Page 6 of Happy Is On Hiatus
Hale Henderson, Rita’s father, was the pastor of New Visionary Baptist Church, one of the biggest churches in Baltimore City. That made her mother the first lady, and Benny and Rita PKs (preacher’s kids). An insurmountable layer of pressure went with all those titles, but Rita had done her best to carry it gracefully every day of her life. Vi wouldn’t have had it any other way. And in her mother’s eyes, Rita’s only goals after high school were to marry a nice man, become a good wife, have children, and live happily ever after. Well, two out of four wasn’t that bad.
Rita sat back, coffee mug in one hand, and shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anything left to say to that man.” She wasn’t ready toadmit—not even to the two people closest to her—that she was afraid to talk to him. Conversations about his infidelity had always left her drained yet cautiously optimistic in the past. This time, she didn’t want to buckle under the pressure of saving a loveless marriage for the sake of keeping up appearances. She couldn’t do it, not again.
“Oh, I beg to differ on that point,” Sharae replied quickly. “I’ve got a lot of choice words for that muthafuck—”
“Uh-uh.” Rita shook her head and frowned. “Not this early in the morning, Sharae.”
Sharae wiped her hands on a napkin and tossed it onto her empty plate. “I’m grown, too, Rita, and I can call a muthafucka a muthafucka when he’s acting like a muthafucka.”
Rita’s eyes narrowed, and Jemel grinned before replying, “And y’all say I’m the one always pushin’ the envelope.”
“She’s just being smart as usual,” Rita said and set her mug on the island. “Look, I know what needs to be done, and I’m going to take care of it.”
Just like she always took care of everything.
None of them said that part. But they didn’t have to. Rita knew she was the fixer of their crew. She’d inherited that from her mother. Whenever they’d gotten into trouble as kids, Rita was the one to come up with a plan to try and get them out of it. Or to at least campaign to lessen the punishment that would come as a result. Where Jemel was concerned, that took a lot of work and a lot of praying on Rita’s part. The thought left a warm feeling in her chest. These two women meant the world to her. They’d always been there for her—even in the early years when Nate had first cheated, they’d been her shoulder to cry on. Then they’d both insisted she tell Tariq to beat Nate’s ass and then clean him out in the divorce. But Rita hadn’t done that, and in the years that followed, Sharae and Jemel had stopped saying much about Nate and Rita’s marriage. Rita knew it was purposeful on their part, and she lovedthat they cared so much about her that they’d hold their tongues just to keep her happy. And shehadbeen happy, for a while.
“You know we’re here. Just tell us what you want us to do,” Jemel said when Rita figured she’d been quiet for too long.
“Nothing,” Rita replied. “I mean, there’s nothing you can do at the moment.”
“Besides keep your ass from getting a citation or, worse, going to jail,” Sharae countered.
Rita frowned. “For taking out the trash?”
“Uh, no, let’s try destruction of property, arson, criminal mischief.” Sharae stuck out a finger to tick off each charge. “I don’t have all the Howard County ordinances committed to memory because I prefer to stop killers for a living, but the fire chief wasn’t happy about me whisking you into the house before he could talk to you. And my captain’s probably waiting to tear me a new one the minute I walk through the doors of the precinct.”
“Oh.” Rita’s lips formed an O before she reached out a hand to touch Sharae’s. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.” She knew how much Sharae’s job meant to her, and the last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize that in any way. The decision to burn Nate’s clothes had come so naturally, but at the same time had been as unexpected as the phone call from that woman. Still, it wasn’t like her to act irrationally, and she prayed that Sharae wouldn’t pay the price for her actions.
“There’s gotta be some kinda loophole for wives who need to release some tension brought on by their cheating husbands,” Jemel said.
Sharae leveled her gaze at her, twisting her lips up at the corners. It was the look reserved especially for Jemel, who had zero filter on whatever came out of her mouth. It almost made Rita grin. “That’s not how it works,” Sharae said.
“Sure it is,” Jemel replied with a shrug. “I bet this isn’t the first case they’ve seen of a woman burning her husband’s clothes. And since themajority of men are determined to live up to the ain’t-shit mantra, this won’t be the last.”
Sharae pointed a finger and nodded in Jemel’s direction. “That last part,” she said with a knowing look.
One of the top points Jemel and Sharae agreed on was that when dealing with men, they should always use long-handled spoons. Grandma Patty had taught them the concept of the long-handled-spoon approach when they’d been little girls visiting her spooky old house by the park. In essence, it meant that once a person wronged you, it was okay to still deal with them—from a distance—but to never trust or let them get close to you again. Now, that didn’t mean Jemel didn’t love herself some men, ’cause sex was like air to her, and she never planned to go without. While Sharae, on the other hand, could function on self-pleasure without blinking an eye. Between that and going to the shooting range every weekend, it was a wonder she didn’t have carpal tunnel or some other wrist-and-hand malfunction. It had always been a wonder to Rita how very differently each of them had viewed relationships. Now she wondered if they’d had the right idea all along.
She stood then. “I’m getting a divorce.” She picked up her empty plate and mug and carried them both to the sink. The words were spoken with solemn finality followed by the quick rush of water when she turned on the faucet and began rinsing her dishes.
There was a hush in the room, and for those few seconds Rita was grateful for the silence. It gave her a chance to get used to saying that word as it pertained to the marriage she’d thought would last forever.
“Well, we can have a freedom party when you sign the final papers,” Jemel said. “You know a party heals all wounds. At least in my book it does. It’s like I always say: ‘That which does not break you leaves cause for celebration.’”
Rita couldn’t help but chuckle. She’d always admired Jemel’s unwavering spirit.
When Rita turned back to face them, it was to see Sharae standing to bring her plate and mug over to the sink. “We’ll rent a hall and hire a decorator,” Sharae added.
“And I’ll cook all the food,” Rita replied dryly. She cooked for every family function they had, and in the last few years had been cooking for church events as well.
“Oh, hell no.” Jemel grabbed her dishes and walked to meet them. “You will not cook for your own party.”
Rita took the plate, fork, and mug from Jemel and moved them under the running water. “I always cook. It’s what brings me joy.” And she was gonna need a lot of that in her future.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep that trend going. Especially not for this event. I can cook,” Jemel said.
Sharae laughed and Rita smiled, shaking her head while she added Jemel’s dishes to the rack and closed the dishwasher. Sharae touched a hand to her irritatingly flat stomach, and her head fell back while she laughed like they were at the Baltimore Comedy Factory. Rita might’ve chastised Sharae for mocking Jemel if Sharae didn’t manage to look gorgeous while doing it.
