cyn
What would’ve happenedif I stayed with Brix and toughed it out? That’s what my mother told me to do. I had considered inviting my parents over, but that would surely be a disaster. Unlike Brixton, I told my parents about our split. I had to. Living lies isn’t something in my playbook, which is why I don’t know why I agreed to this. After all, that’s why I left Brix. I was living lies, feigning happiness for the world, but was lonelier than a tumbleweed rolling through dust in the desert. Now, I’m out here doing wifey things again, and to be honest, I miss it.
I grab a cart and push it further into Signature Select, browsing the decor for sale. The candles – cinnamon apple, pumpkin caramel and banana bread – yeah, these beauties are all coming with me. They smell like fall. I couldn’t choose just one. And they’re all in gorgeous glass containers. It would definitely add some sweetness to Brix’s home.
Then there’s a beautiful wreath that’s fancy enough for his massive front door. I had purchased some wreaths in the past, but I have no clue what Brix has done with that stuff. Plus, this gigantic one puts all the others to shame. The leaves – all the different colors – look so real. And it has pine cones – oh, somebody designed this thing just for me. I mean Brix.
I picked up a neat fall comforter set for the guest bedroom, some coasters, fall-inspired hand soap, room sprays for the bathrooms, and a leaf garland for the fireplace.
I leave there and head to Martin’s Grocery where I grab two bottles of Pepsi, a bottle of ginger ale, sweet potatoes, cinnamon, nutmeg, butter, pie pans, whipped cream, paper towels, toilet paper, and a few more items I think Brix may need or possibly could be running out of. I used to do all of this shopping for him – for us. Now, I think he hired someone to do it, but I’m not sure. I’m not in his business like that.
As I head to the register, I see my mother wheeling a cart in my direction. And it’s full – looks like she’s cooking for the Christenbury Comets. I know this woman ain’t trying to go through self-checkout with half the store in her cart.
I say, “Hey, Ma! Oh, you ‘bout to be all up in that kitchen, huh?”
“Yeah, girl,” she says, reaching to hug me. I embrace her warmly. I love my mom to pieces, with her heavily opinionated self.
When she releases me, she says, “I got the family coming over. Everybody gon’ be there exceptyou!”
Beep.
We’re standing so close to the self-checkout registers that I cannot drown out the sound of barcodes being scanned, one immediately after another.
“Yeah, well–” I say, because I already told her about how I’ll be playing house with Brix for the next few days, and I’m not trying to repeat it.
Beep.
She says, “And you know you ain’t got no business fooling around with that man like that.”
Here we go…
“Ma, what are you talking about?”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“I’m talking about Brixton. You know what I’m talking about. Why are you playing with him? More importantly, why are you playing this game with yourself, Cyn?”
“Ma–”
“A blind man can see y’all belong together,” she asserts before I can answer the two questions she shot at me back-to-back.
“Now, you fixin’ to go over there and playpretend wife? If you know like I know, you’d better be vying to get your position back. Got that fine man walking around Christenbury like he’s the next Bachelor. Brixton only has eyes for you.”
“Ma–”
“So what he worked a lil’ too much? Y’all new-age women are hard to please, ain’t you? You mad when a man’s working, then you mad when he ain’t working. What in the world?”
Beep.
“Pick a side for goodness’ sake!”
“Ma, are you gon’ let me get a word in?”
“Yeah. Go ‘head–done ran my blood pressure up with this foolishness.”
“Your blood pressure is just fine.”
Beep.
