Page 2 of The Heart Of A Real Woman: Marilyn & Moses

Moses

The skies were dark and gloomy, matching a nigga’s mood perfectly.

I was going through it. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep.

I was worried and upset with myself for pulling the stupid shit I did.

Twenty-four hours of unanswered calls and texts had me sick to my fucking stomach.

I couldn’t bear it any longer. I needed my wife back home.

After tracking Mary down using the GPS on her G-Wagon, I pulled up to where she was staying.

We both knew I wasn’t welcome here, and I’m sure she thought that would keep me away.

But her being at her parents’ crib didn’t stop me back then, and it damn sure wasn’t about to stop me now.

With my heart heavy, I hopped out of my truck.

When I made it to the door, I knocked and waited as I adjusted my suit coat. A moment later, Mary’s mother appeared, looking just as beautiful as her daughter but with a head full of black and gray hair.

“How you doing, Ms. Margaret?”

“Moses,” she said firmly, giving me a small nod. “I’m decent, and you?”

“Not so good. Do you mind telling Mary I’m here? I really need to speak with her.”

“Actually, I do mind. She’s asleep, and I’m positive she doesn’t want to see you right now. Give her some time.” She gave me a look that screamed she was disappointed in my actions.

Realizing she had shared our business with her mother made me worry even more. That wasn’t how Mary and I operated. Whatever battles we had, we typically handled them between us. What did this mean? Was she truly done with a nigga?

Before I could respond, a familiar, annoying-ass voice cut through the silence.

“You need to get off my gotdamn property.” Mary’s father barked, stepping forward. “She does not want to see or talk to you, muthafucka.”

This came as no surprise. I’d been with Mary for years, but Mr. Richardson and I had only come face-to-face a few times. He had never accepted me, so I opted to keep my distance from this muthafucka even after he and Ms. Margaret divorced.

“Lowell, stop it.” Ms. Margaret interrupted. “I told you I had this.”

“No, I got it. I might not live here anymore, but this is still my property, and he needs to get his sorry ass off of it.”

“No need for the disrespect, Mr. Richardson. I planned to go after I spoke to my wife.” I tried to remain cool, even with the disrespect he tossed my way. It had always been that way. Niggas had gotten knocked out for less, but I often let him slide because he was her father at the end of the day.

“And I’m telling you she doesn’t want to be bothered. So go, before we have a repeat of the past, boy.”

I chuckled, thinking he must’ve caught amnesia in his old days. But nah, that wasn’t it. Mr. Richardson was just arrogant, and I’d learned that arrogance often made a man stupid. They could lose a thousand times and still talk like they were destined to win.

“You must’ve forgotten how that went the last time you called me that.” I eyed him, ready to dig in his shit if needed.

He chuckled as well, shaking his head. “Joke’s on you. She finally woke up and left your sorry ass.”

“Sorry? After all these years, after everything I’ve done to prove to you that I love her and I’ll do anything for her, you still disrespect me?” I found myself asking him.

“All the money in the world couldn’t make me respect your thug ass.”

“Lowell!” Ms. Margaret snapped.

“No. He needs to hear this. You a nothing ass nigga and you never deserved my daughter.”

“Is that so? ‘Cause I see shit differently. I ain’t perfect, wasn’t then, and I ain’t now.

But one thing you can’t ever take from me is the fact that I’m a man.

I’m far from nothing. I took a whole lot of nothing and turned it into something.

Was I nothing when you lost your fuckin’ job and I dropped two hunnid bands in your wife’s account to take care of bills and save the same home you try so hard to keep me from? ”

He grew quiet, but I wasn’t finished yet.

“And I always been good to your daughter, despite what you assumed about me. As much as she held me down, I had her back just the same. Everything I promised her, I did. Bust my ass putting her through college when you tossed her out over one decision you didn’t agree with.

Gridin’ day and night to be able to put the roof of that mansion over her head.

So, after all these years, what’s your beef with me? ”

“Just for her to end up back here.” He smirked, and it pissed me off. I lost all self-control.

“People go through shit. Ain’t no marriage perfect… ain’t nobody perfect . Not even yourself. Last I heard, your wife divorced you. Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”

Those last words hit a nerve because they were true. Ms. Margaret had finally had enough and divorced him a few years back over his temper and disrespectful ways. He tried stepping up onto the porch, and I was ready, shifting closer. But she jumped in between us quickly.

“No! Y’all need to stop this right now. This is madness. Ain’t no way y’all gonna do this again. Cut it out.” She turned to him. “Lowell, you said you were just stopping by to check on Mary. Now that you've seen her, it’s best you go ‘head.”

“Mary!” I called, looking past them. I was done talking to anybody but her. “Baby, I know you hear me. Come here. I just wanna talk.”

Mr. Richardson kept talking his shit, but it all faded into the background the moment my wife stepped into the doorway.

Her hair was up in a bun, and she wore baggy sweatpants and a T-shirt, back to her old ways.

This was the Mary I first fell for. The one who’d rather drown herself in oversized clothes than wear that tight, girly shit every other chick rocked.

She only switched it up in later years to fit into my lifestyle. And I’d told her over and over, I didn’t need her to do that. I loved her how she came, the same way she loved me how I came. But she insisted, always dressed to the nines to keep up with my drip.

Crazy how life had flipped since our teenage days. Here I was, standing in the finest suit money could buy, when back then I could barely scrape up enough for a fucking white tee.

“Baby,” I said, trying to get to her. Ten years with this woman, and she still had the power to make my heart skip a beat.

“No, Moses.” Ms. Margaret stepped into my path, and I paused in my tracks.

Her father was one thing, but I’d never disrespect her mother in any type of way.

“I don’t wanna see you, let alone talk to you. We are getting a divorce. I’ll have Trina or Pokey hit you up with a schedule so I can see Jr. until I get my place. Don’t bring your ass back here.”

Mary’s voice was shaky, her eyes swollen and red like she’d been crying nonstop. That shit broke my fucking heart, seeing her like this… hearing her say those words. It used to be us against the world.

“Nah, baby. Come on. Just hear me out. Talk to me. Then you can go back home. I’ll leave instead.” I pleaded.

She didn’t budge though. And with her mother still standing in my path, I didn’t know what the fuck to do.

∞∞∞

The next few days had been hell on earth for me. I woke up Saturday morning and moved slow as fuck getting dressed, like every move weighed a hundred pounds. My hands smoothed over my button-up. Crisp and white, fresh from the cleaners. But my eyes kept drifting back to the bed behind me.

The sheets were still rumpled on Mary’s side.

I’d told our maid, Isabella, not to touch that shit.

The way her side of the bed looked the last time she was in it…

I needed to keep it like that. Keep her scent close.

It was the only thing that helped me sleep at night.

Then my eyes shifted to her side of the closet.

All her purses, clothes, and shoes were still there like she’d be walking back in any second.

Shit made my chest tight because I wasn’t sure if she ever would.

Frustrated, I slipped on my navy suit jacket, tailored so perfectly it hugged me like skin.

Picked up my watch from the dresser, but just held it for a minute, staring at the diamonds flashing under the light.

Mary bought it for my birthday last year.

Seemed like everything in this fucking house reminded me of what I’d lost. I finally strapped it on my wrist, just as I heard footsteps tearing down the hallway.

“Pops!”

Jr. was standing there in the doorway, suited up in his football gear, helmet under his arm. Ten years old, full of life, eyes damn near a mirror of mine.

“Sup? You ready, lil’ man?” I said, clearing my throat, trying to sound normal even though I was fucked up inside.

“Yeah,” he said, then paused, shifting his helmet from one hand to the other. “When’s Mama coming back home?”

My stomach knotted. “Come here, son,” I told him.

He stepped closer, a serious look on his face. “Is she ever coming back home?”

I rubbed my hand over my jaw, feeling the stubble scraping my palm. “Call her. See what she says.”

“I did. She won’t answer me. She just keeps sayin’ she loves me and not to worry about grown-up stuff.”

I shut my eyes for a moment, then opened them and crouched down to meet his gaze, feeling just as afraid as Mary must have been to tell him the truth…

that she wanted a divorce. But it was time to talk.

He’d been asking me the same question every day, and each day I prayed she would forgive me and walk back through that door so I wouldn’t have to give him an answer.

“Listen to me, Jr. Sometimes grown folks go through shit. Me and yo’ mama, we love each other. But Pops fucked up, so I think she just needs some space right now. I’ma bring her home, though.” I told him, my voice catching a little.

“When?”

“I ain’t sure exactly when, son. Like I said, she needs space. But I promise you I’ma fix it.”

He blinked fast, nodding, though his eyes were shiny.

“You believe me, right?”

“Yeah. You ain’t never lied to me, Pops,” he said, shrugging. “Just miss her. That’s all.”

“Yeah, me too.” I pulled him close, careful not to crush his pads. “But enough of that. Keep your mind on this game coming up.”

“I ain’t worried. We're gonna win. They got me.”

I chuckled at the lil nigga sounding just like me as I removed my Durag. He was born when I was young, so in a way, we’d grown up together. We had a friendship just as much as I was a father to him.

“I hear you, and I believe you. Go get the rest of ya shit so I can get you to practice.”

“Bet,” he replied, then took off at full speed. My boy was going to be one hell of a wide receiver.

After dropping Jr. off at the field and watching him run drills for a minute, I slid back into the Escalade. Normally, I stayed for Saturday practice, but we had an understanding. Once a month, Pops had to miss for business. If I don’t grind, we don’t eat. Simple as that.

“Docks,” I told my driver, Ocho.