5. Hannah
Chapter five
Hannah
L ife marches on, but I can't get Rico and Santiago out of my mind. It's easier when the kids are home because I can stay present and busy with them, but at night I can't stop my mind racing.
Rico bringing me home, the touch of his gun against my thigh, him lounging by the pool as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Santiago's intense eyes, the tattoos snaking up one side of his neck and onto his scalp. He's tall and muscular, his bulging biceps and the veins on the back of his hands. Since when did I find veins sexy?
The way my body had reacted to them both - it was as if I was being introduced to a man for the first time in my life.
And maybe I was. The men I grew up around worked in offices and boardrooms, golf courses, and country clubs. They wore pressed suits and the most dangerous thing they ever encountered was a pencil sharpener.
Rico and Santiago, though? They're muscular, tatted, reeking of danger and strength. Both of them are warriors, capable of violence. Maybe that's what I'm missing.
I'm just serving the kids lasagna, garlic bread and salad when the front door springs open.
"Honey, I'm home!" Alan yells, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Internally, I groan, but I don't want to let on that anything's wrong to the kids. I guess this is the one day this week Alan will grace us with his presence.
I walk to the front door as Alan' s shrugging off his suit coat and give him an air kiss near his cheek. "Welcome home, sweetheart, how was your work trip?"
There was never any work trip, but it's a white lie I've told many times to protect my kids from the truth.
My stomach rolls at the clawing smell of his mistress's perfume, and I can't stand being that close to him. My skin feels tight and itchy. I've been making active choices, active changes to try and find my authentic self again, but pretending to be in a happy marriage goes against everything I believe in. I just haven't figured out what to do about it yet.
Divorce is always messy. I have zero income. Alan could demand to keep the house. He could move his mistress in. Where would I live? Would the kids resent me for ruining their home? Their lives? How could I provide for them when I'd never really done anything with my business degree? We got pregnant so soon after college, I never even really entered the workforce.
Did I trust Alan alone with my kids? If we shared custody?
No.
The short answer was that divorce wasn't really an option. But maybe there was a version of us that didn't make my skin crawl. Maybe I could talk to Alan about not pretending anymore. He could live his life, I could live mine. Surely, he could afford to support us while living full-time with his mistress. He'd been doing it for years.
Maybe I'll pull him aside tonight to talk about it.
Alan plops down in the chair at the head of the table and I rush to make him a plate so it looks like we were expecting him. My steps studder on the way back to the dining table when I realize just how much I've done over the years to appease this man's ego. He hadn't graced us with his presence in almost a week and here I am, jumping up to make him think we were always expecting him. Just pathetic.
I shake my head as if I can shake off the ugly thoughts and serve my husband.
I was beginning to hate that word.
Talking around a mouthful of lasagna, my husband starts his weekly interrogation. "How's school going Aiden?"
I tried not to look anxious as I waited for Aiden's answer. I knew he'd gotten a 'B' on his spelling test and I was worried what Alan would say about that.
"Good," Aiden says quietly, eyes cast down. His dirty blonde hair is just a tad too long and I make a mental note to take them all to the hairdresser soon. Maybe after soccer this weekend? It'll make for a late dinner...maybe we just order pizza that night.
"Look me in the eyes when I speak to you, boy." Alan's loud voice causes me to jump and I glance up to see Aiden's reaction. He looks Alan in the eyes, but I can tell he's tense and uncomfortable.
"Aiden's artwork has been selected to be showcased in a county-wide art show alongside pieces from other schools, even high schools, right Aid?"
I catch the minuscule wince from Aiden and know immediately that I've fucked up.
"That's because he's still reading those stupid anime shits," Alan grumbles. Aiden's been a fan of manga since a kid on the school bus in first grade showed him. I thought him being passionate about reading, the artwork, and the creativity of the cartoons, were a great way to encourage our kids to read. Alan thought it was 'gay and nerdy shit'. His words, not mine.
Aiden, my sensitive one, my big feeler, has an artistic streak a mile wide. One he hides from his father's ridicule.
Satisfied with the dagger he threw at his oldest, his attention shifted to Viv. "And you, pretty girl?" Internally, I bristle. I want my daughter to be known for so much more than her beauty. Yes, she's objectively gorgeous, but women are more than their appearances. Call her 'smart girl', 'strong girl', or even 'beautiful girl' speaks to something deeper than skin-deep appearances. She has a beautiful soul. Call her that.
"Me, what?"
"Don't talk back to me. What in the world has your mother been teaching you?" Viv bristles, but before I can defend her, or redirect Alan, she speaks up. "I only meant, what do you want to know about me? My grades?" She's placating her father and I hate that she has to do that.
"Sure, yeah, your grades. Or how is gymnastics going?"
Now I bristle, because Alan doesn't really care about Viv's grades, the same way he never cared about my degree. Because women are meant to be accessories to their husbands, nothing more. God, I should have seen that red flag a decade ago.
"Gymnastics is going great. They're considering me for the competitive team, which is really impressive for someone so young."
I swallow a bitter feeling. My young daughter has already learned how to manage her father. Why am I just seeing this now?
Alan reaches over and ruffles her hair - something I know she hates. " That's great, peanut. Should you cut back on some carbs if you're trying out for the competitive team?"
Oh, fuck this man for telling his young, impressionable daughter to watch her weight. I'm about to rage when Jack pipes up.
"My class got a hedgehog and we all got to vote and we decided to name him Voldemort, which means no one can really say his name, which means we call him the hedgehog, or the one who can't be named."
Jack pops a crouton in his mouth and chomps on it loudly.
"Well, that's a dumb name."
"That's what you get when you let a bunch of 1st graders decide on a name for a pet hedgehog." I push food around on my plate. "And how's work going, sweety? Get that deal finalized?"
There's no deal. Or at least not that I know of. But I'm finally giving in to my mama bear urges to protect my children from this asshole.
But Alan can't pass up an opportunity to brag about himself. "Yep." He says, popping the 'p'. "I had a groundbreaking quarter with sales. The higher-ups are looking at me like I'm managing partner material. Really going to make a name for myself. That is if Danny doesn't screw me over." I half-listen as my husband goes on about how great he is, how nothing is ever his fault, and how dumb management is for not having seen his talent before.
I catch each of my children's eyes to check in with them to make sure they're alright. Each of them give me a nod and a sad smile, but keep their eyes down the rest of the time, just waiting for this painful dinner to be over. Shame weighs me down like a fucking anvil. How many painful dinners have these kids had to suffer through because of the asshole I chose as their father? How many painful dinners have these kids had to suffer through because I made poor choices?
The answer is simple: too fucking many. Something has to change.
We wrap up dinner quickly, the kids help me with the dishes before I send them upstairs to take baths.
I find Alan in our bedroom.
"Hey, can I talk with you real quick?" I have no idea what I'm going to say, or how to say it. I should take time to think it through - figure out the best way to approach this with him. The best way that will help me get the outcome I want, but I don't know when he'll be back, and I don't want the cloud of another family dinner hanging over my head.
He sighs in annoyance with my general presence. Same, bro, same.
I wring my fingers together and just start. "So, like...I know you don't like coming home for family dinners..." I wait for him to acknowledge me at all, but he doesn't. "I just want you to know you can move out, if you want, and not have to do any of these family dinners again."
I can hear the words, and they sound pathetic. But I'm unprepared and unsure.
He stands up and crowds my space. He pinches my chin painfully in his fingers. "You think I'm going to allow you to raise our children without my supervision? If I did, Aiden would turn out a nerdy faggot, Vivian would be as fat as you, and Jack would become a mama's boy. Nice try, though, Han." He says, while slapping my ass.
He's not going to give this to me. He's not going to give this up. He sees the kids as an extension of himself. He expects Aiden to take over his spot at his father's company, Vivian to marry someone rich, and Jack? Probably to work under him as well.
Except I get the distinct impression he doesn't even like his own kids, just how they reflect on him. He wants to be able to brag about his straight-A student son who will clearly take over the family business, his thin, beautiful, gymnast daughter, and his youngest, whose value he hasn't decided on yet.
An heir and a spare. Fuck.
I look at Alan's back - the back of a man I used to love and wonder how we got here. He's packing a bag of clothes I cleaned for him, so he can stay with his mistress for another week. He interrogates my children as if they're interviewing for a position as the company he works for.
Fuck, this has to change. But I have no idea how.
Yet.