One Perfect Morning Page 16

  ‘Just work stuff. Nothing worth talking about. You?’ Owen leaned against the island counter and cracked open the bottle, guzzling half the beer in one gulp.

  As a manager at a publicity firm, it was usually smooth sailing at a job he loved, unless he lost a client. Today seemed like one such day.

  ‘Lily called me earlier today. Invited me to Ryan’s baseball game. Apparently Robin wants to make up. I’m thinking we should – for the sake of the kids.’

  He exploded. ‘Are you kidding me? Have you lost your mind? If you even see or speak to that family again, I promise you, you’ll regret it.’ Owen’s threat echoed against the kitchen cabinets.

  I regretted mentioning it as I watched his face redden and eyes go dark like windows in an abandoned house. To me, Owen was a haunted house, with layers of decay and demons playing hide-and-seek inside its bowels. He often scared the shit out of me.

  ‘They’re my best friends. I can’t just stop being friends with them because of what happened with Aria and Ryan. Besides, once emotions cool off Robin and I will deal with it – together.’ His gaze narrowed on me in a nonverbal warning, but I kept going like a runaway train. ‘And it doesn’t help that you had to escalate things. Why do you have to be such an asshole?’

  His eyes widened. ‘First of all, there’s no need for profanity, Mackenzie.’

  I noticed the use of my proper name, which was usually reserved for when I acted like a child.

  He continued: ‘I am the man of the house and you don’t speak to me that way. You know better, don’t you? And secondly, they are no longer your friends. You’re forbidden from seeing them again.’

  I hated it when he scolded me. I’d swear if I wanted to, damn it. I’d pick my own friends, thank-you-very-much. I was a grown woman. I could make decisions for myself.

  But I didn’t say any of that. I didn’t say anything but a mumbled ‘sorry,’ because that’s what I always did. Apologize. Obey. Rinse. Repeat.

  The irony wasn’t lost on me, that despite Owen’s anger issues – which he referred to as being the ‘man of the house’ – he never swore. Not a single cuss word, ever. In fact, it violated his moral code. And yet belittling his wife of eighteen years, turning me into his personal servant, there was nothing in the code against that. If you looked up hypocrite in the dictionary, you’d find Owen’s picture. While my brain recognized this, my heart couldn’t compute. I was frozen in place, because I had no choice but to take the bad with the good. He was a great provider, reliable, loyal, even loving, in his own way. But there were those few occasions – well, maybe more than a few – when the love turned sour. In those moments I was scared to death of the demons lurking inside the man I’d given my life to.

  I was sleeping with the devil, and I had no idea how to break free … or even if I could. When half of your face looked like mangled meat, your confidence took a hit. If you don’t believe me, try lighting your head on fire and see how you feel once the scar tissue heals. I guarantee you’ll love yourself a little less.

  ‘That’s right, you’re sorry,’ Owen added. He always had the last word. He made sure of this. ‘And before you start vilifying me, you do realize their son raped our daughter, don’t you? For you to stay friends is like approving of what he did.’

  ‘And what about us – what you do to me?’ The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

  ‘What do I do to you other than provide a beautiful home for you, give all of my time and energy and love to you? Exactly what do I do to you, Mackenzie, that you find so disagreeable and offensive?’

  I felt my courage dwindle. There was no point trying to force my point; Owen would always win.

  ‘Never mind,’ I murmured.

  ‘No, I’d like to hear it. I don’t give you everything you want or need?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Tell me what it is I do that’s so horrible. Do I cheat on you? Do I run off with my friends every chance I get to leave you all by yourself?’

  Touché.

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Then please enlighten me as to how I’m such an awful husband.’

  You hurt me. You force me to do things I’m uncomfortable with. You make me fear you.

  ‘I love you with every part of my soul, Mackenzie,’ he continued, ‘and I think I’ve done a pretty thorough job of showing you that. I dedicate my whole life to you and Aria, my family, the only ones that matter. I wish you had the decency to love me the same way, as completely as I love you.’

  ‘I do, Owen. I love you more than anything. But sometimes you …’ I couldn’t say what I wanted to say. I couldn’t tell him that I felt like a prisoner, that I felt like a victim, that I felt like his toy to play with whenever and however he felt like it. I couldn’t say those things because they sounded silly even as I considered them. I was his wife, who vowed to love him the way he needed to be loved. So he was rough in the sack. Why did I make such a big deal about it? Maybe because – and it was so hard to even think about it – his preference for vicious, impersonal doggy-style sex, with no face-to-face contact … felt an awful lot like rape.

  Despite his flaws, he loved me when no one else had. He was the pill I swallowed to feel happy. It tasted bitter going down, but once that panacea took hold, I felt whole again.

  I needed to stop before I drove him away and ruined my family.

  ‘Sometimes I what, Mackenzie? You need me just as much as I need you. I do everything for you – how would you survive without me? Would you even want to? You have the life most women dream of. You get to stay home and raise our daughter, you have no stress, no worries. How could you dare accuse me of not doing my best for you, for us?’

  ‘I never said that. I know you do. I just wish you considered my feelings when it came to certain things, Owen.’

  ‘What things?’ he asked. He genuinely had no clue.

  ‘Things like … sex. You hurt me.’

  ‘I hurt you? Because I want to make love to my wife?’

  ‘Is that what that is – making love? Because it doesn’t feel like it to me.’

  ‘Wow, I ask for one thing from you, one thing. Sex. A little passionate lovemaking between husband and wife. And you can’t even give me that? You want to begrudge me intimacy? How about I do what other husbands do and find it somewhere else, with someone else? Would you prefer that, Mac?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Then what? Tell me what it is you want me to do.’ He stomped toward me now, grabbing both my arms, lifting me off the sofa, squeezing until my muscles ached. After this his thick fingers would leave long blue bruises, which I would hide with sleeves until they faded enough that no one would notice … and then a week or two later there would be new ones.

  ‘I … I want …’ I knew the script by now. I was supposed to tell him I’m all his, take whatever he wants, do whatever he wishes. But yes doesn’t always mean yes, and silence doesn’t always mean yes. ‘I want you.’

  ‘Come with me. I know what my girl wants.’ Spittle flicked along my cheek and ear. He dragged me into the laundry room, closing the door behind us so Aria wouldn’t hear. He liked doing it in different places, as if marking new territory. ‘Now tell Daddy how much you want me. How much you need me inside you.’

  I coughed to hide a sob. I knew better than to cry; tears only made things worse, fueled him.

  ‘I need you, baby,’ I whispered instead.

  He bent me over the washing machine, his hands gripping my neck, and the rest I blocked out as best I could as the edge of the cold metal machine dug into my stomach. My active participation wasn’t required; it never was. All that he needed was a body to inject himself into, to overpower and control. My body was as good as any to him. Except with me it was ‘pure’ and ‘good’ because I was his wife; it was noble with me.

  By the time he finished, a folded stack of laundry placed on the dryer had fallen to the floor. As he zipped up his pants, he said, ‘Make sure you clean th
at up, Mac. Thanks for the release.’

  He kissed me on the forehead, because that’s what you did with a release. You didn’t snuggle or ask if it was good for them too, though even if he had asked, I would have lied and said that it was. The lies would be over soon, because I saw the end game up ahead.

  After the laundry was refolded and Owen was planted in front of the television watching the news, I decided to check in on Aria. I had been worrying about her the last couple of days, keeping a close eye on her in case she showed signs of depression. But if she was anything like me, she knew how to hide it well.

  The shower was running, so I decided to put away the clothes. I carried Aria’s basket into her room, opening and closing drawers as I tucked her garments into neat little stacks. Pants. Shirts. Socks. Underwear. As I set the pile of panties and socks in her drawer, I heard a curious rustle.

  There, tucked between a pair of cheeky striped undies and a floral pair, I discovered a plastic baggie and lifted it up to the lamplight. Shredded dried leaves, similar to tea leaves but more likely something illegal. No teen hid tea leaves in her underwear drawer.

  I’d never smoked pot, had no clue what it looked like in real life, except for the cartoonish marijuana paraphernalia I’d seen on hats and shirts during my 1990s adolescence, when pot was still considered rebellious. Now every stay-at-home mom and even the grandparents had jars of cannabis oil in their cupboards.

  I opened the Ziploc bag and sniffed it. Again, no clue what I was smelling or if it was felonious or not. But a baggie hidden in an underwear drawer didn’t scream harmless to me.

  As I resealed the bag, Aria walked in, wrapped in a towel, eyes wide with horror.

  ‘Mom, what are you doing with that?’ she yelped, snatching it out of my hand.

  ‘The bigger question is what are you doing with … whatever this is.’

  ‘It’s not what you think.’ She shoved the baggie back in her drawer.

  ‘Honey, I wasn’t born yesterday. Is this pot?’

  She hesitated, avoiding my glance. ‘It’s not a big deal. You know kids my age are doing it all the time.’

  ‘I don’t care what the other kids are doing. I care about what you’re doing.’

  ‘Have you ever done it?’

  ‘Me? God, no. It wasn’t legal back in my day, and none of my friends did it. I didn’t even know anyone who had access to marijuana.’ At my high school the rebellious kids were into drinking and general hell-raising, not drugs. Not among my small circle of friends, anyway.

  ‘Not even in college?’

  ‘Ha! Can you imagine your father?’ I’d met Owen early on as a freshman and we spent our college years trying to impress each other. ‘He would have had a fit if I even went near the stuff or anyone associated with it. He probably would have dumped me on the spot.’

  ‘Good old judgy, controlling Dad.’

  ‘Oh, come on. So your father prefers to abide by the law. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘It’s not that. It’s how he treats you, Mom, controls you – controls all of us – that’s what bothers me.’

  ‘Seriously? You’re giving me grief because I’ve never smoked illegal substances? Do you hear how you sound? I’d prefer you never did them either. They’re a gateway drug to worse, Aria.’

  She rolled her eyes and slipped into her pajamas. ‘See, this is what is so frustrating about you. It’s not about the pot. It’s about you and how you let Dad dictate everything for you. You’re going to judge something you haven’t even tried all because of Dad’s feelings about it.’

  ‘I’m not judging it because of Dad. I’m judging it because I know what drug addiction can lead to.’

  Aria’s laugh was hollow. ‘I’m not a drug addict, Mom. I’ve never even tried pot before. But would it be so bad if I did? Just to take the edge off of life?’

  ‘Take the edge off? What edge?’ She was fifteen. No fifteen-year-old should have an edge to her life. Of course, I couldn’t discount the fact she was undergoing a huge personal crisis – yet one she didn’t seem to be aware of. I prayed this edge had nothing to do with her knowing what happened with Ryan.

  ‘Never mind. I’m just saying stress, that’s all. Sometimes it sounds nice to just … drift away for a bit.’

  Okay, that worried me. Drifting away sounded an awful lot like drowning, which sounded an awful lot like a death wish.

  ‘Is all this morbid talk because of Ryan?’ I couldn’t avoid this conversation any longer. It was due. ‘I know you’re avoiding him. I see all the missed calls on your phone.’

  Aria shrugged, then sat crossed-legged on her bed. ‘Maybe a little. I don’t remember every detail, but I know we made out. And I feel really weird about it now.’

  ‘Why would you feel weird?’

  ‘I’m embarrassed about it! First of all, I was drunk so I don’t know if I was throwing myself at him, and I’m petrified he’s going to think less of me now. And then I was worried Dad would find out. It’s just a big mess, and I don’t know where Ryan and I stand. It’s all so confusing, Mom.’

  ‘I know, it always is with matters of the heart.’ I sat next to her, wrapping my arm around her side as she rested her head on my shoulder. I hadn’t lost my little girl after all.

  ‘Does it ever get better?’

  I wanted to tell her yes, of course it did, but it wasn’t my reality. ‘I don’t know, honey. Maybe you should talk to someone – a therapist who can help you sort through all of these feelings.’

  She heaved an exasperated sigh. ‘No, I just want to talk to you. Connect with you. Sometimes I feel like I don’t really know you. I only know the version Dad has molded over the years.’

  ‘Oh, sweetie. This is the real me. And you can always talk to me.’ I touched her cheek, and her fingers rested on mine, holding my hand against her damp skin.

  ‘Everything feels so … chaotic right now. I just wish I could go away for a little while.’

  ‘Don’t we all. Hey, what do you say to us both doing it together?’ I pointed to the baggie sticking out of her drawer, then headed toward it. ‘I’m not saying I want to make this a new bonding thing, but right now I could use a hit. Mommy-daughter bonding over a joint.’ I was being facetious, of course, but in this moment it didn’t sound like such a horrible idea.

  Aria chuckled and followed me, swatting my reaching hand away. ‘No thanks. I think I’m just going to flush it. I don’t want to be responsible for turning my mother into a drug addict, after all. Can you imagine Dad walking in on both of us high?’ We both laughed until our cheeks hurt.

  I watched her move across the room, her blond hair dark and dripping, her cheeks pink and drizzled with water. The scent of fresh vanilla wafted behind her.

  ‘Are you using my body wash again?’ I sniffed her head, and she ducked away from me with a grin.

  ‘I like yours better.’

  ‘Then I’ll get you some, but stop using mine, because you never return it and I’m stuck using your dad’s man-smelling stuff. I end up smelling like Old Spice all day.’

  Aria’s nose wrinkled and I loved her for it. She made me feel so normal, so human.

  ‘Mom, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Sure, honey. What?’

  ‘Do you love Dad?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Even after how he treats you?’

  I wondered what she had seen over the years. I thought I had hidden the dark side pretty well.

  ‘What do you mean? He’s good to me, to us, Aria. We have a beautiful home, never go hungry, never want for anything.’

  ‘It’s just that … he treats you like a servant. Like he owns you or something. Do you not even notice … or care?’

  ‘Honey, your father has more … traditional … views of husband and wife. The husband is the provider; the wife is the homemaker. I agreed to this when I married him. He’s the head of the house, but I’m the neck, holding the head up. He only calls the shots because I let him. It works f
or us.’

  ‘But does it really? You’re actually happy living like this? Because if I wasn’t allowed to see my closest friends because my husband told me no, I’d be kicking him to the curb. But that’s just me, I guess.’

  So she had heard the fight. I really hadn’t wanted her exposed to that, but she was growing up and becoming more observant every day. Maybe this was good. I wouldn’t have to lie to her about the plan to leave Owen. Heck, maybe she’d even support it.

  ‘Aria, marriage is complicated. Feelings are complex. Sometimes a person can love someone who isn’t good for them. The heart can’t always be tamed or controlled. I wish love would be simple, but it isn’t always that way.’

  ‘I guess. But I think you could do better, Mom. I don’t know why you stay with him. Why you even love him. He’s mean, he’s constantly telling you what to do or not do … I know he’s my dad and all, but I have no relationship with him. He doesn’t give a shit about me.’

  ‘Aria!’ I warned. Owen had never abided swearing, and I found myself seeing that his rules were followed. ‘Language please. And your father does love you, even if he doesn’t show it.’

  ‘I just wonder sometimes if we’d be better off without him – just you and me.’

  ‘Honey, don’t say that! That’s a horrible thing to say.’

  And yet I’d been plotting it for weeks. Slowly taking money out of the bank account every time I went grocery shopping. Scheming with Lily on how to execute it perfectly. The plan was simple and doable. Set up my own private checking account. Trickle money in over several weeks, enough to afford a couple months of rent on a place for Aria and me while I searched for a job. Then one day just disappear, leaving nothing but a note telling Owen that it was over. Lily had offered us her spare bedroom until we got on our feet. It was foolproof and I’d followed it through … up until that last step. The biggest one. The one that took courage I lacked.