Open House

by TC Matson

  “What’s wrong?” he asks without any emotion behind it.

  I huff a laugh. “I’m tired. Long day.” I lie.

  And as he always has, he accepts the answer and leaves the bedroom.

  It takes all I have to control the rage I feel vibrating throughout me. I want to scream at him, throw things around, and tell him how much I can’t stand him right now, but instead, I take a long shaky, calming breath and curl up in the bed.

  Chapter 12

  Unhappy. The dictionary states a simple, yet powerful definition of the word—not happy. Some of the synonyms that follow suit are sad, sorrowful, dejected, heartbroken, and miserable. It’s hard to describe heartache. Everyone is different, experiencing different things. But we all suffer with one thing in common—pain.

  Somewhere Brian has vanished. Swallowed whole by the sufferings of work…life somewhere outside of the house. I’m no longer his comfort regardless of how much I do for him. My smile is robotic, forced by love, broken by agony. It’s been months of him missing from the dinner table. His smile doesn’t light up the room. There isn’t time together as a family. And even if his body is physically lying in the bed, he still isn’t there.

  Our conversations are only as long as a breath holds. We’re more roommates now than we’ve ever been. Intimacy is only in my dreams, reminiscing of the days we once were so madly in love with one another that nothing could separate us. Time has chosen to change us, derail the life we both dreamed of making. Work has played the biggest factor. He used to come home and tell me about his day—the screw ups, the fun times, and of course the bad days. Those conversations have long since ended. I came to grips…I fabricated the illusion he loves me so much he doesn’t want to drown me in his own personal hell despite the fact I’m willing to hold his hand through the flames.

  Sex has become more of a duty, a chore for both of us. It’s passionless. Unromantic. Lacking love. I feel obligated to lie there and enjoy the moments he gives me, but that in itself makes me feel like an underpaid prostitute despite having a home given to me by my suitor.

  I’m beginning to resemble Brian—an empty shell.

  Over the course of a few weeks, soccer practices and games have become my haven. Between April and Trenton, I look forward to them. They rip me from the personal hell I live in and grant me life, even if it’s only for a little bit of time.

  “I’m having a cookout at my house this weekend. You coming?” April asks shoving her sunglasses on top of her hair.

  I giggle. “And why am I just hearing of this? I could’ve helped you plan it.” Not to mention it’d give me something to focus on.

  “Impromptu. Adults only. Jeff will have Josh. I figured it was time to have a blowout since it’s been awhile.”

  “I’ll be there,” I tell her.

  She nods her head. “You too, Mr. B.”

  Even with him insisting on her calling him by his first name, she refuses.

  He pulls his attention from the field. “What do I need to bring?”

  “BYOB,” she informs him. “And if you want to bring someone, you can. Just one rule. No sex in my house.”

  He laughs shaking his head. “As sadistic as you are, I’m sure you’d scalp my…nether region and hang them up for a trophy.”

  She glares while pointing at him. “You best remember that.” She smiles and shifts her gaze to me. “Will Brian be joining us?”

  I shrug. “I’ll ask. I never know his schedule anymore.”

  She gives me a sad smile and throws the strap of her chair over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about food. I’ve got that taken care of. Will you give me a hand around six?”

  I nod, gathering my stuff.

  “Great. Party starts at seven.”

  We all say goodbye and Trenton follows suit as April and I collect our children, praising them for a job well done.

  For the first time in over a week, Brian makes it home just as we sit down for dinner.

  I smile up to him. “Hey. Hope you’re hungry. I made your favorite meal.”

  He eyes me suspiciously. “What for?”

  I dismiss the lack of enthusiasm. “Because I felt like it. You’ve worked really hard this week.”

  “I work hard every week,” he reminds me.

  “I know. I just wanted to do something nice.”

  “Thanks,” he says pulling a beer out of the fridge.

  He doesn’t give Lucas the same attitude he gives me. Their conversation is fun and of course about soccer. It’s the very subject that keeps them bonded together. Lucas tells him a few random things that happened at school or something about an assignment, but somehow it always turns back to soccer.

  “April is having her annual party this weekend,” I say pushing around my mashed potatoes.

  “I won’t be able to make it,” he says and my heart breaks.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  He lowers his head and scowls from under his lashes. “Work.”

  “But it’s the weekend and we always have fun when we go.”

  “Doesn’t stop work.” He doesn’t even look at me when he says it.

  I stare at him in disbelief. I’ve lost my appetite and drop my hands in my lap.

  The air has shifted. It’s uncomfortable, awkward, intense and thick. Lucas must feel it too because he’s quit speaking, occasionally shifting his view between his father and me. I can only imagine what his poor thoughts are. I try offering him a warm smile, but I know it’s come off as a sad one instead.

  Something about the way Brian just took a swallow from his beer pisses me off. My blood screams and my frustration shatters.

  I snap.

  “I’m getting sick of this.” I level my view on Brian. “You’re the damn boss. Take off work and be with me.”

  He smirks smugly and twirls his fork, rolling his eyes. The darkened glare, the angry creases across his forehead tell me all I need to know about his thoughts.

  I shove to my feet, sliding the chair back with my legs, and slam my fist on the table. “Make some fucking time for us, Brian,” I scathe.

  He raises his brow and the smug smirk transforms into arrogance. He tips his head to Lucas. “Language.”

  I don’t remove my vicious glower.

  He drops his fork to the plate with a loud clang and slides his chair back. “I can’t.” He crosses his arms. “This job has a deadline and I have to meet it.”

  “A few hours in the evening of a weekend can’t possibly hurt you that badly.”

  “I’m finished with this conversation.” He jerks to his feet and starts walking away.

  “No you’re not!” I yell after him and then twist to Lucas. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  “I hate this,” he says.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “Go play Xbox for a bit.”

  “Code for you two arguing. I get it.”

  I puff a heartbroken sigh. “Things will get better.”

  He scrapes the remnants of food into the trash and then places his plate into the sink. “Can I ride my bike to Josh’s?”

  I look at him like he just struck gold. “Just be back in an hour.”

  I wait for him to track out the door before stomping my way over to Brian in the recliner. I snatch the remote, turn off the TV, and hurl it across the room. “Talk to me!”

  I’m fuming. The sound of my pulse hammers in my ears.

  He sighs, dragging his hands over his face. “About what?”

  “This! Us! What the hell is going on, Brian?”

  “Riley, I’ve had a long day. Don’t—”

  “You always have long days. You’re always at work. What about me? What about Lucas? Where do we fit in anymore?”

  “What about y’all?” he yells. “You think you’re the only one affected by this? Are you that selfish?”

  “Don’t you dare try turning this on me. Unless you consider me wanting you to spend time with your family or show me a drop of affection selfish, I’m far from it.”

&nbs
p; Rage drenches the sweat across his forehead and he leaps from the chair, shoving his face into mine. “I put forth the fucking effort. I’m the one keeping this fucking family up.”

  I push him away from me. “The same excuse you always have but you never do a damn thing different to fix it. Do you even care?”

  “If you’d keep your mouth shut and be the little fucking housewife you’re supposed to be, life would be much better.”

  Murder ignites in my glare. “I’m not taking the blame for what’s happening between us. I’m the one putting in effort. I’m the one keeping your household up. Your little fucking housewife is the only damn thing keeping the house together. Our life would be easier if you’d put forth some effort.”

  “I do!” he roars.

  “You don’t!” I scream back.

  “Do you not think I miss you too?”

  “How the hell would I know? You don’t even look at me. We don’t speak to each other.” I choke back a sob, determined to keep my tears at bay. “You promised me. You promised you’d try. You promised things would get better,” I plea.

  “Quit throwing shit in my face,” he barks.

  “What? You don’t like hearing the promises you’ve broken?”

  He narrows his eyes and I mirror the look.

  “You’re not you. We’re not us. And you’ve made it that way. You used to love loving me. You were always unable to keep your hands off me. We used to laugh. What’s changed? Has work destroyed you that badly? Get rid of it!”

  Something blasts in his eyes and he turns, slamming his fist into the wall. His chest is rising and falling fiercely, and he doesn’t look back as he exits the room.

  I don’t chase after him. I’m rooted, staring at the dented hole in the wall with my hand over my mouth.

  He returns, stomping toward me. His fists are balled at his sides, face red and contorted with madness, his head tilted down glowering with the devil in the reflection of them. I gulp air, backing up so quickly that my back slams against the wall.

  His eyes are violently wild, all things resembling Brian absent as he snatches my chin. “What do you want, Riley?” I don’t recognize the voice as he slides his other hand down my ribs and squeezes my sex. “You want some fucking attention? Like this? Angry sex. We’ve never done that.” His whisper ends with an audacious growl.

  “Stop,” I snap, trying to swat him off me.

  He squeezes my chin harder, pushing my head against the wall. “Is this what you wanted? Some fucking attention. You have it.” His breath is hot, splashing across my cheek as he nips the skin. “Do you want me to come home and fuck you after a long day’s work? I’ll make you my dirty little housewife.”

  I manage to get my arm past his and slap him. He releases his grip just enough for me to slide down the wall and out of the raging enclosure of his arms. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shout through my fear. I’m scared out of my wits, unsure what the hell has possessed him.

  He twists toward me, blinking the rage out of his eyes.

  “What the fuck? Stop!” I scream, thunder roaring from my throat. Using every ounce of my strength to get the words out from the top of my lungs, I stomp squeezing my fists at my side.

  I run out of the room crying and grab my purse, rushing out the door to my car. Even though he isn’t pursuing, I can’t get out of there fast enough. I screech my tires lurching out of the driveway, scrambling to get to April’s.

  I’m a sobbing mess pulling into her driveway. My body is shaking from the sheer amount of livid adrenaline scorching my veins and I’m barely able to walk to her door. I’m gasping for air, bawling when she answers the door.

  With one look, she rushes me to her bedroom, pushing the door shut behind us. “What happened?” She wraps her arms around my shoulders.

  I can’t answer. I can’t breathe. I squeeze her, weeping on her shoulder.

  “Riley? What happened?” she repeats.

  I swallow, trying to compose myself. “We’ve never had this bad of an argument.”

  She wipes my hair off my face. “Did he hit you?”

  I shake my head but the images of his icy, dead eyes staring back at me haunt me. I lose it and sob harder.

  I don’t know how long we’ve sat here, but I’m gassed out with nothing else to give. My chest hurts from the sobs that have wracked my body. My face is sticky from the salty tears. I push off the bed, go to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water in hopes of settling the puffiness under my eyes.

  April appears at the door and I look to her worried eyes in the mirror. “I’m okay.”

  “You sure?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “Do you want something to drink?” Her sympathetic brown eyes are drowning with sadness.

  “I’ve got to get Lucas home.”

  “He’s more than welcome to spend the night.”

  “He’s got school tomorrow,” I tell her.

  Her lips pull into a tender smile. “As does my son.”

  “Thanks, but we’ll be okay.”

  “I’m here if you need me,” she says quietly.

  I hug her and pull myself together.

  After Lucas puts his bike in her garage, we don’t exchange any words during the ride home. The pain and raw emotions in the air are so thick they take my breath away. The extreme heaviness sits on my chest. And I can almost swear it’s affecting Lucas the same way.

  I’m assuming Brian went to bed because he hasn’t come downstairs since we’ve been home, and I’m not setting foot in the bedroom. I kiss Lucas goodnight and make my way back to the living room. The couch is my small version of my king-sized bed. It will be my safe haven for the night.

  Chapter 13

  Brian has made it his personal commitment to steer clear from us both. He leaves before Lucas or I wake, and he’s home after we’ve gone to bed. I haven’t slept in the bed. I won’t. The man who sleeps there is a stranger and I’m not lying beside him. We haven’t talked since our big argument. Actually, I’ve only seen him once and that was out of the crack of my pretend-sleeping eyes.

  Since Josh is with his dad, Lucas decided to spend the night with his friend Craig. He’s a sweet kid with an even sweeter mother who absolutely adores Lucas.

  I drop him off and head to April’s to give her a hand with setting everything up for the party.

  “Don’t you look good,” she chirps opening the door.

  I decided tonight I needed to do something for me, something to make me feel better about myself, and what better way than to play dress up. I threw on my favorite pair of jeans with rips and tears up the legs with a dark orange spaghetti strap tank top and a pair of black, strappy high heel sandals. I feel gorgeous.

  “Thanks.” I close the door behind me.

  I place plate after plate of finger foods onto the longest table that we set up along the back wall of her living room. There’s got to be at least a mile of breads, meats, vegetables and fruits. When she goes all out, she does so in fashion. I move outside and plug in the white lights draping around her dark-stained Messina gazebo and tie back its sheer curtains hanging beautifully from the corners. It’s my favorite spot of her house.

  People begin to trickle in—some I know, others are new faces, and the rest are people I’ve seen only at her annual parties. As April mingles, bouncing from person to person, I put on my party face and blend into the crowd. There’s such a variety of people, ranging from the incredibly snobbish—how dare she not serve us lobster on gold plates—from her work to the people who fall perfectly in the middle—happy to be here, smiling and enjoying their time.

  I need a breather from the crowd, so I make my way out of her French doors and onto the dark wicker couch under the dimly lit Messina with my glass of wine. I’m the only one out here and I’m grateful for it because thoughts of Brian are beginning to crowd my mind. Helping me push them aside, I inhale a long breath of the night air and watch the clouds push through the moonlight, causing a purple haze
of mysteriousness.

  “What are you so deeply thinking about?” Trenton’s voice startles me and I jump just a little.

  He smiles with a beer in his hand, and I pull my legs up, giving him a spot to sit at the opposite end of the couch. Under the soft golden lights, the lighter tones in his hair seem brighter. And as weird as it sounds, seeing him dressed differently in a seafoam green shirt, tight and showing off his athletic build, with dark faded jeans and chukka boots instead of slacks, seems to make him look better. I guess it’s because he looks more relaxed than what he wears at school.

  “Hey,” I say. “It got crowded fast and I ran out of air.”

  “How many people did she invite?” He laughs.

  “I’ve told her she needs to rent out a hotel floor.” I giggle but it fades off as I look back to the night sky.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  Slowly, I blink back to him and give him a weak smile. “Nothing.”

  “Ah. The infamous nothing. Must be something pretty major then.”

  “Why can’t it ever just be nothing?”

  “Do women ever stop thinking?”

  I tip my glass toward him. “Good point.”

  He lets silence gather around us. It isn’t awkward, nor does it feel uncomfortable. Just his presence gives me comfort in my dismal thinking, and knowing I’m not alone in this gloomy night lifts my spirits a bit.

  “Do men really have such bad days they shut out everything they love?” I ask into the night air, not looking to him. “I’m not talking about one or two bad days. I mean months or more.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him tilt his head to the side looking out to April’s manicured yard. “I’ve never had them. I’d suppose a day here or there would make sense, but not months. At some point, I’d say you’d begin to see the destruction it’s causing.”

  “Hmph,” I grunt.

  “How long’s it been?”

  I take a slow sip of the sweet white wine and glance to him, pushing my lips tight. “Is it sad I can’t remember? The worst has reared its ugly head in the past six months.”