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“Well . . . and neither is Miss Goody Two-Shoes’ opinion of me,” LaQuandra snapped. “Like I said, I’m an educated woman. And I don’t appreciate some frumpy ole scared-to-suck-her-husband’s-dick trick talking to me like I’m trash.”
Krista laughed. “Trash is what you are. You’re a miserable soul. And you’re still from the hood, hon. Face it, girl. You’re a fraud. But it’s okay, sweetie. I’m going to pray for you.”
“No, hon,” LaQuandra retorted. “Save your prayers for yourself. You’re going to need them more than I do.”
“LaQuandra,” Dr. Dangerfield interjected. “I believe what I hear Krista saying is that you seem to be blaming everyone else for your unhappiness instead of taking responsibility for it. To be miserable, to be unhappy, to live in chaos, is a choice.”
What Dr. Dangerfield said fell on deaf ears, as LaQuandra said, “The only thing I’m unhappy with is Isaiah’s baby mother. Like I said before, she’s the problem.”
Brenda and Krista both gave LaQuandra blank stares.
Dr. Dangerfield sighed inwardly, and then glanced up at the wall clock. Their ninety-minute group session was finally coming to a close. Thank God for small miracles.
“Well, ladies,” Dr. Dangerfield said thoughtfully. “I will leave you with two things to consider. The first, if you want change, then start with yourself. And, the second, you and only you alone can decide if your relationship is feeding your soul. Or bleeding it.”
Twenty-Three
“What would you say is a major concern in your marriage?” Dr. Dangerfield asked Brenda in her session with her and Roselle. Brenda and Roselle were seated on a white leather loveseat, holding hands—the picture-perfect couple, while Dr. Dangerfield sat in a white leather duchess chair.
All this damn white.
Brenda admired the lavish décor (clearly, a ton of money had been paid to some interior design team), but it needed a pop of color in here, some reds or oranges, something loud to liven it up. As beautiful as white was, it felt so sterile to Brenda. Doesn’t she like anything other than white? she thought. And then she glanced over at the beautiful pink floral arrangement and then over at the waterfall, with sheets of beautiful blue water splashing endlessly down into a basin filled with shimmering stones, before her gaze caught the red-bottomed soles of Dr. Dangerfield’s four-inch, white crystal-spiked heels.
Mmph.
Every so often a mist of lavender-scented air wafted out from some invisible vent, filling the room with a peaceful calm.
Brenda shifted in seat. “Roselle and I have a great marriage for the most part,” she stated. She really believed that to be true. “We’re very compatible. And I believe for the most part, we not only love one another, we like each other too.”
“But . . .?” Dr. Dangerfield asked, waiting. There was always a but somewhere lingering at the end of every “he’s-so/she’s-so wonderful” story.
“But, honestly. I’m tired of his cheating.” She let Roselle’s hand go, and Dr. Dangerfield watched as Roselle shifted in his seat and then tried to take hold of it agai
n. “If Roselle could learn to keep his thing in his pants, we’d have the perfect marriage.”
“Is that so? Define perfect,” Dr. Dangerfield insisted.
“Well, nothing is ever really perfect, per se,” Brenda quickly corrected. “But our marriage would be better. We’d be closer. Our chemistry is already through the roof, but I believe if he wasn’t out there cheating all the damn time . . .” Brenda shook her head. She felt herself becoming agitated. “The only thing we ever really fight about is his cheating.”
Brenda was simply tired of sharing his dick with other bitches. All she wanted from this Doctor lady was for her to get Roselle to see that he was potentially about to lose her behind his bullshit. Or not.
She—
Wait.
Was that what she really wanted? To leave him? It wasn’t like he cheated allllll the time. It wasn’t like he had a steady sidepiece. And he’d never fucked any of her sisters or friends—well, none that she was aware of.
Still. Was she really willing to give up on her marriage? Did she really want to walk away from everything she and Roselle had built together simply because he liked sampling new pussy on occasion?
She couldn’t answer that. And, honestly, she wasn’t ready to.
Roselle glanced at his Rolex, a gift from Brenda two Christmases ago. She’d saved all year just to make the extravagant purchase.
Dr. Dangerfield took the couple in for a brief moment, then landed her gaze on Brenda. “That must be exhausting. Constantly in conflict over your husband’s infidelity.”
Brenda sighed, and then she shot Roselle a dirty look. “Very. I’m tired of having to confront other women.”
“Then why do you feel the need to confront them? They aren’t the problem. They aren’t the ones disrespecting your marriage.”
