Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
S HANNON
I glance at my watch for the hundredth time in the last half hour. Troy should have been home by now. His twenty-four-hour shift ended an hour and a half ago. I push down my annoyance and the intruding thoughts that he’s probably having a leisurely cup of coffee with some of the guys before heading home. He’s doing that, and I’m sitting on our living room floor in my yoga gear, holding Chase.
Not that I’m complaining about this morning. It’s been a great morning so far. But Troy doesn’t know that. As far as Troy knows, I’m likely having a frazzled morning and dying for the handoff after twenty-four hours of feeling like a single parent. That’s why I’m annoyed. He clearly isn’t thinking about me if he’s lingering at the station after his shift.
As I lean back against the couch, Chase rests on my lap, looking through his favorite picture book. I love mornings like this. On these mornings, when he wants to be held, it’s only me he wants. It’s the one redeeming thing that helps me remember he doesn’t hate me even though it feels like it on days he wants everyone but me. I kiss the top of his head, holding my lips there for a moment, savoring this.
Still, I’m looking forward to getting out of the house this morning and checking out the hot yoga class Shyley suggested we go to, followed by a much-needed sister brunch at Pat’s Diner.
After grabbing my phone from the floor next to me, I type out a text to Troy.
Me: Where are you?
Minutes pass before I get a response.
Troy: At work.
Me: I figured that much. WHY are you still at work?
My phone rings, and Troy’s name scrolls across the screen. I swipe to answer it and lift it to my ear.
“Hello?” I fail to hide the frustration in my voice.
“Hey, babe. I’m so sorry I didn’t call this morning to update you. We got a run right as the shift was ending, and we just got back to the station.” Troy’s tone is apologetic.
“Well, can you get home, please? I have my yoga, and brunch with Shyley this morning and I’m gonna be late.”
Silence.
“Troy?”
“Shit. I’m so sorry. I forgot about that, so when Daniels called off?—”
“Please tell me you did not pick up hours today. I just told you about this last night, and it’s important to me.”
“Damnit. I’m sorry. I did forget. All I was thinking when Captain offered up the extra twelve hours today was we could use the money. You told me on the phone last night about the letter sent home from Olivia’s dance teacher yesterday, and I was thinking this overtime could help cover the four hundred dollars for dance recital costumes.”
I’m grateful he’s putting Olivia’s needs first, but my irritation boils over, and hot tears start to run down my cheeks. Chase begins to wiggle in my arms, a clear sign that our snuggly time is coming to an end. I’m sure he can sense the tension in my body stemming from this conversation, and it’s affecting his vibe.
I sniffle.
“Shan? You still there? I’m sorry…”
I suck in deep breaths, knowing if I try to speak immediately, he’ll definitely know I’m crying.
Troy’s voice is strained when he says, “I can make some calls and see if someone else?—”
“No. It’s fine. I gotta go.” My voice shakes.
Troy sighs and I can picture him holding the nape of his neck, something he does when he’s stressed. I know because I pay attention to him. I see him. I wish I could say he did the same with me.
“I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
“Bye, hon. I love?—”
I don’t hear the rest of his sentence because I hang up before he can finish.
Chase is starting to get antsy, so I reach over, grab the television remote, and put on a cartoon for him. I usually try to avoid adding to my kids’ screen time for the day, but right now, I need a couple of minutes. He immediately settles down, and I kiss him on his sweet head, set him on the floor, and then rise to my feet. He’s mesmerized by the characters on the screen and doesn’t even notice when I step away into the attached dining room to text my sister and cancel.
Me: Hey, I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on today. Sorry.
Within seconds, my phone dings with her incoming text.
Shyley: What??? No! You’re coming. I know you hate exercise but think of the pancakes afterward.
My eyes moisten with tears again, which is annoying because they just stopped.
Me: It’s not that. Troy had to stay over at work, and while Chase might love the pancakes, something tells me he’s not Zen enough to come to yoga.
Shyley: Ugh. Ask Mom. She’ll watch him.
Me: No. Go without me. I have some work to do today anyway. Maybe next time. Please don’t stop inviting me. One of these times, it’ll work out.
Shyley: Boo. But don’t worry, I won’t stop inviting you. You might be my sister, but you’re also my best friend.
When I walk back into the living room, my bud is lying on the floor, snuggled in his blanket, and I’m shocked to see his eyes closed. My baby boy is... napping. I almost don’t believe it. But, sure enough, when I watch him a minute or so, it’s confirmed—he’s asleep.
My adrenaline kicks in, and I take off upstairs to collect dirty laundry. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of this gift of a nap and toss a load of clothes in. When I get to the kids’ bedrooms, I race around like I’m a contestant on one of those adventure scavenger hunt reality television shows. Only instead of visiting cool places and collecting clues, I’m scooping up the clothes my family has discarded. Chelsea and Oliver are my little neat freaks, and all their dirty clothes are put in the hampers in their rooms. But Olivia is a total slob. Her clothes are strewn around her room.
She gets that from her dad.
I finally make it to the bedroom I share with Troy and empty the clothes from the hamper into my laundry basket. Then I pick up the clothes lying on the floor. Right next to the damn hamper. But on the floor. Troy’s clothes.
“How hard is it to put them in the hamper?” I mutter to myself.
Once I’ve got everything loaded in the clothes basket, I head toward the hallway so I can get these in the wash. As I pass by Troy’s side of the bed, my annoyance kicks up a notch. For some reason, my husband leaves all his dirty socks on the floor next to his side of the bed. It’s even more disrespectful than leaving the clothes next to the hamper rather than in it.
I angrily swipe the socks off the floor and slam them into the basket. Well, as much as cotton can be slammed anyway.
Ten minutes later, I’ve checked on Chase, thrown a load of clothes in the wash, and decide to live on the edge, so I make myself another coffee. Planting myself on the ground next to my sleeping boy, I sip my coffee and close my eyes, grateful for the extra time to make a small dent in my to-do list.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to reset my mood and clear my mind. When did I become the woman who cries at the drop of a hat and fills with rage over dirty socks? Sure, I’m tired. Being a mother to four kids will do that to you. My husband has a job that requires him to be away for more than twenty-four hours at a time. Plus, I’m desperately trying to contribute to the family and hold on to my old career aspirations. I do bookkeeping on the side for two small businesses. One is Elladine Bakehouse, owned by the sweetest woman I’ve ever met, Lizzy Lantz. The other is for our friend Emily’s homemade meal service, Emily’s Eats.
Anxiety fills my chest, thinking about work. I’d normally catch up during the day when Troy is home and spending time with Chase. But since he’s not home today, that means I’ll be up late tonight, working after the kids are in bed. Just like that, my mood sours again.
It’s more than work, though. I don’t feel right anymore. I don’t even know who I am outside of this house and all my responsibilities.
I was once Shannon Donley, the smart girl who was going to take the world by storm and have it all—the career, motherhood, the hot husband. Now I’m Shannon Willson, the frumpy, eternally exhausted mom and part-time employee. Definitely not the CPA boss lady I envisioned. I’m carrying more weight than I like, and I can’t remember the last time I wore makeup or dressed in something other than a T-shirt and basic comfy pants.
To add insult to injury, Troy looks even sexier than he did in high school. He’s grown more attractive over the years while I’ve become... less. Less in so many ways. And that’s just not fair.
I’m lying to myself if I don’t admit that I’ve been feeling off for some time. But I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. I know my energy has been nil, I barely sleep, and my self-esteem is at an all-time low. I miss being attractive and beautiful.
Sure, Troy and I still have sex once in a while, but it’s nowhere near as often as we used to, and we’re usually rushed to fit it in between everything else going on. Either that, or we’re interrupted by one of the younger kids waking up from a bad dream. Regardless, it’s not like when we were younger, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of me. I long for how that felt.
Honestly, I don’t even understand why he’s still here… except out of obligation. He’d never walk away from his family. He’s too heroic for that. But, somewhere along the path we’ve traveled over these more than eighteen years together, we grew apart from each other. If not, life wouldn’t be this hard. Right?
I know I’m not a troll, but if I had to bet, I’d guess my husband isn’t very attracted to me anymore. Why should he be? I’m not the woman he fell in love with. To be fair, I guess I didn’t see the parts of him that were less than sexy before we were married and had so many kids.
The socks on the floor, the lack of communication. The always working...
A tear slips down my cheek.
I’ve been with Troy since I was fifteen years old, and he was only seventeen. We married when I was twenty, then had Olivia shortly after I turned twenty-one, two weeks after I graduated college.
Somewhere along the line, I lost something... I lost me. Who am I kidding? Somewhere along the line, we lost us.
I watch my baby boy sleeping on the floor as the tears flow steadily down my cheeks now. As I fight to keep my crying in check, not wanting to interrupt Chase’s rare nap, I rake my hands through my hair, holding my head in an attempt to calm myself.
That’s when I feel it. The gelatinous, sticky substance on my left hand. I pull my hand from my hair and stare down at the red, lumpy material on my fingers. I can’t stop the sob that escapes from me as I stare at the jelly on my hand. The jelly that was in my hair. When did I become the woman who could walk around for hours with jelly from breakfast in my hair and not notice it?
Who the heck am I?
“Mama? You got boo-boo?” The sleepy voice of my baby boy gets my attention.
I kiss Chase’s forehead and fight back the tears.
“Just a little boo-boo, baby. Mama’s okay.”