17. Jolene

Isweated through the next few days until the weekend, waiting to see what hurricane Maeve was gonna blow in. She walked through my door, took one look at me, and shook her head.

"Nuh-uh, this ain't gonna work. What the hell are you supposed to be? Bitch, I wish the fuck you would sit up in here looking like Broom Hilda because of that jackass. No, girlie, when they go low, we go scorched earth. Get up. Get your ass up those stairs and get dressed."

I looked at Sheila, and that heifer just shrugged and poured herself a cup of coffee. I went under my own steam because, sure as spit, she would've taken me up there herself, and there's no guarantee that I would've been using my feet. She's a hairpuller; just saying.

If Maeve starts taking out her earrings and kicking off her shoes, you're gonna lose whoever you are. So, I went upstairs and hoped that the jeans and tee shirt I threw on were enough for whatever she had planned.

"Grab your purse, and let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"Did I ask you to talk?" I shook my head and grabbed my purse because she had that look in her eyes.

I knew when we walked out to her Escalade and Sheila hopped in the back, leaving me to sit in the front passenger seat, that my ass was in trouble. Now, you might ask why I didn't just get in the back as well.

Because crazy Maeve would've backed that luxury SUV into something hard enough to give us both whiplash, then look back while we were writhing in pain to remind us that she wasn't our damn chauffeur or taxi. There are just some lessons you don't need to learn twice.

I tried to break the ice with something simple, but I'm pretty sure she's been pissed off since the day she learned about the divorce. Now, why didn't she know from day one? Because Sheils and I don't share each other's business like that. Not even with spouses or family.

Sheila's whole focus would've been on making sure I was okay and once that was out of the way, then she could let others know what was going on, or at least those she deemed worthy. So, I pitched my bid for peace.

"Maeve, how long are you staying in town?"

"All damn weekend." The thing about Maeve is when she gets mad, you lose sight of exactly who she's supposed to be mad at because anyone within a ten-mile radius might get hit with debris.

"Where are the twins? How come you didn't bring them?"

"Home with Clay. I told him not to look for me until Sunday night and not to call me unless someone was missing a limb or an eye. If he calls me for a loose tooth, I'll burn his food for a week."

"Oh, I see. And he's okay with that?"

"Okay, my ass. I'm sure ten minutes after I left; his mama was in my house cleaning shit that doesn't need cleaning, rearranging shit that hasn't been rearranged since the last time she did it, and restocking my fridge with the shit she thinks her son and grandkids should be eating and drinking."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Why the hell would it? That woman raised six kids; I married one of them, so that means I think she did a good enough job, so why would I buck the system? Listen, I learned a long time ago how to choose my battles. Instead of fighting her on her shit, I learned to drop a word in her ear that I knew would get her ass in motion."

"I don't understand."

"Girl, you gotta learn what makes people tick and use that shit to your advantage. Take this weekend. I knew my husband couldn't be trusted with my kids because he'd feed them junk, take them who knows where with their badass selves, and let them tear my house apart. I let my mother-in-law know since the day I decided to come here that I wasn't going to be in town."

"Why did I do that? For the same reason, I always do it. Because I know she ain't gonna trust her son with those kids. She barely trusts me and I birthed them. So, I know that this weekend my kids are going to be fed, they won't be raised by the TV because she doesn't like that shit, and they're gonna eat like fucking kings and queens."

"Damn, looks like you've got it down to a science."

"Damn straight, she's happy, they're happy, and my husband won't be calling me every ten minutes like he didn't help make those damn hoodlums. Anyway, this isn't about me; this is about you."

Oh boy! I looked back at Sheila, but just as she did when we got in the car, she suddenly became a cloud expert or some shit because her eyes were trained on the sky. Heifer!

"Who's got four kids in Ivy League colleges? With scholarships no less?"

"Oh, that's me."

"Any of your kids been to jail? Been in trouble with the law?"

"No, of course not."

"So, who the fuck did their shit?"

"Me, I guess."

"You guess? Bitch, you better own your shit. You raised four kickass kids and kept your house in order while he built up his business. You think he could've done as well as he did if you didn't have his back and carried the bulk of the weight at home, so he didn't have to?"

"The problem is you women who choose to be SAHM, forget your damn worth because of these asshole women who look down their noses at you. I go out to work because that's what I like because if I had to stay home with my kids, none of those fuckers would've made it outta kindergarten."

"You baked cookies and pies and cleaned their runny noses. Went to every PTA meeting and game night; how did you fail?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't; you did the shit, baby. And you deserve a reward. You moping around behind some man that hurt you, and the dick probably wasn't even that good these last few years was it? Tell the truth."

"Um." I was going to kill Sheila in her sleep as soon as this day was over.

"I know it wasn't, and you know what, he knew too, that's why he cheated. You people with your fake orgasms ain't fooling nobody. You think that man don't know he's not satisfying you?"

"If your man fucking and your cooch dry as sandpaper, he knows. If he has to reach for the KY Jelly every time, he knows. So what does he do instead of talking to you to find out why you're thinking about laundry when it's sexy time? He went looking for a pussy he could get wet. Simple motherfucker."

"Pussy is pussy. Some tight, some loose, but pussy is pussy, and it don't matter how many you get bitch you still can't fuck. Of course, some little chicken head bitch is gonna get wet for the next woman's husband; it's the thrill that makes these bitches wet. Not his slimy dick."

I will never get divorced again.