His First Wife

A couple of frowns later, I was walking around the supermarket looking for the things I needed to make sweet potato pie. I hadn’t been in a grocery store in so long it was laughable. I wanted so badly to call Marcy and make her guess where I was, but I hadn’t spoken with her since the party. She came over with Damien to see the baby when he came home, but I stayed upstairs. I didn’t understand how she could do what she’d done. I’d always been there for her, and all I asked was that she be there for me in confidence. That confidence didn’t include spreading my business. It hurt so much to be without her, to go through this whole thing with Jamison without a friend by my side, but I couldn’t let her hurt me again.

A lot had changed since I’d walked the aisles at the grocery store; it seemed more like a night club now. Men and women were walking up and down the aisles, overly dressed and smiling at each other as they pretended to shop. But it was clear they were there to pick up people. No more elevator music; they were playing hip-hop and there were these little food sample stations where people stood and chatted as if they were at a cocktail party.

Without Tyrian for the first time since he was born, I was sad to be away from him, but happy to see that none of the men in the market could tell I was a new mother. They were giving me the eye and one guy even offered to push my cart. As usual, I simply flashed my wedding ring and said no. “He’s a lucky man,” he said, stepping back. “I sure do envy him. And I’m willing to share.”

I was shocked by how forward this man was at implying that we have an affair. After that encounter I started looking more closely at all of the people I saw mingling at the food sample tables and I noticed that many of the women had on wedding rings, but the men didn’t. But there they were, chatting and laughing as if they were hooking up at a single’s club. Was that how it happened? Did people just know what the affair was before it even began? Marcy said the men she knew never even mentioned her marriage. It was just known and respected. I didn’t want to start a situation like that. But I also wondered if I could. Could I have a discreet affair by the frozen peas?

Walking out of the grocery store with a cart full of some things on the list and a bunch of things that weren’t—I’d forgotten all about the ice cream aisle . . . and the potato chip aisle too. I felt a bit more alive than I had in the past few weeks. It was great being a mother, and I missed Tyrian dearly—I wondered what he was doing every second—but it was also nice to see that the world was still going on around me. To breathe in a space as a woman alone with no attachments. No one who wanted anything from me. There was no one crying or needing to be fed. Now I fully understood why so many mothers wanted to go to the grocery store alone.

After placing the bags into the back of the car, I was about to push the shopping cart back to the store when a certain matted cocker spaniel I’d seen before was marching toward me. The only thing was that just like the first time, this little guy was stapled to a skull. It was McKenzie from the jail, pushing a row of shopping carts through the lot. My first instinct was to push the cart away and pretend I didn’t see her, but she was heading right to me and a part of me just couldn’t believe I was seeing her.

“I got that cart, mama,” she said. She was obviously tired and while I hadn’t noticed it at the jail, she was pregnant. Only now, her stomach was sticking out much farther.

“Oh, no . . .” I said, holding the cart.

What was she doing pushing carts in her condition? From the looks of it, she was at least seven months.

“I got to keep these carts out the lot,” she said. “I ain’t doing you no favor; I can push it myself. They pay me to.”

“Oh, I know.... I need the exercise,” I said.

“Suit yourself. But I asked.”

She went on, pushing the rest of the carts to the store. It was obvious she didn’t know who I was.

“McKenzie,” I called after daring myself.

She stopped and turned, her stomach lightly brushing the cart in front of her. She looked like she was sure I was calling her name by mistake. Maybe I was talking to someone else.

“McKenzie,” I said again.

“You calling me?” She pointed a broken nail toward her heart.

“Yeah, I’m Kerry. We know each other.” I listened to how ridiculous I sounded and wished I’d just gotten into my car.

“We know each other?” She stepped toward me. “From where?”

“Well, we . . . Um . . .” Suddenly I was very aware of all of the things I had surrounding me: my Ferragamo bag, Vittadini shoes, the Benz, Chanel perfume. Yes, we were in jail together, but we didn’t know each other. Not by a long shot.

“That’s you girl?” she said suddenly, the cocker spaniel shaking from surprise with each syllable. “From the—”

“Jail,” we said together.

“Oh my God,” she said again. She looked like she wanted to hug me. I felt like I wanted to do the same, but there were things between us. “The mad sister that beat her husband’s ass!”

“Yeah, that’s me.” I laughed at how she’d put it.

“So how you doing? Ya’ll back tight now? You and your man?”

“Um . . . kind of,” I replied. “I guess so.” I felt bad for admitting that. Like I’d sold out on the “mad sister” she’d called me.

“Mama, please, you ain’t got to apologize for being back with him,” she said flatly. “Shit, I ain’t never know a woman that went upside her man’s head that didn’t go back to him.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said. “So how are you?” I looked at her stomach. “I hadn’t noticed that you were pregnant.”

“Yeah, I’m about to have a baby,” she said proudly. “It’s gonna be a girl. That’s why I’m out here.” She rubbed her stomach. “I got to make some changes before this one comes. I promised myself and my other kids that. No more out in the streets for me. I’m too old for that. I got to get clean and make some money so I can get a good doctor and a nice place to live.”

“The state can’t help you with that?” I asked. There were plenty of programs that could help her and get her out of the parking lot, pushing carts when she should have been somewhere off her feet.