Page 59 of Marriage and the Midlife Crisis

“God, no,” I groaned, “and I hope I don’t have to tell them. I’ll worry about that when the time comes, I guess.”

The subject changed to the Godwin hotel project, and we chatted about work for a while before I left. As soon as I got back to the condo, I sent Ryan a text asking what time his appointment with Kim was tomorrow.

When he replied that it was at four o’clock, I told him I’d be there.

Ryan: I appreciate it, but you don’t have to. I know Friday was a lot to deal with.

Me: I’ll be there.

Ryan: Thank you.

Chapter 20

Ryan

The weekend was rough.

I kept seeing the pain on Melanie’s face. Her tears. Her anger.

I was terrified that she would decide it was just too much to try to forgive, and I wasn’t sure I could blame her.

I was worried about her but took solace in the fact that our sons had come to spend the weekend with her. I kept my mind and body occupied by going to the gym and was greeted warmly by the owner, who told me he was glad to have me back.

I was happy to be back, and as I finished a punishing workout without having to watch some muscle-headed dude bro admiring himself in the mirror, I had trouble remembering why I’d ever left in the first place. I didn’t have to wait for some annoying fitness influencer to stop filming themselves for their social media platforms long enough to get out of the way, and there was no God-awful wheatgrass juice at the juice bar. In fact, there was no juice bar, only a filtered water cooler strategically placed in each corner of the space. It was a welcome change.

I was pleasantly surprised when the boys called to see if I wanted to grab some dinner Sunday evening, and I knew that I probably had Melanie to thank for it.

The conversation with them was stilted at first, especially when I asked how their mom was doing, but the awkwardness faded a little by the time the food arrived. It helped that I told them I was done with Mitch. It helped even more when Tanner noticed the bruising and the cut on my knuckles and I admitted that I’d punched him Tuesday night.

Garrett had laughed, and Tanner had given me a high-five.

I was in a slightly better frame of mind when I got home, and that improved even more when Melanie texted to say that she would be joining me at Kim’s office. I wasn’t looking forward to talking about my dad or Grady. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d feel as if I were being flayed alive.

Melanie thought it would help though, and I suspected she was right. I probably should have done it two years ago when she’d first suggested it. Maybe then I wouldn’t have fucked up my marriage.

I was able to keep a reasonably clear focus on my work for most of the day, including looking over some proposed changes one of our biggest clients wanted to make to the huge, lakeside home we were contracted to build for him, starting in March.

He had sent a series of emails over the weekend, each one detailing his wife’s latest demands, which included shifting the orientation of the house as it sits on the lot so that the kitchen faced east, bumping out two exterior walls to make the primary suite larger, and removing several interior walls which just happened to be load-bearing.

My computer pinged with an incoming email, and I opened it to find yet another missive from Julian Epperson.

“My wife would like an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. She saw it in a dream last night after being inspired by an episode of The Real Lives of Famous Wives. We need to add a seventh bedroom with attached bath as well, preferably on the main level.”

My mouth dropped open, then closed abruptly as I bit back a curse and called Dave into my office to tell him.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said, scrubbing his hand over his face in frustration.

I couldn’t blame him. The architect had designed the house for them over a year ago, and they’d made a dozen major changes since then, most of them based on TV shows, although up until now, they’d at least been design shows rather than a reality show featuring spoiled, rich women who drank way too much booze and knocked tables over on a regular basis. The final prints had been drafted a month ago, and now Stella Epperson wanted to change the whole damned house again.

“There’s no way we’re breaking ground on this house in March. They’ll be lucky if the architect gets the new plans drawn up by then, and that’s if we can get the load distribution to work.”

We spent a few minutes brainstorming ideas, but it still seemed like an insurmountable task.

“Increasing the depth and width of the footings would help with the foundation capacity, but even if we reinforce the walls here, and here,” I said as I pointed to the blueprints, “I doubt it will be enough to resist the lateral load, plus the plumbing installation will likely compromise the load path in that area anyway. I’ll run the calculations to have all the facts to present to them, but I’m telling you right now, I can’t see how those numbers are going to work.”

Dave shook his head, looking frustrated. “I’m beginning to wish that they had decided to go with Callahan Builders after all. I’m not sure who’s the bigger pain in the ass, her or him.”

My lips twisted in a grimace. “Neither of them are a prize, but my vote goes to her. From what I can tell, she’s the driving force and what Stella Epperson wants, Julian Epperson gives her.”