“Nothing worth repeating.”
After eating a plate of food my mother left on the kitchen table for me, I went upstairs to a hot shower and cold bed. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Reginald had said. He’d written our memories in my mind and every time I tried to think of something new, an image of Cheyenne gripping his fingers to stand up or R. J. figuring out how to pick up Cheerios flashed. I could feel the memory of my family like it was hours ago since I was in Augusta. I could smell Reginald’s wor
k boots in the front hallway. I could hear him singing in the shower. See him sitting on the couch with the kids watching basketball. I missed the confidence I’d had in my life when I had all of those feelings on a daily basis. A twin-sized bed in my mother’s house hardly made up for it. Now, I was in fragments.
The call from Sasha must’ve come after 2:00 a.m. That was the last time I remembered seeing on my alarm clock before I dipped into a dream of chasing a toddling Cheyenne around the house. At first the ring was in my dream, disguised as the house phone. But then I opened my eyes and saw Sasha’s name on my cell phone.
I let it ring three times. And then a fourth. It stopped. And then it started again.
“What do you want?” I asked after she called back the third time.
“Where is he?” she snapped.
“He? Who?”
“Don’t play fucking stupid with me. Where is he?”
“Tell me who he is and maybe I can help you.”
“Reginald. Where is Reginald?”
There’s no sentence I can write to describe the irony I felt deep in my soul at hearing this question. It was pleasurable. Almost like the first night of A. J.’s show on CNN, which marked the end of Sasha’s. Almost like the afternoon R. J. told me that Sasha had to sell her fast car. I wasn’t riding high on these tidbits of information, but they gave a little pleasure. Just enough to make me giggle in knowing that true revenge comes from the universe.
“Have you called him?” I asked, faking concern.
“Bitch, spare me. Have you seen him?”
“No, I haven’t,” I lied. I figured it would be more interesting to tell her the truth later—see what I mean about becoming a better arguer (hint: play offense and defense)?
“God damnit,” Sasha cursed. “I thought he was going there.”
“What would make you think that?”
“He’s gotten all fucking emotional now. Was talking about his ‘family’ and said he missed you.”
“He said he missed me?” I don’t know why, but this mattered to me.
“Don’t get excited. He was probably drunk,” she snarled.
“Sasha, when did you become the devil?” I asked wryly. “I mean, I knew you in undergrad and you weren’t anything like this shell of a human you are now. What happened to you?”
“Well, if you’re really concerned, I’ll tell you, life happened,” she said. “This kind of shit happened. And in order to make sure I came out on top, I had to get smarter than everyone else. Follow me? Great.”
“So because of that, you’re angry at the world? Angry enough at me to come into my home and break up my family? Angry enough to have an affair with Landon?”
“Landon was a joke. A crackpot.”
“I’m sorry to tell you, but the way things turned out, it seems like you were the joke.”
“A joke! Are you trying to be funny, Dawnie? Was that your attempt at comedy?” Sasha laughed wildly. “The last thing I remember was you lying in your bed alone and your husband carrying me down a hallway. Now, that was a joke. I laughed at that shit for days. You begging and shit. That was a joke. You should take that pathetic shit on the road.”
“Poison any more of your friends lately?” I asked rather casually.
“I don’t know. You should ask Reginald. He’s taken a liking to my expensive wine. Just like you did.”
I felt like coming through the phone and cutting Sasha somewhere. Hurting her.
“All this time, I was actually feeling sorry for you,” I said. “I know about your fibroids and wanting to get pregnant.”