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Liza stood up and threw the cleaning equipment back in the cupboard.
Enough feeling sorry for herself.
She had to find a way to be more enthused about the moment she was in, rather than always hoping that things would improve in the future. There were days when her entire life felt like a postponement. She’d waited for the twins to grow out of colic, for the nights when they started sleeping, for the day the tantrums stopped. Now she was waiting for them to move past this “difficult” teenage phase. Was there ever going to come a point where she was happy with life in the present?
Sean walked in. He was wearing a suit and was reading the news on his phone. Without lifting his head, he put his breakfast bowl on top of the counter.
That one small bowl, abandoned, seemed to symbolize her whole life.
Happy Anniversary, darling.
“The bowl doesn’t load itself into the dishwasher, you know.”
He glanced up from his phone. “It’s one bowl.”
“Someone has to put it into the dishwasher. That someone is always me.”
The article in her bag would have advised that she broached any issues calmly, expressing her concerns in a constructive way. No snappy, snide remarks. But his response made her snappy and she was tired of trying to be perfect.
Sean opened the dishwasher, put the bowl inside and closed it with a decisive click.
“Happy now?”
No, she wasn’t happy. Today was their anniversary and he’d forgotten.
He could have put a bottle of something fizzy in the fridge for later. He could have told her he was whisking her off to dinner.
“I shouldn’t have to ask, Sean.”
“Yeah, right. Sorry.” The ends of his hair were still damp from the shower. “What’s wrong?”
My mother is drinking cocktails on a roof terrace while I’m cleaning up other people’s mess.
Her mother was squeezing every last moment of joy from life. Perhaps that made her reckless or selfish, or perhaps it made her sensible.
“I spend too much time clearing up after other people, that’s all.”
“We’ll all try and help a bit more.” He flashed her a smile and dropped his phone into his pocket.
“When you say you’ll help, that still puts the responsibility squarely on me. It implies that the job is mine, but you’ll assist me. I don’t want ‘help’. I want other people to take responsibility.”
The book she’d bought had suggested she started with “I feel” and she’d messed that up again.
I feel, I feel, I feel.
“I feel taken advantage of, Sean.”
“What? Oh—that’s not good. And we’re going to talk about this. Properly.” He walked back to her and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek. She smelled the faint smell of shaving gel and felt something uncurl deep in her stomach.
It was their wedding anniversary. She should be feeling romantic, not mad.
They needed to pay more attention to each other. Perhaps that was all that was needed.
She lifted her hand on her chest. “I’m glad you said that. I think we do need to talk.”
“And we will.” He glanced at his watch. “But I have a nine o’clock meeting in the office with the pickiest client it has ever been my misfortune to work with, and I need to leave now if I’m to stand a chance of making it.”
She let her hand drop.
