She added nothing else. I waited. Still nothing.
"And she was calling because?" I persisted.
"They're offering me the job," she said. "They want me to start Monday. Orientation."
I wasn't sure whether congratulations were in order, but I said it anyway and even in that moment, I still had no inkling whatsoever that my entire world was about to be turned upside down.
Work that day didn't feel...normal, and that was saying something, since nothing about work had seemed normal since I'd gone out on my own. I began to put together PowerPoint presentations for the meetings I'd scheduled. They would offer a general overview of various ad campaigns I'd worked on, discussed the dollar value of advertising for the client's specific business, and preview the kind of work I could do for them. If the potential clients showed interest, I'd follow that up with a more specific proposal at a second meeting.
Even though I made significant headway, my thoughts would occasionally wander back to what I learned that morning.
My wife would be going to work on Monday, for Spannerman.
Good God.
Spannerman.
Still, it was date night and I was looking forward to spending the evening with Vivian. When I walked in the door, however, I felt as though I'd stepped into the wrong house. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were a mess, and London was parked in front of the television, something I'd never seen at that time of night. Vivian was nowhere to be seen, nor did she answer when I called for her. I walked from one room to the next, finally locating her in the den. She was seated in front of the computer researching all things Spannerman, and for the first time in our married life, she seemed almost frazzled. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and her hair looked as though she'd been twisting strands of it for most of the day. Beside her was a thick binder--she had printed and highlighted a thick sheaf of pages--and when she turned toward me, I could see that romance was not only off the table, but hadn't even crossed her mind all day.
I hid my disappointment and after some small talk, I suggested we order Chinese food. We ate as a family, but Vivian remained distracted, and as soon as she finished eating, she went back to the den. While she clicked and printed, I cleaned the house and helped London get ready for bed. I filled the bathtub--London had reached the age where she could wash herself--brushed her hair and lay beside her in bed reading an assortment of books. In another first, Vivian simply kissed our daughter goodnight without reading a story, and when I found her back in the den, she told me that she still had another few hours to go. I watched television for a while and went to bed alone; when I woke the following morning, I found myself staring at Vivian and wondering how late she'd finally turned in.
She was back to her normal self soon after waking, but then again, it was Saturday morning. She was out the door right on schedule for her Me Time, and for the fifth time in seven days, I found myself playing Mr. Mom, if only part-time. On her way out the door, Vivian asked if I could take care of London for the day; she told me that she hadn't quite finished the research from the night before and also had some things she needed to grab for work.
"No problem," I said, and as a result, London and I found ourselves back at my parents' place. Marge and Liz had gone to Asheville for the weekend, so London had my mom all to herself most of the day. Nonetheless, my mom found time to sidle up to me and mentioned that since I'd failed in my task of getting my dad to the doctor, Marge would be bringing him on Monday.
"It's good to know that one of our kids really cares about their father," my mom remarked.
Thanks, Mom.
My father, as usual, was in the garage. When I walked in, he poked his head around the hood of the car.
"You're here," he said to me.
"I thought I'd swing by with London."
"No Vivian again?"
"She has some things to do for work. She got a job and starts on Monday."
"Oh," he said.
"That's it?"
He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his hands. "It's probably a good thing," he finally said. "Someone in your family should be earning some money."
Thanks, Dad.
After visiting with him for a bit--and with London happily baking with Nana--I sat on the couch in the living room, absently watching golf. I'm not a golfer and I don't generally watch golf, but I found myself staring at logos on golf bags and shirts while trying to calculate how much money had gone to the advertising agencies who'd come up with that idea.
The whole thing depressed me.
Meanwhile, I texted Vivian twice and left a voicemail without getting a response; the house phone also went unanswered. Figuring she was out and about, I stopped at the grocery store on the way back from my parents', something fairly rare for me. I usually only went to the store when we were out of something or when I was in the mood for something specific for dinner; I was the kind of shopper who used a handheld basket as opposed to a cart, like I was in a race to see how fast I could get out of there. For London, I grabbed a box of macaroni and cheese, slices of turkey breast and pears, which was only somewhat healthy, but also happened to be her favorite. For Vivian and me, I selected a New York strip and sashimi-grade tuna fillet that I could put on the grill, along with the makings for a salad, corn on the cob, and a bottle of Chardonnay.
While I hoped to make up for our lost date night, I also simply wanted to spend time with Vivian. I wanted to listen to her and hold her and discuss our future. I knew there were going to be changes in our lives, even challenges, and I wanted to promise that we'd get through them together as a couple. If Vivian felt more fulfilled and accomplished at work, she just might bring that better mood home with her; if we shared parenting more equally, we might begin to see each other in ways more conducive to a closer relationship. In the evenings, we'd visit about our days, revel in our successes and support each other in our struggles, and the extra money would make things easier as well. In other words, things would only get better for Vivian and me, and tonight was the first step in the process.
Why, then, did I feel so unsettled?
Maybe it was because Vivian never called or texted me back, nor was she home when London and I returned.
What had been odd gradually grew concerning, but I didn't text or call, because I knew that I wouldn't be able to hide my annoyance, which would no doubt put an end to the evening before it started. Instead, I marinated the steak and placed it in the fridge before starting to dice the cucumbers and tomatoes for the salad. London, meanwhile, pulled the husks from the corncobs. Thrilled to help make dinner for Date Night, she diligently picked away at the silken threads then would hold the corn up for me to examine before setting it aside and starting on the next. I prepared the macaroni and cheese, peeled and sliced a pear, added turkey to her plate and sat with London while she ate. With still no word from Vivian, I put on a movie for London and sat with her until I finally heard the SUV pull into the drive.
London was already out the front door as soon as my wife stepped out of the SUV and I watched Vivian scoop her up and give her a kiss. She kissed me as well and asked if I could bring the bags inside. Figuring it was groceries, I opened the back hatch after Vivian and London had vanished inside and saw a mountain of bags from Neiman Marcus and half a dozen shoe boxes with Italian names.
No wonder she hadn't called or answered. Vivian had been busy.
Like the week before, it took multiple trips to unload all the items she'd purchased and by the time I finished, Vivian was sitting beside London on the couch, London leaning into her.
Vivian smiled at me before mouthing that she wanted a few more minutes with London. I nodded, reminding myself again not to show the slightest hint of irritation. In the kitchen, I poured two glasses of wine and brought one of them to Vivian before returning to the back porch where I fired up the grill. Knowing it would take a few minutes to heat up, I went back inside and sipped at the wine while taking stock of the dining room table wher
e I'd heaped her things. In time, Vivian kissed London on her head then slid away. She beckoned me to meet her near the goodies. She leaned in for a quick kiss as I approached.
"London said she had a fun day with you."
"I'm glad," I said. "I'm guessing you had a pretty full day, too."
"I did. After I finished with my research, I raced from one store to the next. By the end, all I really wanted to do was come home and relax."
"Are you hungry? I picked you up some fresh tuna and I've already got the grill going."
"Really? Tonight?"
"Why not?"
"Because I've already eaten." Vivian must have seen my expression and her tone acquired an edge of defensiveness. "I didn't know you were planning to make dinner tonight. All I knew was that I hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch, and I was so hungry that my hands began to shake. I ended up stopping at a cafe on the way out of the mall. You should have let me know and I would have just grabbed a snack."
"I called and texted, but you never responded."
"My phone was in my purse and I didn't hear it. I didn't see your texts or that you'd called until I was almost home."
"You could have called me."
"I just told you that I was rushing around all day."
"To the point you couldn't even check your phone?"
"Don't make it sound like I was trying to ruin your night on purpose," she said with a sigh. "You can still grill the steak. I'm sure London is hungry."
"She already ate," I said, thinking that what I really wanted was for my wife to have missed talking to me as much as I'd missed talking to her.
"Oh," she said. "Do you want to see what I bought?"
"Yeah, okay," I said.
"Would you mind getting me another half a glass of wine first? I want to organize my things before I show you."
I nodded, wandering back to the kitchen in a daze, still trying to sort through what had just happened. She had to assume we'd have dinner, so why had she stopped to eat? And why hadn't she checked her phone? How was it that my wife could feel no need to check in on her family? I refilled her glass, returning to the dining room wanting to ask more questions, but by then, Vivian had various outfits either spread on the table or draped over the back of the chairs.
"Thanks, hon," she said, reaching for the glass. She kissed me again and set her glass aside without taking a sip. "I bought a navy blue suit, too. It's gorgeous, but it was a little big in the hips, so I'm having it altered," she began, then proceeded to present one outfit after another. As she did, I caught sight of one of the receipts from the bags and felt my heart skip a beat. The total, on that one receipt, was more than half the mortgage.
"Are you okay?" she asked when she was finished. "You seem like you're upset."
"I'm just wondering why you didn't call me."
"I already told you. I was busy."
"I know, but..."
"But what?" she asked, her eyes flashing. "It's not like you called and texted every minute when you were at work either."
"You were shopping."
"For work," she said, the anger in her voice now plain. "Do you think I wanted to stay up half the night and then race around all afternoon? But you didn't give me much of a choice, did you? I have to work because you quit your job. And don't pretend I didn't see you inspecting those receipts, so before you get on that high horse again, maybe you should remind yourself that your little adventure has cost a lot more than I spent today, so maybe you should look in the mirror."
"Vivian..."
"You need to stop acting like I'm the bad guy. You're not exactly perfect."
"I never said I was."
"Then stop finding fault with everything I do."
"I'm not..."
By then, however, she'd already left the dining room.
For the next half hour, we avoided each other. Or rather, she avoided me. She'd always been better at it than I was. I know because I kept peeking at her, hoping to detect a thaw in her mood, and found myself wondering why we couldn't seem to discuss anything that bothered me without it turning into an argument.
I grilled the tuna and the steak, hoping she'd at least taste the food, and set the table on the back porch. After bringing the food over, I called for Vivian, only to see her emerge with London in tow.
I put small portions on both their plates and though both Vivian and London took a few bites, my wife's silent treatment continued. If there was one positive from the meal, it was that London didn't seem to notice, since she and her mom chatted as though I wasn't there at all.
By the time we finished dinner, I was as annoyed with Vivian as she was with me. I went to the den and fired up my computer, thinking I'd continue working on my presentations, but it turned out to be a pointless exercise, since I continued to replay all that had happened.
I couldn't escape a gnawing sense of failure. Somehow, I'd blown it again, even though I wasn't sure exactly what it was I'd done so wrong. By then, Vivian had already begun the process of getting London ready for bed and I heard her as she descended the steps.
"She's ready for a story," she said. "Not a long one, though. She's already yawning."
"All right," I said, and in her expression, I thought I saw the same kind of remorse that I was feeling about the evening. "Hey," I said, reaching for her hand. "I'm sorry about the way tonight turned out."
She shrugged. "It's been a stressful week for both of us."
I read to London and kissed her goodnight; when I found Vivian in the family room, she was already in her pajamas, a magazine open in her lap, and the television turned to some reality show.
"Hey," she said, as soon as I sat beside her, seemingly more interested in the magazine than me. "I had to change out of my clothes into something comfy. I'm wiped out. I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to last before turning in."
I understood what she hadn't specifically verbalized: The idea that the two of us might make love later was out of the question.
"I'm tired, too."
"I can't believe she'll be starting school next month. It doesn't seem possible."
"I still don't know why they start so early," I said, picking up the thread of the conversation. "Didn't we always start school after Labor Day when we were in school? I mean, why August twenty-fifth?"
"I have no idea. Something about the mandatory number of school days, I think."
I reached for the remote control. "Would you mind if I found something else to watch?"
Her eyes suddenly flashed toward the TV. "I was watching that. I just wanted something brainless to help me unwind."
I put the remote control down. For a while, neither of us said anything. Finally: "What do you want to do tomorrow?"
"I'm not sure yet. I know I have to pick up the suit that's getting tailored, but that's about it. Why? What are you thinking?"
"Whatever you'd like to do. You've been so busy this week, we haven't been able to spend much time together."
"I know. It's been absolutely crazy."
Though I might have been imagining it, she didn't sound as bothered by the recent schedule as I was. "And about dinner tonight..."
She shook her head. "Let's not talk about it, Russ. I just want to relax."
"I was trying to tell you that I was getting concerned when I didn't hear from you..."
She lowered the magazine.
"Really?"
"What?"
"You want to do this right now? I told you that I'm tired. I told you I didn't want to talk about it."
"Why are you getting upset again?"
"Because I know what you're trying to do."
"What am I trying to do?"
"You're trying to get me to apologize, but I didn't do anything wrong. Do you want me to say that I'm sorry for getting a good job? Or to apologize for trying to dress like a professional? Or for getting a bite to eat because I was shaking? Did you ever stop to think that maybe you should apologize for trying to pick a fight in the first place?"
"I wasn't trying to pick a fight."
"That's exactly what you were trying to do," she said, staring at me like I was crazy. "You got upset as soon I told you that I'd already eaten, and you wanted to make sure I knew it. So I tried to be sweet. I invited you to the dining room to show you what I got. I kissed you. And right after that, you started in on me, just like you always do."
I knew there was some truth in what she said. "Okay, you're right," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'll admit that I was disappointed that you'd eaten before you got home--"
"Ya think?" she said, cutting me off. "And that's the thing with you. Believe it or not, you're not the only one with feelings around here. Did you ever stop to think about the pressure I've been under lately? So what do you do? Make things hard as soon as I walk in the door and even now, you can't let it go." She stood from the couch and kept talking as she started to leave the room. "I just wanted to watch my show and read my magazine and sit with you without fighting. That's it. Was that too much to ask?"
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to lie in bed for a while, because I want to relax. You're welcome to join me, but if you'd rather start arguing again, then please don't bother."
Then she was gone. I turned off the television, sitting in silence for the next hour, trying to figure out what had happened to my wife and me.
Or, more specifically, how I could make things better between us.
I woke up late on Sunday to an empty bed.
I tossed on a pair of jeans before trying to tame the oddly shaped waves of hair that greeted me in the mirror every morning. It was a disappointing predicament, made worse by the fact that Vivian usually woke looking already groomed.
Since Vivian had been asleep by the time I crawled into bed, I wasn't sure what to expect but as I approached the kitchen, I could hear my wife and daughter laughing.
"Good morning," I said.
"Daddy!" London called out.
Vivian turned and winked, smiling at me as though the night before had never happened at all. "Perfect timing," she offered. "I just finished making breakfast."
"It smells fantastic."
"Come here, handsome," she said.
I approached, assuming she was trying to gauge my mood, and when I was close, she kissed me. "I'm sorry about last night. You okay?"
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