on Friday night/ Saturday morning before picking up the twins, who had just the most fabulous time, they’re such angels, according to Eric’s mom. Everything was great for the remainder of the weekend; the boys were happy to be home with both mommy and daddy and mommy and daddy were happy, too.
On Sunday night, however, I questioned Eric about his graduation, when he had to defend his thesis project, etc. That’s when shit hit the fan.
“Do you think that UMass will offer you a permanent position?”
That was, apparently, uncalled for.
“Jesus, Nat, you just can’t let it go, can you?”
“What, that I want to know where we’ll be in a few weeks if and when you graduate?”
“If?” he yelled. He never really yells at me, so that was a bit dramatic.
I sighed, but kept my tone soft, “You know what I mean, Eric. The boys need to start kindergarten in the fall and I’d like to know if we’re enrolling them here or somewhere else.”
I don’t understand his anger about my asking about his job prospects. He’s always so level-headed. Maybe the pressure of his thesis defense is mounting. Either way, I’m driving to his lab today—a place I never go—now that the twins are stowed at preschool for the next few hours.
I pull up to the lab and spot all the usual cars, including Eric’s. I grabbed a bagel and his favorite coffee, somewhat of a peace offering for my pissing him off. It’s not that I necessarily care when he’s mad at me—I’m too busy to fluff his emotional pillows—but I just don’t need his attitude to bring me down. And it will. Fast.
Eric should be in his office right now for his TA office hours. He’s the TA for a few upper-level courses, and that’s exactly where I find him, behind his desk grading papers.
I rap lightly on the door with one knuckle.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” He goes back to thumbing through his papers.
This means he’s really mad—when I don’t get a smile right away.
“I brought you coffee and a bagel. You left this morning without eating.” I place the items on his desk.
He looks at them, but speaks to me, “I’m surprised you noticed.”
“Come on, Eric, that’s not fair. We had a great weekend—”
“Yeah,” he huffs, “the first one in a while and then you had to ruin it wi—”
A weak knock on the door interrupts our simmering argument.
“Mr. Johnson?” A fair-haired and fairer-skinned twenty-something is standing, shaking, in the doorway.
“Miss Kimball, we missed you in class this morning. What can I do for you?”
Can he not see that she’s been crying?
“Sorry, Mr. Johnson. Here’s my paper, I hope it’s not too late.”
I don’t know if he’s trying to act tough around me, or something, but Eric’s coming off as a total dick, and I’m not about to let him shoo this girl out of the office without further explanation.
“I’m Eric’s wife, Natalie, nice to meet you . . .”
“Danielle.” A flash of a smile, and it’s gone in an instant.
I tilt my head to the side. “Danielle. Are you feeling okay?”
“Natalie—” Eric cuts in. I stick up my hand and lift my eyebrow at him. Suddenly, he gets it. “Is something the matter, Danielle?” He redirects his words.
“Um . . .” she starts, but her quivering chin slows her down.
“It’s okay, Hon.” My pulse races as I slowly recognize the unmistakable, specific, look on her face.
No.
“My boyfriend . . .”
Shit.
“He, um . . . today he leaves . . .”
No fucking way . . .
“He’s being deployed today for Afghanistan.”
“Jesus.” I hug the pint-sized stranger. She loses strength in my arms and cries into my shoulder. “When is he leaving?” I whisper into her hair.
“In two hours.” She pulls away and wipes her eyes.
“What branch is he?”
“Marines.” When she says it, her face lights up in pride. I smile back. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at class this morning, Mr. Johnson, we just—” she blushes and looks to the floor.
Yeah, we just . . .
“I’m proud of your boyfriend, Miss Kimball, but you need to understand that you have responsibilities . . .”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I watch Danielle’s face fall under my husband’s words. He’s lost his damn mind.
“Eric!” I yell with such force that they both jump.
Eric clenches his teeth. “Natalie, this is my office—”
“And you’re being an ass. Come on Danielle, I’ll walk you to your car.”