Or, at least, we used to be able to.
Karan’s gaze falls to the ground. “I can join you guys after.” The deep timber of his voice is so low it’s almost a whisper.
“Your parents can live one night without TV or the internet.” Frustration balls itself up like a tight fist in my chest. “It’s really not that serious.”
I hold onto a lock of my long chestnut hair flowing over my shoulder and grip it tight, my knuckles turning white.
This man is literally going to make me pull my hair out.
Ever since Surinder and Martine moved to Montréal earlier this year, Karan has been like this; running right to his mommy whenever the tiniest thing is wrong. It doesn’t matter if the twins have soccer practice, if he literally just walked in from doing overtime at work, or, like tonight, if we have plans withother people.
Most of the time, I let it go. Although the doctors have assured us that Martine is almost completely out of danger, she’s still undergoing the final bouts of treatment for cervical cancer.
But this isn’t about her cancer. I don’t know what it’s about, but the weight of it has been suffocating me.
Karan drags his hand down his thick beard. “It’ll give me a chance to say hi to the boys. You’re always saying I don’t spend enough time with them.”
I close my eyes and sigh. There’s no use. His mind is made up. And frankly, I don’t want to fight with my husband. I see him so little as it is. The last thing I want is to poison what little time we have together.
Or to hand that time over to his mom, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers, apparently.
“The reason the boys are with your parents in the first place is because we were supposed to go out,” I let out, teeth clenched. “But whatever. Fine.”
“Rachel…” He grabs my arm before I can reach for the door handle.
Once upon a time, the sensation of his hand on my skin would light me up with stars. Make me forget everything else plaguing me.
Now it feels like nothing more than… just a hand.
I turn back to him. With more than a foot in height difference, I have to crane my neck up to meet his gaze.
“I said fine, Karan. Just go. I don’t want to fight.”
He lets my arm go.
I hurry out the door without another word, the cold December evening air hitting my face with a thermal shock.
Karan follows sheepishly behind me as I make my way down the winding staircase leading to the sidewalk. I turn left to head toward the metro station.
“I’ll join you guys as soon as I’m done!” Karan calls out to me, waving with the car keys in hand.
He’s taking the car to head to his parents’ place, since the metro doesn’t make it all the way to Pointe-aux-Trembles.
I muffle a quick sound of affirmation, but I don’t look back.
I cross my arms to protect myself against the cold winds of the oncoming winter. Gritting my teeth, I try to get my mind on something else—anything else—besides my husband and his antics.
I never wanted to bethatwife. The nagging wife. The wife who complains about her mother-in-law. A mother in law who hascancer.
When I stood on the altar and said “I do,” I didn’t only vow to love Karan in sickness and in health. I vowed to myself to stay true to who I was. I refused to let the difficulties of life slowly poison me and turn me into a frigid bitch.
I wouldn’t say I’m at “frigid bitch” levels yet, but damn do I feel myself getting there sometimes.
I can’t let myself get there. I’m not… I’m notthem.
To get my mind off my argument with Karan and hopefully arrive at karaoke night in a better mood, I take out my phone and dial my sister Océane’s number. She picks up almost immediately.
“Why are you calling, you weirdo?”
