An American Marriage(74)

“Olive and I were married more than thirty years; we went through a lot.”

“It doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like this, to act like you’re God up on a throne. Do I have to go to jail to have a right to try to be happy?”

Big Roy scratched his neck where the hair was growing in tight gray curls, then swiped at the standing water in his eyes. “You have to understand, Andre. The boy is my son.”





Roy


Morning came gently. I slept deep and hard until the sound of frying bacon woke me up. I always started the day achy. Five years lying on a prison bunk will ruin your body. In the light of day, I still found the dolls to be unsettling but less mocking than they had been at night.

“Good morning,” I called out in the direction of the kitchen.

After a beat, she said, “Good morning. You hungry?”

“After I have a bath I will be.”

“I put some towels in the yellow bathroom,” she said.

Looking down, I remembered that I was as naked as a newborn. “Anybody here?”

“Just us,” she said.

Treading down the hall, I was aware of my body: the puckered scar below my ribs, my prison muscles, and my penis, morning strong but still disappointed. Celestial was busy in her kitchen, rattling pots and pans, but I felt something like surveillance as I made my way. Safe in the washroom, I saw that she had set my duffel bag on the counter so I would have clothes to wear. Hope woke up with a growl like a hungry stomach.

Waiting for the water to heat up, I checked under the sink and discovered some kind of manly shower gel that I figured must belong to Dre. It smelled green, like the woods. I kept rooting around in the cabinet, looking to see what else belonged to him, but I found nothing, no razor, no toothbrush, no foot powder. So hope gave another little growl, like a rottweiler puppy this time. Andre didn’t live here either. He had his own separate house, even if it was right next door.

Under the hot shower, I preferred not to use Dre’s soap, but the only other option smelled like flowers and peaches. I cleaned my whole body, taking my time, sitting on the side of the tub, scrubbing the bottoms of my feet and between my toes. I squeezed some more soap and used it on my hair, rinsing myself in water so hot it hurt. Then I dressed myself in my own clothes bought with my own money.

When I got to the kitchen, she had positioned the plates and glasses in front of the chairs that we never used to use.

“Good morning,” I said again, watching her pour batter onto the waffle iron.

“Sleep well?” Celestial’s face was bare, but she wore a dress made out of sweater material that made her look like she was going out.

“Actually, I did.” Then the hopeful rottweiler puppy started his thing again. “Thank you for asking.”

She served waffles, bacon fried crisp, and a fruit cup. She made my coffee black with three spoons of sugar. When we were still normal, we sometimes ate brunch at trendy restaurants, especially in the summer. Celestial wore tight sundresses and flowers braided into her hair. With my eyes on my wife, I would tell the waitress that I liked my coffee like I liked my women, “black and sweet.” This always got me a smile. Then Celestial would say, “I like my mimosa like I like my men: transparent.”

Before we ate, I opened my hand. “I think we should say grace.”

“Okay.”

With bowed head and closed eyes, I spoke. “Father God, we ask you today to bless this meal. Bless the hands that prepared it, and we ask you to bless this marriage. In the name of your son we pray. Amen.”

Celestial didn’t say “Amen” back. Instead, she said, “Bon appétit.”

We ate, but I couldn’t taste anything. It reminded me of the morning before my sentencing hearing. The county jail served a breakfast of powdered eggs, cold bologna, and soft toast. For the first time since I had been denied bail I cleaned my plate, because this was the only time that I couldn’t actually taste it.

“Well?” I said, finally.

“I have to go to work,” she said. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Let your twin mind the store.”

“Tamar already agreed to open for me, but I can’t leave her by herself the whole day.”

“Celestial,” I said, “me and you need to talk before—”

“Before?”

“Before Andre gets here. I know he’s on his way.”

“Roy,” Celestial said. “I hate the way this is happening.”

“Listen,” I said, hoping to sound reasonable. “All I want is a conversation. I’m not saying that we need to take it to the threshing floor. I want things to be cool between us. If we play our cards right, tell each other the truth, I can be gone before Andre even gets . . .” I hesitated. I didn’t want to say home. “I’ll be gone before he even gets back.”

Celestial stacked my scraped-clean plate on top of hers, which was half full of breakfast. “What is there to say,” she said, sounding fatigued. “You know everything that there is to know.”

“No,” I said. “I know what you’ve been doing, but I don’t know what you want moving forward.”

She nibbled her lip like she was thinking, walking through every scenario in her head. When she was finally ready to speak, I wasn’t ready to hear it. “Let me get my stuff first,” I said. “Just let me collect my things.”