Quickly glancing at my wife’s back, I was contemplating if I should wake her or not and simply brush off the tiny argument we’d had earlier.
“Lily?” I whispered, half of me wishing she was up, and the other half wishing she was having the sweetest dreams. I couldn’t face any more questions.
Letting out a breath of relief when she didn’t respond, I then shut my eyes and tried to calm my nerves.
Wednesdays were going to be hellish days from there on out.
*
“For the love of God, answer the fucking phone!” I yelled with full frustration before slamming my cell phone on my polished-wood office table.
It had been two days since the night we’d had an argument, and whatever communication I had tried with Lily had been coldly rejected. Even at home, she would barely glance at me and barely acknowledged my existence. The previous night was the first time I came home to no food to eat, which was rather surprising since she and I had always planned in advance whoever’s turn it was to cook. However, with her on bed rest, she had eagerly offered to do the cooking until she was back to work. Therefore, when I got home the day before, I hadn’t expected to be starved.
If her intentions were to punish me, hitting below the belt through hunger wasn’t taken lightly. Famished people didn’t take kindly to poor treatment.
I wasn’t particularly angry with her when I had to make two turkey sandwiches to barely fill my stomach, but had she told me beforehand that she didn’t feel like eating, I could have at least ordered something for us to eat. Better yet, I could have done the cooking. However, since I had arrived home sometime around ten p.m., ordering out or cooking were not feasible options.
Even after the dinner debacle, when I tried to join her in watching her shows, she immediately jumped off the couch, excusing herself to do something like folding laundry, clean the kitchen, or wash the dishes. The house was so clean I didn’t believe the crap she was shoving at me. Instead of calling her on her bullshit, though, I told myself I should let her be and take the crap she was giving me. Besides, it wasn’t as if I didn’t deserve her treatment.
Maybe she knew me too well. Well enough to know I was lying through my teeth.
However, whatever it was she was concocting, she knew me better than to believe I would be a cheater. I deserved far more than that. I’d had my fair share of promiscuity, but I took my marriage vows seriously.
Had she put more faith and trust in me, maybe it wouldn’t even be an issue. Then again, it went to show just how much she trusted me, which wasn’t much if she was already punishing me for something that was out of my hands.
If my patience wasn’t already tested by the previous day’s events, when I got home that night, Lily had ultimately cut off all eye contact with me. Even when I wanted to kiss her goodnight on the cheek, she cocked her head to the side to avoid my lips. What’s more, when I asked her if there was something wrong, she simply answered with a cold “nothing.”
How could it be nothing when there was something that was obviously bothering her?
When I pressed to discuss what was going on with her, she shut down all of my attempts. Therefore, when she kept on rejecting my efforts, I thought it best to give her some time to come to terms with whatever she was feeling. Maybe, hopefully, after that she would open up to me. As of this moment, though, she obviously wasn’t ready to talk.
I let her be, not particularly avoiding her, per se, but mostly giving her space. It seemed that, whenever I was around, her mood would immediately darken, and I didn’t want to be the culprit of that. I doubted her mood swings were good for the baby; therefore, I made myself scarce around the house by burning through work so I would be on top of my game. And I was, much to my father’s happiness and mine.
The satisfaction only lasted until I reached home, and then the whole process of remorse and feeling utterly desolate from my own wife began once more.
In the beginning, the process became painful as the days dragged on, but when those days turned into weeks, the pain became a dull, stinging ache.
As for Shannon, she bored me to tears with her endless chatter. I usually gave her an hour to yap her mouth away while I drank myself to tears or worked through it. Once the time was up, I would dash out of there as if Satan was chasing after me.
The only thing that was consistent in my life was work, and as much as I hated to admit it, it was the only thing that gave me comfort these days.
My wife, my pride and happiness, was all but ignoring me. I felt like she was going through the pregnancy all on her own. She immediately made me feel like an outsider—an intruder—when I asked her if I could see the sonogram photos or asked what were the new stages she was experiencing in her body, which was blatantly forming, stretching to accommodate the growing life inside of her. All those mild inquiries and sentiments were brushed off as if I was wasting my time trying to even talk to her.