Oscar barks twice, and Amanda pulls his leash from the basket. “He needs to pee, so we should get going.”
While Amanda pulls on her coat and boots, I glance toward the den, where Nate had disappeared immediately after breakfast. It grates on my nerves that he hasn’t come out to say hello to his daughter’s potential first boyfriend. He couldn’t have failed to notice the doorbell ringing and the barking. But I don’t want to call out to him and make a big deal out of it. That would be awkward for Amanda, so I let it be.
I move forward and hold the door open for her, Jeff, and the two dogs as they make their way outside and down the front steps.
After I shut the door behind them, I discreetly tug the curtain aside and peek out the window to spy. They’re talking and laughing as they walk down the street, and I’m relieved to see Amanda smiling again after such a bad week.
But as I let the curtain fall closed, my feelings take a sharp turn, and there’s a noisy pounding in my ears. I realize I’ve become a pressure cooker, and my lid is about to fly off.
Before I even realize what the hell I’m doing, I march down the hall to the den, where I find the door shut. I stop and stare at it for a few scorching seconds. Then I push forward and walk in without knocking.
Nate is talking on his cell phone, pacing around the room, arguing with someone about the wiring at the restaurant. He glances up at me briefly and holds up a finger to let me know that he can’t talk to me right now.
I wrestle my emotions into a stranglehold, back out of the room, and return to the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Nate finds me at the counter, making a sandwich for myself.
“They left already?” he asks.
I slather mayonnaise on two slices of bread. “Yes. They went out to walk the dogs. Maybe you can meet Jeff when they come back.”
He knows me well enough to recognize the anger in my tone. “Sorry. I wanted to meet him, but I couldn’t get off the phone. I was putting out a few fires. Not literal fires. You know what I mean.”
“I do.” I slap ham and cheese on one slice of bread, cover it with the other, and cut it in half. I set the knife down with a clatter, then swing around to face him. “I can’t do this anymore.”
All color drains from his face. “Do what?”
“Support you and the restaurant.”
He stares with wide eyes. “You mean financially? Babe, I haven’t asked you for money since we opened, except for last week, but that was a special circumstance.”
I shake my head. “You haven’t been able to take a salary in years, and I’m covering all our expenses. I’ve had to dip into our nest egg more than once to cover extra things for the kids. And now it looks like I’m going to have to cover this electrical fire, and I’m starting to worry that the restaurant is going to bankrupt us.”
“It’s not,” he assures me with a look of shock. “We have plenty of money in the bank.”
“Wedon’thave plenty of money!” I counter. “Not if I have to keep funneling it into the restaurant, and you know I’ve wanted to keep enough to cover the kids’ educations. When I sold my company, that money was supposed to be our retirement fund, but at this rate, we’ll blow through everything before Connor graduates from high school. Trust me, I did the math.”
Suddenly he looks worried. He pulls out a stool at the kitchen island and sits down. “You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
The lengthy silence between us is full of contentious energy.
“You’ve been angry a lot lately.” He shuts his eyes and shakes his head at himself. “I’m sorry I didn’t come out to meet Jeff earlier. I swear to you, I had every intention of it, and I promise I’ll stay home until they get back. I’ll meet him then.”
His words are hollow in my ears. “Every time you say you’ll do something or be somewhere ... in my mind, I’m thinking, ‘Yeah, sure.’ And that’s exactly what I’m thinking right now.”
He bows his head. “If we can just get over this hump with the wiring ... I promise you, things will get better.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “Seriously? You’re not hearing a word I’m saying! And I’m not just talking about money. I’m talking about your commitment as a husband and father because I might as well be a single parent. Me and the kids are at the bottom of your list of priorities.”
“That’s not true.”
I take a few seconds to try and settle down. Then I continue in a calmer voice. “I’ve been disappointed too many times, and every day, I feel like I’m being lied to ... taken advantage of—financially and in other ways too. I’m here to do your laundry and raise your kids and keep the house nice for when you come home. But what do you ever give back to me or the kids? Nothing.”
Though I’ve lost my appetite, I pick up the plate with my sandwich on it and carry it to the sofa in the family room, because I need an excuse to walk away from him.
“Sienna ...” He watches me sit down. “What can I do to fix this?”
