“Part of the equation is communicating when it’s difficult and not running away from the conflict. There’s disagreement in every healthy relationship, but communication is key in dealing with issues when they arise.
“That leads me into my next point about communication—I’ve noticed a tendency for both of you to use sex as a band-aid to your problems. While sex after an argument is very normal and natural, it’s important to communicate about the disagreement before you become intimate. Put issues to bed before you engage.”
She’s 100% correct. We use sex to deal with our problems, and I’m honestly not sure who’s worse, me or him. And she’s also right about me running away. Maybe I’ve always had it in the back of my mind that Bryant wouldn’t always be around. I expected something else, much different and much more permanent than infidelity. He’s still here though. He’s not gotten injured on the field and left me. My worst nightmares didn’t come true, so perhaps my worst fear didn’t come true. I thought infidelity was it, but his death or tragic injury is the worst possible scenario in my world.
And he thought it was me. Something shifts inside me, but I can’t quite put my finger on it because there’s a million thoughts swirling around in my mind. But I do feel a bit lighter in my soul for having learned he thought it was me that night.
“This brings us to an end for our session today, but I want to give you homework until our next session,” the therapist advises. “I want you to think about how you will cope differently as a couple now when a conflict arises. What can you do instead of running away and/or using intimacy to sweep over the disagreement?”
We leave the office in silence and head to his car. I hate that I rode with him today. I need distance and perspective. I apparently have personal issues I need to also deal with in addition to our issues as a couple.
I don’t say anything as he drives us to the other side of the Quarter until we come to a crossroads to either go to my place or his. “Can you take me home?”
He looks over at me. “Baby, what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
“I just want to go home for the night. I have a lot to sort out, and I think I need to do it alone.”
I can tell it hurts him to hear it, but his eyes are full of love and compassion as he replies, “Okay. I’ll take you home. Do you need anything on the way?”
“No, thank you.”
When we pull into the drive and he puts the vehicle in park, he reaches over and presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’m just a call away, Z.”
“Thank you,” I say and exit.
He idles in the drive until I’m tucked inside safely.
— 34 —
Now
I TAKE THE REST of the evening to decompress and sort through my thoughts. The thing I keep coming back to is the fact that I do indeed still love him, very much. And I’m miserable without him. I hate that I’m miserable without him, but I can’t help it. A long time ago, at Hale’s Row, he stole my heart and never gave it back. I thought he’d ripped it from my chest when I found him with Priscilla. I thought it ceased to beat, but there’s life still left in there yet.
And how different would things be if I’d known Priscilla had basically pretended to be me while my husband was drunk and nearly passed out? It’s not lost on me that I didn’t stick around to give him a chance to let him finish his explanation, and I also cut him off every time he tried to explain. In my defense, I was mortally wounded and running for cover. My fight or flight kicked in and I chose to run. I have to stop running. I need to either choose him or release him.
The next morning, I stay in bed longer than I should. I call into work and take a personal day to reset myself. Zina, Otto, and Bryant call and message to check on me, so I let them know I’m okay, and go on with my day.
“My beautiful ass is coming in!” Leslie shouts from the side door that leads in from the courtyard. When he comes into view, he takes me in and purses his lips. “Why are you wearing all kinds of regret on your face?”
“I messed up.”
“Well, that’s okay, Suga. We all mess up from time to time. I mean, not me, obvs, but most people. It’s okay to be normal.”
“Thanks?”
“What I’m trying to say is you’re human, and we’re faulty creatures. No need to stay in your pajamas until two in the afternoon about it. But, those pajamasarefabulous, girl.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
Leslie tosses his long dreads over his shoulder and comes around the couch to have a seat across from me. He crosses his legs at the knee and places both hands on the top one, leg bouncing away. “Tell Uncle Leslie all about it, boo boo.”
“I walked away too soon,” I admit, “from Bryant.”
“Oh, no, honey chile, no, no, no. You aren’t taking that weight on your shoulders. I love me some Mr. Football Star, but he messed up. Had his wanky in another woman’s mouth.”
“She pretended to be me—Priscilla, his old agent, she pretended to be me, and I didn’t know until yesterday.”
“Oooo,” he singsongs as he shakes his head. “And you didn’t give him a chance to tell you before you hauled ass to New Orleans?”
