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“She’s not allowed to talk about my health with anyone! That’s against the law!”
“Lying to your husband about things like that should be against the law.” I head to the kitchen cupboard, pull out a glass and fill it from the tap with our well-water, tastier than city even when its filtered. I wanna throw the glass, but that’s not my style. If I’m anything, I’m a man who controls his emotions. Even this fight is me holding back. But it ain’t easy now that I’ve woken up to what’s really been going on here.
I gulp down the water and set down the glass, turn around to face her and repeat some of the lies she’s told me, “My back hurts. My arthritis is kicking up otherwise I’d love to help you on the farm. I’m sorry I can’t clean up after dinner. I would drive Jonny to school but…”
“Ben…”
“Don’t smile all cute like that at me, Shelby.”
She comes closer, tilting her head, a blonde curl falling over one of her big eyes. “Benny.”
Not falling for it this time, the fake innocence, the manipulation, the victimhood, I answer with zero emotion, “It’ll get you nowhere this time.”
Like a shot, the smile turns to sneering. “You’re a bastard, Ben! I hate you!”
“I’m glad I don’t hate you. Even if you are a narcissist.”
“I’m not a narcissist!”
“YOU ARE THE DEFINITION OF A NARCISSIST!”
Shelby’s lip trembles, “If I’m so terrible, why did you marry me?”
“Because I didn’t know. Now, go back to your mother’s. Jonny’s safe and I don’t want you here tonight.”
“This is my house, too!”
“You’re not getting this house. It’s my house. I’ll have to pay you alimony, but this house is mine. It’s my livelihood, and I owned it before we got together.”
“You’re still paying on it!”
“Have you ever paid on it?!”
“I’m your wife! You want a hired hand!”
“Because I expect you to help me carry the load?”
“I’m not a farmer, Ben!”
“Then why the fuck did you marry one and not get a job to help me pay for our home?! For clothing for us and our son. Health insurance! Am I supposed to do that and cook and clean? Where do you come in? Where is this a partnership? Because I’m pretty sure watching reality TV shows doesn’t add to anyone’s life and it’s never added to ours. Don’t pull that shit with me. This is both of our responsibility. We used to work together, in the beginning! Then you weaseled your way out, with one excuse or another, until I felt like I was hurting you if I asked you to throw in your share of the work. I make all the meals?—”
“—I make breakfast!”
“Cereal isn’t cooking. And the only reason you make orange juice is because you love it.” I motion to the living room I cleaned. “You had Jonny doing all of the chores you could do, pretending to me like it was you who kept it nice!”
“I cleaned the house!”
“Bullshit. You think I didn’t see you pick up the Lysol when I walked in, grabbing that rag pretending like you’d been helping Jonny clean up the whole time I was outside? I watched from the window toward the end there just to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind. Every single time, you were on the couch and he was cleaning.”
“You were spying on me? When?”
“Right before I called it quits.”
“That’s…that’s…” Her eyes flicker as her mind tries to conjure a sword to throw.
“Shelbs, it’s over. I’m done. Just the thought of losing you makes me feel a hundred and twenty-seven pounds lighter.”
Her weight.
