Jamise L. Dames

Daisy Parker’s blood was boiling. She balled up her boyfriend’s favorite brown suede Armani jacket and threw it out the second-story window. She stuck her head out into the warm breeze, surveyed her work, and smiled wickedly. Jasper Stevens’s clothes and shoes decorated her front lawn. Silk shirts in every color imaginable sprinkled the red roses that climbed the white trellis. Boxer shorts were scattered like freckles on the flagstone walkway, while an isolated pair hung from the limb of an oak tree like a gigantic moth. A beige loafer lay in the neighbor’s yard across the street.

Neighbors shamelessly stood outside and watched in shameless amazement. “Mind your own business.” Daisy yanked the navy sheers closed.

Why in the hell is everybody outside so early anyway?

She stood thinking, hands on hips. Now for his grandmother’s good china. She ran down the stairs, a stabbing pain shot through her right foot. She winced as blood trickle from her big toe. She shook her head in disgust and pulled out the small masonry nail.

“Ooh…goddamn!” She cringed, grabbing her foot. “I hate these stairs. I hate this house.” Then Daisy’s heart raced. “Lord, don’t let him walk through that door right now, ‘cause I swear I’m gonna kill him. I told him the last time that if he let the sun beat him home, it’d be the last one he’d see rise.” The pain from her wound, which was beginning to swell, deepened her anger. She wiped a tear from her eye and went to treat her injury.

As she limped into the first floor bathroom, Daisy frowned at the tiny spots of blood staining the tile. If it’s not one thing, it’s something worse. I wonder who it is this time—what woman has twisted his head so far up his ass that he can’t see who’s had his back for years. She yanked open the medicine cabinet, and the entire contents tumble into the sink. “Jesus!” Her heart felt as if it were trying to jackhammer its way out of her chest.

She was not going to have another anxiety attack. No. No. No. Jasper wasn’t worth it. She inhaled slowly, held her breath until the count of ten, then exhaled. The last thing she needed was to lose control. After repeating the process several times she began to relax. Seven years of yoga had taught her how to alleviate stress. As her pulse slowed, she rummaged through the fallen toiletries for the first aid kit. After treating her wound, she found herself staring into the basin. Something wasn’t right. The medicine cabinet was usually full, but the sink only contained a few items. Daisy chewed her bottom lip and snapped her fingers. All of Jasper’s toiletries are missing. His extra toothbrush—gone. There was no denying the evidence. “Now I’m really going to throw the china out of the window!”

Daisy carelessly stacked the fragile china on the table in separate piles. With each half-toss it clattered, threatening to topple to the floor. Silently she urged it to fall, dared it to break like her relationship. Why not? Everything else Jasper claimed to love is broken. She snatched a plate and examined it. The blue-patterned china that bore a fanciful etching, navy like a perfect night sky lighted by stars, was trimmed in gold. The hazy color she once thought beautiful was now as hideous as it was gaudy and old. Ugly and disgusting. Haunting, like the bluish lips of the dead. She shivered. Flinging the dish on top of the stack, a vile film covered her fingertips. Smelling her hands, she realized the china smelled as bad as it looked. Its stench attacked her nostrils and made her mouth feel like cotton. Turning away, she bumped the table with her hip and watched the china shake, rattle, and fall.

She headed to the kitchen. It was nice. The cold marble floor soothed her injured foot. She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator, threw her head back, letting the water sooth her tongue and dry throat.

She needed to check on Jay, who was over at a playmate’s house. She longed to hear his young, innocent voice sing the magical words that had always lifted her spirits: “Hey, Mom.” Daisy’s heart warmed as she thought about him. He had a knack for making her think about bigger things than her problems. He’d made it easy for her to segue into motherhood. He was Jasper’s son, but became her own when she’d stepped in to raise he when he was almost two.

She dialed his friend’s number, but couldn’t speak to Jay. He was outside playing basketball. Daisy sighed. As upset as she was, and as proud as she was for finally taking a stand, she yearned for the comfort of someone who loved her unconditionally.

“Jay,” she said aloud.

Daisy sat on the sofa waiting for Jasper to come through the front door. She was fuming. He should’ve had the decency to call. She picked up Jasper’s photo from the end table. You would think you’d want to spend every available minute at home, considering your job has you out of town four days a week. But no. Not you, Jasper. That would be asking too much. She glared at the picture, then tossed it across the room.  She looked at another photograph, this one of Jay and herself. Immediately a tinge of guilt coursed through her, and a sudden sadness too. What was she to do about him? She certainly wouldn’t put him out.

She picked up Jay’s Little League trophy that was sitting next to their photo. As she ran her finger over his engraved name, a whimper escaped her: “I’m the only mother he knows. I can’t lose him.” She’d taught him how to talk, potty-trained him, and nursed him when he was ill. She’d done everything that she assumed his biological mother would’ve if she could’ve. “Death stole her from you, and it’ll be the only thing that’ll keep me from you.”

“Hell, he’s my son,” she said, setting the trophy back in place.

Tears flowed freely now from Daisy’s deep brown eyes. She paced the room, pounding her fist into her palm. As much as she loved him, she couldn’t take Jasper’s disrespect anymore. Wouldn’t take it anymore. She’d pretended for too long, lived too long in her make-believe world. Her mind wandered to the time she’d smelled another woman’s perfume on him, and he had convinced her it was her scent. She plopped down on the sofa, laughing at her naïveté. How could she have been so stupid? She’d give Jasper one more hour, she decided. If he didn’t come home, she’d changed the locks.

No one could tell Daisy what she already knew. Inside, she knew he’d cheated before, and her gut told her that he was out doing something that he had no business doing.

As her eyes drifted around the room, Daisy realized that Jasper had fashioned her to his liking, just as he had fashioned his home. She too had been bought and paid for. But no more.

One thing she wouldn’t complain about was the grandfather clock. It had accompanied her through the night without missing a beat. And it had given her the wake-up call that she’d finally answered, the call that told her to put Jasper where he belonged—out with yesterday’s trash.

The doorbell rang.