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Now I feel even worse so I find an excuse to make contact with him.
Gwen: Car is in for repair. What’s going on for tomorrow? You promised me you’d be here for Sasha’s birthday.
I get no response. I didn’t expect to get one. This also makes me cry. I’m so sick of crying.
“He’s not going to come,” I say to mum when I finally arrive home.
“Who?”
“Nathan.” I rub my eyes, hating how tired and upset I must look.
She looks concerned. I would too if I were in her shoes.
“He won’t let you down.” She rests her hand on my arm and it soothes me, though only a little. “He loves you. That man has never done a thing to hurt you in the entire time I’ve known him.”
“He’s…” Wiping my nose on a tissue, I shake my head and try to, again, figure out what my fiancé is going through. “He’s changed, Mum. He’s not the same as he was.”
“Surely it’s not that bad? Maybe he’s just tired?”
“No, he’s keeping something from me.”
When she rolls her eyes I want to get angry at her. She doesn’t know what I’m going through to judge me like that.
“I’m serious!” I snap, emotional from all that’s happened.
“You both need to sit down and talk about it. Kicking each other out in the middle of the night won’t help anything.”
My jaw hits the floor. “I didn’t kick him out of anything but the bedroom!”
“Still…”
“Would you be able to sleep next to a man who suddenly starts calling you new names? All the while lying to your face and telling you that you wouldn’t understand.”
“Gwen,” she says softly. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“I don’t want to fight with anybody,” I cry and my shoulders sag. “What if he doesn’t come home?”
“He will.”
“What if his new girlfriend is nicer than me?”
“He doesn’t have a new girlfriend.”
“How would you know?”
She pauses and peeks around the doorway to check on the kids who are both watching the TV. When she’s satisfied they’re occupied, she leads me into the kitchen and pulls out her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Asking Dave if he knows any good private investigators.”
“You’re not serious?” I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it.
She shrugs. “You want to know if he’s cheating?”
“Well…”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“It’s so invasive.” I admit but I can’t help that the thought is enticing.
She grins. “It’s not invasive to him if he doesn’t find out.”
Oh my God, she’s terrible. I laugh a little. “I’m not spying on him.”
“Suit yourself, but he just texted me three numbers. I’ll forward them to you in case you change your mind.”
“You’re insane.” I point at her and then move to the kettle. “Coffee?”
“Please. Ooh! This guy’s not too pricey.” She holds her phone up to my face, showing me the website of one of the contenders.
“Stop!” I giggle, pushing her arm away so that I can reach the sink to pour water into the kettle.
“What’s the big deal? You need to put your mind at rest and he’s not being forthcoming. Just give it some thought. I won’t say anything if you don’t.”
I pretend to ignore her, not wanting to admit that her words are ringing through my mind like a harmonious symphony of bells. “Two or three sugars today?”
“One, I’m being extra good.”
“Two it is.”
“You know me well.”
If only I knew my fiancé well.
Gwen: We really need to talk about all of this.
Nathan has never let me down. Never. Surely he wouldn’t let me down with something so important to me?
Gwen: You can’t just leave. You’re completely overreacting. It’s unfair. So unfair! Why are you hurting me like this?
Nathan: Why are you hurting me? Why am I always the villain in every piece?
Gwen: What are you talking about?! I haven’t done anything!
Nathan: He fancies you.
This is infuriating. My palms begin to sweat as I become angrier by the second.
Gwen: He doesn’t! You’re being silly and that’s beside the point!
Mum: Smile.
I look up from my phone and find her staring at me from across the room. I’m neglecting them all. I need to calm down.
“Sorry.”
“It’ll work out, Chicken. You’ll see.” She sweetly reassures me, her lips tipping up with a kind smile. “Things just seem dreadful in the moment. In a few weeks you’ll look back and laugh. I promise.”
“I doubt it,” I mutter and slide onto the floor to play with my children.
If anyone can make me feel better, it’s them.
“He’ll come home later; he’s just busy and distracted. If he weren’t working, he’d have come back by now.”
Something tells me she’s wrong, though I really wish she was right.
When I arrive at work, a horrid nagging feeling in my gut, I crack on and ignore all distractions. Kerim included. Not including when he asks things of me with regard to the kitchen; he’s still my boss after all.
