Unfaithful - Natalie Barelli Page 0,1

me from the bed, one arm bent behind his head. He’s frowning.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“You look… conservative. Like a school teacher.”

“I am a school teacher.”

“You know what I mean.”

I smile and reach for my lipstick—Desert Rose—and stare back at my reflection. My mother’s voice pops into my head, unbidden. Look your best to do your best!

I close my eyes. Why did I have to think of my mother now? Now she’s going to be like an elephant around my neck all day—or is it an albatross? Whatever. A big cumbersome weight dragging me down, making me feel inadequate, reminding me that I’m not quite living up to my potential. Unless I don’t let her. Easier said than done, I think, as I run a brush through my hair.

“Where are you off to, anyway?” Luis asks.

“Faculty meeting, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” he says, but I know he doesn’t. I pick up the bottle of perfume he bought me for my birthday, Lancôme’s La Vie est Belle, and I spray a cloud at the base of my throat.

Geoff at work commented on the scent once: “Is it you who smells so delish?”

Delish. It seemed so suggestive. Sometimes I think if I were willing—which I’m not, at all—but if I were… I used to think he was kind of handsome for an academic, with his dark gray messy curly hair, swept back and reaching down his neck. He wears glasses, thin-rimmed ones, and has a graying beard that makes him look like Neil Gaiman.

Luis rubs his knuckles over his head and throws off the covers.

“Why don’t you stay in bed?” I say.

“That’s okay.” He yawns. “I’m awake now. I’ll be in the shower.”

On the way downstairs I pass by Mateo’s room. He’s still fast asleep, his Batman-themed comforter thrown onto the floor, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish. I turn on the light, kiss his hair. “Come on, Matti, time to get up, honey.” He stirs, yawns and his eyes pop open. I pick a sweatshirt up off the floor and put it on the back of his chair, then tell him to get ready and make sure to pack his gym bag.

In Carla’s room, I find her at her desk doing some last-minute revision.

“Morning you, did you sleep well?” I ask, kissing the top of her head.

“Yes, thanks.”

She barely moves, one elbow on the desk, her head propped up on her hand. I kiss her again, smell her long soft hair. At thirteen she’s as tall as me already. “Come and have breakfast.” She nods, mumbles that she’ll be down in a minute.

In the kitchen, I’m preparing school lunches for my children when they bounce in arguing, jostling each other at the fridge, for the milk, over the box of cereal. They work around me, all of us anticipating each other’s movements. Cupboard doors fly open and sometimes get closed again. Bowls are dropped on the kitchen table with a clatter and are filled with cereal and milk, fruit and yoghurt. I try to keep up, put things away as needed, scolding them half-heartedly for making a mess but secretly loving how noisy they are, the chaos they create, and the sense that I’m at the center of it, bringing order to their lives.

Luis joins us, dressed in jeans and a white shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. He grabs a yoghurt from the refrigerator and slowly spoons it into his mouth, leaning against the kitchen counter. Mateo has gone back upstairs and shouts down that he has lost a sneaker and it’s really bad! because he has soccer practice today. I go up to his room and locate the shoe under his bed along with a bevy of dirty socks and underpants. I add them to a load of washing and turn the machine on.

“Will you please fix the tap today?” I ask Luis. Every day I bring up the dripping tap in the kitchen, and every day, Luis says he’ll fix it. Every day I say something like, If you don’t have time, I can get the plumber in, and every day he assures me that’s a waste of money and he’ll do it himself.

Today is no exception.

“And since you’re up early, would you walk Roxy, please?”

He drops the yoghurt container in the trashcan and kisses the top of my head. “Sorry, I have to get back to the gallery. I’m under the gun.”

I put my hands on his chest. “I know, I remember.” Luis’s upcoming exhibition