I knew that once we started talking civilly again, I’d ease my way back into his good graces. He was a sucker for a good blow job, so it might just take giving him some head from under his desk for him to forgive me. I was going to have to do something, because that man had a high sex drive, and I wasn’t about to let any other woman step into my shoes. I’d given up my professional life and had a baby years before I was ready, all in the name of making him happy, so you best believe I wasn’t about to let anyone step in my way.
“So how was school today?” I asked my daughter as she leaped into her seat in the back of my Mercedes SUV, her curls bouncing wildly.
“Good. Jermaine was bad again today. He couldn’t play at recess,” she rattled off without taking a breath. Kids. As I buckled her seat belt, she gave me a kiss on the cheek. “We goin’ to see Grandpa now?” she asked, almost pleading.
“Yeah, baby. Mommy’s gonna take you to see Grandpa. But I want you to find Daddy first and give him a big hug. He really misses you.”
“Okay, Mommy, but then I’m gonna find Grandpa and help him, because I run Duncan Motors.”
As much as Mariah enjoyed pretending she was an employee, barking out orders and charming the car shoppers, my father loved having her around the dealership even more. I kind of think his spoiling Mariah was an attempt to make up for how hard he was on us growing up—well, all of us except Paris. Perhaps he should’ve been harder on her. It might have saved us all some trouble.
On the way to bring Mariah for her visit, I stopped at the dry cleaners on Rockaway Boulevard to drop off Harris’s clothes. Mariah stood at my side, counting the articles of clothing as the woman behind the counter separated them. Everything was as usual, until I sifted through the crisp whites. As I grasped the third one from the pile, a red streak near the last button on the bottom of the shirt caught my eye. I studied it harder, realizing it was a woman’s lipstick smudge—and it wasn’t mine. It was far too bright.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.
“Oooh, Mommy, you said a bad word,” Mariah chastised.
“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” I apologized as tears welled up in my eyes.
“Mommy, you look like you’re crying. Is it because you said a bad word?”
“No, I’m not crying, baby. I just have something in my eyes. Mommy’s fine.” I wiped away the tears. The Asian woman behind the counter met my dazed stare, offering either solidarity or pity as she took the shirt away from me and squirreled it out of my view with the rest of the dry cleaning.
“Medium starch? We’ll clean it good,” was all she said as she handed me my ticket.
I sucked in some air, lifting my head as I walked out of the dry cleaners, wishing Harris’s clothes were in a burning heap.
As we walked through the parking lot, Mariah asked questions about every little thing she saw, as she was apt to do, but I didn’t respond. My fucking philandering husband was consuming my thoughts, along with ideas about just how I was going to pay his ass back.
I buckled Mariah into her car seat, then walked around to the driver’s side.
“No, no, no,” I said with a groan when I spotted the flat front tire. This could not be happening to me. Not today.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Mariah shouted from her seat. It was the first time I actually heard what she said since we’d left the dry cleaners.
“Hang on, baby. Mommy needs to make a call.” As much as I hated doing it, I needed to call my husband.
“Where are you?” I barked when Harris answered.
“In Manhattan. I have an important meeting.”
“You sure you’re not in some hotel with that bitch whose lipstick was left on your shirt? How the hell do you get lipstick down there, anyway? Wait. Don’t fucking answer that,” I said as my mind was filled with the image of some bitch giving him head.
I knew I probably should have stuck to the flat tire issue, but the minute I heard his voice, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to jump through the phone and strangle him.
“London, I’m busy and don’t have time for your shit, okay?” he snapped.
Damn. He didn’t even deny it. “My shit! I’m the one out dropping off your laundry while you out getting your dick sucked by God knows who.”
“You know what ...?” He hung up, which pissed me off even more.