I scowl at him, and he doesn’t dare say another word.
The thing is that I’m not really watching — it’s just noise. My mind is full of so many other things — my life, my marriage, my kids, the future… and Eli. This whole pregnancy scare really shook me, and it’s making me think harder than ever before.
My life just doesn’t feel right anymore.
* * *
Emma and Theo’s faces are precious. Both of them are smiling so wide, their faces are practically broken in two. I smile, tears in my eyes.
Emma sets the breakfast tray down on my lap. “We made you toast with butter and raspberry jam, like you like.”
“And scrambly eggs, orange juice, and coffee,” Theo adds.
John, who is standing behind them, smiles down at me. “Happy Mother’s Day.”
“Happy Mother’s Day,” the kids echo.
I feign a smile. “Thank you.” I’m sitting up, leaning back on our upholstered silk headboard, tucked under a thick duvet. “This looks delicious,” I say and dig in, but I’m not hungry at all.
I used to love Mother’s Day — a long time ago. When I was a kid, I used to love making things for my mother; pretty boxes, bookmarks, jewelry, and all kinds of crafts. I’d put so much effort into these gifts; every detail was executed perfectly, and my teachers would always marvel at the final products, which were so much better than my classmates’ — I suppose that was the artistic side of me coming to fruition. My sister and I would get so excited, quarreling over who got to carry the breakfast tray to Momma’s bedroom.
When I finally had children of my own, I loved being spoiled and fussed over; breakfast in bed, opening gifts, a nice dinner at my favorite restaurant, and a whole day to just be lazy. What’s not to love?
The year my mother died four days before Mother’s Day, was the first Mother’s Day in my life I didn’t enjoy. It was a horrible day. There were no celebrations since we had to travel to my hometown, and deal with the wake and funeral arrangements. John and the kids did get me a few gifts which I opened hastily.
Ever since, I’ve hated this day. I miss my mother. Not too many people understand what it’s like to lose a mother. I wasn’t ready to lose her. And the way it happened, so unexpectedly, and four days before Mother’s Day. We hadn’t spoken for about two weeks, and I’d planned to bury the hatchet on Mother’s Day — it was the perfect excuse to call her. I’d even ordered flowers to be delivered that day.
I never cancelled the flowers — I just couldn’t bear it. The flower company left a message the Monday following Mother’s Day to let me know that the flowers could not be delivered. They were very sorry, offered apologies, and credited my Visa account. They never mentioned my mother’s passing. I imagined the flower delivery man knocking on her door, only to be told by a neighbor about her recent death.
I’d told Eli all about my mother, but never did tell him when it had happened. I wonder if Eli hates this day as much as I do. I so desperately want to talk to him, it aches. It physically aches. I miss him as much as I miss my mother. I can’t go on like this.
I spend much of the day in bed, attempting to read, but I keep reading the same paragraphs over and over. I just can’t focus. John tells me it’s a beautiful day, and suggests we go for a walk. He makes a lunch of canned soup, toasted bagels with butter, and cut up apples. For dinner, we venture to one of my favorite restaurants, a Mexican place. The restaurant is packed and loud. The conversation is stilted, and by the time we leave, I have a throbbing headache.
And all the while, all through the day, I think about Eli. I miss him, and desperately want to talk to him. This day is so damn hard.
John takes care of the kids’ baths while I soak in my own. The door is locked and the lights are turned off. My iPhone is singing in the background; the ‘sad love songs’ mix again. A single candle lights the room. I cry quietly.
I cry because I’ve finally come to a realization. It’s so clear and definite, like all the important decisions in my life have been: when I decided to go to Brown, when I accepted John’s proposal, when I moved here with him, when we bought our house, when we started a family, when I set out to go to Copenhagen. All these decisions were made without a single doubt, without hesitation. My instincts led the way.
Again, I know this with absolute certainty...
My marriage is over.
This has nothing to do with Eli. How could I have fallen so deeply for someone if I were happy in my marriage? It would have never happened if I were happy. I was searching for someone, and Eli came along at just the right time. Why was I so thrilled at the thought of having his baby? Because it offered me an excuse to make a bold move and leave John. Why wasn’t I really upset when I discovered John’s infidelity? I was angry, but not necessarily heartbroken. Because a small part of me wanted him to choose her, and be the one to leave. Why wasn’t I really shattered? Just numb. Because I don’t love him anymore. And perhaps that’s because I can feel that he doesn’t love me anymore either. Why would he betray me if he did? Why would he fall for Amanda if he were happy in our relationship? He wasn’t. He hasn’t been for a long time.
Our marriage is over.
The first crack was not three months ago when I discovered John’s affair. It wasn’t even when the affair began, or when I first met Eli. The first crack tore through our marriage months, perhaps years ago, so small, almost invisible. Day after day, more cracks invisible to the eye twisted and broke into each other. The more we grew apart, the more our marriage cracked. Neither one of us noticed the cracks, neither one of us saw it coming. Until one day, it all shattered.
Everything has changed.
I check the clock. It’s nine-thirty. “This is still my day, right?” I ask John after we’ve put the kids to bed.
He cocks a brow. “Sure.”
“I want a sleepover at Kayla’s,” I announce cheerfully.
He studies me curiously. “Um… sure…”
