I don’t think people read family blogs anymore, but for those that do and that don’t already know, there is a family here no more. At least, not the one that was portrayed in the pictures and posts. I didn’t know I was lying when I wrote all those sappy lines about how amazing my life was and how blessed I was to have a husband that loved me even if he at times drove me mad. But it was all a lie, except for my entries about Cody. He’s still the perfect kid and no one is changing my mind on that, not even him.
From now on it will only be the Cody and Samantha Show. It kind of has ring to it. I mean, who needs a husband, anyway? There’s a lot less laundry and dishes now. And I can even blare my music in the morning when I get ready. So maybe I cuddle up to chocolate mousse pie at night, but there is no one to remind me how it causes heart disease or a few extra pounds. I always wanted dimples; I might as well get a few on my butt. It’s not like anyone will see them, except maybe me. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but wow, was it delicious. More delicious than stale morning breath, I’ll tell you that. I don’t miss that one bit.
You know what else I don’t miss? I don’t miss feeling alone in a relationship that was so one-sided. You ladies know what I’m talking about. We are the ones who scrimp and save to get by in those early years. We do all we can to make sure their dreams are realized. That the careers they longed for become realities. We bear the burdens of day-to-day life, from taking care of the children, to grocery shopping, cleaning, and making sure a nice meal awaits them. We don’t get days off or even recognized for what a luxury it is for them to have a spouse at home holding down the fort. Some of us even have to work outside the home just to make ends meet at times, yet we still carry the weight of what makes a family function.
We are still the ones to get up all hours of the night with fussy infants or sick toddlers. We help with homework and shuttle children to and from school and a million activities. Somewhere in the middle of that we are running the errands our husbands never have the time for. Oh, and we’re still supposed to look sexy while doing it all.
But what happens to those first wives, the first string, the ones who made their teams winners and held it all together, who came through with miraculous saves in the fourth quarter all for their spouse’s glory and honor? The ones who never failed to score and make it all count? I’ll tell you what happens. We get tired, and crow’s feet start to appear. Our firm abs get stretchmarks from bearing their children, and it never seems to be the same no matter how many crunches you do. Our bathroom counters start being lined with anti-wrinkle and anti-aging cream, anything to turn back the clock on the bodies we’ve tried so hard to maintain for them even though we never had the time to put ourselves first.
They think we don’t notice the little glances that linger longer on the younger women that pass by these men we’ve pledged our all to. The ones that we’ve let gracefully age, and even found their gray hair attractive and took pride in their laugh lines because those lines reminded us that we played a part in their happiness.
For all our effort and sacrifice, we get sidelined just when it starts getting really good. When that career he spent all his time on starts paying off and your children are older and don’t need constant attention. That place where you think you can get back to the two of you and start living out your dreams of traveling and maybe even making love all night long like you used to when it was all new.
But before you know it, the second string is called in and you’ve been taken out of the game. You don’t even know why, other than the new lineup is much younger and they think the moon and the sun rise in the pig’s pants. The new string only sees a paycheck. They don’t see the blood, sweat, and tears of the woman behind the man that got him there in the first place. They will never know what real love is, or what they destroyed. They may score some points, but they will never be champions, not of him or in life. But maybe someday, when gravity and time begin to make their appearance, they too will learn what it’s like to live life on the sidelines.
For me, I’m choosing to live by my own game plan now. I’m more than someone’s wife. I am me.
I wiped the tears away each time I read over it, thinking I should delete it. But some voice called deep inside and said I should tell the truth. That it would set me free. And it’s not like anyone would ever read it. It felt like someone besides me clicked Publish.
I set my laptop aside and lay against my pillow. In the morning, I would probably take the whole site down. The Happy Higgins blog would be no more. I wasn’t sure it was ever true. But from here on out, I was living the truth. Cody and I would be happy. We didn’t need Neil for that. We never did.
Chapter Five
I woke up with a purpose. Not exactly sure what it was yet, but it was the best I’d felt in a long while. My first thought was, what does Samantha like to do? I thought that was a good start.
It was the last week of summer vacation and I didn’t have to go into the office right away. Cody was riding to practice with a friend this morning even though that made me ill. Why was I letting another teenager drive my teenager? Something about having to learn to let go. What I really wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and keep him safe at home. That was a no-go with him.
The question still lingered. What did I like? What did I want to do? This shouldn’t be such a hard question, but my life had revolved around all the things Neil liked to do. He was more of a quiet homebody that enjoyed things like searching out his ancestors and writing their histories. He thought I loved being involved, and for a while it was interesting, but I wanted to catch a Cubs game once in a while or take a dinner cruise down the river. I wanted to take Cody camping, but that was too much nature for Neil. He would have rather watched National Geographic. Sometimes he was too smart for our own good. The doctor wanted to know everything, but he forgot how to live in the process. I had too.
It had been a fight to get him to agree to let Cody play football. He found it barbaric. He’d had to do an autopsy on a kid that died on the field several years ago, so I could understand his concern, but Cody loved the sport. I did too. Watching him on the field filled me with great pride. Reed was right, Cody had an arm on him and he was a strategic thinker. He was on the varsity team this year, but not as starting quarterback like he was last year for the freshman team. He was disappointed, but the starting quarterback was a senior and he was good. Cody would have his day eventually.
So, I loved football. But what else? A silly memory popped in my head of me riding my bike with my brothers down to the lake in Michigan where we vacationed each summer while I was growing up. Reed popped in my head—he had been there too. Reed and Peter were inseparable when they were younger and Reed happened to spend a lot of time at our house. I had forgotten he went on vacation to the lake house with us. He and Peter were pests. The little fiends would take my bras and string them up outside. Once they rigged my room with those firecrackers that popped when you opened a door. They put them everywhere, including my dresser drawers. The worst thing, though, was when they put a load of dead fish in my bed. I almost killed them. Ma too. I think Reed was a bad influence on our saintly Peter. Not that he was completely to blame, but Peter only ever acted devious around Reed. I wondered now that they were adults if he would have the same influence. And what kind of influence would he be on the boys on his team?
It was weird to think that bratty kid was now teaching the rising generation. Reed mentioned he was the new Algebra II and Trigonometry teacher at the school. I admit I was shocked. Not sure why. I mean, I hadn’t seen the kid in years and Peter obviously grew up. Why wouldn’t I think that Reed would too? I must be getting old. Ugh! More bad news. Now I’m single and old. Worse, I’m becoming one of those women that look at people and go, “I remember when I babysat you; look how you grew up.” And I was referring to him as a kid. I was going to turn into my mother. I loved Ma, but that wasn’t going to do.
I took a deep breath and focused back on the things I liked to do
. I think I left off at riding a bike and enjoying the outdoors. Maybe I would get a bike or go to the lake. Or both. Why limit myself? Too bad Cody had two-a-day practices until school started. Leaving town wasn’t an option. Part of me wished we could leave town period, but the custody agreement said I had to stay in state until Cody graduated from high school. Not sure why. I had a feeling Neil wouldn’t try and see Cody even though he was supposed to get him every other weekend. Neil said he wouldn’t force Cody to come, and Cody was already refusing. But I wanted Neil to try. His blasé attitude only proved to Cody that he didn’t care about him.
I shook my head. I couldn’t even think about what I liked to do without my thoughts being interrupted by Neil. Neil was no longer in my equation. I needed to memorize this new formula as soon as possible.
The light was now creeping into my room through the cracks between the curtains. Which reminded me, I was going to go curtain shopping and get rid of the dark, light-reducing panels all over the home. In fact, I was starting now. I jumped out of bed and, with gusto, ripped down the charcoal gray panels that covered the large window in our room—I mean, my room. The neighbors behind me, if they were looking, probably thought I was crazy, standing there in my pajamas pulling down curtains, not even caring that they were ripping.
I stood there and soaked up the morning sun. I could do this. Samantha Decker would live. Not only live, but thrive. First, though, breakfast. I made Cody a protein packed breakfast sandwich and a berry blast protein shake before he left for practice. I don’t know how people with several boys afforded their food bill. Keeping one boy fed cost a fortune. And he never seemed to be full, especially when he was burning so many calories during practice.
Cody seemed to be in a better mood as we sat together on the sectional in the family room and ate. Maybe like me, having the divorce finalized gave him permission to start moving on. The coffee table had taken the place of the dining room table. I think since Neil moved out, the smaller table was less depressing. It was one less reminder that we weren’t a whole family anymore. This was Cody’s and my thing.
“So you really knew Coach when he was a kid?” Cody spoke while inhaling his food. It was shocking. He didn’t normally start conversations.
I grinned, like a real one, thinking about that scrawny kid and troublemaker. “Yep. He spent a lot of time at our house. He was kind of a brat.”
Cody laughed. I missed that sound. And somehow it was deeper than I remembered. When did he grow up? And was that stubble above his lip?
“I’m going to tell him you said that.” Cody wiped his mouth with his hand.
“You can also tell him that he owes me a new Bryan Adams poster and t-shirt.” That punk and my brother had taken a red permanent marker to both and wrote loser across them. Ma made them clean the garage as punishment, but I never got them replaced. Bryan Adams was my first concert and I kind of had a crush on him.
Cody cocked his head and squinted his eyes. “Who is Bryan Adams?”
That pierced my soul. Not only did that mean I was old, but why had I never introduced my son to the gift of music that Bryan Adams was?
I shook my head. “He’s some old guy that sings.”
Cody shrugged and continued shoveling food into his mouth.
“Do you like Coach Cassidy?” It was so weird to call him that.
Cody smiled with his mouth full. “Yeah. He’s way better than Coach Gainer. He even does the drills with us.”
“Really?”
Cody nodded. “You should see how far he can throw a football.”
“I remember going to some games where he and Peter played.” Thinking back, Reed was good. I think he was a running back. Peter was a receiver. I was already in college by the time they were in high school, but I caught a few games when I came home for the weekend from Northwestern. I could have come home more, but didn’t. I thought I was too grown-up. And once I started dating Neil, he filled my weekends. Not thinking about it.
“It’s cool he went to high school at Pomona.”
“I suppose it is. I’m glad you like him. You better get going, or you’ll be late.”
Cody looked at the time on his phone and scarfed down the remainder of his breakfast.
“Please no messing around in the car with Hershel, and text me when you get there so I know you’re safe.”
Cody rolled his eyes and stood up. “Okay.”
“I mean it. You don’t want me showing up at practice to look for you.”
He gave me a look that said, You wouldn’t dare, but he had no idea what a panicked mom was capable of. I had no problem showing up at practice to find out if he was alive.
“You don’t want to test that out.” I smiled.
“I’ll text you.” He hustled upstairs to grab his bag and hopefully brush his teeth. I wasn’t sure why I still needed to remind him to do that. I hoped that meant he wasn’t making out with girls yet. He said he wasn’t, but he was cute, and I remember being fifteen.
With Cody out the door and a million prayers sent up that he would arrive safely at practice, I decided I might want to start living again by actually getting ready. And not the take-a-shower, throw-my-hair-up ready, but the take-my-time, act-like-I’m-still-a-woman kind.
Maybe I would even look at myself. For months now, I had done my best to avoid looking in the mirror. The woman I saw in there wasn’t me. How could she be? I had done everything to foolproof my marriage, my life. I went to college and married a doctor. I volunteered at each one of Cody’s schools. I did all the wife and mother things, from laundry to making balanced meals and chasing away monsters in the middle of the night. I hosted parties for Neil’s associates. He hated that sort of thing, but knew it was good for his career. Thanks to me, he came off as socially adept, though he would have rather been poring over ancestry sites or reading encyclopedias or all those sci-fi novels he kept on his nightstand. The ones that started taking precedence over me at night.
I had done all the right things, or so I thought. I even did my best to keep up my appearance, hoping Neil would notice. He seemed to notice less and less as the years went by. I brushed it off as that’s what happens when you get older, but some of my girlfriends the same age as me made it sound like sex had never been better for them in their marriages. Avery boasted that sex in her forties was amazing. When we talked about such things, and yes, women do talk about those things—a lot—I pretended it wasn’t my brother she was sleeping with.
With all my friends having the time of their lives, it seemed, I jumped to the obvious assumption that there was something wrong with me. Then, to nail that point home, Neil altogether quit touching me. Later he said it was because he felt guilty about the affair and he was afraid he might transmit an STD to me. It was almost as if he wanted me to thank him for sparing me that. Somehow in his mind that made him heroic. Regardless, all I could think about was how undesirable I had become. Those high-priced creams and lotions hadn’t done any good. That hour earlier I woke up every day to exercise hadn’t mattered to anyone. I began to wonder if I mattered to anyone.
Had I even mattered to myself?
I stood in front of the bathroom counter, hands firmly gripping the marble. I looked to the left of me, at the desolate half of the double sink countertop. I hadn’t even bothered to wipe out Neil’s sink in months. A layer of dust lined the vessel sink, which looked like a free-standing bowl on top of the counter. They were exactly what I wanted when we built the house. I remembered the argument Neil and I had about them. He thought they were too trendy. That stinging feeling was back in my eyes. I took some deep breaths to stave off the tears. No more. I had promised myself last week when I walked out of the courthouse with my lawyer after the divorce hearing. It was the final time I would cry over him.
Before I could look in the mirror, I reached for Neil’s unused hand towel and wiped out the layer of dust from his sink. I was done pretending that side didn’t exist anymore. All of this was mine. I threw the dirty towel
in the hamper inside the walk-in closet. I ignored how empty the closet felt now. Maybe I should go on a wild shopping spree. But that would require looking in a mirror when I tried on clothes.
Back at the counter, I gripped the marble tighter and painstakingly lifted my chin. At first I admired the dark wood that framed the oval mirror above my sink. I should probably dust that too. I was stalling. My eyes shifted to that reflective material they called a mirror. Maybe I should have showered first, or at least run a comb through my hair. I did run my fingers through my medium-length, brown hair with some of those, um, highlights, the fake kind that were masking the shiny gray kind that kept popping out in new places. My hair was soft and thick, with a natural curl. That was good. Right?
I pressed my lips together and leaned in closer to examine my creamy skin. Okay, it was pale. Normally this time of year it would have had a nice glow, but I had been holed up inside for months. My gray eyes were looking more on the blue side today. I still had long, thick eyelashes that hadn’t seen mascara in months. What was the point when it would only be cried off? My skin wasn’t hideous, I mean, at least I didn’t look like a hag yet. So maybe there were the beginnings of crow’s feet. And my skin wasn’t as bright as it used to be. But no double chin. I was counting that as a win.
I ran my fingers down my neck and across my chest. I felt thinner than normal, if that made sense. I had recently gotten my appetite back. Watch out chocolate pie, I was coming for more of you later.
In a brave move, I removed all my clothing. Maybe it wasn’t some courageous feat—I showered naked every day—but today I forced myself to look. Really look. I touched my arms and shoulders. I even ran my hands down my mostly toned legs and my gluteus maximus region that was never going to be firm again. At least no dimples yet. I would work on those later. I wasn’t twenty-five, but I wasn’t all that bad. Tears fell. Not for Neil, but for all the months I had been loathing myself. For the lingering effects I still felt.
The Sidelined Wife Page 3
