“Like what? Elle and Shaboink?”
“Yes.” I glanced out the window, grieving with more tears. It all made sense in my head. Everything put together made sense. It was enough. I just didn’t want to tell him everything because I knew it would be heartless and self-centered. It would sound petty. And saying it was unnecessary because it wouldn’t have changed anything.
“And?” he prodded.
“Let’s not do this.”
“No.” His tone held a sharp edge. “If it’s over, then we’re sure as hell going to do this.”
I shook my head and batted away the tears. “No,” I whispered.
“Fine.” He stepped closer to me. “I’ll go first.”
“Craig …” I continued to shake my head. I didn’t want to do it.
“You’re a fucking nag all the damn time. Always nagging me about leaving the cap off the toothpaste. I don’t make the bed right or load the dishwasher right. You’ve been riding my ass about fixing the shower drain, but the reason it doesn’t drain right is because of all your hair clogging it. When I don’t use perfect English, you just can’t help yourself. You always have to correct me like anyone else gives a shit if I say ‘ain’t’ or ‘gonna.’ And why the hell should I make some grand effort to woo you when half the time you shoot me down? Are a dozen roses really going to get you to spread your legs for me? Shouldn’t you do it because you’re my wife and I work my ass off to be a good provider?”
“No! I don’t spread my legs for roses or a paycheck. I’m not a whore, Craig.” I fisted my hands and gritted my anger through clenched teeth. “If you want me to spread my legs, maybe you shouldn’t pick your nose, roll it up, and flick boogers all over the house! Maybe you shouldn’t overeat like a garbage disposal and burp in my face two seconds before kissing me! Maybe you shouldn’t wink at every woman you see and play it off as you being friendly and me being a snob!”
“You are a snob!” He pointed a stiff finger at me. “A food snob. A book snob. A cleaning product snob. If someone smokes, you look down on them. If someone drinks more than two drinks, you look down on them. Gordon uses chemicals on his lawn, but you just know his kids and dog are going to die from cancer, yet they haven’t. We’re the last to arrive at parties and the first to leave. Snob … snob … such a nose in the air snob.”
I opened my mouth to spew a second round of insults. Then I closed it, cupping my hand over my mouth, and pinching my eyes shut as I silently sobbed.
Twenty-two years.
Four kids.
Memories I would cherish forever.
Why did it have to end like that? Slinging insults.
Because it’s real … and truly heartbreaking.
“W-what’s going on?”
I choked on my emotions, swallowing them back down my throat as my eyes flew open, landing on our daughter, Bella.
Craig grabbed his truck keys from the counter and brushed past our daughter in her long, red nightshirt, black hair like his—but long and ratted like mine in the morning—eyes like a raccoon’s from not removing her makeup before bed. “Ask your mom. She’s the one who’s trying to break up our family.”
Two seconds later, the door slammed behind him, and a confused Bella redirected her attention to me—eyes unblinking with confusion as Meadow sat at her feet. “Mom?”Chapter TwoI love him, but I don’t love the fifty pairs of stinky socks in his trunk.* * *Finn made his way downstairs shortly after Craig stormed out. He was home for the holidays, and the twins were arriving the following day. I sat Bella and Finn down for some real talk, knowing I owed them an explanation, but also knowing that I would have to repeat everything with the twins—but with Craig’s point of view too. No other option existed. I had to trust my two youngest with feelings I couldn’t fully explain because some of them weren’t well-defined by words.
Bella cried. Finn showed no emotion.
“Now what?” Bella asked, wiping her eyes.
“Well, I don’t know for sure. We might have to sell the house, but we won’t do it until you’ve moved to college.”
“So … you’ll what? Live together—divorced—until Bella graduates?” Finn asked, eyes squinted.
“No. One of us will move out. Maybe rent something close until she graduates.” I shook my head slowly. “Or maybe we’ll both stay in the house. I … I don’t know yet.”
Because the straw broke, and I didn’t have time to plan cleanup of the collateral damage.
“Well, it should probably be you who moves out since Dad paid for the house.”
I blinked at Finn several times. “Wow. I thought I taught you better than that.”
“Jeez, Finn. Don’t be such a sexist pig. Mom works. She just doesn’t get paid. But she contributes, and that means she should get half of everything.”