Page 42 of The Marriage Rebound

I stopped lotioning my legs. Surely, I hadn’t heard her correctly. Slowly, I stood, narrowing my eyes. “I’m sorry, what? You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.”

She swallowed down her drink and slammed the empty glass on her nightstand. “No, Courtney, I’m not kiddin’ you. You always got somethin’ to do. You always gotta take care of this, and always gotta take care of that. When do you take care of me?”

I started pacing around. There was no way she really just said those words to me. There was no fucking way. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? What do you mean ‘when do I take care of you’? Look around, Sash. Look a-fucking-round. Where are we at? You think I wanted to live out here in fucking Johns Creek where we’re probably two of five of the Black people in the whole damn city? Every time I’m at the store folks be looking sideways, but you wanted this location for whatever fucking reason. I was cool with my apartment, which was closer to the arena, and there was more of us. You wanted this. So, what did I do? I made it happen for you.”

There was no way she couldn’t see how far off base her thinking was. My brain could not comprehend Sasha having the actual level of selfishness and self-absorption she was displaying. This was a merry-go-round of bullshit, and after what her dad had been trying to imply, maybe the apple didn’t fall too far from that tree.

“I drive a 2020 Honda Accord. You wanted the big-body Jag, so that’s what you got. All you do is buy shit. Clothes, shoes, purses. You keep your hair and nails laid. All I fucking do is take care of you and your desires to have the finer things in life. I work my ass off to make you happy, and it’s not fucking enough. I’m tired. I’m so fuckin’ tired, Sasha. I don’t know how much more I could give you over what I’ve already given you, what I continue to give you. Nothing I’ve done, or am doing, is appreciated. You want me to be everything, everywhere, all the time, and how am I supposed to accomplish that?”

I rubbed at the ache in my chest. There was only so much pushing my feelings aside for the sake of peace I could do. The fact that she still hadn’t said anything about my winning the championship was like a flashing beacon reminding me she didn’t give a damn.

“I . . . I can’t do this, Sash. You have an NBA appetite on a WNBA budget, and I’m drained.”

I sucked in a deep breath, failing at any attempt to hold in my anger. “And on top of all that, you want to bring a child into this? How fucking irresponsible and goddamn selfish can you be? And to do it behind my fuckin’ back. That’s like cheating on me, Sasha! Goin’ out and gettin’ yourself knocked up, or at least trying to without fuckin’ talking to me first.”

She sat there staring at me, not saying a word, face tight.

I loved her, I truly did, but I was at the point where I didn’t think that was enough. I was giving her everything I could. And not only was it not enough, the unmoved look plastered on her face drove home the lack of appreciation.

Finally, she picked up her glass and stood. “I need another drink.”

I huffed a dry laugh. “Of course you do. What happens when this child you’re going behind my back to have gets to be too much? You gonna just take another drink then too? You’d have my game all fucked up because I’d be too worried you’re at home fixing a fucking mimosa and putting it in the baby’s bottle.”

Her eyes went wide and she opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again and stormed out of the room.

Shit! That accusation was probably taking it too far, but then again . . . I massaged my temple, the remnants from the episode in the shower lingering. The rough material of the cast scratched my skin, reminding me how I got here. I should be on the court balling instead of doing whatever the fuck this was.

I released a long breath and considered simply going to bed since she’d been the one to do what she always accused me of doing. But if she was drinking . . . there’d be no peace, so I’d might as well stay in it. It was time to hash it all out, or as much as we could, depending on how drunk she got.

Downstairs, I found Sasha standing at the island, the bottle of Henny uncapped as she sipped from her refilled glass.

“You sound like them.” Her tone was flat, which was unlike her. Especially when we were in the middle of an argument.

“Them who?”

“My parents. You sound like them. ‘Sasha’s needy.’ ‘Sasha just wants, wants, wants.’ ‘Sasha’s immature and irresponsible.’ ‘Sasha never thinks things through.’ ‘Sasha doesn’t make good decisions.’ Sasha’s nothin’ but a fuckin’ burden that you’d rather not be around. You just like, sound just like my parents.” She slammed the glass down on the granite counter top and I was surprised it didn’t break.

Sasha pointed a finger at me and narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, I drink here and there, but for you to say . . . that was a fuckin’ low blow.”

I started to speak, to acknowledge the comment was out of pocket and apologize, but she continued on, stepping closer to peer up at me.

“And. And . . . yes, I like things, and why is that a bad thing? I gave up my life for you!”

That comment made me jerk back. “What? I don’t even . . . what? When did I ask you to give up anything for me? Please explain because clearly, I must have missed that fucking memo.”

She grabbed the bottle and poured another drink. “I was dancin’, Courtney. I was makin’ good fuckin’ money, and then when we got married, I quit for you.” She punctuated the last part by pointing at me with the hand holding the glass. Some of the liquid sloshed out, spilling onto the counter and her hand.

My frown deepened. “I didn’t ask you to do that shit. I never once made any demands of you. I didn’t fucking care!”

Sasha flicked the liquor from her hand before taking a long sip. “Be for real, Courtney. Who would want to say that their wife worked the pole? I had to be a respectable wife for you! And I needed to look the part because I damn sure didn’t want my presence to be an embarrassment to you.”

“Stop right there. Stop right fuckin’ there. When I met you, you were stripping. When I asked you out, you were stripping. When I fucking proposed to you and we got married, you were stripping. So please tell me at what point I even remotely cared about your job or made some comment about you needing to stop. Because I sure as hell don’t remember.”

She rolled her eyes and smacked her lips. “You didn’t have to say, but I knew that’s what you wanted.”

My head was spinning for a whole new reason. I stomped over to the other counter and yanked two sheets from the paper towel roll. Back at the island I wiped the spilled Henny off the granite before dropping to a squat to dab up the spots she’d flicked onto the floor. I needed something to do while I attempted to process what she was saying, and still it made not a lick of sense.

“How the fuck did you get to that conclusion?” I asked, tossing the used paper towel into the trash. “Because you sure as shit ain’t ask me what I thought. You made that decision, so please miss me with that ‘you gave up your life for me’ bullshit.”