posted by susan-oh-susan / february 23 at 1:37 pm / uncategorized / 3 comments
I didn’t ruin Christmas Eve, although I did lock myself in the master bedroom for the afternoon, then the evening, then the night—texting with Marcella, then crying, then texting with Marcella. Then texting with Nika, who got my phone number from Cody.
“I told everyone you were really, really sick and needed to be left alone, and I’d take care of you,” she wrote. “Just text me whenever you need something, ok? And you stay in that room as long as you like. I won’t let anyone come in.”
I think under normal circumstances I might have been like, “Who is this girl and why is she so pushy? This is her first visit to my house! She’s basically a stranger!” But because I was… well. You probably understand.
So I locked myself in the bedroom and Nika covered for me. I still don’t know what exactly she told the boys and John—or how she managed to keep any of them, John in particular, from coming upstairs and pounding on the bedroom door. For John to come back home and not immediately go into the master bedroom, shower, and change his clothes—oh-my-god, I am such a moron! He had been doing that for, not months, but years! Showering and changing clothes as soon as he came home! I don’t know when it started, exactly… but it had been going on forever. I don’t know that I ever remarked on it. Maybe he did. I think I remember him saying, once, years ago, “I just love the feeling of washing away the day’s cares when I come home.”
And I accepted it. Understood.
Thought it was sweet.
I. Am. So. Stupid.
Where was I?
Locked in the bedroom. Crying. Texting with Marcella.
She agreed with Nika. “You have to tell him, and you might as well tell him now.”
I dragged myself from the bed to the bathroom. Looked in the mirror.
I had been crying for hours and I was a mess.
I didn’t want my cheating husband—I loved him once, did I love him still?—to see me like this.
I didn’t want my sons to see me like this.
I cried some more.
I envisioned the scene. They were perhaps still sitting at the dining room table. Eating dessert? Or, maybe, lounging in the living room. Watching a Christmas movie. We usually watched a family movie on Christmas Eve, all four of us—we had done so ever since the kids were little, and Tyler had just mentioned how much he was looking forward to arguing with Cody about what movie they’d watch on Christmas Eve this year—oh-my-god-my-life-was-over.
Nika probably made popcorn. Or Tyler.
What would I do? Walk in, and say, “Oh, by the way, boys, your father’s cheating on me and I thought you all should know I know”?
A text from Nika: “Do you need anything?”
My response: “Courage.”
Hers: “Granted. All the courage you need.”
God. Was this child for real?
Text from Marcella: “How are you doing? What are you doing?”
Marcella: “Do you want me to come over?”
Me: “No. I’m going to be busy destroying my life.”
This is exhausting.
I can’t write any more today.
3 comments on Well, I don’t ruin Christmas Eve:
BeautifulThingsEveryday: Hugs, hugs, hugs, and love.
sugar&spice76: Oh, honey, honey, honey. How are you destroying your life? Are you the cheating asshat?
BeautifulThingsEveryday: She’s not but she’s got this massive I’m-A-Madonna-Martyr, Holier-Than-Thou, Marriage-Is-A-Sacrament, It-Always-Takes-Two Complex. I’ve been trying to get her laid ever since the asshole moved out, but no, she’s still married, she says.
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