Page 43 of Bona Fide

? Heart Attack — Trey Songz ?

Sittingon the couch eating fettuccine and watching It’s a Wonderful Life with Mama, it’s the first time in weeks that I feel somewhat okay.

Okay as in I’m on eggshells in Wade’s office to run plans by him—which I drag Emmy along with me to keep his eyes and words in check.

After a few charity events for the children’s hospital and some others to raise money for various projects, I feel as though everything has gotten even more awkward and worse.

I’m starting to doubt my decision.

I don’t know if it was because part of me missed our banter, him showing up at my house with food, and prime sex, but regardless, I didn’t like being on the fence. I wanted to be sure of things I knew I could control, but I just can’t fully convince my head to stop overthinking and just forget it.

No amount of weed takes the edge off or the truth. The emotion of love wrapped around Wade with a gold bow.

The idea makes me miserable because it feels like a noose wrapped around my neck. It tugs and chokes me whenever I see him. Needs of wanting to touch, talk, and hear him out has started to wipe away the last few weeks and muddle things up.

He has a wife, what more is there to know.

My ringtone breaks through my focus, and I mindlessly pick it up to an unknown number. Eyes wide, I quickly answer it as Mama chastises me to put it down and on vibrate.

“Hello?”

“Merry Christmas, Tsarina.”

Tears flood my eye ducts. “Marty.” It’s a choked whisper, a plea to come back home because I need him more than ever right now. Mama hears it and mutes the TV.

“Is that my boy?” she quakes, hands wringing together in anxiety. I nod, and begin inching closer.

“We’ll put you on speakerphone,” I tell him, pulling my cell from my face. “Can you hear us?”

“I can hear you,” he replies. “Hey, Mama.”

“Oh my God, baby.” She breaks down on a sob, as I pull her fragile body into the crook of my arm.

“Mama, don’t cry. It’s Marty, he—” Now I sob and tuck my chin into my chest to try and gain my composure.

“Y’all better not be cryin’ now,” he jeers with a soft chuckle. “I can’t translate blubbering.”

“Shut up,” I sniffle.

“You both watching It’s a Wonderful Life?”

“Yeah,” Mama quakes. “We’re at the part where he jumped into the water.”

“Because he’s nuts,” Marty laughs. “But I made the guys watch it too, we’re doing that now.”

“Do you have fettuccine?” Mama asks with hope glimmering in her voice.

“Nah, Ma, we’re not that fancy. I don’t think half these guys even know what that is.”

“Well, my goodness, you all are serving this country and they can’t even afford to take the time to feed you—”

“Mama,” I cut in off a broken laugh. “He’s alright.”

“At least I got to pick the movie,” my brother adds in. “That’s a win all in its own right there.”

“When are you coming home?” Ah, the always inquisitive question that my brother never seems to have the answer to. Not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just not a decision for him to make. I wish I could write his general or whatever to get him back. He’s been gone long enough, spent too much time away from Mama and I.

And I need him for my own sanity.

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