Chapter Thirty-Five

Katy

Sammy hands me the candles as I stick them one by one in the cake that has simple balloons on it.

“My husband thinks I’m an idiot.”

“He just knows you’re under a lot of pressure,” she says sympathetically. My sister is not undermining me; she’s really sad this cheaply made concoction in front of us is my kid’s seventh birthday cake.

“Red, yellow, and blue balloons? This cake is shit. It’s ghetto shit.”

Sammy throws her head back laughing.

“Stop laughing. There’s no theme. These decorations are crap. He wanted Minecraft, not balloons.”

“Okay, so Gavin’s clueless, but his heart’s in the right place.”

I shake my head in frustration. “He should have left it up to me. He just made this decision on his own.”

“He’s trying to make sure you don’t have more on your plate than you can handle.”

“I don’t do anything. I quit the army, and I’m a stay-at-home mom,” I sigh. “I don’t have enough on my plate to warrant this getting taken away from me.” Hurt. That’s all I feel these days. Gavin and I have moved into the comfortable position of being friends and roommates. But when he does things like plan my kid’s birthday party without telling me, those things turn us into fighting parents. I’ve been making a little progress with my therapist. I’ve finally opened up to her about Briggs. She’s encouraged me to write him letters in a journal, so I do. I talk to him. I tell him what I need, and I feel like, in a way, he’s there for me. Even if my words are sent out in the void, they’re out of my head, and it helps. I haven’t opened up about much else because I find it hard to believe that a woman so clueless about the perils of war could possibly help me. She specializes in PTSD, but that means shit to me. The only secret I’ve trusted her with is the one that constantly nags at me.

Secrets.

That’s the way I’m treating what happened to me, and between us. It’s all tucked inside safely where no one can examine it and take it away from me. I need my connection with him to function.

A motorcycle rumbles outside, drawing me to look out the window as Sammy leaves to tape up the last of the decorations—more balloons. The noise of the bike annoys me as I look up to stare at the driver. He’s wearing a dark helmet with purple flames.

“Sammy, I think your new boyfriend is here,” I snap. “And you can tell him to keep his thug ass away from my baby.”

“Almost ready?” Gavin says as he wraps his arms around me. I look back at him and smile sincerely. “And who’s a thug?”

“Sammy’s new boyfriend, I think. By the way, if you ever plan another birthday party for our son, I will divorce you.”

He cringes. “That bad?”

“I don’t want to argue, but I’m embarrassed.”

“Shit,” he puffs out. “I really thought it would take some pressure off of you.”

“Stop assuming and start asking. I’m not rocking in the yard anymore.”

He immediately pulls his arms away. “No, but you’re still freezing me out,” he snaps.

Frozen. Ice Princess.

Letting his comment go, I move toward our bedroom.

“Katy,” he whispers, as if my absence still hurts him, but right now I feel like it would bring him relief. For months we’ve been circling each other.

“God, this is on replay, isn’t it?” I ask, turning around.

“I feel like everything I do is wrong,” he says solemnly.

“I feel the same.” Guilt wracks me as I gaze over at him.

Gavin’s dad rode him hard, and he rarely had any sort of comfort from his mother. I’m sure most of his birthdays weren’t half as nice as the one he’s planned for his son, and here I am giving him shit over it.

“You’re an amazing man with a heart of gold, and I love you. Thank you for planning this party. Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Mommy!” Noah calls from the back porch.

“I’ll be right there, buddy,” I yell back. Noah is the only thing we seem to have in common anymore, the only thing we seem to be doing right.

Gavin walks over to me with his hands in his pockets and runs his teeth over his lip. “Your sass is back.”

“Nice way of saying I’m bitchy.” We share a real smile, and I lean over and kiss him, and he kisses me back. “I’m going to freshen up.”

“Okay,” he says standing at the bottom of the stairs. He’s still watching me when I get to the top.

“How’s that ass of mine?”

“Looking good,” he says with a chuckle.

I can feel something coming. It’s either going to be another snap, or we’ll be able to tie it back together, but I know we’re down to our last thread. He’s losing his patience, and I came home without any.

I’m the problem, and that’s the hardest part. Our marriage was completely different before I was deployed.

Army spouses deserve fucking medals.

“Katy, the guests are arriving,” Gavin shouts from our bedroom door. I’m in the bathroom, where I’ve been hiding with this flask for a while now.

I take another swig of vodka, hoping it will numb my nerves and make the party bearable. “Coming!” I twist the lid back onto the flask, hiding it in my closet behind a shelf filled with purses. My eyes roll at the sight. Did I really use to be so shallow? Why the hell did I need fifty damn purses?

On the way out, I visit the mirror, smoothing down my hair and passing the toothbrush over my teeth. Vodka isn’t supposed to have a smell, but you can’t be too careful when you’re always under scrutiny. Gavin wouldn’t take too kindly to knowing I’ve been drinking today of all days, but he doesn’t understand how hard crowds still are for me. A nip or two takes the edge off. Xanax turns me into a zombie. It’s all up to which devil I choose to numb me. But today, I want to be present.

I’ve started resenting them—my family. Gavin most of all. It’d be so much easier if he were anything but absolutely perfect. I just want him to mess up and give me a reason to be so angry at him all the time.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Sammy shocks me when she’s waiting on the other side of the bathroom door once I pull it open. “I was about to bust in there and make sure you were okay.” She scours me in a thorough once-over. “You are okay, right?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, brushing her off. “Just have a nervous stomach. You know how hard being in large crowds is for me.”

Nodding, she reaches out to straighten my shirt, then runs her fingers through my hair. “Come on. Everyone’s dying to see you.”

As I follow my big sister through the house, the panic continues to build. Her warm fingers link with my icy ones. She looks back at me over her shoulder with a reassuring smile before sliding the patio doors open and escorting me outside.

“Mommy!” Noah rushes through the crowd of friends and family the moment he sees me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

Was I really gone that long?

“Hey, baby.” I crouch down to his level, smiling like a loon, as I spread kisses all over his sun-warmed cheeks. He always makes me feel better. “Sorry I took so long. Mommy had a tummy ache.” Rubbing my stomach, I groan for effect.

“It’s okay.”

But it’s not okay. Nothing about any of this is okay. Not that I have to get buzzed in order to tolerate my child’s birthday party. Or the fact that I feel more alone surrounded by friends and family that I’ve known all my life than I did trapped with a man I knew mere months in the middle of the desert.

“Let’s get this party started, y’all!” My sister claps her hands above her head doing a little shimmy to take the attention off my arrival. She’s always looking out for me.

My parents walk over to greet me as Noah runs off to play in the bouncy house we rented. Gavin did rock that part of the planning. Winter has just ended, and there’s still a bit of a chill in the air. There are at least a dozen little boys and girls climbing and tumbling down the massive red, yellow, and blue inflatable slide, most of them army brats from base.

“Thanks for coming,” I say, playing hostess, my focus on the children so maybe they won’t engage too much. From the top of the slide, Noah waves his hand frantically in my direction, and my heart damn near bursts open with love for my little boy and the megawatt smile he has aimed my way.

My dad approaches, and I know then I’m under attack. “Hi, Daddy,” I say as he gives me a bear hug. I’ve been turning down their dinner invitations, and I can feel the tension my absence is causing.

“How are you?” he asks as he squeezes me hard before letting go.

“I’m good. Getting a little better every day.” I give him a smile and squeeze his shoulder lovingly. “Thanks for checking in.”

“You don’t look good, honey,” my mother says, blunt as ever. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping well. I bet Dr. Schmidt could put you on some sleeping pills.”

“Can we just make today about Noah and not about me, for once?” I don’t want to get into the fact that I’ve tried multiple sleeping pills, and they do nothing to stop the nightmares. They only cause me to sleep deeper, and I have to suffer through it longer before I finally jerk awake. I’ve tried two types of antidepressants, and all they’ve done is make me feel a bit crazier. Nothing helps. It’s been four months now since the day we were rescued, and the longer I’m home, the more distant I feel from everyone. Everything. It’s like I’m fading away.

The screams and peals of laughter from the gaggle of children are beginning to make me anxious. My flight instinct is kicking in. I have the strongest urge to run back inside and hide from it all before I make a fool of myself, but I want to be here to see my son’s party.

What I want and what I need are rarely in line anymore.

I want to be more present for my son. I want to be intimate with my husband. To crave him. To need him. But I physically can’t without forcing myself, and I’m so tired of fighting against the current. I’m drained.

“Who’s ready for cake?” Gavin shouts, making his way from the porch with his arms full.

Suddenly, all of the kids are bounding out of the house and over to the table where I’ve been trying to keep a low profile. Noah flies into my arms, which is a comfort to me.

“Are you having fun?”

“So much fun! Thank you for my party, Mom. I know you like the house quiet.” Guilt furrows his little brow.

My eyes well with tears. I hate this for him. “Thank Daddy, okay? He’s the one who went through all this trouble for you.”

“Okay,” he says before he shouts at his father, who’s just feet away, “Thank you, Daddy!”

The small crowd around us laughs, and I cringe, knowing then they heard Noah’s comment about a quiet house.

Mother of the year right here, folks.

I lean down to whisper to my son as everyone talks in circles around us.

“I’m sorry you think you have to be quiet.” He waves me off, my seven-year-old, before he whispers to me. “It’s just till you get better, Mommy. Soon we can have people over all the time like we used to.”

I know the whispering has been learned; it’s the way everyone discusses me.

Though I’m resentful, I give my boy a tight squeeze, wishing I could be as sure as he is. I breathe him in before releasing my grip. “Get your butt behind that cake so you can blow out those candles. I’ve been waiting all day for a piece!”

He stands at attention and salutes. “Yes, ma’am.” Immediately, Gavin turns to me with an ‘oh fuck’ look on his face. I smile at him reassuringly. Even my own husband is afraid of me.

I position myself on the other side of the table so I can video.

I almost missed this.

Gavin pulls out a lighter. “Y’all ready?” he asks, but he looks at me to make sure I’m prepared. I give him a discreet nod, and he lights the candles. “On three…One…Two…Three!”

I’ve been working with Dr. Schmidt for this moment over the last few weeks and shock myself when I’m able to sing along. Noah’s smile is everything good in this world. For the first time in such a long time, I feel hopeful.

Then, it happens. A loud bang that sends me reeling, and instantly I’m screaming and on my ass, our camera tumbling to the deck. My body trembles. I can hardly breathe. I reach over the table and snatch my son in my arms. “Noah, are you okay?” I ask, running my hands over his face and chest.

“Shhhh, Mommy,” he coos. “It was just a balloon. Mikey popped it behind my head to scare me. It’s okay, Mommy. Deep breaths,” he whispers, echoing his father.

Humiliated, I hug my son for comfort and bury my face in his neck to apologize.

“No,” he insists. “Mikey did it.” Before I can stop him, Noah is charging after the little boy in question.

“Are you stupid or something? Why’d you do that? Huh? Why?” He shoves at his friend, and I’m so pathetic that all I can do is watch my husband pull my son away.

“Noah, stop it. He didn’t know. It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not okay. Mommy worked so hard for today and now look at her!” Every eye that wasn’t already trained on me, is now. “Our life is never gonna be normal!”

“Noah Walsh,” Gavin barks, “you need to apologize to your friend.”

I glance over to the little boy, who’s got the most bewildered look on his face. His mother is crouched behind him, whispering something in his ear, and I know it’s about me. The whispers are always about me. Mikey and Noah shake hands and make up, and then Mikey starts to move in my direction.

Oh, God.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” the little boy says, his voice shaking and his lips trembling. “I was just trying to be funny.”

Deep breaths.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, honey,” I tell him, still trying to calm my nerves. “It’s okay.”

Careful to avoid prodding eyes, I cower away because I can’t handle another second.

“I’m so sorry,” I announce to a crowd full of friends and family. “I’m going to step inside for a bit. Please enjoy the party.”

Noah pipes up on my behalf to reassure me and the sea of concerned faces that surround us.

“It’s okay, Mommy,” Noah says, giving me a stoic face. “You just need a nap. Go to your closet.”

Gavin’s eyes find mine, and in them I see murder.