Chapter Thirteen
ANN MARIE
Chicago, 2008
The boys and I walk in the house after going to the grocery and immediately hear noises coming from upstairs. “Wait here,” I say to them and slam my keys on the counter.
At any other juncture in my life, I would assume there’s a thief in the house, but not anymore.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Todd screams and startles me as I find him standing in our bedroom—my bedroom—unannounced and uninvited, with my black halter-style bikini in his hand. The master bedroom has white walls, white carpet, and white bedding with a pale gray stripe. The only real color in the room comes from the bright red sweatshirt Todd’s wearing.
I glance at my open suitcase on the floor. “What are you doing?” My blood is boiling.
“Answer my question,” he says.
I snatch the bathing suit from his hand. “Get out of here!” I scream.
“What’s the suitcase for?”
“Get out.” My temples throb. I point to the hallway and move aside, but he doesn’t budge.
“You know you can’t take the kids anywhere without my consent.”
“Get out, or I will call the police.” Just as I threaten him, Ryan appears in the doorway. Slim, yet tough, little Ryan with his big blue eyes and white-blond hair. Gifts from my mother’s gene pool, no doubt. He’s only seven years old, but his expression is stern and mature.
“Stop yelling,” he says with the voice of a fallen angel and crosses his arms. He can sense the hostility between us, and my knees buckle with guilt.
I take a deep breath. “Honey, please go back downstairs right now,” I say to Ryan in a soft voice.
“No,” Todd interjects. “Let him stay where he is, and tell him you’re going to call the police on me.”
“Mom?” Ryan questions me, but I ignore him.
My hands are shaking, so I cross my arms. “Get out of here, now,” I say to Todd. And just as he’s about to respond, Ryan speaks up.
“You better do what Mom says,” my son tells him.
Todd glares at me, and then, for once, does what he’s told without making our child suffer through more drama. I almost commend him on his courtesy, but I decide not to. Once he’s out of the room, I slam the door shut and follow him down the stairs, where Jimmy and Luke are now standing.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Jimmy asks excitedly. “Mom’s said she’s cooking something really good.”
I sigh and look at Todd, pleading with my eyes. Hoping he’ll say the right thing and not make me look like the asshole, but my pleas go unanswered.
“I’m sure your mom won’t let me. Sorry, dude.”
“Mom?” Jimmy calls out to me, but Todd’s already heading out the front door.
“Please keep your brothers inside,” I say to Ryan and follow Todd outside.
“Do you care about your children at all?” I ask, walking behind him.
He stops and turns to face me. “Fuck you.”
“It’s an easy question, so answer it.” My voice is calm, and I look him in the eyes. “Because everything you are doing says otherwise. Do you think that little stunt doesn’t go unnoticed? Do you think their little heads are in their happy place now, as they deserve to be? Or do you think they’re doing their best to grin and bear something they know nothing about? Something they are not equipped to handle, and something that will irrevocably change who they are. Forever.”
“I can come and go as I please. They like when I come by, so screw you. I needed my dress shoes anyway. I still have things in this house.”
I throw my hands up. “Then you’ve answered my question. You only care about yourself.”
Todd turns and walks away. “I hope you don’t think you’re going anywhere with those kids. I’ll make sure my attorney knows about this.”
“And I’ll make sure to sign them up for therapy!” I shout.
“Is everything OK?” Ryan asks when I’m back inside. Jimmy and Luke just turn and go back to watching TV.
I drop to my knees and put my arms out. Ryan comes running to me for a hug.
“Everything is fine,” I say into his ear. “Dad needed his dress-up shoes, but I didn’t know he was upstairs, so I got scared a little when he surprised me.” My pulse is racing.
“Oh.”
I let him go. “So, I’m going to do a nice thing for Daddy and make sure all of his clothes and things—whatever he might’ve left behind—are in one big pile in the garage.” I smile like the crazy lunatic I’ve become.
For the next two hours, I empty every drawer, cabinet, and closet in the house that might contain something of Todd’s. In the garage, I lay out a tarp on the side where his car used to be and throw all his belongings on top of it. Then I snap a picture of the pile and text it to him. Easy access to your things from now on, I type. Stay out of my bedroom.
Once I’m through, I pour myself a glass of wine and make dinner for the kids. Nothing really good, as promised earlier. Kraft Macaroni & Cheese with a side of Goldfish crackers, and steamed broccoli that none of them eat. I clean up the kitchen when they’re through and treat myself to a feast of congealed macaroni and cold broccoli florets.
At 9:00 p.m., the boys are asleep. I pour myself another glass of wine to temper my headache and walk upstairs to my bedroom. I reach for my phone and dial my mom’s number.
“Hello,” she answers. “I tried calling you earlier.”
“I saw. I’m sorry. It’s been a day,” I say.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Honestly, I feel like the more I tell you, the less you’ll want to take my calls.”
She makes a breathy sound on the other end. “Tell me what’s going on. I mean it. I want to be here for you.”
I take a sip of my wine. “So, today, I stopped at the grocery after picking Jimmy and Ryan up from school, and I had Luke with me all day because Edith’s grandkids are in town to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. I was feeling all domestic and creative, so we all picked out a rotisserie chicken, and I was going to make the boys my fancy pepper-jack chicken quesadillas. But when we walked in the house, I heard a bunch of noise upstairs. I actually hoped I was being robbed, because it would’ve been better than finding Todd in my bedroom. Anyway, I completely forgot about the groceries and the boys, and spent the entire rest of the afternoon running around the house gathering his belongings and tossing them into the garage.” I pause to take a breath. “Needless to say, we all ate cardboard food for supper.”
“He’s an ass,” she says.
“I put a tarp under all of his shit, which I thought was quite generous.”
“You should’ve left it on the front lawn.”
“Too cliché,” I say.
“Then you should at least put that spoiled rotisserie chicken at the bottom of the pile.”
I smile at her cleverness.
“There has to be something you can do to stop him from coming over,” she says.
“Yes, I can sell this house, or buy him out.”
“Still no offers?”
“Nope,” I say.
“What do you think is the biggest issue?”
“I have no clue. My Realtor says we’re priced too high, so we lowered it a bit, but I think buyers can feel the bad karma in here.”
“There’s not bad karma in there,” Mom says.
“Bad karma and a pile of crap on the garage floor. Oh well. Thanks to you, I have a trip to Mexico to look forward to.” I haven’t admitted to peeking at her journals yet, because I haven’t let myself get past the confusion from the one page that read, Our first Christmas in Beirut. It’s still sitting on my nightstand while the weight of those words is sitting heavy on my chest. She has never told me anything about my father and her visiting or living in Beirut. I know that he is Lebanese, of course, but I never knew she went there with him. And now she’s chosen to box up her most intimate thoughts and send them to me. Why now?
“Thank you for listening. I mean it.”
“Don’t be silly,” she says.
“I know you have some things to tell me, Mom, and I just want you to know that nothing will ever change the way I feel about our relationship.”
“You went through the box, didn’t you?”
I place my free hand on her journal. “I’m just looking forward to hearing what you have to say.” Which is true, but I’m also a little scared. “I love you, Mom. Good night.”
As I hang up the phone, my thoughts turn to Todd. There was a time—after learning about his affairs—that I thought I could forgive him, and I hated myself for it. I’ve spent days and nights since then trying to figure out why I was so scared of losing him, scared of being alone, scared of disappointing my family and living with the failure and humiliation. My therapist, Monica, says many people can’t cope with the loss of control, but there’s a voice in my head that’s telling me it goes deeper than that.
When I first began online dating, Monica said I was trying to prove to myself that I was still desirable to men after Todd’s rejection. That when he left, he took a piece of me with him. But what if that piece has always been missing? And what if that piece is sitting next to me on my nightstand? Is there something that happened in my parents’ marriage that parallels what’s happening in my own? Did it happen in Beirut, of all places?
That night, I make a promise to myself: it’s time to let go of the anger. I take my hand off Mom’s journal and reach under my bed for the pink spiral-bound notebook Monica gave me. I grab a pen and write five things I’m grateful for.
1) My boys
2) My mom
3) My health
4) Our home
5) My willingness to forgive
The next morning, I get a text from Todd saying that he’s going to come pick up his things from the garage over the weekend, and that his latest girlfriend is pregnant.
I take the pink spiral notebook and toss it in the trash.