Page 128 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

“Me?”

He’s quiet for several moments before letting out a strange laugh. I fail to see what’s funny. I didn’t tell a joke in this bitch. His laugh sounds like delirium.

“Ohhhhh, man,” he says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I swear.”

“What?” I demand, my irritation growing.

Finally, he turns his head, bringing his eyes to mine. In them, I see anger.

“Just…walked up in the crib, and there you are, sitting on the couch.”

I rear back. “Um, yeah. You invited me to stay over. If you don’t want me here—“

“It ain’t that.” His eyes roam my face, glassy and pink. “I still want you here. I just…hate that I do.”

I don’t react to that, even though I’m internally screaming. He can’t be having second thoughts now. We’re so close.

“Why do you hate it?”

He blinks slowly like he’s in a trance. “You’re not good for me, Raya.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory, ain’t it?” he snaps. He doesn’t even look sorry after. “You’re not good for me.”

“Okay…” I shake my head, pretending to be confused. He’s well within his rights to feel the way he does. Obviously. But the conflict he’s feeling, the way he’s fighting himself…it’s making me uneasy. I like him off balance, but only when it’s in my favor.

“I can leave if that would make you feel better,” I say softly.

He sits up, angling his body to face me. “You know what’s funny? This is some funny shit.” He shakes his head and smiles, giving that same shade of crazy. “If I had come home and you weren’t here, I would have felt worse.”

I hide my smile.

“You see why I’m frustrated?” he says. “You got my head all fucked up.”

I nod, not sure what he wants me to say to that. Men are ridiculous; they can’t fall in loveunlesstheir head is all fucked up. When they’re in their right minds, they spend all their time fighting against it, somehow convinced that love and companionship are a pathway to misery. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with them, nor do I have sympathy, but I do love Ace, and I can see he’s struggling. I should do something.

“You want a drink?” I finally say.

He sighs again. “Yeah, a beer.”

I put my hand out when he goes to stand, beating him to it. “No, you stay there. You just got home from work. I’ll get it.”

I’m such a good little wife.

When I bring the bottle back and hand it to him, his eyes are full of gratitude. This is way deeper than the beer for him, I see it. My heart swells. I’m so close to the finish line.

He’s halfway to the bottom of his Budweiser when I speak again.

“I’ll be honest. I’m confused.”

He swallows a gulp. “Yeah, me too.”

“I don’t wanna wear out my welcome with you.”

He shrugs. “You’re not. Don’t worry about it.”

For some nonsensical reason, he slams his bottle on the table rightnexttothe stack of coasters. “I’ma take a shower.”

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