Who do you think you are, Con? The man I see before me isn’t the one I married. Look at you, in front of your mates you are unbearable. The cock o’ the walk, man-with-a-superior-intellect. You have a better job. Better money. The flash car. The Rolex watch. The house with the pool in the posh suburb. Yes, you worked for it. I did, too, at home without payment and when the kids came it’s been 24/7.
Flowers sent by your secretary for special occasions like birthdays and Valentines, don’t make up for it. No amount of nice clothes and fancy restaurants ever could. I wait on you hand and foot, attend to the children, clean house, I’m the perfect hostess. At the end of the day, I’m expected to fall into bed when I’ve fallen out of love.
I’m tired. Leave me alone, but I don’t say it. I close my eyes and think of…anything but this. Making love isn’t making love any more. It’s sex pure and simple and I’m rarely, if ever in the mood. Too tired, too bored, just meh.
God knows what you think or what you do. You leave early in the morning and don’t come home until late. Honestly, I prefer it when you’re not here. I don’t have to pretend. The kingdom is mine. The kids are free, as am I, and then you come home, inspect every room as soon as you’re in the door, and everyone is on their best behaviour.
I’ll leave when the kids are 18. That way there’s less pain. The girls will probably take your side, but by then, they’ll be old enough, hopefully independent. Then I can do what I want. I can have the career I surrendered in order to be your wife. It won’t be too late. I’ll still be young. Maybe not that young, but young enough.
Huh! Business trips, business drinks, dinners and lunches. Monkey business if you ask me. The Friday nights out and Christmas parties where wives and partners aren’t allowed are a bit suss, but I gave up asking questions or acting jealous long ago. I learned not to interfere. The deals you broker are for ‘us,’ you say, but your life would be the same if I weren’t here.
If I weren’t here, there’d be a hiccup in your routine until you find a replacement then life would continue as usual.
My friends say ‘leave.’ And I seriously plot, plan and think of all the repercussions and I’m back to square one. I can’t see a way out but I know the person who’d try to take my place would probably be much younger, prettier. Step-mothers don’t have ‘that’ reputation for nothing. So I won’t do it to our kids. I won’t let someone else play ‘mother’.
I think, no I know, Lisa, one of my ‘friends' would unseat my position and gladly take over, if only you’d look at her twice. But you don’t.
Or do you?
Lately, Lisa’s been asking lots of questions about you, and there have been times when I’ve seen you two together and you move apart when I’m near, or the conversation drops as though you’ve tossed her a hot potato.
Tonight, when I enter the kitchen, you two are huddled like a scrum and she’s laughing, leaning forward so you can see her cleavage. She knows she’s got you. Your eyes connect. Then she sees me, but this time, she’s been caught and she doesn’t guiltily leap way. Lisa looks at me askance. You stare at your shoes as though seeing them for the first time.
“When?" I direct at her.
“When, what?” She says smugly.
Again I ask, “When?”
“What?”
“You know.”
She’s about to speak again but you stop her with a touch of your hand.
Wearing that superior expression, you begin, “Susan…”
I notice you don’t say Suzie or Suze or Darling. You continue, “…things haven’t been the best between us for some time.”
“And so you’ve picked up with her?” My face feels tight as though I’ve sucked a lemon.
Lisa tries to exit, but your arm snakes around her waist holding her in place.
I sneer, “Great. Just great! (I clap my hands slowly for maximum effect) When are you moving out?”
“I thought you…”
“I’m not going anywhere but you’re welcome to go any time.”
Lisa looks uncomfortable “Suze” she soothes.
Ignoring her, I say, “I’m disappointed, Con. I thought you had better taste.”
Lisa says, “Look, Suze, be reasonable. You haven’t been happy and the kids, well, they like me. I can’t replace you, obviously…”
“That’s right. You can’t. You’re not touching my kids. You’re not getting this house. I might have been unhappy, but you overstepped the line…”
You cut in, “Susan, let’s not be hasty.”
“I’m staying, Con.” I pick up the phone to dial.
“Who are you calling?”
“Uncle Ted.”
“The lawyer?”
“Why waste time? D’you think I’m a mug?”
“Let’s talk…”
“No time for talk. Take your your slut and go.”
Lisa’s face distorts. She springs at me like a spaniel. The phone drops, we fight tooth and nail. I’m a coward, not a fighter, but I’m angry, adrenalin is pumping and I’ve stopped thinking. Me. I’ve lost control and I like it.
I smack her around the kitchen, pull her hair, a clump is in my hands. I scratch her face, there’s blood. I knock her to the floor, am about to stomp on her head but you pick me up and carry me to the bedroom kicking and screaming.
I struggle against your arms and holding me tight, you kiss me. I struggle. I slap you, you kiss me. I punch you, you kiss me. “I hate you !” I cry. I push, I hit, I claw. You kiss. I resist.
Later, they’ll ask me about your broken bones but they won’t mention the bruises on your face.
