And when she did finally focus on her husband, he pretended everything was hunky-dory. The last time they’d gone out to dinner while Penny watched the children, they’d skipped all four courses and had spent the night making out in the van and ordering McDonald’s drive-thru sundaes. Was it any wonder Anne was baffled?
It was only when she stopped to think that she found herself in trouble. Anne still hadn’t decided what to do with the information she’d gleaned from the private investigator. It seemed too crass and trashy to confront Mark head-on with it. But she couldn’t go on ignoring the fact that he was lying to her. And on the path to trading her in for a busty little coed.
“Damn it!” Anne raised one leg and propped her foot against the dresser as she yanked against the stuck top drawer. “Stupid piece of junk! Let go—”
Anne yelped as the drawer squeaked loose with a grating cry of wood on wood. She flew back, plopping harshly on her tailbone as the contents of the drawer flew everywhere. Underwear landed on the floor, and the small tub of makeup she kept stashed out of sight from her children clattered away, tubes of lipstick and mascara rolling under the bed.
Mark found her like that. Sitting on the floor, a comatose mess, staring blankly at the rubble scattered around their bedroom. The drawer hung open, leaning precariously from its perch like a wiggly tooth not quite ready to fall out. Anne didn’t notice any of it.
She didn’t move the first time Mark called her name, nor did she move the second. The third time, she twitched to attention. Without responding, she rose to her feet, wincing as her heel came to land on a set of tweezers that would no doubt be bent out of shape. The only nice pair she had left, gone for good.
She blinked and instructed herself not to cry. It worked, but only just.
“What are you doing here, honey?” Mark asked, the original smile on his face melting away as he caught sight of the look on Anne’s. “Is everything okay? Are you… Should I call the doctor?”
“Stop it! Just fucking stop it!” Anne swiveled to face him. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Anne, please.”
“I’m telling you everything is fine,” Anne insisted. “Just peachy.”
“Did I do something?” Mark raised his hands in surrender. “Is it the kids? Long day?”
“Long day?” Anne raised one of her eyebrows, her voice taking on a high-pitched whine that rivaled the screech of the broken drawer. “Try a long couple of weeks. Are you aware it’s been a game of whack-a-mole around here? One kid pukes, and I clean it up. Before I throw out the trash, the next turns around and gets sick all over everything. It’s been weeks, Mark!”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry so much of the burden around here has fallen on your shoulders lately. But they’ve all been through it now, and we’re on the tail end of the bug—”
“We?” she blurted. “We?”
“I mean…” Mark studied Anne as if the right answer was elusive. “I know I’ve been working a lot—too much, probably. But we’ve had some big cases come in, and I couldn’t pass up the overtime.”
“Right. Well, thank you for your sacrifice.”
“I took you out to dinner. It’s not like we haven’t spent any time together.”
“I appreciate that. I do. But what I really need is about a week of sleep.”
“You’re not thinking…”
“Yes, Mark.” Anne wheeled to face her husband. “I’m thinking about running away for a week and leaving the kids with the babysitter. Again. Is that what you wanted me to say?”
Mark’s eyes narrowed. “That is not funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“Sweetheart, I understand you are stressed and tired and exhausted and sick of the kids being sick. But you’re taking this out on me. Can we just talk about it? Maybe make an appointment with Dr. Olsen?”
“I don’t feel like talking, and I especially don’t feel like talking to a shrink.”
“Come here. I think you need a back rub and a nice bath. Take a little time to cool down, collect yourself, and this will pass.”
“What exactly will pass?”
“This…the rough patch. Whatever it is. The kids are growing up so fast. The twins will be out of diapers soon enough. Car seats will be next. Before you know it, you’ll be wondering where your babies went.”
“That’s not what this is about. This is about my life falling to pieces, Mark.” Anne waved her arms toward the dresser. “Look at the stupid vanity. The drawers don’t work. My things are ruined. I wake up the entire house every time I need to grab a bra. And for crying out loud, it’s not even a real vanity! It’s a set of drawers playing dress-up.”
Mark stilled. “I never knew that bothered you. I thought it was sentimental. We made it, you and me. It was one of the first pieces of furniture we owned together.”
“Yes. We still own it almost twenty years later, and it’s a piece of crap.”
Mark looked at the tipsy drawer, the clothes scattered on the floor. Then he quietly began to pick everything up and pile it into haphazard stacks on the bed. Underwear. Makeup. A few bras that had toppled out.
When he finished, he gently slid the drawer back into place, tested it a few times. Aside from the errant squeak that had been there for years and never bothered Anne before, it worked perfectly. Then he went through and checked every other drawer. They all worked just fine. Once he finished, he turned and left the room.
Anne sank back to the floor. Tears were stuck somewhere deep in her psyche, not interested in leaving. She felt stuck. Stuck, stuck, stuck. She couldn’t cry; she couldn’t calm. All she could do was stare at the dresser, every chip and flaw on display, formerly charming, now a nuisance.
When the sun went down outside her bedroom window, Anne finally pulled herself together. She stepped into her closet and stared at the racks of clothing there. Nothing would work.
She reached down, fumbled through her shoeboxes, and found the lucky winner. Sitting on the floor of her closet, shrouded by old dresses and jeans hanging over her shoulders, Anne released the emergency bottle of vodka from her stash and tipped its contents into her mouth. She frowned, smacked her lips. God, her tolerance was getting strong. Since when had Grey Goose started tasting like water?
Anne took one more swig and then tucked her darling bottle back into the box where it belonged. She kicked it against the wall and then stood, waiting for the alcohol to kick in. It did but just barely as she thumbed through her dreary old selection of clothes.
Everything Anne owned screamed “mom” across it in bold, invisible letters. Yoga pants. Button-down shirts. Sweatshirts that boasted the name of Gretchen’s dance studio or Samuel’s soccer team. Even her jeans were high-waisted and unattractive.
It wasn’t until Anne really got creative digging around in the back of her closet and unearthed the few things she’d hoarded from her pre-baby days that she found a winner. A bright wrap dress in a shade of blood red that Anne had purchased some ten years back on a shopping date with Eliza. She’d never worn it.
Anne pulled it out and held it against her body. Because the fabric was flowy and the style a wrap, it was forgiving enough to slide easily around Anne’s four-babies-later physique.