Taste of Reality by Kimberla Lawson Roby

comfortable with.”
    “Then why did you marry me, David?” I heard myself ask.
    “Partly because I really did fall in love with you, and partly because I knew my colleagues weren’t ready to see me with a white wife six years ago.”
    “So are you saying you used me until you realized you didn’t need me anymore?”
    “I didn’t use you, but the longer we were together, the more I realized we weren’t compatible. Although I was willing to try and make it work if you gave me a baby and stopped being so obsessed with having a career.”
    “How could you make love to me the other night, knowing that you were in love with someone else? I mean, how could you be so cruel?”
    “Because I felt sorry for you, and whether you believe me or not, I really feel bad about all of this. I never meant to hurt you like this, and I never expected to fall in love with someone else while I was still married to you.”
    “I hate you for doing this to me, David,” I said, determined not to shed any tears.
    “I’m really sorry for everything, Anise. You have to believe that.”
    I dropped the receiver on its base without saying good-bye and closed my eyes. Tears rolled down my face. My heart ached terribly, and I wondered why he’d acted as though he wanted our marriage to work. I wondered why he’d used me for sex, or worse, why he’d made love to me out of pity. I couldn’t help thinking about how ironic it was that I’d just been thinking about my idiot cousin, and now David had fallen into that same category.
    I pulled myself together in the ladies’ room, finished a few action items in my office and went down to the company cafeteria. I’d considered going out, but I had far too much work and didn’t need to waste time walking out to the parking lot, driving to a restaurant and then waiting for my meal to be served. Apparently a good number of other employees were on the same wavelength, because the cafeteria was certainly busier than usual.
    One of the servers positioned a plate on top of the counter with a tuna entrée, and I sat it on the blue tray I’d grabbed at the beginning of the line. I moved along and tried to resist reaching for a slice of southern pecan pie, but didn’t see why I should deny myself. I had a lot on my mind and was dealing with enough stress to justify all the calories and fat grams I knew it was saturated with. Which iswhy I picked it up. I was five nine and still wore a comfortable size ten, so it wasn’t like I was overweight, anyway.
    I filled a glass with Sierra Mist, paid the cashier and located a seat by the long wall of windows. I’d barely had time to open my napkin full of silverware when Frank Colletti, the training director, walked up to the table.
    “You’re not expecting anyone for lunch, are you?” he asked, looking as handsome as ever.
    “No.”
    “Do you mind if I join you?”
    I was hesitant, because Frank always made me feel uncomfortable. It was the type of discomfort a man inflicts upon you when he looks at you the wrong way and you are 100 percent sure he wants to be more than just a friend, coworker or acquaintance.
    But against my better judgment, I said, “Sure, why not.”
    He placed his tray on the table, which contained a sub sandwich and chips, and then took a seat in front of me. I wondered why I hadn’t seen him in line, but now I knew he’d purchased his lunch on the other side of the cafeteria where they sold sandwiches and snacks.
    “So how’s everything going?” he asked, smiling.
    “As well as they can be, I guess.”
    I didn’t know Frank well enough to confide what I was going through. More important, I didn’t know how I was going to tell a white man that my life was being turned upside down because my white superiors were possibly trying to discriminate against me and my husband had left me for a white woman. I just didn’t see how he could possibly understand, and there was a chance he might be offended by what I was