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My stomach was in knots all that morning as I thought about the fact that I may have a bastard child with Allison. I mean, things with me and Mariah were finally leveling off then I get hit with this unexpected curve ball. I hadn’t been this nervous since I’d broken down and revealed my past sexual appetite for blonde hair, blue eyed white girls who loved anal sex. By no means was I ever ashamed of the life I’d lived prior to being with Mariah, but her being the oldest daughter of a preacher complicated things. We were from two different worlds, and our union seemed unlikely to others, especially her father, Reverend Myles Euclid.
Imagine being the son-in-law of one of the most prestigious and well-respected ministers in the city. Now imagine being married to a Daily Bread-fed woman who has made every decision in life based on the concept of what Jesus would do. I'm telling you, it's the greatest type of pressure. At one point, everything I did and said was under scrutiny until I finally explained my upbringing to her. Unlike Mariah, I wasn't a sheltered child with middle class parents who lived in the suburbs. My mother was a prostitute who spent most of her time in and out of jail.
I never knew my father, but from what I hear, my mom got pregnant by her pimp. I don't know how true that was; all I know is my grandmother raised me. Now being raised by my grandmother was a gift and a curse. On the one hand, I was raised with old school values, but on the flip side, I witnessed firsthand what crack cocaine does to someone you love. With that being said, I was heavily influenced by the streets. I sold drugs, ran with a gang, and even did my fair share of armed robberies as a juvenile.
Once I disclosed all these things to my wife, I think she had a better understanding of why I had such a deep resentment towards black women, because I hadn't seen any good representations of black women within my household or community. But my sweet Mariah showed me otherwise, and for that, I loved her all the more. She was the epitome of what I yearned for in a woman; that's why I had such a high regard for her. So you can't understand how heart wrenching and soul suppressing it was to withhold anything from her, but I knew it had to be done, otherwise I couldn't look myself in the mirror.
Now one thing I neglected to mention about my grandmother is the fact that she taught me how to cook. I don't mean just throwing-something-in-the-microwave cooking, I mean that good ol' Pine Bluff, Arkansas home cooking. Outside of attending St. Luke's, cooking was the way I’d learned to be patient and control my anger and anxiety. Now, with everything on my mind, I decided to cook a big breakfast as a way of buttering up Mariah. (No pun intended.) I went all out. I'm talking about thick cut bacon with the rind on it, summer sausage, cheddar cheese scrambled eggs, grits, hash browns, French toast, buttermilk biscuits, and pancakes with the Maple Grove Farms maple syrup. I threw down, I'm trying to tell you.
My boys Wesley Jr. and Andrew were going to town on those flap jacks and bacon strips. All you heard was smacking, chewing, burping, and forks scraping plates. Now Mariah, on the other hand, wasn't as easy to please as my sons. I don't know if it was her woman's intuition kicking in or if I was unconsciously wearing a guilty expression on my face.
All I know is that she took two little tiny nibbles of her sausage then proceeded to go into detective mode. "What are you up to, Wes? I know you're not cooking breakfast just to be cooking, so what gives? You must be feeling guilty because you fell asleep last night while you were supposed to be eating my you-know-what."
My pupils instantly dilated in shock. "Mariah! I can't believe you said that in front of the boys. But for the record, I didn't fall asleep. I was just taking a quick breather."
"Oh! Wes please, the boys are too preoccupied by what's going on on their plates to pay any attention to me. Besides, I seriously doubt they even know what I'm talking about. Now you ought to be ashamed of yourself, talking about you were taking a quick breather. Negro, if you don't stop lying to yourself. That wasn't a breather; that was a full blown nap. So while you were snoring and carrying on, I was using my silver bullet to finish what you started. But that's neither here nor there. What I need to know is what’s this surprise meal supposed to be compensating for?" Mariah investigated as she sat her silverware down and wiped the crumbs from the biscuit out of the corner of her mouth.
"Compensating? Uh...what uh...what do you mean? I got up this morning feeling good and wanted to do something nice for my beautiful family. Can't a man do something without being treated like I'm...I'm...I'm hiding something?" I said in an attempt to throw her off and make her feel bad for questioning me.
She slammed her fist on the glass kitchen table which made her plate bounce up slightly as she stood. "See, now I know you lying, Wes. You don't think I know you by now? You over there stuttering and your eyes keep blinking like hazard lights every five seconds. Don't play with my intelligence, Wesley Thomas Sr. You better tell me now before I get upset."
My heart pounded and my lips trembled as my mind played tug of war on the idea of exposing my secret. On one hand, I wanted to get everything off of my chest and deal with whatever would transpire because of it. But then the scared, insecure seven year old inside of me wasn't willing to risk losing the only family that I've truly known and loved. With that being said, I continued to lie through my teeth until Mariah finally got fed up and flung her plate of food at me. She then stormed out of the kitchen and threatened to call her younger sister, Cynthia, who I knew would surely blab our business to their overly judgmental father.
I darted after her like a South African cheetah pursuing a gazelle. Once I caught up to her at the end of the hall, I finally manned up and spoke my truth. "Look Mariah, I have to come clean. The other night that wasn't Devon I was on the phone with. It was one of my ex-lovers. I don't know how she got my number, but she claims that she has a four year old son and I'm supposed to be the boys’ father. I didn't know how to..."
SMACK! was all I heard as my left jaw began to tingle. "Wes, we had eight marriage counseling sessions before we tied the knot. Deacon Lewis asked you at the final one if you had any other secrets other than the ones that you had already been forthcoming with. Did he not?"
"Yeah! But..."
"What did I tell your ass would happen if another one of your skeletons fell out of the closet?" Mariah asked me in a condescending tone.
"You said you would divorce me then take me for alimony and child support," I replied as I stood in front of her, blocking her path to the bedroom.
"I'm glad you remembered, so you can't say I never warned you. With that being said, move your lying, fake Omar Epps, 'You got the juice now' looking ass out of my way, fool. You disgust me!" she demanded as she elbowed me in my stomach followed by an even harder SMACK on the right side of my face beneath the eye.
"Wow! Mariah, I see you take that whole turn the other cheek saying to a whole ‘nother level. My God, you don't hit like a girl. You ol' heavy handed heifer," I sarcastically shouted.
"What did you say, Wes?" she inquired as she poked her head out of the bedroom door.
"Nothing!” I cried. “I was talking to Andrew."
Before I knew it, she was yanking clothes out of the dresser drawers and tossing them into her suitcase. I tried to plead with her, but she just kept swinging and kicking anytime I came near her. The sad part was my boys were standing there, surveying the scene as they watched whole ordeal. Andrew started crying, but Wesley Jr. stood in the doorway of our bedroom with a puzzled look on his face.
Once she grabbed her car keys and told the boys to get their backpacks, I sort of lost it. I don't know what came over me. All I know is I wasn't trying lose my family. Without forethought, I tackled Mariah down onto the bed and shouted, "give me those damn keys. You're not gonna take my babies away from me. You hear me, Mariah? It will be over my dead body if you wanna walk out that door."
We rustled and tussled until she let go of her grip on the keys then she did the unthinkable and screamed to our son, "Andrew, dial 9-1-1 like I taught you. Daddy is hurting mommy very bad."
I could tell that Andrew was in a state of confusion as he toggled between Mariah and I. Since, in many ways, he was more loyal to his mother than me, he did like most mamas boys would and heeded to her voice. Then he urgently darted to retrieve the cordless phone. I scurried after him, tripping over my feet as I petitioned. "Andy, me and mommy are just kidding around. We’re not serious; it was all a joke. Now give daddy the phone before you get us both in big trouble."
He paused for a moment as if he was rationalizing the situation, but after a minute or so, he reluctantly relinquished the phone to me. I ordered him and Wes Jr. to return to their rooms as I broke down in tears and begged my wife. "This is by far is the hardest thing I think I've ever had to do. To tell you, the woman I love, that I have a baby by a woman that I barely even know. I hope you can accept the fact that I'm man enough to tell you this, and hopefully, you'll give me another chance.
“This ain't about my career. This ain't about my life; it's about us. Please!"
Mariah broke down in tears as well. It took her some time to compose herself. "As God is my witness, Wes, we are gonna get through this. I'm not giving up on our marriage that easily, but I do want to meet this Allison and her son, so we can finally get down to the bottom of this."