The Ex-Wife Read Free

it would taint the wonderful night. “Don’t worry. We have to see those other condos tomorrow. I’ll
     see you then.”
    “Ayana, you’re cool,” he said, still holding my left hand.
    I reached for the handle and opened the door. “Tomorrow?”
    “Definitely.”
    His grip was even tighter. I set one foot out of the car and slowly pried my hand away from his. Soon after, the second foot
     followed and I closed the door. I wanted to scream with excitement, disappointment, frustration, and anticipation all at once
     but I didn’t. I took a deep breath and followed Cam out of the garage.

Ayana
    M y state of ecstasy spilled over into the next day. Cam texted me bright and early in the morning: CAN’T WAIT TO SEE U THIS AFTERNOON.
    I had planned to ask Quentin all about him since he was the one who had referred me to Cam. When I saw Quentin, I felt a little
     unsure of whether I should say anything. Cameron’s energy was right. He was honest and sincere. I’m usually right about these
     things so I wasn’t sure if I should solicit secondhand information. Then there was a side of me wondering if my analysis could
     have been wrong because I wanted it to be right. My intellect and my emotions battled as I tried to decide what to say to
     Quentin.
    He interrupted my preoccupation. “How’d the home search go?”
    “It was cool. We looked at two places and I’m looking at two today.”
    “See anything you like?”
    I wanted to laugh. Hell yeah, I saw something I liked. I only wished Quentin had forewarned me that his boy was so damn fine.
    “Yeah, I saw one place that I really liked.”
    “Cool. Cam is a real good dude.”
    “He seems like it.”
    Quentin and I went over notes for the show and neither of us mentioned Cam any further. I decided to delve more into Cameron’s
     background once we were off the air. I knew Quentin would know it, being that they’d been friends since high school.
    When I started the show, it was the first time in twelve hours that I wasn’t thinking about Cam, because I love my job more
     than anything. When I’m here, I feel most like myself. It’s not exactly what I dreamed I’d be doing, but it comes so naturally.
    While pursuing my PhD in psychology I started out on a journey to discover why all my good girlfriends and I were still single.
     We were all in our late twenties, attractive, and had good jobs or were pursuing professional degrees. Certainly the selection
     of good black men couldn’t be that bad. There had to be something wrong with us. Were we too dominant? Were we too picky?
     Or did we just have bad luck? Assuming this would be the perfect dissertation subject, I began my research. Naturally, I decided
     to start with the women who were in seemingly healthy marriages.
    After nearly ten interviews I was shocked to learn that many of these women in the socially imposed ideal situation were unhappy,
     and seven of them claimed they would not marry their husbands if they had it to do over again. While I had expected to get
     responses about how great it was to be committed to the one , I ended up disappointed with the reality that men are men.
    Besides being single, my friends and I were happy. Most of all we were free. With freedom came options and we knew we weren’t
     stuck. Maybe that was why we laughed, traveled, and absorbed life. Suddenly my research shifted to single women. Were they
     all as happy as we were? After interviewing a few single women, I found that a large percentage of them were unhappy too.
     They felt life had dealt them a bad hand. Could it be that being a woman is an unhappy existence in and of itself? Why did
     it seem that women were never satisfied? Finally it hit me. The one common denominator among the unhappy women was that none
     of them had really good girlfriends. The women, single or married, with thriving female friendships seemed to get the most
     out of life.
    I went to my adviser to let him know that my dissertation would be