… just say it. I didn’t think Dad was perfect. I hated the way he always rolled his eyes when I wore something sexy or too much makeup. I hated the way he acted like I was going to be this irresponsible teenager getting pregnant and ruining my life. I hated the way he couldn’t make one freaking decision by himself. I’m not saying his mama failed him, but … yeah, she failed him.” She sighed. “Too soon?”
I snorted, shaking my head slowly. She had no idea I initiated major venting in my grief group. “His mama? That’s your grandma.”
Her serious face cracked, revealing a smile. “I know. But it’s the truth.”
My eyes narrowed as I sat opposite of her at the kitchen table. “Did you hear me say that?” I couldn’t remember saying it, at least not in front of her. But I thought it. Oh boy, did I ever think it.
“No, Mom. I have my own superpower of observation. Everything was ‘ask your mom.’ And he asked you what he should have for a late-night snack. He’d ask you if he should shave his mustache or grow out his beard. He’d buy three pairs of shoes and wear each pair around the house for a week before making a final decision and taking the other two back. And even then, he’d ask all of us, a million times, which pair we liked best.”
I laughed. She was right. Very observant.
Craig liked to be the man of the house—in theory. Basically, he liked to have the appearance of being the man of the house. Consequently, I never used the lawn mower or snowblower. Except I did mow his parents’ yard, and sometimes I shoveled their driveway if his dad was having knee issues. But at our house, appearance meant everything. Craig hated the idea of the neighbors seeing me instead of him doing the “manly” chores around the house.
Had the neighbors heard his commentary during sex, they would have questioned his manliness.
“You like that?”
“Uh-huh …” I replied as he moved over me.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I breathed heavily.
“Harder?”
“Um … sure.”
That was fine. How kind of him to make sure I was enjoying it. Right? But as the years progressed, it felt like he lost his confidence, and I had no idea why. After all, I was the one with a little extra around the waist from having four children. I was the one with stretch marks. I was the one with boobs that looked and felt like two punctured balloons sagging to the sides when I was on my back.
“Do you want me to touch your clit?”
“Okay.”
I can’t tell you how many times he rubbed just to the right or left of it, missing it altogether. And he knew … when we first started having sex, he knew where it was. It hadn’t relocated.
“How’s that?”
“Fine.”
I never had the nerve to tell him he wasn’t rubbing my clit.
“You like that?”
“Sure.”
“Do you want to come?”
“That would be nice, but it’s not looking likely.” “Uh-huh.”
He’d pick up his pace, which was good, and the sexiest thing he could have done at that point would have been to shut up.
Nope.
He needed more validation.
“How am I doing?”
“Good.”
Fine. Sure. Good.
Not exactly the best sex life. Over and over again, I tried to pinpoint the time in our marriage when he went from the man I wanted to jump the second he walked through the door to the man I avoided until I felt guilty for making up reasons to not have sex. I’d get myself psyched up to just “get it done,” knowing it would buy me a good week of him not propositioning me.
What kind of life was that?
I didn’t confirm anything Bella said about Craig nor did I deny it. She’d heard too much that morning we fought for the last time. “I’m going to clear the driveway.”
“You sure you don’t want me to help shovel?”
Rinsing out my cup, I shook my head. “I’ve got it. It’s a snowblower. Not an army tank. How hard could it be?”
Come to find out …
Pretty fucking hard.
It wasn’t an electric start snowblower; it was a pull start. The worst thing imaginable for someone with no upper body strength.
I adjusted the choke and pulled the cord. It caught on me. I never understood how men made pull starts look so smooth and easy.
The second time I pulled it, it caught again.
“Come on!” In that moment, I started thinking the lack of finding my clit didn’t matter. Craig could pull start