Damsels in Distress by Nikita Lynnette Nichols Page A

to Lord & Taylor after service today. Ginger said it comes in navy, too.” Celeste didn’t talk to her best friends for three days. How dare they tell what the dress cost and where it came from?
    It was Anthony who got an earful about how inconsiderate Ginger and Portia had been. But no matter how bad the disagreements were, within seventy-two hours, one of them would make the telephone call that brought the trio back together again.
    However, it had been almost a month since Celeste had spoken to her friends and Anthony was fit to be tied at her attitude. For almost a month, Celeste served him overcooked meals and undercooked meals. At least four nights of the week Celeste opted for takeout.
    She told Anthony if she never set eyes on her best friends again, it would be too soon. Yet each time the telephone rang and Portia Dunn or Ginger Brown didn’t show on the caller identification, Celeste would pout. Anthony, a motorman for the Chicago Transit Authority, was constantly paged throughout the day with urgent messages from Celeste. In between runs, Anthony would return her calls just to hear her say, “I can’t believe neither one of them has called yet,” or “Do you think I was wrong, Tony?”
    Anthony never took sides when it came to resolving an issue between his wife and her friends. Whenever Celeste asked for his opinion on a matter, Anthony would say, “Celeste, that’s between you and your girls,” and he would leave it at that. Anthony learned his lesson years ago when he told Celeste that she was wrong in a situation with Portia and Ginger and should be the one to apologize. That bit of advice had cost him two nights of celibacy. Celeste told Anthony that he should always side with his wife no matter what the case may be.
    Anthony drove Celeste to work and kissed her cheek before she exited the car. “Have a great day, baby,” he encouraged her.
    Celeste smiled slightly at him then sighed. “I’ll try. Is there anything in particular you want to stop and get for dinner tonight?”
    Anthony exhaled loudly. “Takeout again, Celeste? We’ve been eating fast food every other night for the past month.”
    Celeste sighed louder. “I just haven’t been in the mood to cook.”
    â€œCeleste, you haven’t been in the mood to cook, clean, do laundry, talk, or make love. Whatever this issue is that you have with your girls, I suggest you do what you gotta do to squash it. For weeks I’ve watched you slam doors and throw things. Then you cursed at me when you got your period. I let you have your moment because your doctor said that stress from trying to conceive would be overwhelming. But I’m not Ginger or Portia. I’m your husband and I ain’t done a darn thing to you.
    â€œNormally the three of you would have made up by now but this is ridiculous. You can be mad, Celeste, but be mad at the right people. Eating fast food four times a week stops today. The slamming of doors stops today. Turning your back to me when we go to bed at night stops today. Having cramps doesn’t justify you talking to me anyway you want. And I want you to stop paging me throughout the day whining about Ginger and Portia.”
    Celeste looked at her husband with tears in her eyes but Anthony didn’t regret what he’d just said to her. Celeste needed to understand that she couldn’t continue to take out her frustrations on him or their marriage. Her tears didn’t move him that morning.
    â€œI’ve had enough of this crap,” Anthony stated. “When I pick you up after work we’re gonna go home and cook dinner together. Then we’ll finish the evening off with a little one-on-one in the bedroom.”
    Celeste’s tears dripped onto her cheeks. She knew Anthony was right. He’d always been her biggest supporter and he didn’t deserve to be treated that way. “Okay.”
    With his first finger