Free The Side Effects of You by Anna Black Page B

kind of marriage anymore. It was too much space for me and the woman who lived there with me, not sharing it with me. I mean, it stayed spotless . . . always clean and organized, almost sterile. Can you imagine living in a home where you sat at the table together only at the holidays?
    â€œJust imagine coming home to takeout or a quick microwavable dinner and then going up to bed with your spouse, who has files everywhere, so you have to go lie down in the guest room. Imagine planning a romantic night, but then you get a text saying, ‘So sorry, babe. I can’t make it.’ Andrea, it got so bad that I said for seven days I wasn’t going to say a word to her. I was going to see if she noticed. And you know what? She didn’t. I was alone in my marriage. Awesome career, hefty bank account, a couple of fancy cars, but in a loveless marriage. When I filed for the divorce, all she said was, ‘Okay. It is what it is.’”
    He chuckled. He was about to continue, but just then the server brought our drinks. We ordered a couple of finger foods, and then he dove back in.
    â€œScheduling sex, frowning when I touched her, changing the subject when I wanted to talk about it got old.” He sipped his drink. “I told myself over and over that Andrea would have loved me, taken care of me, and cooked for me. Even if the mean was burnt or a disaster, she would have tried, just to make me happy. I let the best thing I ever had go. And the baby, that is an even bigger regret.”
    Both of our eyes welled up. I hopped up. “Ladies’ room.” I dashed off.
    How dare he do that to me? Give me that sob story of how she treated him , I told myself as I stepped into the ladies’ room and walked over to sink. Still, I wanted to beat the snot out of her for hurting him. Quentin was one of the good ones. To have him was an honor.
    â€œStop it, Andrea,” I said to myself in the mirror. Why was his story so freaking similar to mine? Why did his spouse treat him just as horribly as Jeremiah treated me? Hell, even worse. At least Jeremiah had a scripture or two to hit me with each day to make me feel like I was the evildoer in the marriage.
    And then Quentin brought us up. And the baby. I had to get the hell out of there.
    â€œOkay, finish your drink and go home,” I told my reflection.
    When I got back to the table, our appetizers were there. Then the server came over with another glass of wine for me.
    â€œI didn’t order that,” I said, looking at the wine.
    â€œI did,” Quentin said. “I know you said one drink, but I miss your company, Andrea.” He stared at me for a moment, then looked up at the server and gave her a nod. She set the glass down in front of me and walked away.
    I wanted to refuse it, but what the hell? Since I didn’t have work the next morning, and since Jeremiah was still gone on his men’s retreat, I accepted it. I would just miss the first service at church in the morning. Truth was, I had missed Quentin too, and for some reason, I didn’t feel bad being out with him. After all, my marriage was over. So I continued to play catch-up with him. I learned he was a campus recruiter for Chicago State University. I had no idea what that meant, so he happily explained it to me.
    We talked until closing, and after he walked me to my car, I didn’t stop him when he kissed my lips softly.
    â€œGo home with me, Andrea. Let me be with you tonight, and afterward, if you want nothing else, I promise I won’t bother you again.”
    Back off, Satan , I said to myself.
    â€œI want to, Q. I do. But I can’t have that on my conscience. Two wrongs never make it right.”
    â€œI know, Drea, but you deserve to be loved, held, and showered with affection. He hasn’t touched you in over two years. I know how it feels to have a desire to be touched.”
    True. I hated that I had shared the entire truth about Jeremiah and me with