Page 21 of Friend Zoned

“I can start over. Wipe the slate clean, and when I go into something new, I’m going to be more assertive. I’m going to tell him exactly what I need and what I want. I’ll tell you what I’m not looking for. No helpless man-babies need apply.” She nods firmly at her own declaration.

“Hmm. What exactly is a helpless man-baby? Sounds like some sort of kink.”

She stares at me and laughs, then she laughs so hard she has to hold her stomach. “I’m picturing a man in a big diaper.” She lets out another unguarded laugh. “No, that’s not what I mean. I’ll give you an example. My dad is a big helpless man-baby. I love him to death, but he can’t do anything without my mom. Last year, she had emergency gallbladder surgery and was in the hospital for a few days. He completely lost it. The doctor wanted a list of all her medications, and he had no idea where they were. Every time the doctors asked him a question, he was totally clueless. I had to go in there and take over. During her recovery, I had to move in because he doesn’t know how to do anything. He couldn’t feed himself. He didn’t know how to use the washing machine or the microwave. If you ask him, he doesn’t know the name of his own doctor. I know because they called the house to confirm an appointment he had. So, I had to take care of both of them. I love my dad, but I do not want a man like that. I need him to step up when stuff happens.”

I do everything I can to hold in my laugh as I picture what she just told me. My father is the opposite of that. He’s all about controlling everything, but he’s always been able to hire people to do everything for him. If my mom got sick during their marriage, he would be in the hospital telling the doctors what to do.

“You know what that sounds like to me? It sounds like your dad’s got a pretty good thing going with your mom.” And I’m sure that’s exactly how her mom wants it, but I keep that to myself.

“Ha. Maybe he does. You know what else she does for him?” she whispers. “She picks out his clothes. She lays them on the bed for him and he just wears them. Never a single complaint.” Just like I thought. Myra has total control over her husband. “I lost my patience with him a couple of times. He told my mom I was being rude. As soon as she was better, she gave me a lecture about respect, just like she did when I was a teenager.” She huffs but smiles fondly at the memory. “And I’m never getting married again,” she says as if she’s just telling me about the weather outside.

That one surprises me. “I thought you just said you’re not going to let that ex win.”

“I’m not. I want a relationship, but I don’t want to go through what I went through ever again. We can be together if we live in separate homes. I’d never lived alone before my divorce, and I love it. I don’t have to answer to anyone. I come and go as I see fit. All the decisions are mine, and I don’t have to compromise on anything. Anyway, I’m sorry to dump this on you, but it just sucks how he was able to shit on our marriage and just go on with his life while I had to pick up the pieces of mine.”

From what she tells me about him showing up at her job, he has yet to get on with his life. He’s stuck in a weird cycle of regret and revenge. Revenge because she dared to leave.

“Don’t you want a family?”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t need a husband to have kids. I don’t know about the kid thing. I thought I did, but I’m grateful that I didn’t have one while going through a rough divorce. Maybe kids aren’t in my future, and I’m okay with that.”

“You never know,” I tell her. “Never say never. You can meet someone who will make you want to give marriage another chance.”

She makes a face, and I chuckle. “I highly doubt that. He would have to be extra special. Way above and beyond. Like one in a billion. Oh, and he’d have to be okay with me not taking his last name. I never did with Quintin. He tried to use that as an excuse to justify his cheating.”

I look around the place and wonder what kind of a fool she was married to. One lucky enough to get her to marry him, only to screw it up in the worst way.

“Why didn’t you take his last name?” I ask. Maybe deep down she’s always known he wasn’t worth it.

“My dad’s parents weren’t married. He’s the product of an affair,” she whispers. “And he never had his dad’s last name. That’s a big deal in Haiti, I heard. It’s always been important to him that I have his name, and I didn’t want to change that. I’m glad I never did.

She points to a cabinet above my head, and I grab two plates. I set the table. I don’t remember the last time I did something domestic. I never did it growing up. We’ve always had dozens of people on staff to cater to my every whim, but there’s something about this that’s fulfilling. It’s intimate and personal, something I’ve never had.

She grabs two more bottles of water for the table. She puts food on both plates, and I sit back and watch her. It’s like she’s on autopilot, and a part of me wonders if she did this with her ex-husband. She grabs one of the plantains and puts it to my lips. “

Taste,” she says, and I wonder if she’s doing this on purpose, but I look into her eyes, and she’s holding her breath. I open my mouth and take a bite. It’s crunchy and salty.

“Delicious.” I take the last bit from her hand and eat it. She puts another piece to my lips and waits for me to try it. This one is softer and sweet. “Mmhmm.” I grab the last of it and eat it.

“Which one do you like more?” she asks.

“Why do I have to choose?” I grab another of each kind and shove them both in my mouth at once. Then, I turn to the rice and chicken in front of me. It looks and smells delicious, and it is.

“The worst part about being divorced is eating alone, but then I remind myself that I ate alone a lot when I was married too.” She shakes her head sadly. She eats and savors each bite.

“You are a great cook,” I tell her as I serve myself more.

“Thanks. I don’t usually eat like this, but I wanted some comfort food today. Back to the salads tomorrow.”

I inhale the rest of the food and pull away from the table. She’s a slow eater. She’s only half done with the food on her plate. I could eat it in three bites. I do everything to contain my moan when she slides the fork between her lips. I have visions of sliding my dick where that fork is right now.

“What made you stop by today?” she asks, jolting me out of my dirty thoughts.

“Oh, you left your scarf in my car last week.” I jump out of the chair and open the coat closet. I pull out the scarf from my inside pocket and wave it in the air as if it’s some kind of prize.

“’Thanks,” she says. “I didn’t even notice.” She starts to clear the table, and I stand there, unsure of what to do. I have a nice view of her body from here. I can tell she’s firm with perfect curves. I love a woman who can handle my big hands, and she can. I might need both hands to fully cup her ass. “Do you have to go soon?” she asks.

“Why? Are you kicking me out for being a bad guest?” I finally get out of my own head and bring the rest of the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

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