The Marriage Rival

“Play hooky? Your son is sick,” I vent, tired and irritated. “You know what…” I wave my hands around, “… not worth the argument. Just go to work.”

I leave the room without a kiss goodbye or an ‘I love you.’

That brief moment is a glimpse into what our life has become. Me, taking all the responsibility for Masen, and Haden continuing to do what he does best, be a jerk.

The morning is spent with Masen on the sofa, blanket laying on top and his favorite program on the television. He has managed to drink some water and eat some toast, but the victory was short-lived when he vomited it back up shortly after. Thankfully, I had placed a bucket beside him, and my fancy rug was spared the dry-cleaning expense.

Rosa came over, and the moment she saw Masen curled into a ball on the sofa, she demanded he drink some homemade remedy she concocted from boiled water and toast scrapings. It was rather questionable, but I was tired and willing to try anything. We have a doctor’s appointment scheduled at lunchtime, and I’m hoping he will be strong enough to hold the contents of his stomach in so we can attend.

Rosa hands me a coffee like she can read my mind.

“Thank you, Rosa. I didn’t get much sleep last night, but, of course, my husband was out like a light. This morning he expected me to stay home. Didn’t even offer. And the worst part is, he wants more kids. I can barely cope with one,” I utter, somewhat relieved when the truth comes out.

Rosa nods, and I quickly realize I am preaching to the wrong audience. Rosa is widowed, married to her husband for thirty-five years before he had a stroke.

They had five children, three of whom live abroad with their partners. There’s one single son who lives in New York, who Rosa claims is sordido, which means he is sleazy. I laughed at the time, half-expecting some overweight, bald guy, but when she showed me his picture, the guy is incredibly handsome. Very tall, slim with Latino features, and boy, does he look good in a suit. She often told me he wasn’t interested in settling down, comparing him to Hugh Hefner. Her youngest son, Lucio, lives here in California with her. He attends a local college and seems to be the only one who genuinely gives Rosa the time of day, though I’d never tell her that directly.

“Ay, Cariña, it’s difficult for a husband to understand the weight of motherhood,” she says in her thick accent while putting away the dishes. “My Jorge was a great father, he led his children down the right path, provided for them. But aye yai yai, he wouldn’t understand a single thing in the house. His mama, bless her, spoiled him.”

“Sounds like Haden…” I mumble.

“I always told my sons, never expect a woman to be your slave.”

I smile but feel terrible since she is putting away my dishes, and I am standing here, still in my pajamas, with traces of vomit on me and not lending her a hand. “Here, let me help you.”

She pushes my hand away, gently. “Cariña, please, this is my job. This is what makes me happy. You pay me, I work for you. Now, please, drink your café, shower, and leave this to me.”

Almost on the verge of tears, barely able to hold the emotions back, I nod my head. Rosa can sense my stress and suggests she finish up in the kitchen and offers to stay with Masen if I need to get work done.

I hop in the shower, washing every part of my body in an effort to disinfect whatever bug Masen is carrying. Dressing in my jeans and ivory blouse, I tie my hair into a high bun, grabbing my laptop and sitting at the dining table with a view of Masen. He has fallen asleep so Rosa continues cleaning, quietly, so as to not to wake him. I thought I should answer a few emails so I won’t fall too far behind.

Ten minutes into a lengthy email which cc’d the publication team and Haden, I get a text from him.

Haden: What the hell is that response?

Me: Haden, really, you’re asking a lot from everyone in a short time. I’m happy to work on a schedule but we need to be realistic, we’re short-staffed and don’t want to push people to the edge.

Haden: I don’t give a fuck. They are lucky to have a job.

This is the point where I know he’s had a bad meeting, taking it out on everyone else. I contemplate not responding, but that man needs a reality check, and if anyone is allowed to give it, I have full reign as his wife.

Me: Stop being an asshole. And by the way, your son is doing better. Just in case you were wondering. I’ll talk to you tonight.

I close my laptop, and with Masen doing a bit better, we say goodbye to Rosa and make our way to the doctor’s office.

According to Dr. Somersby, Masen has a twenty-four-hour bug most likely picked up from pre-school. There is no medication she can administer aside from the advice to stay hydrated and away from dairy. With Masen looking slightly better, I asked Dr. Somersby if we could have a quick discussion about my birth control.

Happily obliging, the receptionist offers to mind Masen while Dr. Somersby shuts the door.

“How can I help?”

“My birth control is due to expire, and, well, I’d like to continue.”

She grabs her prescription pad with a non-judgmental smile. “The last time I saw you, you mentioned your husband wasn’t on the same page.”

I nod, letting out a sigh. “He shouldn’t really get a say since he’s not the one having to carry a baby, then have to go on maternity leave.”

“If I had a penny for every time I’ve heard that. I’ll just check your blood pressure.”