At first look, the coaster looks undamaged. But when I turn it over, one of the corners is chipped. “Darn it,” I mutter while scowling at it. As I stand, I glare at the offending duster. “Stupid duster.”
But it wasn’t the duster’s fault. It was mine.
If I’d been using it like a normal person, this would never have happened. But no, I decided to whip the duster around like I was trying to create a small hurricane. And now one of Haley’s Christmas coasters is ruined.
Sorrow wells up, swift and all-encompassing. Pressure builds behind my eyes.
Logically, I know I shouldn’t be this upset about a little chip. And the coaster’s not ruined. When it’s turned back over, the damage won’t even be noticeable.
But it’s one more disappointment to add to the others.
One more disappointment after a day that started out so well.
With a heavy sigh, I flop onto the couch and lean my head back to look up at the ceiling. My attention is drawn to a discolored patch just above my head, and then a tiny, wandering crack just to the right of it.
I sigh again.Great. Two more things to add to the never-ending list of things to fix.
Most days, I try not to let the condition of the house bother me. Most days, I categorize the assorted dings and scratches and creaky floorboards as things that add character. I figure as long as the important things—the furnace, the hot water heater, the roof—are in working order, we’re in pretty good shape.
Would Iliketo have a brand-new house with fresh paint and gleaming floors? Sure. But it’s not something I spend time thinking about.
Although, now that I’m thinking about houses, I’m not sure I would want a brand new one. A new house, like the one the Ryans moved into last year, doesn’t have history. It doesn’t hold memories. A new house wouldn’t have the doorframe marked with Haley’s yearly measurements. A new house wouldn’t have the little cubby in Haley’s bedroom closet, where she still likes to go and read on stormy days.
As my vision blurs, and the ceiling transforms into a wash of dingy white, I let myself consider why I’m really upset. And why I’ve been cleaning like a dervish for the last two hours, scrubbing the bathrooms until my hands are red and raw, and vacuumingthe carpets so thoroughly it’s a miracle there’s anything left of them.
It’s not because of the coaster.
It’s not the meandering crack in the ceiling or the weird stain beside it.
It’s not being alone in the house while Haley’s gone for a sleepover.
It’s not even because of anything specific that happened. Nothing I can put my finger on and say,That’s it. That’s what I’m mad about. That’s why I’m sad.
But I am sad. And cranky. And even sitting on the couch for this long makes me feel all itchy, like I need to be doing something.
Too restless to stay still, I jump up again. I set the coaster back on the coffee table and pick up the duster, then return it to the hall closet before I can damage something else with it. I glance at the shelf of cleaning products inside, debating if I should attempt to clean the dusty chandelier in the dining room.
But after a few moments’ consideration, I decide against it. Given what just happened to the coaster, who knowswhatcould happen to the antique chandelier. And I’d rather not end up with a pile of shattered glass on the dining room table at close to ten o’clock at night.
So I close the door with another sigh and walk back into the living room. The empty couch and the blank screen of the TV taunt me; a bitter reminder of how Ithoughtmy night would turn out.
When Haley asked about having a sleepover with Tess tonight, I was excited about it. Not that I wanted to shove my kid off on someone else, but the timing seemed perfect. Haley could continue her day of fun with Tess—“We can make Christmas bracelets while we watchElfand drink hot chocolate,” Haley explained after her hasty conference with Tess during the waitfor Santa—and I would get some alone time with Ronan. We might even get a chance to do some of the things I’ve fantasized about but haven’t dared with Haley home.
But in the time it took for me to wait for Santa with Haley, something changed.
Ronan didn’t want to come over to watch a movie anymore.
His smiles didn’t come as easily, although, to his credit, he always had one ready for Haley.
When he looked at me, his eyes weren’t soft with affection. Instead, his gaze was distant.
Sometimes, when I’d ask him a question, he’d hesitate before answering, like his mind was somewhere else.
He stopped finding opportunities to touch me, like he had before. Although I want to think I was imagining things, it felt like he was intentionally trying to keep distance between us.
When he brought Haley and I home, and Haley went racing into the house ahead of me, I thought Ronan might have tried to give me a quick kiss goodnight. But he didn’t. He just smiled, told me to sleep well, and that we’d talk soon.
Not,I’ll text you later. Not,I’ll call tomorrow. There was no mention of seeing each other again. It was just,Sleep well. Talk soon.
