You could hear the front door slam and the soles of his shoes clunking up the stairs. He kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned one of his nicer, collared shirts, pulled down his slacks and crawled into bed next to you, probably not even remembering you would be there. He smelled of alcohol and sex. You got up and went to the office where an aero mattress had been set, blown up and ready.
***
You woke up when the sunlight shone through the window. You filled the glass next to his sleeping form with tap water, made sure there were still pills in the bottle of Advil, and went downstairs, still in your flannels, to cook him breakfast. Batter was sizzling in the skillet when he stumbled down the stairs.
“Mmm, pancakes. Yours are the best.” He put himself into his seat at the round dining table. You keep quiet. “What did you do last night?”
“I watched a movie.”
“What movie?”
“The Notebook.”
“Invite some friends over. I’m sure they miss you, you know. With you not going out anymore.”
You gave him the pancakes and sat across from him. “What happened to you last night?” You knew where he’d been, what he’d done.
“Mm?” His mouth was full.
“You got home late.”
“Oh,” he swallowed, “Office party.”
You could tell he was lying. That’s all he did now a days. He finished his pancakes and dropped a kiss on your mouth on his way upstairs, leaving his syrup coated plate on the table. You put the plate in the sink and went into the guest room.
You sat on the bed and looked at the still full cans of powder pink paint and the blanket you’d crocheted. You could hear the water turn on, quickly being muffled by the closing of the bathroom door. You could feel your eyes begin to water, but held them back.
You remember:
“But I really want this.” You pleaded.
“My career is taking off right now. We won’t have time to take care of it.”
“What do you want me to do? Get an a-“
“We’ll deal with it.”
You wouldn’t let him see, you wouldn’t let him get the best of you. The water shut off and ten minutes later he came downstairs, grabbed his briefcase, and shouted on his way out, “I’ll be back late.” The door slamming was your cue to cry.
***
You woke up when the sunlight shone through the window. You filled the glass next to his sleeping form with tap water, made sure there were still pills in the bottle of Advil, and went downstairs, still in your flannels, to cook him breakfast. Batter was sizzling in the skillet when he stumbled down the stairs.
“Mmm, pancakes. Yours are the best.” He put himself into his seat at the round dining table. You keep quiet. “What did you do last night?”
“I watched a movie.”
“What movie?”
“The Notebook.”
“Invite some friends over. I’m sure they miss you, you know. With you not going out anymore.”
You gave him the pancakes and sat across from him. “What happened to you last night?” You knew where he’d been, what he’d done.
“Mm?” His mouth was full.
“You got home late.”
“Oh,” he swallowed, “Office party.”
You could tell he was lying. That’s all he did now a days. He finished his pancakes and dropped a kiss on your mouth on his way upstairs, leaving his syrup coated plate on the table. You put the plate in the sink and went into the guest room.
You sat on the bed and looked at the still full cans of powder pink paint and the blanket you’d crocheted. You could hear the water turn on, quickly being muffled by the closing of the bathroom door. You could feel your eyes begin to water, but held them back.
You remember:
“But I really want this.” You pleaded.
“My career is taking off right now. We won’t have time to take care of it.”
“What do you want me to do? Get an a-“
“We’ll deal with it.”
You wouldn’t let him see, you wouldn’t let him get the best of you. The water shut off and ten minutes later he came downstairs, grabbed his briefcase, and shouted on his way out, “I’ll be back late.” The door slamming was your cue to cry.
