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Chapter Seven
Matthew
Lauren's teachingstaff was still small enough that they could convene meetings over French toast and huevos rancheros. She'd hired teachers who formed deep friendships and eagerly spent time together outside ofwork.
Audrey ran a baking blog in her spare time, and I'd already packed on five pounds from the treats that regularly came home with Lauren. Emme had a bone dry wit that somehow worked on second graders, and she knew her way around beer. I admired both of those traits. Drew and Tara were runners, and were trying their hands—feet?—at qualifying for the Boston Marathon this year. Shay was the kindest, happiest person I'd ever met, and I figured she needed that to teach kindergarten. Grace was serious and intense but she swore like a sailor after a fewcocktails.
It was great, all of it. With the singular exception of my wife's sky-high redheels.
"Is that what you're wearing?" I asked. I shook my head in disbelief because no, she couldn't be leaving the house in shoes that belonged in only two locations: the bedroom and the stripclub.
Lauren glanced down at her dress, tights, shoes. "I was thinking I'd wear this in the car and then pull a costume change right when we arrived at the restaurant. And then, on the way home, I'd change back into this cute Christmas-y outfit. The one I selected specifically for today's events. Would that work foryou?"
I glared at the shoes again. Those things shouldn't be legal. Where did she even find them? "As long as there's a pair of reasonable shoes involved, yeah, that soundsgreat."
"Oh my god, Matthew," she yelled. "I love them and they're so cute. They were also on sale and that makes them ever cuter. What is yourproblem?"
"What's my problem? What's myproblem?" I asked. "I hate to break it to you, Sweetness, but you can barely walk in those things. You're going to fall down stairs or trip over a crack in the sidewalk or just fall the fuck over because they're not normalshoes."
"Not this again," Lauren murmured. She studied her footwear and propped her hands on her hips. "You're going to have to reel in the caveman mania. If I want to wear heels, I'm going to wear heels. Marital compromise doesn't extend to shoes andaccessories."
"I'm drawing the line at heels like those," I said,resolute.
"Oh, really?" she asked, her eyebrows arched. "You're instituting a ban onheels?"
"When they're that high, yes." I held my hands out to her. "The weather is horrendous. There's ice everywhere, and we're getting accumulating snow today and tomorrow. If you really want to wear them at the restaurant, I'll allow it but you are not wearing them on the street. I won't debatethis."
"You want me to be that girl who wears Ugg boots or tennis shoes on her walk to work, and then changes into cute shoes at the office." I nodded. That was as close to accurate as we were going to get this morning. "It's like I don't even know you anymore," she said with asigh.
"Yes, you do, Sweetness," I said, opening my arms to her. She didn't budge. "Change out of those neck-breakers and put on something that doesn't make me want to stuff your thong withcash."
Her hand settled on her belly. "I don't own any thongs, you crazy man. You really have lost your mind," she murmured. "You sound like Willsometimes."
I shook my head but she was right. Somewhat. "You might not agree with my positions," I said, nodding toward her shoes, "but I'm sure you understand my reasoning. Just take a minute to dig past your righteous indignation that I'd tell you what to do, past your dyed in the wool feminism, past your stubborn streak. When you get there, you'll find that I'm not asking for anything outrageous. I can't even breathe with how much I worry about you thesedays."
"Is this what you need?" She kicked off her shoes, her stocking covered feet flat on the floor. "Will thishelp?"
"Yes," I said at length. "Nothing matters to me but you. When are you going to believethat?"
"I do believe it, Matthew. I'll switch to flats. I'll look like a member of the Lollipop Guild but I'll do it," she said. "What else do youneed?"
"I want to show you a few properties after brunch." I glanced at my watch. "You don't want to belate."
"Matthew." She spoke my name like a mild warning. "It's Christmas Eve. This isn't the day for house hunting. I have a pie to make and gifts to wrap. Additionally, we wouldn't be running late if not for this State of the Shoe address." I started to protest but she stopped me with a sharp stare. "I know you've been driving yourself to distraction over this but I promise it can wait a couple ofdays."
I shook my head, not deterred by her responses. "Lauren, my love, you can get off with only a banana for breakfast. You can cause me physical pain with your choices of footwear. You can even force me to keep quiet about our baby until after Shannon's kid is born," I said. "But you cannot fight me on this. Five years ago, I promised you I'd build us a house. We've waited and waited, and now it's time. I need to do this for us. For ourfamily."
A reluctant smile pulled at the corner of her lips. "I'll get a pair ofboots."
Lauren returned to the bedroom, where I heard her talking to herself in the closet. Probably going on about the ways in which my Neanderthal tendencies were driving hermad.
"They're not going to get any better," I muttered tomyself.
We waited a long time to start a family. We wanted to be married for a few years and focus only on getting good at our relationship. It was a decision we arrived at together, just as we arrived at the decision to try for a babytogether.
But there was one profound difference between those discussions. I knew how to be married to Lauren. I knew it the minute I met her. I didn't know how to be the father our child deserved. That left me flipping out over shoes and breathing into a paper bag every time I remembered we didn't have a proper house for our child. A home with trees to climb and pantry doors to mark my child's height every fewmonths.
"I heard that," she said as she emerged from the bedroom, a pair of knee-high rubber rain boots on herfeet.
