Heart of the Matter - Emily Giffin [43]
I drop my head to my hands and laugh. “Brutal,” I say.
“I know. She made me feel like a big pork chop that Dex might send back to the kitchen.”
“How about this one?” I say. “After she saw Nick open the car door for me recently she offered this nugget: ‘When a man opens the door of his car for his wife, you can be sure of one thing—either the car is new or the wife is.’”
Rachel laughs and then says, “Well? Was the car new?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I say. “Brand spanking . . . So anyway, I would never admit this to her, but quitting my job hasn’t really been the panacea I was hoping for. I feel just as frazzled and exhausted—and there still doesn’t seem to be enough time for the kids . . . For anything, really.”
“Yeah. It almost makes you feel more guilty, doesn’t it? For not being an arts-and-crafts kind of mom?”
“But you are,” I say, giving her an accusatory look.
“I am not,” she says. “I can’t tell you the last time I got out the art supplies with the girls. You theoretically have so much more time at home, but you fill it with the minutiae that you somehow managed to avoid when you were working.”
“Yes!” I exclaim again, feeling intense relief, as there’s nothing so despair-provoking as thinking you’re the only one who feels a certain way, especially when it comes to matters of motherhood—and correspondingly, nothing more comforting than knowing you’re not
alone. “That’s exactly it. I feel like I need a wife . . . Someone to handle the class projects and—”
“Run all the errands,” Rachel says.
“And buy the gifts.”
“And wrap them,” she says.
“And write the thank-you notes.”
“And put the photo albums together,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m two years behind—and only halfway finished with Julia’s baby book.”
“Hell, forget the albums. I’d settle for some help taking the photos,” I say, thinking of how I recently told Nick that if something were to happen to me, the kids would have no photos of their mother. He told me not to be so morbid, grabbing the camera from me and snapping a dark-circles-under-my-eyes, Clearasil-coating-a-big-zit-on-my-chin shot that I later deleted, shuddering to think that I might be remembered in such a grisly light. Or worse, viewed that way by another woman, Nick’s second wife, the only mother my children would ever know.
Then, just as I feel our playful gripes transforming into a no-holds-barred bitchfest, Rachel smiles and says, “Ahh. Yes. But lucky for them they are so darn cute. Inept though they are.”
I smile, puzzled at the idea of calling children “inept” and then realizing that she is not talking about the kids, but rather Dex and Nick.
“Right,” I say, my smile stretching wider. “Good thing.”
***
That night, long after everyone has departed and the kids have gone to sleep, Nick and I are in our room, getting ready for bed.
“That was a great weekend,” I say, rinsing my face. I pat it dry and apply a generous amount of moisturizer to my face and neck. “I love seeing the cousins together.”
“Yeah, it was fun,” Nick says as he rifles through his drawer and pulls out a pair of chambray pajama bottoms. “And your mother managed to behave herself reasonably well.”
I smile, going to my own dresser and selecting a black nightgown. It is made of a cotton-spandex blend and is not sexy in an obvious way, but the cut is flattering and I’m hoping it might spark something between Nick and me. It’s not so much that I’m in the mood for sex as I am for the intimate aftermath.
“Yeah,” I say. “But she gave me an earful yesterday morning.”
“About what?” he asks.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “She continues to worry . . .”
“What’s she worried about now?”
“The usual stuff. How hard marriage is with small children. How I shouldn’t have quit my job,” I say, suddenly realizing that her worries are crystallizing in my head, becoming my worries, too. Or maybe they were already brewing and were simply unearthed by a mother’s intuition.
“Did you tell her that we’re fine?” he says, but seems distracted as he checks his BlackBerry, then types a rapid response, his agile thumbs working in tandem.