Should Have Known Better

“Who told you about that?”

“I know about Landon leaving you high and dry in a hotel. There really was no conference. You’d come to Augusta with garbage in your heart. And I even know about how guys used to treat you in college. How they’d run over you and pretend they loved you until things got serious and then they’d leave you. Didn’t they?”

“They were fools,” she yelled.

“All of them? You think all of them were fools? They can’t all be fools. Most of them are married. Almost all of them. They found someone else to settle down with. Just not you. That has to hurt you.”

“Fuck you and fuck them,” she shouted and I heard tears in her voice. “Reginald doesn’t mean shit to me. You don’t mean shit to me. None of you mean shit to me! I’m Sasha Bellamy! Do you hear me? I saw your marriage breaking up the moment I walked into your house. You were easy. So fucking stupid. Just like all of those other wives. You couldn’t keep your husband if you tried. I did you a favor. Reginald wasn’t staying with you. He was bored. I’m the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“But now you’re calling me to find out where he’s at,” I said softly.

“Fuck you!” she yelled. “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’ll pay you back!”

“I’ll have the last word. I promise you.”

13

I left my mother praying in the lobby of the building where Reginald and I were supposed to meet with our attorneys. We weren’t going before a judge. The mediation meant that we would try to sit and come to a compromise about the house before it got to a point where we needed a decision from a judge. I wasn’t contesting the divorce. Reginald didn’t have any money. I didn’t have any money. So the only thing we had to figure out was what would happen with the house. I’d lived there so long and we didn’t have a prenuptial agreement, so I had some rights. And after we made an agreement, the divorce would be finalized.

It’s interesting how people in buildings and public places look when you have something so heavy hanging over you. You’ve put on your best business clothes and fixed your mind on your problem. But there they are, walking around in their everyday lives. Going on lunch breaks and laughing with friends at their desks. They might stop and compliment your shoes or ask for the time. Very casually. Very friendly. You smile. You use some robot inside of you to say the time, but you’re not connecting. It’s all a blur. The entire world.

Mama and I had trouble finding parking, so I was a little late and I expected Reginald to be sitting in the waiting area of the meeting room, but our attorneys were sitting there alone.

We waited for him a while. The attorneys chatted about some local bill that was going into effect.

When Reginald was thirty minutes late, his attorney called him and then Sasha, but got no response.

My attorney suggested that we go wait in the conference room. She joked that the chairs were more comfortable and there was actually a window.

“Did he call you this morning?” his attorney asked me as we sat at the table. “Did he mention he’d be late?”

“I haven’t spoken to him today,” I said.

Our eyes all floated to the window. We were on the thirty-fifth floor and there was nothing but blue sky.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” We turned to see Reginald standing in the doorway in a sweat suit. He came to the table and did an awkward dance with the extra chairs until his attorney motioned for him to come sit near him.

My attorney started by restating the necessity of us meeting, adding what we hoped to gain in the discussion. His attorney did the same and then they began having this delicate conversation between the two of them. They flipped through papers and compared notes.

My attorney submitted a breakdown of my salary and how much I contributed financially to the household each month. There was also a discussion of the money I gave to Reginald over the years when his business was sagging.

I listened, but I watched Reginald. He was slumped over in his seat, looking distantly at the pages. He hadn’t shaved, probably in two days, and he looked nervous. Every few seconds, he looked up at me.

“So, what is your client willing to offer in the compromise?” my attorney asked.

“He’ll put the house in trust for the children. If anything ever happens to him, they’ll get it.”

My attorney nodded and checked something on her notepad.

“And in the meantime? Can my client have access to the home?”

“Well, in this matter we’re hoping to—”

“Excuse me,” Reginald interrupted. He looked at me. “Can I talk to you outside?”