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JORDAN
Katantia doesn’t seemlike hell from up here.
My ex-wife and I are having a drink at EVOLve. It’s a vegan bar serving produce that’s been brewed locally. I can’t touch my drink because it tastes like utter shit mixed with coffee, but my ex-wife loves her fresh fruit cocktail.
“I’m sorry for intruding,” Aretta says. Her eyes wander around the bar, curiously taking in the guests. The vegan scene is less on the nose about their sexual affinities, so I decided to bring Aretta here on her last night. She’s flying home tomorrow. “I wanted to see Kendrick and Kamila. It’s been so long.”
“I understand.” She’s got her natural hair in an afro today. It’s a look she often wore during her pregnancy with Alex. I sit close to my ex-wife, but it’s not because I seek intimacy. Katantia is a fucked up place at times, and even national heroes, like my ex-wife and I, can get targeted.
Tonight, is the first time that I’ve managed to make time for her. I could tell that she took offense throughout the week. I kept postponing, blaming work.
“How are you doing with the divorce? Do you need any help?” I ask her.
Aretta shakes her head. Her fingers trace lines on the table. “I’ve hired the best legal team for me.”
“Are you going to decimate Howard?” I ask with amusement in my voice. I never liked the man that replaced me. What else is new?
She chuckles. “I don’t have to.”
If Fylox’s dad is involved in her divorce, it’s over for Mr. Howard. She’s got her own money from her singing days. She can afford to drag Mr. Howard through the mud if he overestimates himself. Plus, she’s taken to being a baller’s mom. She’s at every game, showing up for Alex when the rest of us can’t. The kids make memes out of her because she shows up to the games like she owns the league.
All the gossip sites are reporting Aretta’s divorce. She’s on social media a lot, singing and showing eager fans what her life looks like. On most days, she’s cooking vegan food or teaching warm-up techniques for singers. I’m not on the internet unless it’s for work, but I occasionally see people share their opinion on how my ex-wife ages likefine wine. Brands eat it up, and they’re sending her items to promote. She’s a smart businesswoman, and I wouldn’t put it past her if she started making her own millions on the side.
“He’s already begging me to take him back, but I’m not going to. I have other options. It was meant to fail from the get-go, and I don’t know why I stayed with him for almost thirty years. He talked too much. I couldn’t stand his bitching about Alex and Kamila. He can’t get over it. It’s been five years! They’re in love, and Fylox is a good man. Kendrick has three people that would do anything for him… I don’t want his energy around me anymore.” She exhales. “What about you? What’s your fling of the week got to say about our family?”
“I don’t have a fling,” I tell my ex-wife.
She smiles at me, seeing right through my bullshit. “Jordan, please. There’s not one woman that hasn’t stared at you in longing ever since I stepped foot on Katantia.”
“I’m serious. It’s not a fling,” I insist, sitting back on the uncomfortable chair.
My ex-wife’s eyes sparkle. “Do tell. Your sister doesn’t know, does she? Felicita’s been trying to make medateyou for this past week.”
I shake my head in disbelief. I must talk to Felicita about this. “You know that I’ve experienced some issues getting over what we had.”
Aretta nods. It doesn’t make me nervous to talk to her about this. In fact, I’m almost as calm as I am in my little doe’s home. Aretta’s mischievous smirk is a piece of the past I never want to let go of. “I’m irresistible. It’s not my fault.”
“You’ve given me the greatest gift of all,” I tell her. I can feel my pulse rising. “You made our kid. It wasn’t me.”
“I’d gladly take all the glory, but he’s got you inside of him. Your good side. Don’t ever forget that,” she claims, and I’m tempted to believe her. I can’t, though. There’s something inside of me that blocks the thought. “Stop with the flattery. Give me all the details!”
“I’ve been seeing a therapist for five years,” I tell her. She’s not surprised by this. We don’t hide it from anyone.
“And? Has she made you see Jesus?” Aretta asks, giggling into her glass. She downs the rest of her drink elegantly. The waiter comes by and promises to bring her a new one.
“Almost,” I comment.
“Jordan. Have you found my replacement? Tell me!”
“It’s like nothing else exists when she’s in the room.” I watch as my ex-wife turns stunned at my words. This is a woman I haven’t been able to let go of for years. I’ve always been in the corner, waiting for an opportunity to whine about our failed marriage.
My little doe invites me to her home once, and I’m already catching feelings.
I continue, “She wants to fix me.”
Aretta’s amused. “Good luck to her. I didn’t even try because I know what a—”
“She’s my therapist.”
