It was the middle of the night, like 1:00 AM. I’d left So So Good hours earlier, but the image of Krystle sitting at the table with some goofy was playing in my head constantly. Thoughts of her sharing bread pudding—our favorite dessert—with him plagued me. So, there I sat in my truck with a pair of shorts on, some Adidas slides, and no shirt. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stay in my apartment. So I took a drive.
A knock on the driver’s side window made me flinch. When I turned my head to see Jones staring at me, I sighed with relief and hit the button to lower the window.
“Shit, man…you scared me!” I whisper-yelled.
“Ford, the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked. Dude sounded tired.
“What you mean?”
“I mean, why in the hell are you sitting in your truck in my driveway in the middle of the night with your engine running?”
“Did I wake you up?”
“Nah, the baby did. I was up with her, looked out the window and saw you.”
“Aw, damn. I woke Little Bit up? My bad.”
“No, she just ain’t sleeping through the night yet. Ford, why are you here?” Now he sounded beyond tired.
“I…I saw Krystle earlier. She was on a date. Did you know she started dating?” I sounded pitiful. I was pitiful.
He frowned, lowering his head and his voice. “Are you…are you following her around? Stalking her?”
“No! Come on, me a stalker?”
He stood straight. “I mean, you are out in the middle of the night with no shirt on. You coulda called me and I would’ve told you that, no…since the only woman I keep up with is mine, I didn’t know she was dating, but it isn’t exactly shocking. She’s single.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“You’re jealous? All the women you done messed with since the divorce and you’re jealous?!” he said, incredulity saturating his voice.
“Maleek? What are you doing?”
We both turned to see his wife walking toward us in a long robe and slippers.
He grasped her hand, lifting it to kiss it. Fucking show off. “Evidently, Ford decided to have a nervous breakdown in our driveway. Where’s Zora?”
“With your mom. Hey, Ford. Wanna come in? It’s chilly out here,” Nuri Jones offered.
“No, he can’t come in. He ain’t even got a shirt on!” Jones protested.
She rolled her eyes and whispered something in his ear. He groaned, then growled, “Man, bring your ass on in the house. I’ma get you a shirt, and you can sleep on the couch. We can talk later this morning.”
I smiled. “Thanks, man, and thank you, Mrs—”
“Don’t do it,” he warned.
“Fine, witcho petty ass. Will you thank her for me?”
“Ford says thank you, baby,” Jones relayed.
Nuri sighed. “Y’all just come on.”
So, I followed them into the house.
I was always a vivid dreamer with detailed images playing in my sleep, a veritable late show that never failed to move me. In addition, I always remembered my dreams, intense recollections that would make me smile or make my heart ache. I dreamt of things I had and things I wanted. Things of the past or things of the present. That night on Maleek Jones’ overstuffed, super comfortable sofa, my dream was a mixture of agony and ecstasy—hyper detailed visions of Krystle’s body, our lovemaking, her moans, followed by images of her smiling at another man. I awoke feeling drained, almost as if I hadn’t slept at all. Then again, I’d drifted off around two that morning and found myself waking to the sounds of a busy household only five hours later—kids chattering, a baby cooing, plates clanking, Bill Withers’ Lovely Day pouring from speakers. Jones’ house was a damn paradise, Heaven compared to my empty crib. I’m not sure how long I lay there awake with my eyes closed listening while inhaling the aromas of bacon and eggs before I felt something soft land on my chest.
“Get your ass up and get dressed. You can use the guest bathroom upstairs. It’s extra toothbrushes and stuff in there. My mama fixed breakfast, so don’t take forever.”
I opened an eye and smiled up at my teammate. “Damn, good morning to you, too, Jones.”
“Whatever, nigga,” he mumbled, turning to leave the living room.
“I see somebody’s not a morning person,” I said to his back.
He threw his middle finger at me over his shoulder, and I laughed.
“Maleek, can I have five dollars? I’m saving money for my 401K,” Jones’s little brother asked. I almost choked on my cheesy grits when I heard him say that.
“Yep. Here you go, Junior,” Jones replied. “You need anything, Jules?” he asked his little sister.
She smiled, nearly whispered, “No,” and skipped out of the kitchen.
Jones’s son, his oldest kid, was in his dad’s lap staring at me as his wife stood from the table with their baby girl. Before she could step away, Jones grabbed her arm. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed him.
This nigga stayed showing off.
“I was about to say…you know better,” Jones said, staring at her ass as she walked away. Good thing I kept my eyes on him, because he snatched his head around and glared at me.
Lifting my hands, I said, “I was looking at you the whole time, boss!”
“I’m heading out to take the kids to school!” Jones’s mom yelled from somewhere. “I’m gonna go by the bookstore before I come back home!”
“Okay, Ma! Be safe!” Jones called back.
The house grew quiet as Little Maleek chewed on a piece of bacon, his eyes still on me.
“Aye, Jones…why Lil’ Man mean-mugging me?” I asked.
Jones shrugged. “He probably heard you objectifying his mother in utero.”
I sighed. “How many times I gotta apologize for complimenting your wife, man?”
He stared at me.
“Fine! I’m sorry again, Michael Corleone.”
“Appreciate it.” He pressed some buttons on his phone, quieting the morning music. “So…you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘divorce’?”
“Huh? Yeah, I know what it means. I mean…look, it…I…seeing her with another dude…I don’t know. Imagine if it was your wife. Imagine y’all split and you saw her out with another dude.”
Jones’s boy climbed out of his lap and toddled toward the kitchen doorway, yelling, “Mama!”
“Let me take him to Nuri. Be right back,” Jones said, scooping his son up. A moment later, he returned to the kitchen, dropping back into his chair, his eyes on me. “To answer your question, I would do everything in my power to keep us from splitting up, and if it still happened, I’d spend the rest of my life, until my dying breath, begging her to take my sorry ass back. That’s how much I love that woman.”
“I tried…” I said, losing my words.
“You tried what? I was there. Didn’t look to me like you tried to do shit.”
I blew out a breath and shook my head. “Look, I get that it’s been three years. I get it! I just…”
“You thought she’d never move on?”