One of the things I love most about being a teacher is the ability to watch my kids play their sports. The elementary gets out thirty minutes earlier than the middle and high school, so I’m typically able to see most of their games. When the kids travel, I’m usually late, but both Trevor and Jenna are playing at home today, so I can watch a bit of Jenna’s soccer game then catch the end of Trevor’s cross-country meet.
This morning before he left for work I asked Heath if he was going to make it to their games, and he assured me he’d be here, but when I get to the field, I don’t see him.
ME: Hey, I’m here at the field watching Jenna’s game. Where are U?
HEATH: Can’t make it.
Dialing his number, he picks up on the first ring, but before he has the chance to answer, I snap, “What do you mean you can’t make it?”
“Well, hello to you too. I’m sorry, Whit, but something’s come up, and I need to get this shit handled before next weekend. You know I’m leaving. I’ve told you this.”
“Jesus…” My voice lowers as I walk away from the field so prying ears can’t hear. One of the benefits of being self-employed is you can make your own schedule, but my husband doesn’t understand that he can leave the site or the office whenever he likes because he owns the business.
“You know I don’t ask a lot, and the kids never ask for you to be at their games, but the season is almost over, and you haven’t even been to one, Heath.”
“Are you really guilting me right now?” he barks back.
“I’m not guilting you. It’s not my fault if that’s what you’re feeling right now–”
“You think I like missing my kids’ games? You forget that when Charlie was young, I was coaching him–”
“You weren’t the only one, Heath.”
“I know that, and I’m not saying you didn’t help, but things have changed, babe. I can’t just take off whenever I please, even if you think so.” The phone line goes silent before I hear him sigh. “I have responsibilities. I gotta go.”
“Mom!” Jenna’s voice pulls me from the phone call, which doesn’t matter since he’s ended the call and is no longer on the line. “You okay?” she asks when she stops running towards me.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
She turns her head side to side, peeking around me. “Where’s Dad?”
“He couldn’t make it. Work.”
“Hmm…”
“I saw you, though, and you were brutal out there. You never let one ball into that goal.” I wrap my arm around her and bring her to me. I need to give her a hug. I need her to know that I’m here for her. That I’ll always be here for her.
“Okay, Mom,” she complains as she pushes off. “I’ll be back. I’m gonna grab my stuff, then we can head over to the high school.”
As I watch her enter the locker room without another look back, I wonder if my kids know how much we love them? How much I love them, and how I would do anything for them? I’d risk my own life to make sure that my children are safe. These kids are growing up so fast, but are they old enough to understand how I’m feeling about their dad, or should I leave them in the dark until I’ve made my choice?
Those are questions I can’t answer right now, and I’m not sure I ever will.
“Man, I’m beat. This job is kicking my ass. I’m getting too old for this shit.”
Heath comes into the bedroom, doing his nightly complaining session. One where I don’t say a word so that he can vent while I inwardly roll my eyes. Yes, he owns his own construction company. Yes, I know that dealing with other trades and property owners can be a pain, and yes, I know there’s a lot riding on his shoulders as a business owner. But what did he think would happen when he decided he wanted to go out on his own at the age of thirty?
His lack of attendance earlier today still rubs me the wrong way. When Trevor realized Heath wasn’t there, I saw his shoulders slump in rejection. I know I can’t bring this information up because it’s only going to cause an argument, and I don’t want to fight a battle tonight. I’m tired of losing the war.
“Well, it’s the end of the day, so time to put it behind you and relax. Let the day’s events slide off your back and get a good night sleep.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have the luxury of shutting my brain off as soon as I step off a job site. Not when I have employees counting on me to make sure I secure the next job so that their kids can eat,” he bites back.
I watch as he pulls his T-shirt over his head. He’s still in great shape for just turning forty-one, and I’m well aware that time hasn’t been an enemy when it comes to my husband’s physique. He’s collected a few more lines around his eyes over the years, and the silver hairs are standing out against the dark brown of his hair more and more these days, but he’s aging well. I, on the other hand, have the body of a mother of three with stretch marks and saggy breasts. When I was younger, I had the firm boobs and the flat stomach. Hell, I’m sure I could have bounced a quarter off my ass if I’d tried. But that was then, and this is now. It doesn’t really matter how the item is packaged. It all depends on what’s actually inside the wrapping, and when it comes to my husband, it seems like the cover is better than the contents.
I’m such a bitch.
How can I not support my husband? How can I not feel the heavy burden that my husband carries on a daily basis?
“I’m not saying that you should forget. I know you can’t, and I totally understand. I have kids struggling on a daily basis, and that fact plagues me. I’m just saying that nothing can be done tonight. It’s past eight and tomorrow is going to be here before we know it. Let today go.”
“Humph.”
That’s all I get in response as he enters the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. Why does he lock the door? I hear the fan, so I know what he’s doing. Why does he think that I want to enter the bathroom when I can hear the fan running? That’s like a blaring warning sign that tells me not to enter. I don’t want to see, smell, or hear what’s going on in there so there’s no way that I would willingly walk in on him right now. Shaking my head, I go back to reading as I try to block out the occasional grunt and wet fart I hear coming from the bathroom. Yeah, I want no part of that.