BooksBarbecue
Back A Small Affair Save as PDF
Chapters (54)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. About the Author
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. Part Two
  22. 1
  23. 2
  24. 3
  25. 4
  26. 5
  27. 6
  28. 7
  29. 8
  30. 9
  31. 10
  32. 11
  33. 12
  34. 13
  35. 14
  36. 15
  37. 16
  38. 17
  39. 18
  40. 19
  41. Part Three
  42. 1
  43. 2
  44. 3
  45. 4
  46. 5
  47. 6
  48. 7
  49. 8
  50. 9
  51. 10
  52. EPILOGUE
  53. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  54. Booklist

This woman, she’s gorgeous. Her hair is curly and dark, her eyes sharp, intelligent, staring directly at the camera, almost waging a battle with it, daring the photographer to try to get more out of her. She’s wearing an emerald green dress, her breasts supple in the cupped bodice. Her nails are magenta, and even at the end of the table, the worst spot in a group photo, she makes herself known, present. As I shift my gaze to take in the whole group, she outshines them all, so magnificently and with such intent that I’m shocked my gaze had flitted directly to him at first, instead of to her.

She’s with Tom, that much is certain, her body language almost comical in its blatant ownership. She owns him and knows it. He’s almost diminutive in her embrace, in the way that she’s wrapped herself around him. Like the bracelet coiling around her wrist. If I zoom in, on the casual crook of her hand on his shoulder, I can see that her fingers are rigid with tension, her nails digging into his shirt.

I hover over her, to see if she’s tagged, if I can identify her. And I startle again. Because it’s her. It’s Thelma Kay. She’s commented, too, with a wide grin emoticon, resembling Odilie’s toothy smile and “Teeth=secrets.” What could that mean, I wonder?

15

One year ago

I wasn’t entirely sure why I reacted the way I did. Of course, any woman should be turned off by a man yelling at his ex. But I had my own temper issues, my own simmering rage. I wasn’t known to be polite and cordial with exes, either.

But something about the way Tom seethed, the way he chased after me, it made my skin crawl. Like I’d accidentally ripped away a shroud he was using to cover his basest, most animal reflexes. That shy, timorous vulnerability he’d exposed, it seemed like a farce. And the fact that he didn’t even seem concerned about his child, it reminded me of my mother, grumbling because she had to miss a vacation to Punta Cana with her sorority sisters to take care of me when I had a weeklong flu as a little girl.

He sent me a flurry of texts, of course, all of which I ignored. Each of them more desperate than the last, apologizing profusely. Saying that what I saw wasn’t his typical behavior, that he’d had a rough week and had taken it out on his ex and kid, on me. Eventually, by the following morning, the texts stopped.