unbearable.
Taking, taking, taking.
That’s what this was, and she was done being on the losing side of the transaction.
When it was over, she rolled off Daniel and smiled.
“I think I’ll catch the end of the game,” he said, pecking her on the mouth as he climbed out of the bed. “Love ya.”
“Love you, too,” she said back to him, with an insidious sarcasm. When he was gone, she removed herself to the bathroom and took a shower.
ELEVEN
PINK NAILS AND CEREAL BOXES
“D o YOU LIKE MY nails, Mom?”
Marie studied the little pink fingertips that were being held so close to her eyes that she had trouble focusing. “They’re great, Suzanne.”
It was just after eight and the girls were in their beds, ready to be tucked in. Suzanne lay down and pulled the spread up to her chin, leaving only her hands exposed. She turned them around to face her and inspected the manicure one last time.
“Do you think the color is right?”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Marie was doing her best to take the beauty nonsense seriously. To her vexation, this had become a mandatory job requirement in mothering her third-grader.
“There’s no right or wrong with nail color, Suz. It’s just what you like.”
Her daughter seemed to ponder this, though her discomfort was still palpable.
“Katy Kirk picked dark purple. It’s really cool. I think pink is for babies.”
“Then why did you pick pink?”
“Because I liked it at the time. But sometimes I like the wrong things.”
Marie sighed, then gently pressed the back of her hand to her daughter’s cheek. “Everyone does that once in a while.”
Believe me.
“But with nail polish, there is no wrong,” Marie said, at the same time realizing that she had already tried that tack to no avail. Then, giving in to the evil forces of society that objectified women and were seeping into her home like one of those bird flus that had everyone so apoplectic, Marie said what needed to be said to get her child to sleep.
“I think the pink is pretty, and it will go with most of your clothes. Dark purple would have clashed. You’ll see, Katy Kirk will have a new color by the end of the week.”
Suzanne’s eyes narrowed as she thought about this, and Marie felt a pang of regret as she read the girl’s mind.
Yes! Katy will have to wear purple all week.
“OK?” Marie asked.
Suzanne smiled as she snuggled into her sheets. Marie gave her a kiss, then turned out the light, closed the door, and left the room. She went next to tackle Olivia across the hall. Having fought with her sister over what show to watch before bed’and lost’it was more than likely that she would be lying awake, plotting her revenge. But by some stroke of luck that tonight felt like nothing short of divine intervention, she had drifted off. Marie pulled up her quilt, gave out the last kiss of the evening, then headed downstairs.
Dressed in sweat pants and a T-shirt that clung to his growing belly, Anthony was standing in the kitchen, staring at the two cereal boxes he’d left on the counter that morning.
“What are you doing?” Marie asked as she walked through the room, picking up toys, homework, and anything else that remained misplaced.
Looking at his wife now, his expression one of contained annoyance, Anthony asked the witness his first question. “Are these out for a reason?”
“Am I on trial, counselor?” Marie was now standing in place by the sink, meeting her husband’s eyes.
“Come on, Marie. Are you trying to make a point here?”
“Yes.”
“And that would be?”
“That I am not your maid.”
He knew that was coming. Still, it was necessary to have it on the record. “So let me get this straight. After thirteen years of marriage, thirteen years of give and take, you think putting away my cereal boxes one morning’a morning, I might add, when I was running late for the train’ somehow relegates you to the position of maid?”
Marie swallowed hard, then dug deep to get out
Taking, taking, taking.
That’s what this was, and she was done being on the losing side of the transaction.
When it was over, she rolled off Daniel and smiled.
“I think I’ll catch the end of the game,” he said, pecking her on the mouth as he climbed out of the bed. “Love ya.”
“Love you, too,” she said back to him, with an insidious sarcasm. When he was gone, she removed herself to the bathroom and took a shower.
ELEVEN
PINK NAILS AND CEREAL BOXES
“D o YOU LIKE MY nails, Mom?”
Marie studied the little pink fingertips that were being held so close to her eyes that she had trouble focusing. “They’re great, Suzanne.”
It was just after eight and the girls were in their beds, ready to be tucked in. Suzanne lay down and pulled the spread up to her chin, leaving only her hands exposed. She turned them around to face her and inspected the manicure one last time.
“Do you think the color is right?”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Marie was doing her best to take the beauty nonsense seriously. To her vexation, this had become a mandatory job requirement in mothering her third-grader.
“There’s no right or wrong with nail color, Suz. It’s just what you like.”
Her daughter seemed to ponder this, though her discomfort was still palpable.
“Katy Kirk picked dark purple. It’s really cool. I think pink is for babies.”
“Then why did you pick pink?”
“Because I liked it at the time. But sometimes I like the wrong things.”
Marie sighed, then gently pressed the back of her hand to her daughter’s cheek. “Everyone does that once in a while.”
Believe me.
“But with nail polish, there is no wrong,” Marie said, at the same time realizing that she had already tried that tack to no avail. Then, giving in to the evil forces of society that objectified women and were seeping into her home like one of those bird flus that had everyone so apoplectic, Marie said what needed to be said to get her child to sleep.
“I think the pink is pretty, and it will go with most of your clothes. Dark purple would have clashed. You’ll see, Katy Kirk will have a new color by the end of the week.”
Suzanne’s eyes narrowed as she thought about this, and Marie felt a pang of regret as she read the girl’s mind.
Yes! Katy will have to wear purple all week.
“OK?” Marie asked.
Suzanne smiled as she snuggled into her sheets. Marie gave her a kiss, then turned out the light, closed the door, and left the room. She went next to tackle Olivia across the hall. Having fought with her sister over what show to watch before bed’and lost’it was more than likely that she would be lying awake, plotting her revenge. But by some stroke of luck that tonight felt like nothing short of divine intervention, she had drifted off. Marie pulled up her quilt, gave out the last kiss of the evening, then headed downstairs.
Dressed in sweat pants and a T-shirt that clung to his growing belly, Anthony was standing in the kitchen, staring at the two cereal boxes he’d left on the counter that morning.
“What are you doing?” Marie asked as she walked through the room, picking up toys, homework, and anything else that remained misplaced.
Looking at his wife now, his expression one of contained annoyance, Anthony asked the witness his first question. “Are these out for a reason?”
“Am I on trial, counselor?” Marie was now standing in place by the sink, meeting her husband’s eyes.
“Come on, Marie. Are you trying to make a point here?”
“Yes.”
“And that would be?”
“That I am not your maid.”
He knew that was coming. Still, it was necessary to have it on the record. “So let me get this straight. After thirteen years of marriage, thirteen years of give and take, you think putting away my cereal boxes one morning’a morning, I might add, when I was running late for the train’ somehow relegates you to the position of maid?”
Marie swallowed hard, then dug deep to get out
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