by Xavier Neal
“Not a big deal?!” My volume unconsciously soars. “Not a big deal?! First project I’ve got to be hands on…we’re talkin’ really hands on…in over a year, and you don’t think that I thought it was a big deal?”
“Eddie-”
“Fuck this, Sienna,” I huff and successfully rise to my feet. “I don’t have the energy for this shit tonight.”
“So, we’re only gonna talk when you wanna talk?”
“Works for you,” my mutter is louder than anticipated.
“I wanna talk about everything now, and you don’t, so clearly that’s not true.”
After tossing the bottle into the recycle bin, I turn back to face her. “What do you wanna talk about Sienna? How you’re becomin’ a visitor in our sons’ lives? How you’re becomin’ a stranger in this marriage? How you need a little more patience and understanding extended to you? How you need me to not give you hell when you miss a game or break a promise? How it’d be nice if instead of criticizin’ you on how you don’t spend enough time with our sons that I praise you for the few moments you do get? You wanna talk about all the shit you need from me, and then tune out what it is I…fuck that, we, need from you?” I shake my head in denial. “Not interested.”
Tears of rage and despair fill her brown glare.
Fuck, I hate seeing my woman cry.
I hate even more when I’m the one who caused it.
The sight proving to be too much to bear forces me to lower my gaze to the ground as I walk by her. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. Just give me a minute to get my shit.”
She sniffles yet doesn’t say a single word.
What could she possibly have to say?
That I’m wrong?
That there’s more to it than I think?
Whatever it is she’s feeling or going through in this moment, right now, is deserved.
Maybe the ache of truth will reach the part of her mind that has somehow managed to forget what your family needs should matter, too.
Chapter 11
“You sure you don’t mind?” I nervously ask Yasmine into the phone.
“It’s just a couple hours late,” she casually brushes off. “No big deal. It’s not like you’re calling in sick.”
“Hey, I have yet to do that.”
“And I’m really fucking grateful.”
The smile on my face is short lived. “See you in a bit.”
As soon as I end the call, I notice the latest text from my best friend.
Dawn: Things will be better today. You two just need to talk. A LOT. And then have make up sex. :-)
Her words of optimism are the last I see before I toss my phone into the empty mattress space beside me and hustle over to my sons’ rooms. There’s still another ten minutes before their alarms should go off, which is why they’re still snug in their beds rather than beginning the cycle Eddie trained them into.
We had our own when I was home with them…
But it was different.
They were younger.
Less self-sufficient.
More Mom dependent.
Sometimes I miss those days…
Sometimes I couldn’t be more thankful they’re behind us.
Contrary to what Eddie believes, it’s not that I don’t give a fuck about my family. It’s just now there’s more to my life than just them. It’s a luxury I haven’t experienced in years. Maybe I’ve pushed it a few times, intentionally and unintentionally, and maybe that makes me a bad fucking person or the world’s worst mother for wanting to live outside of their bubble. But I stand by my decision because I need this.
I need this for me.
And why does self-care and love have to be such a bad thing?
Or the epitome of the selfish thing?
Why does it have to be frowned upon like needing to tend to yourself when you have a husband or kids is unacceptable?
I turn off Kenny’s alarm first and leave a kiss on the side of his head.
He tends to sleep as solid as his father.
We spent two weeks before his first day of Kindergarten getting him into the habit of recognizing the noise. It was hell for everyone involved. Including Eddie. He bitched and moaned about none of us needing to be up, yet dragged his ass downstairs to play his role in the routine.
The dull pain in my chest increases exponentially.
Eddie has a valid point.
Even when he wasn’t around, he did what he could to be around.
He’d occasionally skip beers with his colleagues or his brothers to come home to us.
Rearrange his schedule to have family game night with Big Foot, Dawn, and his nephews or make sure he requested off to engage in our Friday doubles if necessary.
His trips out of town were always filled with texts, and he never forgot to come home bearing gifts.
Why?
Why did he make it look so easy if it was as difficult as he was implying?
Shouldn’t you be more vulnerable with your wife?
Shouldn’t you let down that façade so I can see?
So I can…support you?
I slip out of Kenny’s room and across the hall to Kyle’s. Tip toeing around his landmines known as toys takes grace I wasn’t aware I still possessed. My fingers have barely clicked the button when he rolls my direction. Ceasing all action is immediate. Unlike his brother, sometimes it just takes the faintest tink to disturb him. He may love to sleep, but he’s easy to wake. Kyle smacks his gums, tucks his pillow under his head, and returns to snoring. The process of getting out of his room is undeniably easier. I take the same path out that I took in and head downstairs.
Almost immediately, I’m stopped in my tracks.
Eddie’s long limb is slung over the arm of the dark leather couch he doesn’t quite fit on, his head is using it as a pillow, and his wide-open mouth snore sounds just like our youngest. His scruff-covered face looks worn out even in his sleep.
Poor guy…
I really haven’t been putting in as much as I should or could, yet he’s been handling it like he was built to be a stay-at-home father. Like there’s never a difficult moment. Like he doesn’t have to cycle through tantrums about the right shoes or rush to the store when he realizes he’s all out of this week’s favorite type of juice.
Upon my arrival couch-side, I gently stroke his cheek to offer a sweet, warm wake up call rather than that of a blaring phone.
He thoughtlessly nuzzles his face into the touch. “Mornin’, Cherry Pie.”
“Mornin’, Superman.”
His eyes struggle to pry themselves open. The moment they do, they’re cloaked in confusion. “Why aren’t you dressed for work?”
“Gonna go in late.”
He inches himself up to a sitting position. “Why?”
“Because we need to talk.”
Eddie shakes his head. “Gotta get the boys ready for school.”
“They’re gonna go in late too.”
“Sie-”
“They’ll be fine,” I insist. “One late morning isn’t the end of the world.”
“But one leaving early from work is?”
Last night, I came unprepared to the fight. I thought it was going to be a great evening. Got off early, or at least what I thought was early, still had some energy, and figured we would have a fun family moment together. I wasn’t expecting to be frazzled or tongue tied. I damn sure wasn’t expecting to break down into a bawling mess in front of my husband or as I tried to get some rest. It felt like an ambush, but in retrospect, it was nothing more than an emotional mixture that reached its predictable boiling point. Had I been paying a little more attention to my marriage and a little less to our new fancy non-stick muffin top pans I would’ve noticed sooner.
My eyes briefly shut for one calming breath. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I completely forgot I was supposed to pick them up from school.”
“Stating the obvious,” he grunts and rises to his feet. “Is this really why you’re gonna go in late? S
o you can spend the next twenty minutes giving me some sort of grieving tale that I’m gonna choke down and then promptly forgive you because you know I fucking hate being pissed at you?” He reaches for the pillow that’s on the floor. “Let’s just skip to that part. I’m not in the mood for the other shit.”
“No.”
My firm answer receives an annoyed head tilt.
“You’re not gonna do that, Eddie. You’re not gonna make me feel like shit again, write off the conversation as being done, and then bury what’s still bothering you back down.” Folding my arms across my chest, I push. “Your ass is gonna talk to me now.”
Unhappiness festers in his stare.
“I’m listening. Both ears open. Both eyes on you. What do you need from me that you’re not gettin’?”
“You.” He tosses the object on the couch. “Jus’ you, Cherry Pie.”
“You have me.”
“No-huh,” his head quickly shakes, “the boys and I have part of you. A tiny part. A much smaller part than we’ve ever had in our whole lives. And that small part, I mean…if I have to learn to gulp it down like diet soda, then fuck it. Fine. I will. But our boys…Our boys shouldn’t have to. They deserve more.”
The ache in my chest thrums harder. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Often am.”
Smiling at his cocky nature is easy. “Not that often.”
“More than ever nowadays.” There’s more than a hint of mirth in his tone. “My word is practically law around these parts, which is a nice change of pace versus arguin’ about every tiny detail of the day.”
A desperate desire to hear more about how day-to-day shit has changed prompts me to prolong this portion of the conversation. “Are you tellin’ me the boys never push back any more?”
“Fuck no,” he unexpectedly chuckles. “Those boys are ours through and through. They’re still stubborn as hell. It’s just now I have to use my energy for more of the major shit like preventin’ them from volunteerin’ me for every school event versus not wearin’ socks that make you look like Rainbow Bright reincarnated.”
One hand flies to my mouth to stop the giggle.
“Yeah, that shit is much less important than gettin’ an email that says ‘Kenny has volunteered you to chaperone and participate in Field Day. Hope you can make it! We would be thrilled to have you, Mr. Shaw.’.”
I drop my hold to present a cringe. “You and playin’ sports don’t exactly mix, Superman.”
He can’t stop himself from shaking his head. “Yup. Kenny decided it’d be a great idea to let his entire grade see how horrible his father is at cornhole.”
More giggles appear.
“Yup…sacrificed his old man to impress a girl.”
My eyes widen in shock. “What girl?”
“Chanty,” Eddie smoothly informs. “It’s this whole big deal, but yeah. He’s…got a crush or a girlfriend. I don’t really know. It’s hard to understand what’s going on when usin’ an adult brain, but bottom line is…he’s head over boots for her. They have music class together.”
“Aw…” Both of my hands fly to my heart. “That’s so cute.”
There’s a small lull that passes between us before he sighs, “It’s this kinda shit, Cherry Pie.” His frame moves closer towards me. “You should be around to hear about girls and trips to the aquarium and that Kyle almost ate a worm on a dare.”
“Like Father, like son…”
“It wasn’t a worm. It was a grasshopper. And it was covered in chocolate, not just picked up off the sidewalk. Besides, you know how me and my brothers get. Even if Oliver was just tryin’ to impress London, that’s no excuse for me to not take that challenge.”
“You know they’re a delicacy in some countries.”
“Well, Cherry Pie, there’s a reason it ain’t this one.”
We share in a much warmer, much louder laugh.
“This.” Eddie continues approaching until he can take both of my hands into his. “I also really miss this. Laughin’ and jokin’ and doin’ something more than arguing.”
I give him a supportive squeeze. “Me too…”
“We as in the boys and me need for you to be a little more present in this family.”
Quickly, I nod. “And I need y’all to just…keep findin’ the patience to deal with me as I figure out how to better balance the two.”
Eddie’s smile is soft. “I’m tryin’, Cherry Pie. I really am.”
“I know…”
His lips lower to mine, and I rush to the tips of my toes in an attempt to meet him in the middle.
To the make the effort.
To prove he isn’t going to have to do all the work for everything.
The moment our mouths crash together a deep, hungry growl is sparked in both of us. Our lips swiftly spread to allow our tongues a much-needed reunion. His fingers abandon their hold on mine to roughly squeeze my ass cheeks while I grip onto the waistband of his boxers.
My palm has barely grazed the outside of his growing hard-on when the sound of feet hitting the floor calls for our attention.
“Dad,” Kenny starts on a yawn, “I think my school alarm is broken.”
Yet, his one to cock block is fully intact.
The sigh out of my husband is so heavy it shakes the entire room. However, instead of letting him answer, I spin around so that I can. “Not broken, bud. Just turned it off so you could sleep in a little longer.”
He starts rubbing his eyes to continue his wake-up process. “Why? Is it a late start day?”
“Yeah,” I sweetly answer as I cross over to him. “A Mom-Decided late start date. We’re gonna go get breakfast all together and then drop you boys off.”
“Can we go to Pancake Mountain?”
“That sounds like a great idea.” My attention throws itself over my shoulder where Eddie is nonchalantly adjusting himself. “Dad?”
“I’m always in for Pancake Mountain.”
“Perfect.” I shoot him a wink and turn back the direction of the stairs. “Why don’t we wake your brother up for school and all get ready to go?”
“Yeah!” Kenny enthusiastically shouts prior to rushing ahead. “Kyle! Kyle! Kyle!”
Even if their alarms were broken, they’d still be fine. The volume at which they shout and stomp around could easily disturb the dead never mind each other.
After helping my sons get dressed for school, myself get ready for work, and treating Eddie to a quick hand job in the closet while our kids watched Justice League Unlimited, we head over in Eddie’s truck to Pancake Mountain. The ride is primarily flooded with music requests and arguments about them. Our conversation during the wait for our food is centered around all the things going on in the boys’ lives I had no idea I was missing. And by the time we’re all building faces on our pancakes, the knot of culpability has curled so tight it threatens to ruin my appetite.
Changes.
I have to make some real changes.
I can have both. I can have a blooming career and be an active participant in their lives. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. It doesn’t have to be a power struggle. There can be co-existence.
Just wish it wasn’t so hard…
Or, at the very least, I could ask my mother for advice.
First things first…When I get to work today, Yasmine, L, and I need to work out some sort of better schedule than the shitty one we have now.
Eddie grabs another handful of bacon off the plate prompting me to ask, “What the hell are you doin’? You know there are three other people at this table, right?”
“But your portrait needs hair,” he argues, pointing down at the plate. “Long, luscious, hair.” My husband has a swift chomp on a piece that’s in his possession. “You don’t want me to make you bald.”
“I don’t want you to eat all the bacon either.”
“Yeah, Dad,” Kyle echoes, reaching for two pieces to give his face eyebrows. “Then I can’t finish my face.”
; Our eyes shoot over to the disaster he’s working hard on. In the most supportive voice I can find, I question, “Who ya makin’,small fry?”
