Start A New Life Novel – KIA I have a hangover of all hangovers, but I smile as I pull into the driveway, because it was all worth it. Completely worth it. This was probably the best birthday I’ve ever had. The best gift that I could have given myself. It was really just for me. Nobody remembered my day, nobody cared, but I still had a great time. My phone buzzes in its place in the cup holder. Reaching for it, I see that I have a new text. It’s from him. TROY: WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU GOT HOME OK. Smiling, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. I shouldn’t answer him. I should delete and block his number, but a part of me wants to be bad. Really bad. I’ve never been bad before, not like this. Being with Handles is the baddest I’ve ever been. But this is different. This is cheating. Granted, it’s nothing compared to what Handles does on a daily basis, but it’s more than I’ve ever done. It’s also very against the rules of being an old lady. I’m not sure that I care too much about that at this point anymore though. My freedom was liberating, and I think I want more of it.
So much more that I want to really live again. I don’t know that I ever have, and I want more of last night. I want to dance more, smile more—feel free. I made it home, I type back. Then I type, delete, and type out another message before I give up and just throw my phone in my purse. Pulling into the garage, I look around and I realize that Handles’s car isn’t in its place next to mine and his bike is in the third bay. Which means he never made it home last night and he probably won’t be home today either. Something about that makes my heart ache. I already knew that he didn’t come home, because he never called me. But seeing it in front of my face, knowing that he doesn’t really give a sht, it hits differently. Had he walked through the door, and I wasn’t home, he would have called. He would have demanded to know where I was. But I’m out of sight, out of mind. That much is clear now. He gave not one sht where I was all night long. He never remembered my birthday, doesn’t care where I am. Just plain doesn’t give a sht. Hauling my small bag inside, I quickly unpack it and start a load of laundry. Another issue of mine is the fact that I simply cannot let more than two days’ worth of laundry pile up.
Honestly, I try to make sure that my laundry basket is free of dirty clothes on a daily basis. I can’t let anything pile up. Nothing. Because that is part of my control, the only thing that I have under my control. So that’s what I do. Walking around the house, after I’ve started my laundry, I look around for anything out of place. Naturally, there’s nothing. Then, I walk into the kitchen and get a cup of coffee started and grab a bottle of water. I drink the entire contents of the bottle, then throw it into the recycle bin. Nobody recycles here, not really. There’s no recycle pickup trash service or anything, but I take all of my bottles into the recycling center once a month. I keep them on the side of the house, in trash bags. Out of sight, but never out of mind. They try to pay me for it, but I don’t take the money. I don’t need it. Taking my coffee, I walk over to the sofa and sink down, turning the television on. I’ve become interested in a few shows over the years, mainly because I spend so much time at home by myself, I need something to do. I read a lot too, but right now my head is pounding too hard to attempt to read.
Once I’ve finished drinking my coffee, I feel marginally better, so I make my way back into the kitchen and gather all the items to make a personal charcuterie board. I even have a little round wooden board with my initials carved into the center, like a monogram. This is probably another control thing, but I am not a person who can just eat out of a container. I have to have my food arranged nicely on a plate or in this case, on a board. Nobody else is here to eat this, nobody is here to see it. This is purely for my own enjoyment, and I do enjoy it. Arranging everything, making it pretty, making it artistic, I enjoy it. I doubt anyone even knows that I do this on a regular basis. I’ve never made one for anyone else, and nobody has been around while I’ve done it for myself. It’s like a little secret just for me. Nobody else but me. How pathetic am I? Seriously? My secret is a food board? God, I would make fun of myself if I weren’t pathetically… me. Taking the piece of uncured salami and adding some white cheddar cheese to it, I grab a parmesan garlic rice cracker and stack them up before I throw the whole thing in my mouth. I’m super ladylike. I’m completely enjoying myself when the front door opens.
Lifting my head, I look to the side. It’s Handles. Flicking my gaze down to the phone on the counter, I take in the time. Four in the afternoon. He doesn’t even look at me, his gaze swings to the television. “What are you watching? You been sitting around watching television all day?” he asks, and he seriously has the nerve to ask me that. Seriously. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under right this very minute. — HANDLES I sound like a manhood to even my own ears. Why did I do that? Deciding to keep my smart comments to myself, I look from the television to Kia. She’s leaning over the counter, chewing on some snacks she made herself. I don’t know why she does that. It’s not like she’s making them for guests or anything. It’s just for her and she has to make some big production out of it. I don’t get it at all. Though, I don’t get much of what she does on a regular basis. Walking over to the counter, I stop across from her and reach for some of the food.
Shoving some fancy salami in my mouth, I grab a piece of cheese and a couple of olives. I should have eaten a long time ago. I think the last time I ate was lunch yesterday. Christ, no wonder I had such a bad hangover. “How about you go and put something on? We’ll go to dinner?” I ask. She stares at me blankly for a moment, then shakes her head. “I don’t feel like it. I’m tired.” I don’t ask her why she’s tired. It’s not like she has anything to do. The house is always spotless. She’s got no kids to clean up after. I wasn’t home, so I doubt that she woke up early. I don’t say any of those things, because I’m the prick here, not her. Lifting my hand, I wrap my fingers around the side of her neck, squeezing gently as I look into her eyes. She presses her lips together but doesn’t say anything, her eyes watering, but no tears fall before she looks away. “I don’t want to go anywhere,” she whispers. “Are you going to punish me because I didn’t come home last night?” I ask. Move. I know it is, but I can’t help myself. I see the pain as it slices through her entire body. Her stomach actually flexes, and she moves backward slightly. She slowly lifts her gaze to meet mine, her eyes pained. Filled with it.
“I’m not. Honestly, I just don’t want to go anywhere.” “Why not?” I push. She shakes her head, her eyes watering. I don’t know what is wrong with her, she never acts like this. Been married for a decade and never seen her behave this way before. She can be a smart-hip, she can be dry, and she can be a woman, but she’s never the latter with me. When she takes a step backward, I watch as she licks her lips, then her shoulders straighten. “I wanted to go to dinner last night. I don’t tonight, okay?” “Not okay, what, Kia?” “You’re a prick, Legend Nelson. Yesterday was my birthday.” She spins around and stomps off toward the bedroom. I hear the door click closed, then she flips the lock into place. I should be pissed that she locked me out of my own bedroom. I should be angry as inferno, actually, but I’m not. Instead, I’m standing in the middle of the room, my mouth parted slightly as I stare in complete disbelief. I forgot my wife’s birthday. I was balls deep inside another woman twice, three times actually, but forgot my own woman’s birthday. Turning around, I dig my keys out of my pocket and I jog out of the house. Then, I hope to f-ck I can make it to the jewelry store before they close. I have a feeling diamonds alone won’t make up for this, but I can try. — KIA I expect to cry.
As I close the bedroom door, then lock it, I expect the tears to fall down my cheeks. My eyes are watery, but nothing happens. Nothing comes out. Instead, I just stare straight ahead. Maybe it’s shock, I’m not sure, but I do know that I’m exhausted. Emotionally exhausted. I don’t strip out of my clothes or anything, I just stand there and stare straight ahead into nothingness. I hear a door close, the front door, then I hear Handles’s car start. The prick is leaving. Of course he is. Closing my eyes, I let out a sigh. I shouldn’t have told him. I shouldn’t have said a word. He’s going to come back with some stupid present and expect me to forgive him. I don’t want to forgive him. I don’t want to even think about him. I should have said nothing at all. Now he knows that he got to me. I’m gripping my phone in my hand, squeezing it hard and almost throw it when it starts to vibrate in my hand. Looking at the Caller ID, I let out a sigh. It’s Ivory. “Hello,” I say, a little too chipper. “I’m the worst kind of friend there is,” she says softly. “I forgot. I looked at my phone today and saw the reminder. It never alerted me, but that is a piss-poor excuse, because I should have just remembered,” she rambles.
Pressing my lips together, I roll them a few times before I respond to her. “It’s okay, really. I had a nice night,” I say. “You need a good night, the best night, not a nice night. I know you probably went to a fancy dinner with Handles, then sat around and watched TV or read. You’re coming out with me tonight. Me and the girls. Nothing crazy, just local. We’ll go dancing at the dance hall.” “I didn’t go out to dinner last night with Handles. He never came home,” I say. Another thing that I shouldn’t have done. I really don’t tell the other old ladies everything that happens in my relationship. In fact, I pretty much tell them nothing. They know more than I would want them to, and I see the way that they look at me with pity. This will only make their looks of pity worse. “We’ll be at the house in two hours. Be ready.” She ends the call and I think about calling Tiny to tell him to get ahold of his crazy as wife, but I decide against it. I decide against it because I’m going. Licking my lips, I look around my bedroom. Ivory is right. After last night, after feeling sexier than I have in years. After finally feeling desired, wanted, and listened to, I don’t want to go back. I’m going to enjoy myself, and dancing with my friends might be exactly what I want.
HANDLES Walking into the house, I’m not surprised to see that everything has been shut down. The food all cleaned up from earlier, the house is dark, and the bedroom door is closed. If I know my wife, she’s probably in the bath with a glass of beverage. Wincing, I shake my head. Maybe I don’t know her, because I forgot her birthday. Though to be fair, I’ve been going through a lot lately at work and with the club. But is that really an excuse to forget a birthday? I have a dozen roses in my hand, a brand-new ring in my pocket, and I’m prepared to spend all of tonight and tomorrow making it up to her. Contrary to what a lot of people in the club think, I love my wife very much. I don’t want to see her hurting. Kia was this little broken bird that I scooped up and saved. I cleaned her up, held her, fixed her wounds, and fell in love with her. She’s beautiful, she’s smart, and she’s funny as inferno. She is my future and the only person that I could ever picture myself growing old with. She’s my life. She truly is. Even if I have a way of showing it sometimes. Making my way toward the bedroom, I try the doorknob and I’m surprised that it’s unlocked. Slowly twisting it, I push the door open and call out her name. It’s dark. Flicking on the light, I look around the room. She’s not in bed, the bathroom is dark too.
What? Spinning around, I call out her name as I walk through the house, checking every bedroom. Our house is honestly too large for just the two of us, but it has a pool in the backyard and one day we’ll have kids to fill it up… eventually. Though at my age, I better hurry up. I’m forty-six, I’m not getting any younger. Kids are something that we should have been trying at about five years ago, at least, but it’s always been something that I claimed I wasn’t ready for. Kids are settling down in a way where I’m not sure I want that. I continue to walk through the too-large house and I realize that my wife is nowhere to be found. Jogging toward the garage door, I swing it open and look around. She’s not here. Her car is gone. I think about calling her, but then decide against it. I have that tracking thing on her phone. Pulling up her name, I hit the information icon, and the map pulls up. It only takes a second to pull up her location. She’s at the local dance hall. Instead of leaving right this second, I hurry to the bedroom, shower and change into something more comfortable. Jeans, a T-shirt, and my cut with boots. Walking into the garage, I decide to take my bike to the club. I’ve been in my cage far too much lately.
I need to feel the wind against my face. It only takes me about fifteen minutes to get to the dance hall. It’s exactly what I expected. I see Ivory’s SUV parked right in front. Pulling my bike right up next to it, I kill the engine, then I head inside. It doesn’t take me long to find them. A table of hot-as-f-ck women all shouting and moving their arms to the music.Easy to spot, especially in a place like this, and I’m not the only one watching. I watch for a while, probably an hour. There’s a man who has his eyes on Kia. If she realizes it, she doesn’t let it show. She’s drinking and talking animatedly. The other women doing the same, but there’s something about her in particular. My wife is a total package. The man makes his way toward her, and I take a step forward, but Frogger stops him. He places his hand on the man’s chest and shakes his head from side to side slowly. The man jerks his chin, then turns and walks away, attempting to save face.
My lips twitch into a small smile and as the band starts to play a familiar tune, I make my way toward her. She senses me before she sees me. Slowly her gaze lifts to mine and she holds it for a moment, a breath or two. Holding out my hand, I know that she won’t deny me, not in public, not like this. She stands and walks toward me, as if I have a string tied to her and am pulling her toward me. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. When she’s close enough, I wrap my arms around her and pull her against my chest. Then, we dance to our song. “Why are you here?” she asks softly, her body swaying with mine. “I f-cked up, came home, and you were gone. Got worried.” She doesn’t say anything right away and I’m not sure if I should have said that the way I did or not, but I did and I can’t take it back now. She clears her throat, her cheek resting against my chest, unspeaking. “I’m sorry I forgot your birthday, Jet,” I say, using my nickname for her. I haven’t really called her Jet in a while and saying it now makes me realize that. At the end of the day, this is my fault completely.
I’ve been neglecting the person that I’m definitely not supposed to neglect. She’s always had jet-black hair and I love it, hence the nickname. The name is something that just fits her. She lifts her head, tipping it backward to look up into my eyes. “I’m not even surprised, Handles,” she says. “I know what your priorities are, and they aren’t me.” “Don’t say that,” I murmur. She shakes her head a couple of times, but her eyes don’t leave mine. “I’m tired, Legend. Really tired. I think I need to be alone for a while.” Nope. Lifting my hand from her waist, I grip the back of her hair with my fist, holding it tightly, as if she could slip away from me right this second. I won’t let her. “You’re my wife. My old lady. Mine,” I grind out. She shakes her head slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. They’re focused and determined, and I really don’t like that.
She opens her mouth to speak, but I don’t let her. “I have to go out of town for a few days. That’s the break you get. When I get back,goes back to the way it was. You’re not going anywhere, and neither am I. We’re married.” “We are?” she asks. She sounds like the smart-hip she is, except I’m not used to being on the receiving end of her sarcasm. She usually saves that for other people, not for me. “Kia, we’re married. I love you.” She doesn’t say anything in response, but the look on her face is enough for me to realize that I’ve really f-cked up—royally. She’s pissed, beyond just me forgetting her birthday. This is about neglecting her. I need to be good for a while. Stay at home a bit, be a husband, be her lover. Maybe give her a baby finally. But she seemed unwilling to give me another chance. “I want a divorce,” she announces.