Wifey Read Free Page A

my flirtatious-ass husband. He always had to show off. I bet he had all these hoes out here thinking he’s the man. And the more I thought about it, I could do nothing else but pick up my cell phone and dial up this nigga’s number.
    “What’s up, baby?” Ricky answered after the second ring.
    “I just seen your peoples,” I told him.
    “Who?” he asked.
    “Your little girlfriend at the Wendy’s on Newtown Road.”
    “Who?” he repeated the question.
    “Nigga, don’t ‘who’ witcha slick ass! You know who I’m talking about,” I yelled. “I just left from talking to this young-ass girl at Wendy’s.”
    “Kira, you tripping!”
    “I ain’t tripping! That bitch was the one tripping when she asked me was I driving your car, like she’s fucking you or something.”
    “Kira, don’t call me wit’ that shit right now.”
    “What you mean, don’t call you wit’ this shit now? Ricky, you act like I be looking for this madness.”
    “Look, I’m in the middle of something. So, we gon’ have to talk about this later.”
    “Yeah, what the fuck ever!” I replied sarcastically and pressed the “end” button on my cell.
    I got so pissed with him when he acted like I was the one bringing him the drama. I kept telling him all he had to do was keep his hoes in check because what I don’t know won’t hurt me. But nah, he couldn’t do that. He had so many of them running around, he had done lost control. I learned this a long time ago, that when you live with your man and he’s a hustler, nine times out of ten, he’s gonna have at least one or two hoes he’s screwing on the side. Trust me. It’s in the Hustler’s Manual . I don’t care how much Ricky lied and told me he wasn’t screwing anybody, because he was. Having to live with this fact, I constantly had to remind myself that I was the one living in the big house. I also had the pass codes to the bank accounts and the combination to the safe, which was built into a hideaway place under the floor, under our bed. Now, to know all of this, I couldn’t be nobody else but wifey.
    By the time I made it home, I was still in a pissy mood because of Ricky’s lack of concern for my feelings. I did what any other woman would do, and that was going on a manhunt for names and phone numbers. I searched Ricky’s car from top to bottom and in every hidden compartment I could find. I couldn’t find anything. He must’ve cleared everything out before he dropped his car off to me.
    He thought he was so slick. But, I had his number.
    ***
    Ricky came home about 1 am. I was going to get out of bed and jump dead in his case about the chick at Wendy’s, but I decided against it. I mean, what was the use? He wasn’t gonna do nothing but deny any dealings with her, anyway. So, I closed my eyes and lay completely still. I could hear everything he was doing downstairs. By the noises he made, I could tell he was in the kitchen messing with the microwave ‘cause I heard him pressing buttons.
    After staying in the kitchen for a few minutes, I heard Ricky making his way up the staircase. I could also smell the aroma coming from his food. It didn’t smell like anything I had cooked all week. After he entered the bedroom, I decided to open my eyes and sit up in the bed. “Where did you get that food from?” I asked after turning on the lamp from my nightstand.
    “I bought it from Ms. Tiny’s house.”
    “From who?”
    “You know Ms. Tiny? She’s the lady who sells the shots of liquor, beers and dinners after hours.”
    “Oh yeah, I know who you talking about now. So, what you buy?”
    “I got the fish dinner.”
    “What else did you get wit’ it?”
    “Some macaroni and cheese and cabbage.”
    “Did she give you a piece of corn bread?”
    “Yeah. But I ate that when I first got the dinner.”
    “Why didn’t you get me some extra pieces?”
    “I didn’t think about it.”
    “Well, you should’ve brought me a dinner home.”
    “Ahh, don’t even try