Matthew springs to his feet, eyes flashing. “Where the hell did you getthatfrom? It’s not about trust, it’s about me being a father, being the…”
He cuts himself off, jaw working.
“The man of the house?” I offer, my voice soft but sharp. “Because I’m some weak little gazelle that needs protecting?”
Matthew’s jaw tightens. He looks away, shoulders rigid. “I’m just… being here,” he mutters. “Most women would be happy to be taken care of.”
I work my jaw, trying to keep my voice steady. “As hard as it is to believe, not all women want to stay home and be homemakers.” My pulse hammers in my ears. “And don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the hardest jobs in the world. ButI don’t want it.”
He opens his mouth, but I shake my head before he can speak. “And besides,” I add, voice trembling but firm, “being taken care of isn’t the same as being treated like an equal.”
Matthe lets out a sigh, I can tell, he’s not listening, not really. But I have to try.
“I want to contribute to our family,” I say, emphasizing each word. “To our house. That shouldn’t all be on you. We’re young parents, neither of us exactly prepared for this. And don’t you want Penny to have a house someday? A yard, a dog?”
“I can do that.”
“Why should you?” I step closer, reaching for his hand. “Why do you want to run yourself ragged while I’m standing right here,offeringto take some of it?”
He looks away, his jaw ticking. Then, gently but firmly, he slips his hand out of mine. “I just don’t, alright?” His voice is low, strained. “I can’t stop you from working, but I sure as hell won’t be happy about it.”
With that, he turns and walks down the hall, leaving me standing there with my hands still half-raised.
So much for trying to make him understand.
I’dloveto do nothing all day. To just stay home and watch TV the way I did when I was pregnant, drifting through the days in a soft little bubble. But it wouldn’t be like that now. It would be me and Penny. Day in, day out. While Matthew’s always at work, trying to build a life whilelivingit.
But you can’t exactly build a house when your family’s already living inside.
Anyway, what I want is financial freedom. A say in my own life. Inourlife.
I know Matthew thinks he’s making the sacrifice now, that he’s doing the noble thing. But in two years, ten years… he’ll realize just how unfair it is. He’ll resent me for it.
And even if he doesn’t… what then? Am I supposed to depend on someone else for the rest of my life? Onmy daughter’sfather? Couples divorce. People die. Things fall apart. I want control. I want power.
Besides the Matthew I know, the sweet gentle man I married, will come around.
But he doesn’t.
For the next few weeks, he does everything he’s supposed to, he cooks, works, changes diapers, plays with Penny, except talk.
He doesn’t answer my questions. He doesn’t ask me to pass the wipes. He doesn’t look at me when he doesn’t have to.
I don’t know if he’s trying to change my mind or if he’s justthatangry, but either way, it only makes me want this job more.
Because what he’s showing me, loud and clear, is that if I don’t do what he wants, he’s going to throw a silent tantrum.
Well. Screw him.
Tomorrow I’m going over to Zara’s to meet the new nanny.
I don’t start my new job at the travel agency until next week, but Zara and I agreed it would be better to ease Marta in, gradually introduce her to the kids instead of just throwing her into the chaos.
Marta is sweet. She’s in her fifties, with kind eyes and a calm, no-nonsense attitude. She’s the kind of woman who’d give you an extra cookie but you’d never dare talk back to. She raised her twin boys alone, so we know she can handle two babies without breaking a sweat.
Zara’s covering about seventy percent of Marta’s salary while I pay thirty. She says it’s because Marta will be watching the kids atherhouse, and she’s also agreed to do Thiago’s laundry and a few other household things.
But I know better.
