and took a slow sip, letting the cold settle on my tongue. For the first time, sitting across from Jules, I didn't feel like I owed him smaller words. Didn't feel like I had to cushion myself just because he wasn't ready.
That told me something, not about him, but about me. Whatever we had once been. I was no longer bound to protecting it at the expense of myself.
jules
The bass from the radio filled the silence of the car. The speakers rattled faintly, something loose inside the door vibrating with every low note. I hadn't fixed it. Hadn't cared to. Some shit you just learned to live with. My mind was somewhere between waking up to Nia riding my dick this morning and where I was headed. That had become her thing. She got up before the sun, and she took dick from me when she got ready, like I was a live dildo or some shit. No talking or buildup. Just pressure, movement, and breathing. Sex with her had become just that. No passion or love behind it. We both knew what we were there for.
Release.
Escape.
Silence.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter without realizing it. My knuckles tightening against the worn leather, thumb brushing over the crack near the seam where my hand rested most. I kept my eyes on the road. I tried not to think about her face when she did it. My mind flashed with images of the way she'd roll off me and disappear into the bathroom without a word. By the time I opened my eyes again, she wouldn't be there. She'd be gone like it hadn't happened at all. Like we hadn't happened at all. The light turned red, and I slowed the car, brake pads squealing faintly under pressure. The sound irritated me. Everything irritated me lately.
I sat there, engine humming. People crossed the street in front of me. Laughing. Talking. Living regular lives. I wonderedif they knew how fast shit could rot from the inside. I exhaled slowly through my nose. Nia hadn't even cared to make eye contact with me when she got off me this morning. She used to look at me after, that's how I knew shit had changed. Her hands had pressed against my chest just enough to steady herself before she climbed off. Her breathing was uneven for a second before she got control of it. The whole moment stuck with me longer than it should have. I told myself it didn't matter. Sex was sex. We had kids. We had history. We had obligations. Love ain't always loud. Sometimes it was just presence and staying. That's what I told myself.
The light turned green, and I pressed the gas. The car moved forward. I pulled into the parking lot, parked around back, then walked into the building. The hotel looked like it always did, polished, clean, too calm. Glass doors sliding open without a sound. Carpet thick enough to swallow footsteps. Air conditioning was hitting my face like it had something to prove. I didn't belong in places like this. Or maybe I did. Depends on who you asked.
I sat at the bar in the lower area of the hotel, ordering a double shot of Hennessy. "Double Henny," I said, voice flat. The bartender nodded like he'd seen my type before. I threw it back and ordered another. The burn was quick. Clean. Straight to the chest. I was wrestling with myself about being here. I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. I knew what my intentions were, but I also knew I shouldn't have been here, because I knew for a fact temptation was a mutha fucka.
That part was simple. You don't meet fire in a room full of curtains. You don't revisit what burned your house down. But I was here anyway. Because control mattered. Because I didn'ttrust nobody else to handle this clean. I'd rather look a problem in the face than let it circle behind me. That's what I told myself.
"Don Julio margarita on the rocks, please." I heard Jade's voice before I felt her presence fill the seat beside me. I didn't look up at her. Just stared in the glass clenched in my hand. The ice had melted some. Diluting the liquor. Weakening it. "You look good," she said, taking her drink from the bartender. Her voice carried that same tone. Smooth. Calculated. Like everything was a performance.