“You have no idea the pressure I’m under! This baby is a boy. Do you know how bad I have always wanted a son? And if I don’t do everything right, I’ll never see him. You’re just a spoiled rich girl who knows nothing about what I’m going through. Everyone’s life isn’t as perfect as yours,” he spits out at me. “You think they’re your friends, but they’ll get sick of your whining. Watch and see.”
Rich? Where’d he get that from? He’s seen my mom’s house. My parents run chain restaurants. They’re well-spoken and professional, but my dad constantly made poor business decisions. I was lucky to have two pairs of shoes at the same time, which could explain my affinity for them now.
I rub my face, ruining most of the makeup I applied before the phone call. I hate this constant push and pull. He was so sweet in the beginning. We worked together like a well-oiled machine and joked about that being what initially attracted us to each other.
Since he’d worked at Pop’s in the past, we could manage a Sunday afternoon rush like all-star pros playing Little League. We’d laugh about the moody customers while we ate together on our breaks.
He’d make my favorite mushroom-Swiss burger with chicken breast instead of a beef patty just the way I like it, even though he thinks mushrooms are disgusting. And he seasoned my fries perfectly.
Now if I want fries, he has the nerve to ask me if I think that’s a good idea since I’m “not as active as I used to be.”I’m sorry, but I didn’t get this booty without the help of a few fries now and then. I work out and play basketball with my brother or Annie and the guys, but he wouldn’t know what I do. It’s not like he’d join us.
I’ve asked.Repeatedly.As soon as I sayguysor evenfriends,he hates everyone, and the day is ruined. He doesn’t want to be around Annie, either, so it’s not only about the guys.
He used to worry if a movie had too muchswearing because he knew I hated it. Now he swears all the time, like he’s daring me to confront him, and dates have been entirely off the table for months. He says it’s because of his work hours and trying to save money, which I understand, but I’m a pretty cheap date. There are free music festivals and movies in the park all summer.
But he says no to everything except his one love: golf.
The first time I went with him, we ran into some old friends from his high school team. They seemed nice. When Nathan failed to introduce us, they interrupted him to greet me and slapped him on the back, telling him he outkicked his coverage. They relived their glory days of going to state and regional tournaments, pausing occasionally to ask me questions like where I’m from or if I played sports.
It was odd to me that guys who grew up together didn’t keep in touch despite still living in the same town, since I keep in touch with friends in several states.
Nathan rambled on, mostly monopolizing the conversation. He told them he gave up his scholarship after a year because he hated being away from home, but that wasn’t the story he’d told me. Then he went on about making far more money at the warehouse than most people he knows with college degrees.
They nodded and smiled, giving me sympathetic glances. I got the impression that maybe they were the upper crust of his class, and he was trying to impress them. Maybe they hadn’t been close at all. It was confusing.
The other times I went with him, he ignored me altogether, leaving me to chat with his brother while he talked about work with his dad and brother-in-law. So I stopped going. It’s fine if he has interests apart from me; I just wish we had some together. I thought we did.
I eagerly attended family cookouts and their church events with him, usually finding some friendly relative to chat with while he socialized. Easter was fun, hiding eggs for all the kids and singing hymns with his cousins while we roasted hot dogs and s’mores over a firepit. Oddly, he would never eat that kind of food, but he watched me with such adoration. I overheard him ask an elderly woman, “Do you hear her?” while he beamed with pride.
So many people said I was responsible for bringing him back to his family, but that’s not true. He made the changes. According to him, I was the reward for turning his life around.
I felt so seen and loved.
Valued.
But little by little—slowly, then all at once—it was gone.
Now Nathan expects me to drive to his brother’s house to see him, as if my time is less important. And he resents my ability to stay positive, as if I shouldn’t be happy.
Maybe he’s testing me to see if I’ll stay through hard times. I don’t like it, but I want him to have a relationship with his child. I want to help.
Iwantedus to be on the same team, but he treats me like the enemy, and I’m tired of defending myself whenmychoices didn’t get us here.
He’s been ranting about how I think I’m better than everyone when I realize I’ve tuned him out.
“Yeah, everyone isn’t as perfect as me. I’ve heard that before,” I say without emotion. “I’ll figure out the car thing myself.”
I give up.
“You know I don’t know anything about cars, and I don’t intend to learn now. Not my thing. And I don’t know where this doctor’s office is or how long it’ll take, and then I have to work out, shower, and be at work by four. I told you to call Jackson or Dad. That’s TWO options,” he says, repeating the same unhelpful suggestion.
Talking to him lately feels like a marathon of circles in a hall of mirrors.
Somebody stop the ride. I want off.
“Okay, well, have a good day and night at work. I’ll talk to you later,” I say, trying to end the call as quickly as possible. I can see that I didn’t make the priority list again today, so I need to get busy.
“Oh, just great. Now you’re mad,” he says.
