Free Young Wives by Goldsmith Olivia Page B

blood for this family. I’ve given up my personal life, I’ve given up my outside interests. I get up in the dark and leave my babies sleeping in their beds to put food on the table. I don’t like my job. Never have. I never wanted a career. I never wanted to be successful, to be a boss. I only did it out of necessity—”
    “Okay. Enough,” Clinton interrupted. “I remember. Don’t try to make me feel worse than you usually do.” Clinton looked down. “I try hard.”
    For a moment Jada was filled with enough anger to really smack him up-side the head. As if she was saying any of this to make him feel bad! With Clinton, everything was always about Clinton. Try hard? The man didn’t make the damn bed! “Shut up, Clinton. Give your excuses, run your mouth to Tonya. What I’m saying is that you can move in with her and I can go on with the kids, or you can give her up and try to keep us together, as a family. What’s it going to be, Clinton?”
    Jada thought of a proverb her mother had told her. It might have been from the Bible or it might have been an old Bajan expression. “A drink that is given when it isn’t asked for is like milk. The same drink given only when it’s asked for is like water. But a drink you have to beg for, that’s given resentfully, is like blood.” Jada had to ask and ask Clinton for even the smallest thing, and then half the time it remained undone. Her house still needed flooring in the kitchen and a dozen other finishing touches. Jada knew that Michelle didn’t have to ask for anything. A moment before she even knew she was thirsty, Frank would offer that girl milk. Jada tried not to resent her friend, but sometimes it was hard.
    “Jada, I know you’re hurt. I know you’re frightened.” He climbed back into bed, under the blankets, as if he needed to be shielded from her. That enraged her. She needed protection from him, not vice versa.
    Jada opened her eyes wide. “Clinton, I’m not hurt over this. I’m hurt that you won’t work to keep this family together.”
    Clinton lifted his head from the pillow and started to say something, but Jada raised her hand and opened her mouth in time to stop him. “And I was afraid when I thought I couldn’t earn a living. But I’m not hurt and I’m not afraid now, Clinton. I’m just telling you again, straight and plain, that you have a choice to make.” She began to strip off her walking clothes but then, suddenly, felt that she didn’t want to be bare in front of him. He was still a good-looking man. His chest was flat and wide. His stomach was tight even with his weight gain. His skin never chapped or grayed, while she had stretch marks and wrinkles. It was a strange feeling—modesty in front of her husband of so many years. “It’s you that’s breaking a commandment, not me. I’m trying to live righteous.” Jada opened the closet door and stood behind it as she struggled into her work clothes.
    “Jada, you don’t understand…this thing with Tonya and I isn’t just about the flesh. We have a spiritual connection.”
    Jada put her head around the closet door and stared at him. Mercy! Sometimes she couldn’t believe the bullshit that came out of this man’s mouth. Sweet Jesus, you made this man , she thought. Now make him see the light. Or, alternatively, pluck out his eyes . She thought of her parents. On Barbados, a small island where everyone knew everything, people learned compromise as an art form. Not Clinton, though.
    “I can forgive you,” she said. “I can live with you. And I can try, even harder than I have, to keep this family together. But not if you talk to me about that woman’s spiritual qualities. Everyone has to draw a line, Clinton. I don’t want to hear one damn thing about her. Don’t insult me with a comparison.”
    “I wasn’t comparing,” Clinton began, his version of an apology, then saw her murderous expression and stopped. “My family means everything to me,” he added quickly.