Mark pulled the brightly colored yellow chair in front of me, took out three pieces of neatly arranged serviettes spilling the rest on the table and blew away a chunk of chewed toothpick in the air. It fell on the table, close to the serviettes strewn on the table and he shoved them away, before carelessly pulling a waitress that was walking past and said, “Clear this mess!” He was careless. As careless as he had been with my health.
“Min boys!” He fondly called me “the mother of his sons” in anticipation of twins due in seven months or less. Whether we were fighting or happy. “How are you? How are the boys? Did you make it for the clinic appointment?” He asked.
“The same one we were supposed to go to together?” I asked. I was boiling with anger.
“But I told you I wouldn’t be able to make it, Min boys! Or did I not?” He asked his hands in the air acting so amused.
But that is generally Mark’s face. It’s his resting face. Half the time, his eyes are balling out, his right-hand mid-air squinting forward and blinking weirdly. Waiting impatiently for a response, before he ends up answering his questions. It’s funny, the tiny things about him that are etched in my mind, noticeable at every point.
His hands drop when he doesn’t get an answer from me and I just stare him down, wishing I was a lion so that I could pounce on him. The fact that I will see the same facial expressions again about ten times before the night ends infuriates me. I want answers but a part of me wishes and I never get the answers I seek.
“Mark, I’m hurt and disappointed by you.” I start. He interjects. Of course, it wouldn’t be Mark he doesn’t.
“Disappointed?” He pauses. His eyes bulging out of their sockets.
“What did I do? All because I couldn’t make it for antenatal clinic?”, He adds.
“I wish I would be disappointed about clinic visits Mark! I wish I was!” My voice heightened.
“Then what is it?” He asks, slowly steadying his back on the seat, his eyes fixated on me. For once, he was looking at me, paying attention. But what’s the use? It’s too late already.
“Did you know?” I ask.
“Aa aaah! Min boys, Know what?” He asks.
Mark and I fell out of love as fast as we fell in love. There wasn’t anything dislikable about Mark, or so I thought. He fit the description and even went beyond. He was tall, dark, handsome, wealthy, charismatic, caring and remembered all the important days. Well not exactly, he had a reminder for the important days. The reminders kept stock of his exes birthdays too, he says, going back to delete them is too much work and I used to agree with him.
Mark had it all, the flare, everything good for the ‘gram, the vibes. Time spent together was magic and sooner, time would pass by without anyone noticing. It’s the hours, days, weeks and six months that passed while I slept over at his apartment that had us smiling broadly in expensive white attires at the Attorney General’s office and then to a beautiful reception right after.
Everyone thought it was rushed. We should have taken our time to get to know each other better. But what was there to see? We were open books. Besides, in our professional careers, we were excelling and we thought to ourselves, “What next? What more could I want?”
Quite frankly, that’s far from the truth. I thought I had it all, that I was ready for the next achievement, marriage and motherhood. Mark didn’t share my thoughts, but he supported me. He suggested that I could be a stay-at-home while we expected our twin bundle of joy because he was more than capable of meeting our financial needs.
Having racked up the professional ladder pretty fast and with impeccable accomplishments on my name, I thought why not? It doesn’t get better than this! And so, to the dismay of many people, my parents particularly, I quit my job and I was off to be a stay-at-home wife, in the meantime, before our boys came.
It was during this time, while pregnant with our twins that I tested positive for HIV. I was shocked. How? When? Where? Were they out of their minds? My questions ran deep. It was merely my first appointment and I had reason to believe that the private hospital was nothing but fraudulent. That they hired crooks and treated patients with faulty machines, because what the heck do they mean that I was HIV positive? It’s the same question Mark asked when I called him. I mean, are they out of their minds?
Without question, I was convinced that the hospital had been careless. That they had done something wrong and ended up infecting me, an expectant mother, with HIV. I had theories, circumstances, and situations that I had drawn up, reflecting negligence on the hospital’s part. Mark suggested that I switch hospitals in the meantime, as we prepared a lawsuit against the hospital.
It was encouraging, the belief and support that Mark showed me when ideally, he was supposed to question my fidelity. His support fueled me, and all I wanted was justice, for myself and my unborn babies. It was just six weeks when I found out, but for the sake of a healthy mind and body for the children, our lawyer, Mark’s friend advised that I focus on delivery first, before we start our legal journey.
But at the clinic today, the doctor held similar results and waved them in front of me. I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t answer any of the questions he asked. I was in utter shock. In my mind, I knew for a fact that it couldn’t be another faulty hospital machine. Not even a quack doctor. It was something I missed. Before I rose on my legs to leave, the doctor asked, “Is your partner infected too? I want you to know that you can have healthy HIV- negative babies if you adhere to medication carefully”. There it was. Mark. There was something amiss about how he handled my outburst from the previous visit.
“Mark, I will only ask you this once. Did you know?” Tears at the corners of my eyes.
“Darling if I told you, you wouldn’t have married me”. He answered.
My heart sank. It was all a lie. The vibes, the flare, the boxes he ticked so effortlessly. It was all I lie. I was blinded by the glamour, the glitter that I missed the gospel truth my parents preached to me all of my teenage years, “Make sure you get tested first!”
Mark’s face looks scared, but not remorseful. He’s sitting up in his chair, like a fireman ready to swing into action and put out a fire. I can feel my tears falling on my neckline and things are getting blurry. I want to jump across the table and squeeze the life out of Mark. There are a lot of things I want to do, but I don’t know in what particular order. The waitress from earlier strolls to our table and asks, “Would you like to make an order?”
A Random Midnight Call Exposed My Boyfriend’s Lies
My Abusive Ex-Husband Poured Acid On Me
I Dated A Famous Director To Gain Fame But Ended Up With HIV
The Singlehood Series: She Revealed Her HIV Status During My Family Gathering
