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“Both?” In hindsight, telling my mother that I planned to whisk Marigold away from work and tell her I wanted to try again hadn’t been the brightest idea.
She yanked the dishcloth from her shoulder and swatted me with it. “Come on. I’ve got leftover German chocolate cake from card night.”
Ten minutes later, I’d been forced onto the couch and covered with a blanket, despite the warm spring day. I had a mug of coffee in my hand and a plate of cake on the table beside me.
Mom sat on the love seat opposite me. “Your dad is headed back with the boys, so we’ve got about ten minutes before you’re bombarded by hoodlums.”
I sipped my coffee and let out a sigh. “I don’t even know where to start.”
It went south so quickly. After our kiss yesterday, I was hopeful that we were finally there. I wanted to believe it was confirmation that the spark that had reignited between us was real. That we could feed it and fan its flames. That we could make this work.
“Let’s jump into where things started going wrong.”
“I brought up the divorce. So we could clear the air, I guess? Felt like if we dug out all the bad, then we could replant the good. But that only made her break down even more. She said I was only ever happy at work. Was I happy at work? Yes, because working meant I was providing for them. But when I’d come home at night, she just seemed so miserable. Like my presence was bringing her down. I just felt like this…I don’t know. A giant burden, I guess.”
Mom hummed, sipping her tea. She set it on her ladybug coaster and scooted to the edge of the love seat. “Liam, honey, have you ever had to ask permission to take a shower?”
I frowned at her. “What?”
“Have you ever had to ask to take a shower?”
Had she been listening to a word I said? What did this have to do with Marigold and me? Goodness, at what age should I be watching my parents for dementia? I thought I’d have at least a few more years, but apparently not.
“Mom, we’re talking about me and Marigold.”
She pinched her eyes shut in frustration. “I know that.”
Blowing out a breath, I humored her and gave it a moment of thought. I had four siblings, and we all shared a bathroom growing up. Sometimes Adam and I would punch each other in the throat whilst fighting over whose turn it was. But did I ever have to ask to shower? No, definitely not.
“Uh, no?”
Mom took a deep breath in through her nose and slid back again, resting against the cushion behind her. “Maybe you should look at things from a different angle.”
My stomach was knotting, but I was lost. “How so?”
“Think about it. When you want just five minutes to yourself, you get it, right?”
I shrugged. “Well, yeah.”
She laced her fingers in her lap and fixed me with an intent look. “Well, moms don’t get that. Especially when our children are small. Don’t get me wrong, we wouldn’t trade it for the world, but sometimes we just need a break. We need someone to see us and tell us it’s okay to step away and take a moment for ourselves. And when we don’t get that, we can feel resentful.”
“If she’d asked for help, I would’ve done more—”
“Your father said the same when Adam was a baby. We were young and dumb and fought like we were on an episode of WWE SmackDown every time I was slightly irritated.”
I lurched forward a little. “You and Dad fought?”
They never had. Not in front of us. They’d always been the perfect couple who agreed on everything from what we should eat for dinner down to finances.
Mom chuckled. “Of course we fought. Having a healthy marriage doesn’t mean you never argue. It doesn’t mean the absence of conflict. It means you have the ability to grow past the conflict. To show up daily and choose each other first. Your dad loves me, as much as I believe a man can, but in those early days, he had no idea the toll being a mom took on me. So maybe think back to those days, when the boys were young, and let it give you some perspective.”
I sank into the couch in the same way my heart sank in my chest. Was I really that out of touch? Had I not noticed that Marigold was drowning? Yeah, she was tired. And sure, when the boys started walking, they followed her everywhere and made it hard for her to get a moment alone. She’d have to pee so badly by the time she found a free second to do so, and then they’d practically break down the door just to see her.
Heck, when she took a shower, she would have to—ohhh. Oh no.
How had I not noticed that she needed my help? I’d been so focused on providing more for her, bringing in money for food and our home and a new car, thinking that would make her happy. I thought that if I created a firm enough foundation financially, then she would be fine. I worked late every day in hopes of getting her the dream house she’d talked about when we were in college. But all that time, what she really needed was support and a little help. And instead of giving her that, instead of being a supportive partner, I poured myself into my work.
This was bad. This was really, really bad.
