Should Have Known Better

Something sharp rumbled through my stomach and I closed my eyes to stop from vomiting.

“What time is it?” I asked after catching my breath. I wiped my mouth and discovered that a wad of saliva was dangling from my chin.

I used what little energy I had to try to rearrange my twisted nightgown.

Sasha frowned sadly and leaned over to rub my leg. As her hand moved, I saw the muscles beneath her breasts perk up. She was wearing a red tank top with a low, low neckline.

“A bit after noon.”

“After noon?!?” I tried to get up, but a head spin and kick through my stomach sent me back to the pillow to hold my head.

“Yeah, you overslept. But just like old times, I had your back.” Sasha kissed me on the cheek and I could see that the cotton tank top she was wearing was perfectly ironed—so were the jeans!

“Where is everyone?” I asked. “The kids must be starving.”

“They’re in the kitchen eating a little brunch. Want some coffee or something? I know you don’t want to get out of bed yet. I can bring it in to you.”

“Brunch? Reginald cooked?” I tried to get up again, but I hardly made it past an inch.

“No. I did. Got up before everyone else. Just made some eggs . . . and bacon . . . and grits . . . a little French toast, potatoes, a quiche, homemade biscuits.” Sasha paused.

“All of that?”

“And orange juice—fresh squeezed after I went to the supermarket. Do you mind that I drove your car? Thank God for GPS!”

“It’s no problem. I just feel so bad you had to get up and do all of that. You’re my guest and . . . I don’t know why I’m so hungover.”

“Well, you don’t really drink. You can’t just jump back in.”

“That’s true,” I agreed. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“—That I don’t drink.” I’d never been a big drinker really, but right after college when I left Atlanta with Reggie, I found that I was drinking every night. Just a little to ease the tension of being a new bride in a new city. But then, at one point, it was every day. I was concerned. Reggie laughed. He said it was OK. I’d get used to the alcohol. I’d be able to handle it like everyone else. But soon I was on my knees every night in front of the toilet and when I’d nearly gotten caught drunk driving at a police checkpoint one Saturday night, I stopped. I didn’t drink alcohol unless it was at a party or festive occasion. I decided that’s what last night was. But it’d never hit me like that before.”

“Reggie told me you weren’t big on drinking. He said you slowed down a long time ago.”

“Oh . . . He told you that?” I said. Hearing my husband’s nickname, one he’d hardly ever used since his father, who everyone called Reggie, passed away, was odd. Suddenly, I wondered where he was.

“I was talking to him this morning. I got up pretty early. I just assumed you guys would be going to church.”

“Oh, we don’t really do church too much. It’s just not our thing—”

“But you were raised in the church. Your dad was a pastor. Have you lost your walk with the Lord, child?” she asked jokingly. “You know us good Southern girls can’t miss a Sunday service . . . not with all the fine men there.”

“No . . . Reginald never liked the church,” I offered as an excuse. “He sees religion as a sign of weakness. And with the kids . . . It’s too much. R. J. can be a handful.”

“Oh no; he’s the most precious thing ever. So sweet,” Sasha said. “I read to him this morning—Reggie and me.”

“Read to R. J.?” I eyeballed Sasha. Most mornings, before I sent R. J. to the bathroom to wash up, I read a short book to calm him. It was initially a suggestion from his therapist, but over time, it just became our morning “Mommy and R. J.” thing. As the sun rose and the sounds outside of his window came to life, we’d read the books of his early childhood. Goodnight Moon was his favorite. He said he liked reading it in the morning because it was when the moon was really going to sleep. He never let anyone else read to him in his room. Most days, without that book, he’d start his day off on a wrong and declining note. “You must be joking. R. J. won’t let anyone but me read to him—and especially not his father. Something about the sound of his voice.”

“I know, Reggie told me as we watched the sun rise. But it was the craziest thing—I suggested that I start reading and Reggie take over after that. It worked. We read Goodnight Moon. It was the most precious thing. That boy is amazing.”

“Yeah, I know,” I agreed before remembering something Sasha had just said that bothered me more than the idea of her reading to R. J. “What did you say at first?”

“What? What do you mean? About the book?”

“No. Before that.”