The Last Exhale Part 3

The dinner table is very quiet. It's so quiet I can hear Eric Sr. smacking on his food. I've never been able to understand why he feels the need to chew with his mouth open. While we were dating, I'd always try to find something to converse about, because his smacking would drive me crazy. He ate like he had no teeth. I told him about it once or twice and he'd stop, only to go back to it a few weeks later. Nothing seemed to work. Now, he has our son thinking it's a normal way to eat.

EJ fiddles around with his food.

I look across the table at him. "Cookie."

That one word straightens him right up. He smacks on the rice and chicken, does his best to work my nerves just like his father. The cabbage sits on his plate as he toys at it with his fork.

Kennedy pushes her empty plate in front of her. "Mom, can we go to the mall tomorrow? I want a pair of pink leggings."

My husband glances up at me, smiles, and shoves another bite of food in his mouth. He eats until his belly is full, without a single compliment to how the food tastes. Sometimes, I wonder if it's too much for him to let me know that the food is good. He could tell me it's bad and it wouldn't bother me as much as not saying anything at all. He's always been that way. He'll eat whatever I cook, as if an empty plate should say enough.

And this is how it goes every evening.

So routine.

There has to be more to life than this.

6.

BRANDON.

Days have gone by since my failed attempt at celebrating nine years of marriage with my wife. Things are still the same. No talking. No lovemaking. Barely a touch in pa.s.sing. Strangers sleeping on the same stale sheets.

Driving home from work, I decide to stop by the gym between the two places I spend most of my time. It caught my eye months ago, but I had no reason to go in and get in shape. Maybe this is what my marriage needs to get back to the way it used to be.

"Welcome to Pick Your Fit," a woman in jeans and a T-shirt bearing the gym's logo greets. "What brings you in today?"

"It's been awhile since I've seen the inside of a gym. Just wanted to see what you have to offer."

"Well, you've taken the first step. We have a lot to offer here. First of all, we're open twenty-four hours, seven days a week."

As she goes into the spiel that she goes over with every new person who walks through the doors, I can't help but feel like she sees my insecurity. Maybe it's part of her job description to read people, see who's serious about making a healthier life change and who's not. Then again, maybe it's just me being insecure, thinking everybody can see the same misery I see when I look in the mirror.

I ask, "Where do I sign?"

We step into her office, where she goes over the contract with me. I pull out my Visa, charge the full-year membership upfront. Get a full access pa.s.skey, T-shirt, water bottle, and an extra month out of the deal.

"See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Not at all," I tell her.

"If you have any questions or concerns about your experience here, my door is always open. This gym is all of ours." She reaches out, gives me a firm handshake.

"Glad to know that."

Since I had been eyeing the fitness center for a little while now, I knew today was the day to make the change. I packed a bag before I left for work this morning. I go back out to my ride, grab my bag and prepare to start a new life.

Time slipped away from me in the gym. I failed to notice day had turned to night. The manager's office light is out. I'm in here alone. I look up at the clock, see it's well after nine. I cut my MP3 player off, wipe the sweat off my face and neck. Refill my water bottle with fresh water, take a few gulps. Its metallic taste reminds me to get some fitness water tomorrow.

In the car, I pop in The Foreign Exchange. They're telling me to leave it all behind. That's exactly what I plan to do as I ride home with the windows down. Feel the warming breeze of seasons changing against my skin.

To my surprise, the aroma of basil, tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, and cheese permeate the room as soon as I open the garage door. I walk straight into the kitchen.

There's a single plate of lasagna and garlic bread at the table with a gla.s.s of wine. I notice a note next to the salad.

Sorry about the other night. Come upstairs when you're done.

I wash my hands, then touch the top of my food with my finger. It's still warm. I sit, say my blessings and dig in. Working out has given me quite an appet.i.te.

Anxiousness almost causes me to choke as I toss the food into my mouth. Use the wine to wash barely chewed food down my throat. I put the empty dishes in the sink, wash them, and place them in the dishwasher to dry. Skip the stairs two at a time. Push open our bedroom door slowly. The wife's note in my hand.

"Rene?"

She's not in the room. I go in the bathroom, no Rene.

I check the office. No sight of her in there.

"In here," she directs me.

The guest bedroom. Trepidation creeps in.

I smell her.

Jasmine, amber, sandalwood, and wild berries with a touch of her own sensuality filters through my nostrils and swells my lungs. The scent teases me, plays with my emotions. I breathe her in, push open the door, find her leaning against the windowsill. A black negligee dancing with her curves in all the right places. Desire makes my manhood throb. I look down at my dank gym shorts. Don't want to enter my wife smelling like I've been wrestling camels.

Rene notices my disposition. Tells me, "I'll wait."

In a rush to get to the shower, I trip over my untied shoelaces and stumble on my way out of the room. "d.a.m.n." I find my composure before becoming twice the fool.

The water hits my skin, causes me to swim in my thoughts. As much as I want to-no-as much as I need to make love to my wife right now, I can't help but wonder what sparked her change of heart. Just the other day, she refused to acknowledge our anniversary, and now she's standing in the guest bedroom a fabric away from naked. I've been wanting this for a while now, but the thought slows my pace. Can't help it. It's the a.n.a.lyzer in me. It's what I get paid to do for a living.

I hop out of the shower in record speed, slather on a little lotion. Just enough to where I won't feel my skin cracking at the slightest movement. Throw on some boxers and look in the mirror on my way out the room. I backtrack, look again. Decide to remove the boxers.

Rene is in the bed when I push the door back open. Lying on her side facing the open window. She twirls a curl around her index finger.

I climb in the bed behind her, place my hand on her hip. Kiss the back of her neck.

She backs into me slowly, almost as if she's having second thoughts.

I rub her shoulder, plant kisses on it, try to get her to relax. It's been awhile since we've been this close. It's a little tense for both of us. Yet, not tense enough for me to let this moment pa.s.s, though. "Your skin's so soft."

She turns to face me. "No talking."

There's a lot I want to say at this moment. So much I want to ask. My hormones win as my wife straddles me. Her womanly part rests on my abdomen, my hands on her waist. Her eyes are on me, but she fails to look at me. Fails to look her husband in the eye as she lets me slip inside of her.

"Rene-"

"No. Talking."

I raise her off me, my manhood no longer inside her dry cave. This isn't about making love to her husband or about calming the seas in our marriage. I see that now. She couldn't even get wet for me. Who's the fool here?

She rolls over to an empty corner of the bed. Turns her face away from me. "Close the door on your way out."

"What's going on here?" I know she won't answer. She hasn't answered in the past few years I've asked.

"Not tonight, Brandon."

"When, Rene? If not tonight, when?"

Her shoulders raise as a mountain of frustration flows from her lips. "I just want to be alone right now. Can you give me that?"

"No, I can't. I'm tired of this."

My wife gets out of the bed, paces the floor. Pulls her hair over her shoulder, folds her arms across her chest.

I'm in the bed on my knees, watching her. I want to grab her and shake her until she loves me again, until the woman I married shows back up in this room. Feel like I've exhausted all possibilities. Don't know what else to say or do. Tired of having conversations with her silence. Tired of hoping, praying, wanting, wishing. What's the point of this? "I can't do this anymore," I hear myself say.

Her back and forth footsteps refuse to miss a beat as I climb out the bed and walk out of the room.

Something tells me her heart will do the same as I walk out of this marriage.

7.

BRANDON.

Andrew pulls up to the pool hall not long after me. He's on his cell when he gets out of his car.

I wait for him to finish before I get out of mine.

He taps my hood.

We embrace.

My twin brother. Been connected since conception. No bond like it.

"Ready to pay up?" he says.

"Do I ever?"

He smirks. "You will tonight."

We head inside. Order a couple Heinekens. Wait on a table to come open.

"How's Mel?" I ask.

He takes a big gulp of beer. I already know his answer. I'd respond the same way if he asked about Rene.

I move the questioning to one of his favorite subjects. "The school year been good to you?"

His face lights up. Totally different from the expression he gave at the mention of his wife's name. "Been real good. Hate that it's about to come to an end."

I sip my beer. "That's how you know when you love what you do."

"Can't imagine doing anything else."

"Yeah, you've always been good with kids."

Neither of us say anything for a minute. Both of us take a gulp of brew.

A table clears in the back. We grab our beers and pool sticks, head on over.

"You haven't said much about Rene. Everything cool?"

I hit the white ball so hard you'd think gunshots were being fired as b.a.l.l.s roll around the table in a frenzy.

"Sorry I asked," he says.

We play in silence for a few.

To clear the air, Andrew asks, "You wanna talk about it?"

"Eight ball, right side pocket."