huh? Sounds yummy.”
“It was.” He kissed her on the lips, then leaned his head against her cheek. “I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you, too, little man.”
She lowered him to the floor. Tyler headed back to the living room and she walked into the kitchen. There were dishes everywhere. The plastic container that had contained the “sketty” Tyler had enjoyed, along with everything from breakfast and lunch.
The pain in her legs moved up to her back. Frustration joined weariness. She walked into the bedroom and saw the laundry she’d sorted at five that morning still in piles. Hadn’t he done anything?
Eric walked into the kitchen and smiled at her. “Hey, hon. How was your day?” As he spoke, he stepped close and kissed her. “I know you’re going to say fine and that you’re tired, but I gotta tell you, you look hot in workout clothes.”
The compliment defused her annoyance for a second. “Thank you and my day was fine. Long, but good. How was yours?”
“Excellent. I rewrote a scene three times but now I have it right. At least I hope so. I’ll find out at my critique group on Saturday. In the meantime, I have class tonight, so I’ll see you later.”
She stared at the man she’d married. He was so similar to the guy she remembered and yet so totally different. He still wore his hair a little too long and had hideous taste in loud Hawaiian shirts. But the old Eric had taken care of the details of their life, while this guy didn’t seem to notice anything beyond his screenplay.
She told herself to breathe. That yelling never accomplished anything.
“I’d love to read the new scene,” she told him.
“You will. When it’s perfect.”
The same answer she always received. Because he’d yet to let her read a word of his work. Which sometimes left her wondering if he was writing anything at all. Which made her feel guilty, which led to her wanting to bang her head against the wall in frustration.
“I gotta run.” He kissed her again, then straightened. “Well, shit. I forgot to do the dishes. Leave them. I’ll do them when I get home. Or in the morning. I promise.”
“Okay,” she murmured, knowing she would do them herself. Something inside of her made it impossible to relax with a sink full of dishes sitting around. “Any chance you got to the sheets today?”
His expression turned blank. “Did I say I would?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Oh, man. I’m sorry.”
“I appreciate that, but Eric, we need to talk about this. You’re excited about your screenplay and that’s great, but lately it seems you’re doing less and less around here.”
“I’m not. I do the grocery shopping and take care of Tyler when he’s not in day care. I forgot the dishes, but I’ll do them. And the laundry.” His expression tightened. “You have to understand. It’s all about the writing for me. I’ve got to focus. That’s my job. I know it’s not paying anything right now, but it will. When I’m working, I’m as committed as you are at your job. I need you to respect my time.”
“I do.” Sort of, she thought grimly. “I need to be able to depend on you.”
“You can. Trust me.” He glanced at his watch. After picking up his backpack, he headed for the door. “Tomorrow. I swear. I’ll get it all done. Gotta go. Bye.”
And he was gone.
She stood alone in the kitchen and let various emotions wash over her. Annoyance, confusion, exhaustion, regret. They churned and heated until they formed a large knot in her belly.
Respect his time writing while she busted her ass to support them all? She closed her eyes. No, she told herself. That wasn’t fair. He was working. At least she hoped he was.
The changes in her relationship with her husband had started so quietly, in such tiny increments, that she’d barely noticed. Excluding his decision to quit, of course.
At first he’d taken care of stuff around the house. The laundry, the grocery shopping. But over time, that had changed. He forgot to get everything on the list. He put clothes in the washer, but not the dryer. He didn’t pick up Tyler at day care. Now he wasn’t cleaning up the kitchen as he’d promised.
She thought about going after him to talk about what was happening, then shook her head. He would be focused on getting to class. Soon, she promised herself. She would sit down with him and talk about what was wrong. She didn’t want to have a roommate, she wanted a husband. Someone who was invested in their family, and not totally focused on his own dream.
Did he really think he was going to sell a screenplay? The odds against that were what? A billion to one? Talk about ridiculous. And yet there was a part of her that wondered if he would make it happen.
The knot in her stomach didn’t ease. But that wasn’t important right now. She picked up the empty laundry basket. Prioritize, she told herself. She could probably stay awake through two loads, so which were the most important?
Five minutes later their old washer was chugging away. She turned the radio on to an oldies station and danced with Tyler as they worked together to tidy the kitchen. Or rather she worked and he shimmied while “Help Me, Rhonda” played. By seven the dishes were in the dishwasher and the food put away. Tyler had had his bath the previous night so they had a whole hour before his bedtime.
She sank onto the floor in front of her son and smiled at him. “What would you like to do? We could play a game, or watch a show.” She didn’t offer to read a story, because that went without saying. Except for the two nights she worked late, she always read him a story. Usually some adventure about wily Brad the Dragon.
“A movie!”
“There’s only an hour.”
“Okay.”
Tyler took off running toward the family room. His shows and movies were on a lower shelf where he could browse on his own. She walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. Nothing much inspired her, although she knew she had to eat. She picked a blueberry yogurt and an apple.
“This one,” Tyler told her, holding out a familiar and battered DVD case.
Nicole studied the grainy picture on the front. It was sixteen years old. She’d been all of fourteen and this was a copy of her audition performance for The School of American Ballet in New York. For their summer session.
Not the actual audition. No one was allowed to watch, let alone record that. But she’d re-created the dance for her mother. On the same DVD were a half dozen other performances.
“Honey, you’ve seen that so many times,” she reminded her son. “Don’t you want to watch something else?”
He thrust out the DVD—his small face set in a stubborn expression she recognized.
“Okay, then. Dancing it is.”
She put in the DVD, then settled on the sofa. Tyler
