“It’s me,” her mother called her back.
Chelsea ran ahead and as Martha came into view, flung herself into her grandmother’s arms. “Grandma, doesn’t Mommy look pretty?”
Her mother wore an auburn wig and looked relaxed in a pair of dark jeans and tennis shoes. The lines at the corners of her eyes crinkled when she nodded and grinned. “Very pretty. I think you’re in for a really good night tonight,” she said with a wink.
“And I appreciate you doing this for me.” Her mother encouraged her to date again after she and Terrence initially split. It took a year to get back on the dating scene, but as the saying goes, the best way to get over someone was to get under a new someone. Once she started spending time with other men, the loneliness didn’t hit as hard and she didn’t have much time to feel sorry for herself.
“I’ll head out now so I’m not late. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks again, Mom.”
“Have fun!” her mother called.
* * *
“Name?”
“Ross,” Austin answered. “Austin Ross.”
Arm in arm, Charisse and Austin stood at the host stand of Notte, a large Italian restaurant with an intimate ambiance thanks to the dark wood walls, dimmed lights, and votive candles flickering on each table. Charisse had saved her appetite, and the scent of basil and marinara sauce made her anxious to eat.
“There you are.” The host checked off Austin’s name. “Follow me, please.”
Tonight Austin wore a long-sleeved dress shirt under a blue sweater vest and tie. The glasses on his face gave him a distinguished look along with the neat, close-cropped hair with gray coming in at the edges above his ears.
He held onto her hand as they followed the host through the maze of tables, but as they were walking, her gaze fell on a face she never expected to see. Terrence snapped a selfie with a couple of fans and then flung an arm around the neck of the young woman by his side. He did it in a negligent way, as if he’d done it many times before.
They looked good together. Terrence in black jeans and a black turtleneck because of the cool March evening, and the young woman pretty in a long-sleeved but short, skintight black dress and the type of killer heels Charisse gave up wearing a few years ago.
She swallowed hard as hurt bloomed in the pit of her stomach. She felt a little sick, the same way she used to feel when Terrence’s nameless, faceless girlfriends developed names and faces on Instagram or gossip blogs. It was so much easier when she couldn’t see them and could pretend they didn’t exist.
Her left hand tightened fractionally around Austin’s, and then the host stopped beside a table and waved his hand. “Will this work?” he asked.
“Yes, this works,” Austin answered.
But Charisse wasn’t paying attention. She kept her eyes trained on Terrence and his latest squeeze, laughing and talking with the patrons. As they were saying goodbye, he saw her, and the smile died on his face. His gaze dropped to where her hand was still enveloped in Austin’s.
She smiled and glanced away, allowing Austin to help her into the chair and off her suddenly unsteady feet. The host handed them both menus and promised the waiter would arrive soon.
“You’re okay with this table, right?” Austin asked.
Perhaps he thought her silence meant disapproval, but little did he know she had experienced a shock.
“It’s perfect,” she replied. She looked at the menu.
“Hi, Charisse,” a deep voice said to her right.
Tension filled her shoulders. She should have known he would stop by the table, but she hoped that he would leave to avoid a confrontation. With all the dirt he did during their marriage, one thing remained constant, and that was Terrence’s jealous streak. She kept her post-marital relationships low-key for that very reason.
He was particularly sensitive about the men who worked in music with him, and whenever they attended industry events, he made sure to stick close, as if worried someone would take her away from him. One time he ended up in a scuffle with another rapper over a song. “Bomb Pussy” was a raunchy rap Terrence wrote about the pleasure he received from being inside his woman and from performing cunnilingus on her. Everyone knew the song was about Charisse, though he never openly admitted it. When the rapper in question recited the vulgar lyrics backstage at a show while looking right at Charisse, Terrence flew into a rage and swung on him. If it weren’t for security, one or both men would have ended up in the hospital.
She used to believe his jealousy proved that he loved her, despite his affairs. God, she’d been so foolish.
“Hi, Terrence.”
“Kids at home?” he asked, eyes boring into hers.
“Yes, as a matter of fact they are. My mother’s there to make sure they don’t burn the house down.” She smiled tightly and glanced at the woman with him. She looked uncomfortable, shifting from one leg to the other. Up close she appeared younger than Charisse initially thought. She looked about twenty-four, about fifteen years younger than her ex. So typical.
“This is Kim Jones. Kim, this is my ex-wife, Charisse Burrell.” Terrence looked at her date. “Hi, I’m the ex-husband. I’m sure you’ve heard of me, Terrence T-Murder Burrell.”
