by KD Robichaux
During the times we did eventually have sex, it was 100 percent a chore. Zero passion. Zero even want to be doing it, but feeling almost… obligated. Our anniversary, maybe a birthday—his, of course. For mine, I just wanted to be left alone.
So yeah, I can see how the affair could happen. But that’s not an excuse, and I shouldn’t be the one solely blamed. He could’ve said something. We could’ve gotten counseling. I mean, they have sex therapists for a reason, right? Either way, it should’ve been something we fixed within our marriage, not sought comfort outside of it. It’s something that should’ve been worked on between husband and wife. Our partner in life and in all things.
But if I’m being honest, it’s been a long damn time since I felt like Mike and I were on the same team. If ever. It’s always been more like he was the whole team and I was just the water girl. It’s never been fifty-fifty. He’s never seen me as his equal, and in turn, it’s always made me feel less than.
I snap myself out of my thoughts and look down at the phone in my hand, my finger hovering over my sister’s contact information. I haven’t spoken a single word to anyone about what happened last week. I don’t really have girlfriends. I’ve always been too busy at home to go out and find any. And I don’t know if I give off some bitchy vibe or what, but any time I tried joining those mom groups, the other women tended to avoid me, and I’m not the biggest social butterfly in all the land—preferring the company of my children to adults—so that was a really quick pass in my book.
I take a deep breath and touch her name and then her number, and as it begins to ring, I blow out the air in my lungs and lift the phone to my ear.
She answers on the third ring. “Hey, big sis!”
For the first time in a week, my smile isn’t reserved only for my babies. The expression feels almost foreign. “Mia, how are you?”
“Can’t complain. You okay? You sound a little down,” she tells me, and I shake my head. Only Mia would be able to sense something I’m so desperately trying to hide from my voice. Sister intuition, I guess.
“I…” I swallow, but suddenly there’s a thick lump inside my throat that swells until I’m choking. My eyes prickle with tears I thought I had surely ran out of, and my chest burns when I can’t take a deep enough breath.
“Cece, what’s the matter? Are the girls okay?” Mia’s voice is full of worry now, and I hate that I’ve put it there.
And then it all comes out in a rush of sobs. “The girls are fine, at school. I kicked him out, Mia. He cheated on me, and I kicked him out. And I don’t know what to do. I can’t do all this by myself. I need to put the girls in childcare after school, but the childcare would cost just as much as I’d be able to make, and so what’s the point? What am I supposed to do? I don’t know how to do anything besides be a mom and a housewife. I’ve been a homemaker for ten years. How am I supposed to find a job when I’m almost thirty and have no past work history? And I need you. I don’t have anyone else. I need you to come help me for just a few weeks. Just a few weeks until I can get my life in somewhat of an order, because as it is, I can’t. I just can’t do it without someone’s help, and you’re all I’ve got. So please, please come help me. I need you.”
There’s a pregnant pause.
I was expecting a bunch of questions, forcing me to give more of an explanation. I expected shock, indignation on my behalf, threats of bodily harm, knowing my sister. But all there is between us on the line is silence.
And then…
“Just breathe and I’ll be right there. I love you.” And the line goes dead.
My sister wasted no time. Within the hour, she texted me her flight itinerary and had given notice at work that she needed a leave of absence for a family emergency for a few weeks. By 7:00 p.m., I was in the cell phone lot at the airport, waiting for her to arrive.
Mia: Just got to baggage claim.
Me: Meet you just outside the doors.
A zip of excitement shoots through my system. I haven’t seen my sister in what feels like forever but has only been a few months, when we went to visit everyone in Montana for Thanksgiving.
I pull out of my parking space and slowly drive around the airport, using the lane reserved for arrival pickup. When I reach the doors outside baggage claim, I spot her. She’s got one of those rolling carts piled high with several suitcases, and it brings much-needed relief. Mia isn’t the type of girl to pack a bunch of unnecessary things for a trip. She’s normally a one carry-on kind of person. So to see she’s brought what looks to be the entirety of her apartment with her, means she’s prepared to stay for as long as I need her.
I put my SUV in park and hop out, running around to the back. About that time, Mia comes around the side with her cart and throws her arms around me. I sink into her embrace, allowing the comfort of my person in life to fill me with relief. Suddenly, it’s like half the weight of the world is lifted off my shoulders just knowing I’m not alone and have my sister to help me through the worst moment of my life.
“Sis, as much as I love this hug, the traffic attendant is giving us major stink-eye,” she tells me, her voice strained as if I’m squeezing the bejeezus out of her, which I realize I am and quickly let her go, taking a step back.
“Sorry. Let’s get you loaded up,” I reply, and I open the trunk. As soon as the back is all the way up, my girls squeal from the back seat.
“Mimiiii!” Until that moment, they’d been occupied watching a movie on the pull-down screen built into the roof of the Tahoe and had no idea their aunt was coming. I thought I’d give them a happy surprise before I drop a bomb on them.
“Hi, my favorite munchkins!” Mia calls with a huge smile, and we make quick work of stacking all her suitcases into the back. She returns the cart then hops in the passenger side, and I pull out into traffic while my girls rapid-fire a million questions at their aunt.
“We didn’t know you were coming!”
“What are you doing here?”
“How long are you staying?”
“Will you sleep in my room?”
“That’s not fair. She should sleep in mine!”
“No, mine!”
Mia doesn’t even bother answering any of the questions, since the girls end up in an argument and aren’t paying any attention to her anyway. We’ll be having a long talk as soon as we get home, and we’ll answer everything they ask then. Instead, Mia just reaches over and grips my hand that rests on the center console, and once again, I allow her warmth to seep into me and soothe my broken heart.
An hour later, once we’ve gotten all of Mia’s suitcases stacked in the hallway, up against the wall between Lola and Kate’s rooms, which are across from Ruby’s, we head downstairs and sit on the stools around the island in the kitchen. I take a deep breath to prepare, telling myself to stay calm and collected when I tell them what’s going on. If I can keep the tears at bay and not show how devastated I am, then maybe they won’t be as upset.
“So, girls. There’s a reason Mia is here, and I want all of you to know that no matter what, I love you and we’re here for you. You can ask as many questions as you want, and you can feel however you want about the situation, okay?” I tell them, my hands clutching together in my lap as I see their little faces try to work out what I could be talking about.
“What is it, Mommy?” Lola asks, fidgeting on her stool.
“Well—” I look over at Mia, and she gives me an encouraging nod. “—your dad has moved out for the time being. He, um…” What do I say to my kids? They’re only nine and six. I can’t bring up his infidelity without bringing on a tsunami of questions about what sex even is, since we haven’t quite dealt with that yet.
“Did he move into his office?” Sweet, sweet Ruby.
Her question alone chokes me up at the thought of how much time Mike always spent working instead of with his children. By choice too. His job at the advertising agency is supposed to be a forty-hour-per-week job, but he always takes on way more than he needs
to, things he has other people to delegate to. Which I realize now has always been frustrating for me, but I pushed it aside. He makes a salary, so no matter how many extra hours of work he puts in, he wouldn’t be paid anything more. So his excuse about working all hours to provide for us never sat well with me. I just never said anything because I was happy at home with my girls.
“No, baby. For now, he’s moved in with Grandma and Grandpa,” I reply, not knowing how to proceed.
“For how long?” Lola asks.
“Why?” Kate prompts at the same time.
I swallow thickly, and Mia reaches over to rub my back. “Um, well… I don’t know for how long. And, well, sometimes mommies and daddies don’t get along very well anymore, so they take some time apart.”
“Does this got to do with you yelling in your room?” Ruby asks, her head tilting to the side, and my own head jerks back. Last week, our fight took place in the kitchen. Our room is on the other side of the house from theirs.
“You’ve heard us yelling in our room, baby?” I croak, my breath coming out in pants through my nose in an attempt to keep from losing it.
“Well, yeah, Mommy. A lot. But my friend says that her mommy and daddy yell in their room a lot too, so I never worried. It’s just what grownups do.” She shrugs.
I bite my lip, wondering if her friends’ parents yell in their bedroom out of pleasure, or if they’re like Mike and me and were having full-on screaming matches about how I needed to be doing more with the girls than what I am already. Instead of arts and crafts, he thought I should be teaching them common core math and shit to advance them to higher grade levels. Instead of snuggling on the couch and watching a movie with them, I should’ve had them in more extracurriculars. Instead of having fun in the kitchen and letting them help me mix ingredients to bake a cake, they should’ve been studying while I did all the cooking, as if it wasn’t important to teach them how.
“Are y’all getting a divorce?” Kate asks, and my eyes whip to hers.
“No! I mean, there’s been no talk of getting a divorce, baby. Right now, we’re just taking a break, okay?” I assure her, and it’s the truth. There hasn’t been one word spoken between us about a divorce. She knows as much as I do, when it comes to actually dissolving our marriage.
“And how long is Mimi here for? Is she here just to keep you company? Were you lonely without Daddy?” Ruby questions, her face turning sad at the thought of me being lonely. God, I love my kids.
“I’m here for as long as your mommy needs me,” Mia assures, giving the girls a big smile.
“And I need her, because I’ve got to find a job so I can take care of us,” I add, and their expressions grow confused.
“But I thought that’s why Daddy works so much, so he can take care of us,” Lola inserts, and I fight the need to roll my eyes. They don’t need to know that the reason their dad worked overtime, at least once, was so he could fuck one of his coworkers.
I nod instead. “That’s right, baby. But it’s just gonna be us for a while, so that means I have to make money so I can pay our bills. Your father isn’t going to be paying for everything anymore. But that’s okay, because us girls can take care of ourselves without the help of stinky boys, right?” I chirp.
Kate and Ruby laugh the way I intended, but Lola isn’t fooled. She’s always been my empath, my little intuitive soul, who can sense when things aren’t quite right, especially with me. She moves her steady focus on me to Mia and then back, and then she tells us, “Mimi, you can have my room. I’ll sleep with Mommy.” She says it in a way that brooks no room for argument, as if she were an adult.
I want to hug her so tight right now.
“You can most definitely have a sleepover in Mommy’s room tonight, but then we’re going to have you bunk with Kate like we usually do when we have a guest,” I inform her. Lola has a queen-sized bed in her room, and Kate has bunk beds for when a friend has a sleepover. They’re full-size, so I’ve never had to hear them argue over the size of their beds. A lot of the time, I find all three girls in Kate’s room anyway, when they’ve decided to play a game on the weekend or watch a movie together. I’ve always felt so blessed my kids are as close with each other as my sister and I are.
“Do you have any more questions?” Mia asks them, and they shake their heads, seeming… not disinterested, but like they don’t know what to think.
Ruby hops down from her seat and runs around the counter to give Mia a hug. “I’m just glad you’re here, Mimi. Now maybe Mommy won’t cry anymore,” she tells her, and my heart sinks. I thought I’d been so stealthy with my emotions, when really my kids were just giving me grace.
“I’m glad I’m here too, my little munchkin. Now let’s go get ready for bed. I’m beat.” Mia gives me a look that says she’s got the girls, and I nod.
While she takes them upstairs, I clean up the casserole dish I had soaking in the sink from dinner and set it in the drying rack. I pull down two wine glasses from the cabinet and grab the bottle of Moscato out of the fridge I put in there earlier today to chill, and then I find the corkscrew. I’m not much of a drinker, but when I do, it’s normally a sweet wine. I’ve always wanted to try other things, but I kind of missed out on the whole party years of life. I was home taking care of two newborns and learning to be the perfect wife when I was twenty-one. And Mike thought a woman drinking anything other than a glass of wine wasn’t classy, so wine it was.
The thought is an interesting one and gives me an idea, one I voice when Mia comes trotting down the stairs and into the kitchen. “What about a bar? I could be a waitress, right? Surely I wouldn’t need a college degree to take people food and drinks to their table.”
She nods. “That’s an idea. Although don’t be surprised if they require you to have food service experience in order to even interview.”
I pour the uncorked wine into two glasses and slide one across the island to Mia. “That’s my dilemma every time I look at the damn classifieds. They say experience necessary, but how can I get experience if no one will hire me? I applied for a front desk position to just answer and direct phone calls, and even they blew me off, saying they required at least three years’ experience. Three years. Just to answer a freaking phone!”
“Was that over the internet, the phone, or in person? Because I know in person works a lot better than the others, because they can’t just ignore you and blow you off. Thank goodness my school had the placement program when I became a CNA. I didn’t have to go looking for a position. They came looking for us.” She takes a sip of her wine and sets it down. She doesn’t drink much either, but tonight seemed to call for something a little stronger than just the fresh sweet tea I made.
“The phone. I saw the ad on the internet and called them. I haven’t been anywhere in person yet,” I tell her, for the first time ever slightly jealous that my sister decided to go to college right after high school, knowing exactly what she wanted to do with her life. She’s always been a nurturer, so it was no surprise when she chose to be a CNA.
“How about this. Tomorrow, you and I will scour the local sites, like Craigslist, Next Door, and Facebook Marketplace. Those might have more entry-level type job listings than the big wigs. We’ll make a list of all the ones that really stand out to you, and then we’ll drive around and go talk to them in person. Well, you will. I’ll wait in the car. I don’t think it’d be the best impression to take your little sister to hold your hand.” She grins, making me chuckle.
I blow out a breath, feeling relieved that I have someone to keep my head straight and help me come up with a plan. When it was all on me to think of every minor detail, it seemed too vast and overwhelming, and it just made me shut down.
“That sounds like the perfect plan. I’m so glad you’re here, sis,” I tell her, hoping my expression conveys how sincerely I mean that.
“Always,” she replies, and after she gives me one last tight hug, we both go to bed.
3
Winston
“Steph, just breathe. You have my permission to hire as many people as you need. Go forth. I trust you. That’s why I made you my manager,” I tell her, and I hear her sigh of relief.
“Thank God. So you don’t mind if I post an ad using the company card? I can post it for free on all the local sites, but the big ones cost to post,” she asks.
“How about we post on the local ones first, and then if we don’t get any bites, you can break out the big guns?” I suggest, not that I can’t afford to buy the ad space, but why spend money when I might not need to? Plus, who goes looking on the big career sites for a wait staff position at a bar and grill? No one stays for a long amount of time anyway. Only Stephanie, who’s been with me for years, starting right out of high school to help pay for college. When she graduated with her business degree, I offered her a much higher position with a salary, and she jumped on it.
“Sounds good, boss. Talk to you later. Give the little man a squeeze for me,” she says, and when I promise I’ll do just that, we end the call.
I look over at Nick, my seven-year-old son, who’s currently gobbling down the omelet I made him for breakfast. I smile as he chugs his orange juice—fresh squeezed, because I’m a snob like that—and then he hops up from his chair, swinging the backpack that’s bigger than him onto his back. He takes his plate and cup, climbs up onto the stepstool in front of the sink, and sets his dishes down inside it. He jumps off the stool, doing some crazy ninja pose when he lands, and then runs at me full speed. I stand from the table just in time to catch him, loving the sound of his laughter.
