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“We?” she blurted. “We?”
“I mean…” Mark studied Anne as if the right answer was elusive. “I know I’ve been working a lot—too much, probably. But we’ve had some big cases come in, and I couldn’t pass up the overtime.”
“Right. Well, thank you for your sacrifice.”
“I took you out to dinner. It’s not like we haven’t spent any time together.”
“I appreciate that. I do. But what I really need is about a week of sleep.”
“You’re not thinking…”
“Yes, Mark.” Anne wheeled to face her husband. “I’m thinking about running away for a week and leaving the kids with the babysitter. Again. Is that what you wanted me to say?”
Mark’s eyes narrowed. “That is not funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“Sweetheart, I understand you are stressed and tired and exhausted and sick of the kids being sick. But you’re taking this out on me. Can we just talk about it? Maybe make an appointment with Dr. Olsen?”
“I don’t feel like talking, and I especially don’t feel like talking to a shrink.”
“Come here. I think you need a back rub and a nice bath. Take a little time to cool down, collect yourself, and this will pass.”
“What exactly will pass?”
“This…the rough patch. Whatever it is. The kids are growing up so fast. The twins will be out of diapers soon enough. Car seats will be next. Before you know it, you’ll be wondering where your babies went.”
“That’s not what this is about. This is about my life falling to pieces, Mark.” Anne waved her arms toward the dresser. “Look at the stupid vanity. The drawers don’t work. My things are ruined. I wake up the entire house every time I need to grab a bra. And for crying out loud, it’s not even a real vanity! It’s a set of drawers playing dress-up.”
Mark stilled. “I never knew that bothered you. I thought it was sentimental. We made it, you and me. It was one of the first pieces of furniture we owned together.”
“Yes. We still own it almost twenty years later, and it’s a piece of crap.”
Mark looked at the tipsy drawer, the clothes scattered on the floor. Then he quietly began to pick everything up and pile it into haphazard stacks on the bed. Underwear. Makeup. A few bras that had toppled out.
When he finished, he gently slid the drawer back into place, tested it a few times. Aside from the errant squeak that had been there for years and never bothered Anne before, it worked perfectly. Then he went through and checked every other drawer. They all worked just fine. Once he finished, he turned and left the room.
Anne sank back to the floor. Tears were stuck somewhere deep in her psyche, not interested in leaving. She felt stuck. Stuck, stuck, stuck. She couldn’t cry; she couldn’t calm. All she could do was stare at the dresser, every chip and flaw on display, formerly charming, now a nuisance.
When the sun went down outside her bedroom window, Anne finally pulled herself together. She stepped into her closet and stared at the racks of clothing there. Nothing would work.
She reached down, fumbled through her shoeboxes, and found the lucky winner. Sitting on the floor of her closet, shrouded by old dresses and jeans hanging over her shoulders, Anne released the emergency bottle of vodka from her stash and tipped its contents into her mouth. She frowned, smacked her lips. God, her tolerance was getting strong. Since when had Grey Goose started tasting like water?
Anne took one more swig and then tucked her darling bottle back into the box where it belonged. She kicked it against the wall and then stood, waiting for the alcohol to kick in. It did but just barely as she thumbed through her dreary old selection of clothes.
Everything Anne owned screamed “mom” across it in bold, invisible letters. Yoga pants. Button-down shirts. Sweatshirts that boasted the name of Gretchen’s dance studio or Samuel’s soccer team. Even her jeans were high-waisted and unattractive.
It wasn’t until Anne really got creative digging around in the back of her closet and unearthed the few things she’d hoarded from her pre-baby days that she found a winner. A bright wrap dress in a shade of blood red that Anne had purchased some ten years back on a shopping date with Eliza. She’d never worn it.
Anne pulled it out and held it against her body. Because the fabric was flowy and the style a wrap, it was forgiving enough to slide easily around Anne’s four-babies-later physique.
After thirty minutes of preparations, Anne paraded downstairs, expecting everyone’s heads to turn. Unfortunately, she had overestimated her family’s observation skills.
When she reached the landing, she found Gretchen sitting on the couch with a bowl of ice cream in her lap and a can of whipped cream next to her. Samuel was perched like a cat on the high back of an armchair where, like the cat, he wasn’t allowed to climb.
The twins were fussing with one another on the floor in front of the TV, alternating between staring at the screen and whacking one another with a toothbrush in the shape of a banana. Mark had put on a ball game and kicked his feet up on the ottoman.
As Anne watched, Mark leaned over and swiped the whipped cream from his daughter. He encased the entire tip in his mouth and depressed the nozzle until it hissed with the blissful sound of ejaculating whipped cream. Then he shot a cheesy smile at Gretchen before swallowing.
