I Married The Wrong Person(8)

By: Tiffany Taylor



“Don’t ask me stupid questions that you already know the answers to.”

Brian grabbed his jacket and slammed the door as he walked out. I really didn’t want to believe that he was sleeping with Pam’s mother, but I was brought up to always keep a watchful eye and to never underestimate anyone. I had to know. I pulled out my cellphone and dialed Pam’s number. She didn’t answer because I believe she was probably in school already. So, I left her a message, letting her know that when she gets to my house to make sure she calls me and there was no need for her mom to pick her up. I figured if her mom was not around, she wouldn’t be able to enjoy jokes and laughs with my husband. I would’ve called her directly but I didn’t have her number. I made a mental note to make sure to get her number and lock it in my phone so that I could tell if she calls my house outside of the times Pam would be here.





Chapter 3 – Theresa

Lying down with my eyes closed on my satin pillows feeling the comfort of the matching sheets, I rub my hands back and forth to the spot where someone obviously laid but is no longer there. I’m still mesmerized by this light caramel skinned brother that holds me at night and tells me how beautiful I am to him. Just when I was about to open my eyes to look for him, he started to feed me strawberries and massaged my neck at the same time. He’s not talking about how hard of a day he had at work on the set of his new movie, but he’s concerned about my well-being. After listening to my “oh so minor” complaints, he moved from rubbing my neck to massaging my feet. He knows how much I enjoy that. Then he goes from my feet to moving upward to where the end of my satin robe lay on my legs, to rub up and down and all the way up my thighs, while kissing the tip of my big toe. That’s enough to make me take a deep breath and think of what’s coming next. I wish he could read my mind and see how sensual this feels to me. But it’s like he can because just before he goes any further, he asks “am I ok? Does that feel good?”

The sound of his semi-soft but deep and raspy voice was enough to send me somewhere else. But, just as I’m about to answer him, there’s a bump from the bedroom door. And just like that, Terrance Howard was gone. It was Kenneth. I opened my eyes suddenly. All I see is the morning light from the window, instead of being in a dark place that was only lit by a red light bulb from the lamp beside my bed. I hear the early morning news anchor softly reporting the traffic and weather, instead of the sweet sounds of a saxophone being played by Kenny G. I reach over and feel the bed but all I feel are the cotton sheets with nothing on them, instead of the satin ones with rose pedals that was spread all over. All I hear is my husband asking if I was awake yet.

“I have a surprise for you, honey,” Kenneth said with a tray in his hand. He had prepared a gourmet breakfast complete with French toast, just like I like them. Lightly browned with just a sprinkle of powdered sugar across them and a thin slice of an orange as a garnish. There were fresh strawberries too. Eggs scrambled lightly, just cooked enough to be done but still a little runny from the white portion. A side of grits in a special bowl that was not too little or not too big, but just enough. French vanilla coffee with a splash of French vanilla creamer and one teaspoon of sugar in my favorite brown coffee mug, which is bigger than an average coffee cup. And in the corner of the tray laid one single red rose picked from the rose bush that sits right side outside our front window. Yes, it was a very romantic gesture that I hadn’t taken in yet.

“Is there a problem?” Kenneth asked while he sat on the edge of the bed, placing the tray right in front of me. I still laid there wondering why my dream had to come to an end.

“No, baby,” I said, as I sat up so that I could express how appreciative I was for him being so thoughtful.

“I made your French toast just way you like them.” Kenneth pulled out the cloth napkin to spread across my lap, in order not to spill anything on the sheets.

“Thank you. You are so good to me,” I told him. It didn’t sound sincere because I would really rather be having a midnight episode with my man Terrance, than eating breakfast with Kenneth. Not that he’s not good looking, but he’s no Terrence Howard. I took time to look down at the well prepared tray, even though I was no longer in the dream, and I reached for the rose to smell it. I looked back up at Kenneth. He was waiting to see me take the first bite before he had anything else to say. I just smiled and grabbed the fork and started to taste the eggs.

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