My Sister's Ex (13 page)

“Even better than Big Hen.”

“That’s easy for you to say Alita.”

“True, but you know it hasn’t always been this way.”

Boy, do I know. I remember how Alita would call me on a daily basis; she’d complain for hours about the men she was dating. It’s not that they were all bad; they just never clicked with her the way she wanted. And after a while she’d get tired, kick the guy to the curb, and begin that vicious dating cycle over again. But one day she heard Bishop T D. Jakes say that if you find someone who possesses 80 percent of the qualities you’re seeking in a partner, then you’re doing good. It’s true many women make up a long and detailed wish list of what they want in a husband. But Jakes said get rid of the lists, because no human being can possibly fulfill all the things jotted on them.

“So do you really think that you’ll never be with any other man besides Big Hen for the rest of your life?”

“I may be twenty-three, but I’m smart enough to realize there are no guarantees. All I can do is enjoy our relationship and do what I can to make sure it’s successful. That means not wasting time fussing at my man about petty things. And I try not to go to extremes where my emotions are way off balance. Things like that can run a man out of your life.”

“Damn, Alita, why didn’t you tell me this good stuff a couple months ago?”

“Hello, Miss Thing, you weren’t ready to
listen
when I told you this good stuff. To be honest, you rarely listen to my advice, but that’s what I love about you.”

I don’t see how anyone can love me right about now. But
I’m glad that Alita cares for me even when I don’t seem worthy of love.

“Hey, sis, I know how you can be, so I won’t hound you. Just let me know when you’re ready to listen to my specific suggestion of how to get over Jeff. You’re going to have to be totally focused to do what I think you should do.”

I tell my best friend that I will get with her when the time is right. I leave work around seven and decide to pick up some carryout from Olive Garden on the way home.

After I leave the restaurant, first thing I see when I open my apartment door is big-head Marlene. She’s standing in the center of the living room with a wooden broom tightly clutched between her fingers. She’s singing out of tune to a ballad that’s blasting on the CD player. And she’s twirling around with the broom as if it’s a human being. Her eyes are closed, and a small smile forms on her lips. I watch her for a moment and shake my head. Like many times in the past, even though I grow upset with my sister, I still cave in sometimes and end up talking to her.

When I can’t take watching her dance with the broom anymore, I tell her, “You look so crazy.”

Marlene’s eyes pop open, and the broom crashes to the floor. She rushes to lower the volume of the music.

“Girl, don’t be sneaking in here on me like that. I wasn’t doing anything,” she says nervously, her face red. “I just need to sweep the kitchen, but got sidetracked.”

“Oh, okay, I see,” I say and tote my Olive Garden sack over to the kitchen table.

“Hey, what’s in the bag?” she asks, licking her lips.

“Why are you asking? Don’t you have a hot date tonight?” I say sarcastically.

“Girl, he called and told me …”

“He called and said what?”

“Um, that food smells so good. I love those salads and yummy tasting breadsticks. You know good and well that Olive Garden is one of my favorite places to go eat.”

“Then I suggest you get up and drive yourself over to your favorite restaurant and get you some carryout. Or why not have your sweetie do it for you? He used to do it for me all the time.”

“Rachel, stop being so nasty and sarcastic. Jeez, by the way, I am going to ladies’ meeting tonight at the church. You want to go with me?”

“Marlene, you must be losing your mind. Why would I want to go to church with you?”

“I was just asking … no need to raise your voice.”

I am so disgusted with her that I grab my bag and head for my bedroom. I feel like she should apologize to me, but she’s acting like we’ve officially made up and now are best buddies. Frustrated, I set my dinner on the TV tray and turn on my HDTV. There’s nothing on that seems even halfway entertaining, so I flip through my collection of movies, neatly organized by genre in DVD racks. Action, drama, comedies, romance, and horror.

“Fuck romance,” I say to myself. “I don’t have a man. Screw comedy, because there’s nothing funny happening right now. Forget action, because it looks like Rachel Merrell won’t be getting any action anytime soon. Hmm, that leaves horror and drama. Drama will have to do, because that’s all I seem to be experiencing these days.”

Even though the winter holiday is months away, I decide to settle down and watch
This Christmas
, an engaging African American film that stars Loretta Devine, Idris Elba, and Chris Brown, among others. One of my favorite
parts is when the two older Whitfield sisters engage in an all-out brawl one night and start cussing each other out and pulling each other’s weaves right in front of their mother’s house. I envision myself as actress Regina King beating the hell out of Marlene.

The movie has barely begun when I hear a frantic knock on my bedroom door.

“Who is it?”

“Don’t be dumb, who else would it be?”

“What do you want?”

“Rachel, come here, please,” Marlene yells. “Loretta is on the phone crying.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It’s about Blinky!”

I hop up out of the bed, open the door, and run as fast as I can. I find Marlene pacing across the living room and folding her arm under her big set of boobs. She looks gorgeous as usual.

“What happened? Put Loretta on speaker,” I say, and Marlene nods.

“Mama, did Blinky hit you in the jaw again?”

“What do you mean, ‘again’?” I ask, looking surprised. “He never hits her!”

“Girl, you are so naive it’s not funny,” Marlene says and rolls her eyes. She hesitates, then whispers to me, “He’s done it once before, but Loretta didn’t want you to know, because she thought you’d run and tell Brooke. I feel it’s something you should know, because I don’t know how to handle Loretta when she gets this upset. We need to convince her not to press charges.” She speaks in a normal tone and says, “Mama, where is Blinky right now?”

“I dunno and I don’t care,” Loretta’s shrill voice rings out through the speaker phone. “He ran out of here like a
little fucking coward. I’m going to kill his ass. He oughta know better than to be putting his hands on me.”

I’m sure she feels hurt and embarrassed because she makes her living counseling women going through domestic crises. But I’m so surprised that a woman as strong as Loretta would allow Blinky to go off on her like that. I wonder what happened to cause Blinky to lose his temper to that degree.

“Well, did you hit him back?” I ask.

“Is that Rachel? Girl, he socked me in my eye so hard I couldn’t even see him good enough to hit him back. But I could smell that evil liquor on his breath,” Loretta yells through the phone.

“Ya’ll need to use better judgment when it comes to partying and drinking,” I say in a huff. “Can’t always blame bad behavior on the tequila.”

“I hope you aren’t trying to lecture me, young lady. I’m not trying to hear all that right now.”

I clamp my mouth shut and nod, but it’s not like Loretta can see me.

“Rachel, can you act a teensy bit more understanding?” Marlene begs me, looking perturbed. I know it’s because although she wants my input about this situation, she still wants to be in control, the older sister who makes the final decision when it comes to family matters.

“I understand that a man shouldn’t hit a woman … unless he’s prepared to get locked up. Blinky ought to be ashamed. But Loretta knows how he is.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she screams.

“Okay, Loretta. I’m sorry for being blunt, but you know Daddy either acts real silly or gets depressed and mean when he’s in that partying mood and has too much to drink. I’m not trying to excuse his behavior. He’s wrong, point-blank. But next time this happens, don’t let him overdo it.”

“What did you say? You’re saying it’s
my
fault?”

“No, Loretta—.”

“Look, girl. You are not making my eye feel any better. I am in pain, you hear me? I feel like calling the police.”

“No! Don’t bring the police into this. Too many black men are overcrowding the county jail already over stupid stuff.”

“Rachel, this is crazy,” Marlene finally jumps in. “This is not the time, nor the place. Our daddy hit our mama in her face. That’s serious. We need to figure out how to support my mother. This is about being down for the family.”

“Oh, hell no, you’d better not talk about being down for our family,” I shout, fuming when I think of her audacity. All I can envision is her and Jeff. I continue, “Why now, Marlene? Why didn’t you feel this way about ‘family’ a few days ago? You are one of the biggest hypocrites I’ve ever met.”

“Marlene, ignore Rachel. Sometimes she can be so insensitive … just like her mama.”

“Loretta, leave my mama out of this. At least she isn’t crying the blues because some man jumped her,” I snap, knowing my words sound harsh, but I feel way too agitated to behave kind and gentle to Loretta. “True, Blinky shouldn’t be raising his hand at you, but Loretta, sometimes you are a difficult woman to deal with. Only so much a man can take.”

“And what would you know about having a man, Rachel?” Loretta screeches again. I can picture her face contorted in a glob of ugly frustration. I realize this must be very challenging for her. She’s the woman who always has answers for other women and their relationship problems. I wonder what great idea she’ll come up with to fix this mess. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, young lady. I’d look like a fool trying to listen to advice from you. You couldn’t even hold on to your fiancé—”

“I’m not listening to you. Did you hear me? You don’t
matter to me.” I drown her out and cover my ears with my hands. If she wants me to feel sorry for her, she should think about the horrible things she’s done to my mama.

“Rachel, stop acting so childish. That is my mother you’re talking to. We’re
sisters.”
Tears are spilling from Marlene’s cow-eyes, a sight that’s about as rare as seeing Amish people hanging out at the shopping mall.

“We’re sisters? Since when?” I squeal, uncovering my ears. “Because ever since you stepped out with my ex, ‘sister’ is not the word I think of when it comes to you.”

“Nothing can come between us, Rachel,” she murmurs with a dazed look. “You may allow yourself to be mad about the Jeff situation, but you don’t have to be. We could work this out.”

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say, Marlene. I just don’t. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Plus, my food is getting cold, and I’m going to have to start the movie over again because of you. So you handle the family business, Sis!”

I swing around and storm away to my room. My legs feel like anchor weights. I grab the doorknob to close the door but decide to leave it slightly ajar. I halfheartedly resume watching the movie, but none of the characters’ dialogue makes me laugh. Instead I want to cry. I have never fought as much with my sister as I’ve fought with her this past weekend. The yelling, the insults, the mean glares and uncomfortable tension. I don’t like how things are developing between us. And even though my “sister” feels we can work it out, I cannot figure out how to make the situation better.

— 8 —
M
ARLENE

What Kind of Woman Am I?

Sometimes I don’t understand
my sister. Sure, she may be upset right now, but when it comes to family crises, everyone normally sets aside any differences and handles issues accordingly. Rachel may talk smack about Loretta, but she can’t deny that my mama did not hesitate to help out years ago when the family went through a little crisis.

I was in middle school; Rachel was still in elementary. One humid, hot summer, Brooke practically experienced a nervous breakdown worrying about Blinky Even though she didn’t have to, Loretta took Rachel in and treated her like her own. The family thought Brooke should go away and stay at some mental institution where she could be examined. She stopped eating regularly, lost about fifteen pounds, had trouble sleeping through the night, and it was clear she wasn’t interested in raising her daughter during that time. Rachel came to live with us for about a month after her mama was diagnosed with having major depression. That isn’t a real long time, but it was long enough for Rachel to miss her mommy so much that she started calling Loretta “Mama.” She’d curl up on Loretta’s lap every night and would let my mama comb and braid her hair, give her a bubble bath, and
teach her fun stuff like how to paint her tiny fingernails. Rachel’s memory may go blank about that time in our lives, but I definitely haven’t forgotten.

“Okay tell me what happened,” I say now to Loretta, holding the phone to my ear. I shut my bedroom door and sit comfortably on the floor right next to my bed.

“Naw, you know how Blinky is. He gets to drinking. His boys came over and he likes to show off. Talking loud, calling me a crazy bitch in front of everybody, and then laughing like he’s making some type of hilarious joke at my expense.”

“Okay, well, that figures; he was drunk, Loretta.”

“My thing is, if you want to drink, then you better be responsible for your actions. But he kept pushing my buttons.”

“Well, if you know Blinky gets that way maybe you should have left the house.”

“Oh, here you go repeating what your sister said.”

Although I’d never admit it to Rachel’s face, my sister does make a good point.

I take a deep breath. “Mama, how many times have you talked to young women who go to the club, they have too much to drink, then chose to leave with a man they barely know? You said a stiff drink and a stiff dick don’t mix very well. All I’m trying to say is that women, and that includes you, need to be more accountable—”