I don’t understand why anyone would want to live like this or why he feels his life is so horrible that he has to drink this way. I do everything for him, yet it’s never enough. There isn’t much more I can do.
“You didn’t leave dinner.” His unfocused eyes meet mine, nearly black from dilation. Not to mention the bouncing pupils as he tries to stare at me through half-open lids.
“There wasn’t enough time. Besides, there are plenty of leftovers in the fridge. I figured you could make do with those.”
Mike stumbles to the hallway toward the kitchen. I grab his arm and slow him before he gets to the fridge. “It’s time for bed. You need sleep.” He pulls away from my grasp, muttering something about not telling him what to do. But he complies, allowing me to help him into bed. Before his head even hits the pillow, he’s snoring again.
Perfect.
When I try to shove Mike over, he pushes me away. I’m in no mood to deal with this. I’m tired and too cranky to care about where I sleep. Taking my pillow off the bed and a blanket out of the closet, I find myself sleeping on the couch. Again.
Isn’t the guy always supposed to sleep here? How am I the one who finds herself here more nights than not? Something’s wrong with this picture. This is not how it’s supposed to be.
Something has to give.
But not tonight. I need sleep. So I adjust my pillow and pull the blanket over me, concentrating on the ticking coming from the clock until it disappears.
The morning light peeks in through the curtains. Normally it’s still dark when I get up. Apparently my body had other plans. Running on fumes most days has finally caught up to me. It needed rest.
Jacob and Cassie are leaning over the side, confused looks gracing their faces.
“Mom? You okay?”
I stretch, my muscles tense and sore, but slowly loosening as I fill the full length of the couch.
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Jacob looks to Cassie, who shrugs. “Well, you’re on the couch. Again.”
Ugh. They’ve noticed. Great.
“I fell asleep watching TV and I didn’t want to move so I slept here.”
They nod and walk away, satisfied with my lie. Kids don’t need to know when their parents have been kicked out of bed.
Mike walks into the room, cheerful and the complete opposite of the crabby asshole from last night. Nice to know all he needs is sleep after a bender to act like a human.
“Hey, kids. Who wants breakfast?” The two of them head to the kitchen behind him. Cupboards open and close, along with the fridge door.
That’s my signal to get moving. Now that the kids are taken care of, I can start getting ready for work.
By the time I get situated and moderately presentable, I rejoin my family. Mike is still here, smiling and joking with the kids. I falter the closer I get. He turns my direction with a half-smile.
“Was wondering if you were joining us. Here,” he says, pushing a plate my way. “I made you some special toast.” He gives the kids a wink while they giggle their approval.
Is this a trick? I eye the toast as I take a bite, watching in disbelief as he caters to the kids. I don’t tell him that bread isn’t my diet in the mornings. Just means I need to cut it out somewhere else in the day.
After he places the last dish in the sink, he turns to the kids and smiles. “Time for school. Have everything in your backpacks?”
I’m trying really hard to keep the food from falling out of my mouth. I’ve never seen him this attentive before. The kids must enjoy it too because they bounce off their chairs and rush to the entryway where their stuff is waiting for them.
Before I have the chance to put my shoes on, Mike grabs my arm, halting my progress. It’s not hard, but gentle. “Hey, I wanted to say I’m sorry about last night. I had a bad day and took it out on you. I’ll try not to do it again.”
It’s the same song and dance every time. He’s sober and remembers what he did or ignores me and goes about his day as usual. Today, the primary wins.
“I know.” I don’t, though. I can’t guarantee he won’t string his slurs of hate my way when he gets drunk, or that this will be the last time he makes me feel like I’m less than nothing.
I flinch as he attempts to kiss my forehead. Mike pauses but presses his lips to my skin. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Doubtful, but you never know. Miracles have happened before.
“Breakfast!” Mike calls from the kitchen.
Cassie and Jacob come barreling up to the counter, still dressed in their pajamas and unbrushed hair. It’s like a nest of wild animals set up camp on top of their heads. I shake my head and continue gathering the dirty clothes from the bedrooms as I listen to the story they’re telling each other.
When I walk back into the room, the kids are quiet, staring at their plates. Cassie looks over and weakly smiles.
“Um, can I get a bowl of cereal?”
Mike’s whole face turns red. “No, you can’t get fucking cereal. I made this breakfast for you, and you’re going to sit there and eat it.”
I look down at their plates. A huge portion of eggs, hash browns, and bacon sit before them. Instantly, I know the problem.
“Mike, let her eat what she wants.”
He turns his scowl toward me. “No. I made this elaborate breakfast and not one thank you comes from them. Instead, it’s not good enough and they want something bland.”
“I don’t like the yolks.” I strain to hear Cassie’s comment. This is something I already knew.
“Can I get some toast?” Jacob asks.
Mike slams his hand on the counter. “This isn’t a damn restaurant. If you want something, get it yourself. I’m done doing something nice for you ungrateful little brats.”
I drop the basket, letting the echo fill the room.
“That’s enough! You don’t get to talk to the kids that way. If you wanted to make a big breakfast, you should have asked them if they wanted it. It’s not their fault you took it upon yourself to do this.”
That was the wrong thing to say. “Oh, so it’s my fault. Fine.” He grabs their plates and empties the contents into the trash. “Problem solved.” The plates clang loudly in the sink as he storms away with his plate heaped full of food.
Cassie’s bottom lip starts to quiver. “I’m sorry, Momma. I didn’t mean to make Daddy mad.”
Rushing to her side, I press her head against my chest and stroke her hair. “Shh. Shh. Don’t you worry about it. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I cup her cheeks and look into her tear-stained face. “What would you like? I’ll get you anything you want.”
“I-I just want some cereal. I’m n-not that hun-hungry.”
Each sob has a new crack forming in my heart. How dare he speak to the kids that way? He ought to know better. If he’d pay attention to his family more and less to the TV or his friends, he’d know how Cassie takes her eggs, or that Jacob isn’t thrilled with hash browns.
I cup both their cheeks and press my lips to their foreheads. I’ll make this right.
Once the kids finish their food, I shoo them down to the basement to play. Mike’s still sitting in his chair, his dirty plate laying on the floor.
“You had no right to talk to the kids that way.”
Mike swings his lazy gaze to me. “Ungrateful little bastards.”
Fire licks my skin as I flex my fingers into a fist. “No, they’re not ungrateful. You just don’t pay attention to them. And stop swearing around the kids. They don’t need to hear those words coming from their father, especially directed toward them.”
Mike ignores me and turns the volume up on the TV.
“Is this what you meant the other day when you said you were going to try harder? Just ignore the situation and pretend nothing’s wrong?”
Silence is his response. I can’t handle this right now. So I go back to my task at hand, keeping busy in the laundry room and any other chore until I cool down enough to talk to him.
He’s sitting in his chair, stuffing his face with chips and washing them down with a beer. Seriously, it’s two o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. I don’t think the drinking needs to start yet. Not once has he offered to help fold the laundry I’ve been doing since I got up, nor has he bothered to do the dishes after his breakfast disaster.
“Nothing.” His one-word response isn’t surprising as he continues channel surfing. He stops when he finds a college football game that sparks his interest, which then has him yelling obscenities at the TV.
“Remember, I’m working tonight and tomorrow, so you’ll have to figure something out for dinner with the kids.”
“They’re staying over at a friend’s house.”
“Both of them?”
He turns and frowns. “Yeah, that’s what I said. Get the damn car key out of your ear. You know I fucking hate repeating myself.”
I turn my focus on the laundry basket and take a deep breath. “Where are they staying?”
“Don’t know. I told them to find somewhere to go.”
He…what? “You’re pawning your kids off on someone else because you have to watch them? I need to know where they’ll be, who’s picking them up, when they’re coming home. You know, the important stuff.”
“I was going out tonight with the guys, so I thought it’d be more responsible to have them stay somewhere else.” He glares at me over the rim of his beer can. Is he serious?
“The responsible thing would have been to tell your friends no because I was working tonight and you needed to stay with your kids.”
The look of disgust sickens me. How can he hold his kids so low over his own selfish needs?
“Don’t tell me how to raise the kids. You’re the one who’s out there on the weekends doing your own shit.”
“Because I have to!” There’s no holding the anger back now. “You piss away our money left and right, yet you make no qualms about replacing it by finding your own second job. Instead you dump it on my shoulders to pick up your slack.”
The can crunches in his hand. “So tell me how you really feel. I always knew you were a selfish bitch.”
“What? I am the least selfish person I know. I’ve done nothing but sacrifice myself for this family to make sure the kids never go without and that we have a roof over our heads. Now, in hindsight, maybe I was enabling you to continue treating me like shit.”
“Treat you like shit?” He sneers and cracks open another beer. “Let’s talk about that. You don’t do anything for me anymore. You’re not the girl I met all those years ago.”
“Because I grew up! Someone had to. We got pregnant and couldn’t live on stale bread and pizza forever. We needed money, and health insurance, and a stable home. Living in your parents’ basement wasn’t cutting it.”
“So it’s my fault?” Anger slowly builds in his eyes, turning them an even darker shade of brown. “I never should have taken you home that night.”
Did he just say that? Our whole relationship is one giant mistake for him? It explains why he kept pulling away every chance he can. Why he continues to pull away and leave the kids and me behind.
“Get out.” The words barely come out above a whisper. I can’t stop my body from shaking. Either from anger or frustration or humiliation. I can’t tell which is winning. All I know is I can’t look at him, not right now.
“The fuck you say?”
“Get. Out.” I clearly punctuate the words so there’s no possibility of misunderstanding. I know he hates it when I mumble.
The asshole laughs. “You’re kicking me out?”
I pick up his pile of clothes and throw them at him. “Yes. Pack a bag and get out. I don’t want you here. Not right now.”
Mike stands from the chair, the scowl a permanent fixture on his face now. “That’s hilarious. You couldn’t survive without me. Who’s going to pay the bills? Give you money to do your shopping?”
Red tints my vision. “I pay the bills. I don’t go shopping because there isn’t any excess money after you have spent it all on yourself. You leaving won’t change my life that much. I’ll still be responsible for everything under this roof.” The words and thoughts flow out of me, some half-truths, but this dam has been opened and I can’t stop it now.
He stands dangerously close to me. His hot breath beats against my face as he leers down at me. “You couldn’t last without a man before. What makes you think you can now? You’re a nobody with no friends.” He smirks. “I’d give it three days tops before you beg me to come back.”
Stiffening my spine until its ramrod straight, I stand my ground. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
Without a word, he gathers up the clothes and stomps into our room. Rustling can be heard, along with several choice swear words directed at me. Let him say what he wants. I don’t care. He obviously doesn’t care about my feelings. The world revolves around him and the rest of us are supposed to follow in his orbit.
I’m tired of following someone else’s plan. It’s time I start my own, away from all the toxic poison of this relationship.
With a bag in hand, Mike reappears to grab the beers from the fridge.
“Last chance.” He crosses his arms over his chest, almost like he’s expecting me to change my mind.
Not this time.
The thundering of blood through my ears has my head spinning. But his blatant dismissal of the kids and my feelings is the last straw.
“Yes.” The sturdiness of my voice is surprising, considering the turmoil brewing inside.
The look of surprise on Mike’s face is priceless. I can’t remember a time I’ve thrown him off-balance before. Not since I announced I was pregnant with Cassie. He went on a bender for two days after that. Wonder how long it’ll take for him to crawl out of the bottom of a bottle this time.
“You’re going to regret this,” he says.
I almost laugh. “I have a few regrets. This will not be one of them.”
Grabbing his coat, he opens the door without another look and slams it, causing the pictures on the wall to rattle. One falls to the floor, the glass splintering and spreading across the floor. Abandoning my laundry, I walk into the kitchen for the dustpan set. On my hands and knees, I sweep up the shards, careful not to kneel in them, since it would be my luck to do so. When I turn the picture over, I gasp. Our wedding day. We were so young and, as Mike apparently thinks, so stupid. I fall onto my ass and study the picture more. I used to think we looked happy, like two people in love. The harder I look, the more I realize it’s not true. My smile doesn’t meet my eyes, nor do the tiny laugh lines around my face appear. Mike could barely be considered smiling. I’ve always chalked it up to that’s the way he is. Knowing what I know now, it’s safe to say happiness was not what he was feeling.
He looks…trapped.
After all the glass is cleared from the floor, I resume folding the clothes. Until I come to a shirt Mike had given Jacob when he went on a business trip to Chicago. Tears well in my eyes as the reality of what I just did sets in.
I destroyed my home.
Over the years, I knew in the back of my mind that we’d never make it; that we’d be just another statistic against the sanctity of marriage. I told him for now. Another half-truth. The minute the door slammed shut, I knew it was the end.
There’s only so long you can kick a person before they start fighting back. It was either this or roll over and die. And I won’t do that, not when my kids deserve so much more.
I’m doing this for them.
This will be my new mantra. Things are about to drastically change and I don’t have a plan on how to proceed. No matter what, I know my kids will be better off, that we’ll be better off. Kids are resilient. They bounce back. And I have two of the strongest kids I know.
We’ll be fine.
Somehow.
“You look extra tired tonight,” Troy says when I pick up my order from the bar.
I
’ve been doing my best to hide my emotions after the exertions of earlier this afternoon. I thought I was succeeding. Maybe not.
Forcing a smile, I place the glasses on my tray. “No more than usual.” It’s not a total lie. I’m not really tired. At least not physically. Emotionally is a different story.
“You know what you need?” I shake my head. “We need to do shots while we clean tonight.”
“Seriously?”
A wicked grin crosses his boyish face. “Oh yeah.”
I don’t see the harm in it. The kids are gone. Mike’s gone.
Fuck it. I need to live a little.
“You’re on.”
Troy fist pumps and turns his attention back to the customers lining the bar. For a young kid, he’s pretty funny.
Oh Lord. I just made myself sound like I’m eighty. I feel like I’m eighty, though. No fun. No friends. I spend more time at work and home than anywhere else.
Change is coming. And I can’t wait to drown in its waters.
Henry has been busy in the kitchen, making his creations and barking out orders to the other cooks on the line. He’s never cross, though. He does it in such a way that it’s constructive and correcting. Such a drastic change to what I’ve witnessed from men in my life. With the exception of my dad. He’s the gold standard.
Then why did you settle for less?
Shaking off my negative attitude, I bounce between tables, animatedly chatting and laughing with my guests. Each one has left generous tips and, even more surprising, glowing comment cards. I didn’t think people actually filled them out. They were more for decoration, or somewhere to put your gum when you didn’t have paper napkins.
Stacy greets me at the server station as I enter in another dessert order. “How many desserts have you sold tonight?”
I look over and smile. “Every table has asked for one.”
“Look at you, the up-sale queen. If we were still running our friendly contest, you’d have it in the bag.”
“Really?”
“Yep.” She pats my shoulder and walks out to the floor to check on the customers.
The next few hours fly by. Table after table come in, which keeps me running at a steady pace. Waitressing has gotten easier each night. I don’t have the butterflies in my stomach every time someone new walks in, or fear I’m going to dump a tray of food onto someone’s lap. I know it’s only been a few weeks, but it seems like I’m settling in nicely.
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