I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and I balled up the receipt, shoving it in my pocket. Dad came around the corner, his brow knitted together, his cheeks turning his eyes incredulous.
“What’s the hold up?” he asked, his tone serious but I knew he wasn’t angry. I held his name tag out to him, no answer or excuse coming to mind. He took it from me, and pushed his hands in his pockets. He looked from me to the pants perched on the pile in the basket.
It came into my mind again so fast any courage I had to ask about it was washed away.
“I just miss you,” I said, looking down at his shoes, scuffed and bulky. Dad sighed and wrapped his arm around my shoulder and across my back in a hug. He stretched to rest his chin on the top of my head.
Dad pulled away and I was left with a cold feeling at my side where he was. I tried to wipe it from my mind, but there was a strange way that he was behaving recently. My dad, a man who bounced his leg and brought my mom cut fruit in bed, had recently been cold to the touch. Something chilled me further, the gambling stub crinkled in my pocket.
I went upstairs to my room to change into a pair of comfy linen shorts and a tank top, then deciding a shower was in order. I needed to get rid of the lingering feeling on my skin, not only the sweat and dirt from work, but the eerie trepidation about dad.
How could I have stagnated for so long? Up until a few hours ago, I wouldn’t have thought it was more than a couple years since I saw her. Although, until a few weeks ago, I thought my marriage was enough. Now it was tearing me up inside, and it was the first time in a while I let my thoughts linger on Evan for more than a couple seconds.
I loved him. My mind flashed to his young face, his wide smile when we met. He was smart and charming and he had a great job and I was more than happy staying at home until I figured out what I wanted to do with myself.
I loved him first and maybe that was my mistake. I could hear his words that night I left, his shoulders barely moving as he said them.
I dressed in the bathroom, combing through the strands of my long wet hair, dark and curling up at the ends. There was a sharp but hesitant knock on the door frame and my Mom was standing, her arms crossed. I brought my eyes up to meet her’s in the mirror.
“Your father and I are going out tonight,” she said. I stared, expecting more but knotting my brow together in the center.
“Why’s that?” I asked, trying to remember the last time they had the money to go out. Mom shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, matching my expression.
“I don’t know, your father said we were going out to celebrate,” she said, making a conspiratorial face, something like an eager smile mixed with surprise. She was like that; cold and hot; cruel and kind, like she had been when I was a girl. Like the way she winked at me, as if it was her way of telling me she knew her secret was safe with me. Even now, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell Dad about her drinking.
Mom stepped away from the doorway and I sighed, relieved that I didn’t have to put on a face anymore.
“Evan called again. He wants to talk to you,” she said, using the house phone to point at me for emphasis. She walked away out of sight, and I could hear her pressing the buttons on the phone, chiming and beeping. I felt a heavy weight in my stomach at the thought of her calling Evan on my behalf. Then she started chirping to one of her friends about her going out later and it soothed my nerves slightly.
I’m never going to call him if I keep putting it off.
“You wanted to talk,” I asked, more sharp than I wanted, balancing making dinner and him at the same time. I imagined for the first time with horror, the added balance of having a baby.
Evan paused for a moment and I felt a knee-jerk reaction to apologize, to comfort him, but I was going to stay firm about what I wanted.
“I miss you, too,” I whispered back, too quiet for him to hear my reply. I could hear the floor above me creak as my parents milled about upstairs. I thought about all the times I snuck Evan inside past midnight to see me and the flush reached beyond my neck.
“When you apologize,” I said, my voice more a plea than a command. There was a moan on the other end of the line- no, it was a sigh.
“What?” I asked, the only thing that would come out of my mouth. He fumbled with his words for a second, stumbling and starting over when I came to.
“Wasn’t that always the plan? Finish school after we settled down?” I asked, raising my voice. The creaking upstairs had eerily stopped at the sound.
“I don’t know,” I said and I heard him snort. I could hear the commotion coming down the stairs, and my mother called my name.
“I do know it’s what I want.” My mother called my name again and I was sure this time at least he heard it.
“I have to go now. Call me when you decide whether you want a partner who loves you or a housewife that hates you,” I said, my voice solid. I heard no response on the other end of the line, no shouting or bartering. Only silence.
