AUGUST 3, 2011
“You’re not going to answer that?”
“Nope,” Sabine shoved some more salad in her mouth.
“It’s your husband.”
“Mhm…”
“It’s your husband.”
“Mhm…”
Parthenia leaned forward, arms folded. “So you just not gon’ answer his call?”
“Nope.” Sabine speared another piece of lettuce. “If he can disappear ‘til four in the morning, he can figure out how to get in touch now.”
“You know he probably didn’t do shit.”
“And if he did? What then?”
Parthenia didn’t answer that.
Sabine pushed the bowl away and stared out the window. The light hit her ring, and she turned her hand just slightly—just enough to make it disappear. She didn’t want to talk. Not about him. Not about the voicemail. Not about how tired she was of being the one who cared more.
A few hours later…
Adair was already home when she walked in the house.
Sitting on the edge of the bed. Shoes off. Hands clasped. That same look he always gave when he was trying not to say the wrong thing.
“You good?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You been acting funny.”
Sabine dropped her bag on the chair. “You stay out all night, I don’t say shit. I stay quiet for two days and now I’m the one acting funny?”
Adair stood up slowly. “I’m not tryna argue.”
“Then don’t.”
He crossed the room. Reached for her hand. She didn’t move.
“I didn’t do nothin’, Bine. I was just chillin’. Got caught up.”
“That’s the problem,” she said. “You always ‘get caught up.’ You never just say, ‘I should’ve called.’ You always got some story. Some excuse. It’s disrespectful.”
“You my wife,” he said, voice low. “You know I love you and I would never intentionally disrespect you.”
“Do I? Because love shouldn’t feel like this,” she continued. “Love doesn’t feel like me waitin’gup all night and getting a voicemail at 6AM. It doesn’t feel like me tiptoeing around your mood swings or pretending I’m okay when I’m not.”
“I ain’t never asked you to do that.”
“You didn’t have to,” she said, pulling her hand away. “You just kept acting like everything was fine.”
AUGUST 7, 2011