He says it like he’ll be doing me a favor by eating dinner with his family. “Okay,” I repeat.
He finishes his coffee. “I don’t want us to fight when I get home tonight.” His voice is careful, rehearsed. “Yesterday was…I don’t know. I just don’t need that kind of energy before a big day.”
And every day is a big day in Mr. Cardio God’s life!
“I won’t ask you to pick up Finn again.” I keep mytone level, but honestly, I want to throw something at him.
He sighs. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. Then he closes it. Checks his watch instead. “I have to go.”
“Have a nice day.”
He kisses my cheek. He always does. It’s also automatic.
He hesitates for a moment at the door, smiles at me. “Have a nice day, baby.”
Then he leaves. The door clicks shut behind him, and the house falls silent again.
No kids up yet. No noise. Just me, the coffee maker, and the faint smell of his aftershave and the loud sound of our silent fight, the words we didn’t say.
As an almost single mother, because that’s what I am, I don’t have time to dwell on this. I have to get ready. I have to wake the kids up. Get them to eat a nutritious breakfast. Drive them to school and then get to work, all by eight in the morning.
I’m running an endless marathon on weekdays.
On weekends, I have to go to the farmer’s market to stock up the fridge, get the laundry going, do the grocery shopping, thankfully online, and make sure the kids have everything they need. This weekend, Mikaela needs new tights and Finn needs new sneakers, so we may have to go to the mall.
If Rhys is not on call, or even if he is, he starts his weekends in the gym. Even at work, he tries to make sure he gets at least half an hour at the hospital gym for a workout.
When was the last time I went to a gym that didn’t involve picking up or dropping off the kids?
Never.
I think I should get a personal trainer and get this forty-plus-year body into some shape, but I never seem to have the time to. My friends have the time…they have spa weekends, but then their husbands are not Rhys.
“Surgeon or not, Jayne, he’s fucking selfish,” my friend Iris says whenever I tell her why I can’t make another girls’ night.
“He’s just swamped,” I protest.
“We’re all swamped, Jayne, but you deserve to have a life and some fun.”
So, after I drop the kids off, I make a decision. I call Iris on my way to the office.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?”
“You still going to Elk Room Friday night with the girls?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to join you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you had something with the hospital?” She sounds suspicious, and I don’t blame her.
