Page 33 of My Only (My First, My Last)

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The rain outside pelted against the glass, creating a soft rhythm as it fell against the skylights. Aside from the melody of raindrops, the house was quiet… too quiet.

It was another day of me not speaking with Hassani. Another day of finding random things to do to keep my mind off him, and the beef we had.

Or, rather, the beef I had with him.

It took everything in me not to unlock the door for him that first night he arrived home after our fight—the night after I told him I wanted a divorce.

The morning after I said those words, I made sure to leave the house early, before he could get up.

I didn’t even have anywhere to go. I just got in my car, drove to the nearby mall, and sat in the parking lot until it opened.

Petty as all hell, but I wanted to prove a point.

For once, I felt like I had some power over a situation that just seemed to be getting worse.

I understood that the Greene Gardens Project was huge for Hassani.

I’d been mindful of being a supportive wife.

But somewhere along the way, I lost myself.

Every decision I’d made ever since he took on this project had revolved around his schedule.

Even our annual summer trip. There wasn’t one.

I didn’t want to plan a getaway that would pull him away from work, even though I really wanted to go somewhere.

Last year, we had to settle for a staycation in the city.

And this year? I didn’t even bother planning anything. I knew Hassani wouldn’t have the time.

As shown by his many late arrivals home lately.

This morning would have been another one of those days where I left the house at dawn, but the steady rain kept me inside. I figured I wouldn’t be a punk about it and avoid my husband.

Even though yesterday morning was random as hell.

Having sex in the kitchen after not speaking to each other for a full day? Wild. But I missed him. A lot . I just hated feeling like I wasn’t being heard.

I woke up early today, but he had already left. I didn’t even hear him come home last night. The dinner I made still sat in the fridge. Untouched.

Did he even come home?

Was he with Harper again?

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. Because I knew Hassani wasn’t cheating. I knew he wouldn’t.

He got a lot of attention from women, that part was true. And maybe another man would take advantage of that. But that wasn’t Hassani’s style.

I used to watch him in relationships. Single, he was a flirt. But in a relationship—at least the ones I remembered him being in, back in high school and college—he was a one-woman man. By choice. Loyalty was encoded in his DNA.

But still… anyone could give in to temptation just once. Even the most resilient monogamist.

I just couldn’t understand how and why he kept underestimating Harper.

Granted, I’d only met her once. I hadn’t been to Hassani’s office in Bryant Greene’s building, and I hadn’t cared to. But that one time I met her was enough.

That woman was bad news.

Hassani walking into the house after 2 a.m., confirming my worst fears that he’d been out with her? Proved he didn’t see what I saw.

Why did it feel like I was the only one who could see so clearly that Harper was a problem?

I had just finished cleaning the stovetop when my phone chimed. Thinking it might be Hassani, and deciding I would answer if it was him, I grabbed my device only to see another one of my favorite people calling.

“Hey, Carmen Sandiego,” I answered, sliding onto the stool at the kitchen island.

Aunt Laurie hollered a laugh, which made me laugh too.

“Oh, don’t you start that, Favorite Girl,” she teased.

I giggled some more. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much,” she replied. “I’m just here, sitting on a beach in the Maldives, sipping a little wine and watching what is possibly one of the most iconic sunsets I’ve ever seen in my life.”

I smiled, resting my chin in my hand. “Yeah, that really sounds like nothing much , Aunt Laurie.”

She laughed, making me smile even harder. “How about you?”

What I wouldn’t give to just be honest. To tell her how lonely I was feeling. How much I missed my husband, who had been working non-stop. To admit there was a co-worker who didn’t respect boundaries—who I knew was trying to be more than just his colleague.

Instead, I said, “Just finished cleaning. I’m listening to the morning rain while taking a little breather to talk with you.”

“And I am so honored, Favorite Girl.”

I nodded. “The honor is all mine.”

“You know,” she started, “I’m dating someone new.”

I lifted my head. “Oh?”

“Good man,” she added. “A little younger.”

I arched a brow. “How young?”

“He’s legal.”

I snorted a laugh.

“He doesn’t speak much English,” she said. “Met him in Ghana a couple of months back. Exchanged numbers. And I recently returned one of his phone calls before a flight to Thailand.”

I smiled as I listened, loving the escape into Aunt Laurie’s world for a little while.

After her divorce, when she returned to her jet-setting life—this time, more for leisure than work—I knew she would be fine. This was the Aunt Laurie I remembered. The world traveler who practically lived out of her suitcase and loved every moment of it.

I was glad I at least got to dabble in that lifestyle long enough to know it wasn’t for me.

“I’m shocked you’re in a relationship again,” I told her.

She laughed. “If I can barely call it that, Favorite Girl. He doesn’t talk much, but we understand each other better than most people who do.”

“Interesting.” I tilted my head. “How?”

“You don’t always need words to know when someone loves you,” she said softly. “Sometimes… it’s just the way they show up.”

I blinked at that.

“My lover shows up in his own way, and always in ways that benefit me. Like now.” She snickered.

“He’s getting me another glass of wine at the beach bar.

Got me this glass of wine the first time, and I didn’t even have to tell him what kind I wanted.

He knew from watching what I order. Remembering it without me reminding him. ”

“That doesn’t need language, huh?” I mused.

“Exactly.”

I shook my head, smiling. “I’m just so happy for you. I remember when you said you’d never date again.”

“And I also told you I’d always be open to love, even after everything that happened.”

“You did.”

“Because I realized I was wrong,” she admitted. “You can’t plan for life, Favorite Girl. You just gotta live it.”

I frowned, circling my fingertip against the island’s surface. “What if you did plan for it, and it’s not going according to plan? What if… what if it’s way harder than you thought it would be, and you’re not sure how long you can deal with it?”

I want a divorce.

The words echoed back at me, sharper than I remembered them, making me flinch.

Had I really said that?

Had I really meant it?

I did say it and I did mean it… but not really.

I told Hassani I wanted a divorce and, yes, I meant it… but I didn’t really want a divorce.

I wanted my husband to hear me.

I wanted him to figure out how to be successful, not just at work, but with us, too.

We were doing so well before that damn project. And while I understood that the only constant is change, I wanted us back. The us before Greene Gardens.

Aunt Laurie was quiet for a moment, and in that silence, I could hear the soft crashing of waves in her background.

What I wouldn’t give to be on a beach right now.

“You don’t throw away something valuable just because it gets hard,” Aunt Laurie finally said. “You fix it, if it’s worth it.”

She paused before adding, “And, Favorite Girl, if you planned for it—as brilliant as you are—I’d put my life on it, and bet every dollar I have, that it’s worth fixing.”

I tucked my lips into my mouth, rubbing them together.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’d much rather hear more about the Maldives and this new boy toy you got.”

“Ha!” She laughed. “I do not have a boy toy.”

“ Mm-hmm. ” I smirked. “You so got a boy toy, Aunt Laurie.”

After another few minutes on the phone, Aunt Laurie cut the call short to tend to her lover , as she called him.

I left the kitchen and made my way to the master bedroom.

I had been putting off decluttering my side of the walk-in closet for years. Every time I walked into the back area to grab a pair of shoes or swap out clothes for the season, I’d glance at the stacked boxes in the corner and say, “This summer, I’m going to handle that.”

But this summer? I meant it.

I got down on the closet’s carpeted floor and began pulling the cardboard boxes toward me.

For years, I’d been searching for a poetry book I lost somewhere in the house. It wasn’t on any of the shelves Hassani installed, so I figured if it was anywhere, it had to be in one of these boxes. That was part of my incentive to finally declutter.

I unpacked one box, then reached for another, pulling it out of the corner, when I spotted something unexpected.

My old camera.

The one my dad gave me when I was a teenager.

And sitting right beside it was the newer camera I purchased shortly after Hassani and I started dating.

My heart stuttered at the sight of them.

The newer camera was the one I’d taken on our wedding and honeymoon trips to Jamaica and Saint Lucia.

The older one… I hadn’t used in years. The last film I developed from it captured my time in Egypt.

I palmed it, feeling a dull ache press into my chest from the weight of it in my hands.

I used to love this 35mm film camera like it had a heartbeat.

And to me… it did.

Slowly, I ran my thumb over its casing, angling it toward the light so it bounced off the lens.

I set the camera beside me and leaned forward for my other camera. A simple point-and-shoot digital one with a standard LCD screen.

I immediately powered it on, skimming through the photos stored inside.

As I flipped through them, a smile stretched across my lips, unstoppable.

There were shots of me on my wedding day.