Chapter 28
Then
Michael had kept his promise, and we bought a house after bringing our baby girl home.
Things were getting better for us, and Michael worked hard at Whirlpool, and the company promoted him to project manager.
I was now in school, and Monica was in daycare all day between my mom and the daycare at Michael’s work.
It was hard leaving her, and she was growing so fast.
She walked at ten months and said her first word at four months—Mama.
She would turn a year old, and I couldn’t wait for her first birthday party.
Our house was a modest ranch in a small subdivision in town.
I was surprised Michael didn’t want to change jobs and move away.
But my parents began tolerating Michael, and we all had to work to become a family.
My parents loved their granddaughter, but I sometimes felt their reserve toward Michael. Now that we had a baby, there would be Christmases and birthday parties where we all would be together. I hated being the only one in the room who loved everyone. I loved my parents, my baby, and Michael. My parents loved Monica and me. Michael showed that he loved us, yet he still had to say the words.
When we looked at the house, the realtor showed us the backyard.
It was fenced in and had one large tree.
Michael commented that he would build Monica a tree house someday.
Often, I would mention it, but he would say he didn’t remember saying it.
I hoped his newly found interest in us was genuine. And that Monica and I had found a place in his heart.
He didn’t play with her as much as I wished he would, but my mother said that was normal for men.
I felt he missed his single life and didn’t spend much time with his daughter.
I was surprised he mentioned the daycare at Whirlpool.
He had to take her to work on those days, and he couldn’t stay late since the daycare closed at five.
Eventually, he said it would interfere with his promotions. He wouldn’t get another promotion if he weren’t willing to stay late. I wanted to disagree and say spending time with his daughter was more important—even if it was only in the car there and back. He also couldn’t take the Corvette on those days and had to drive my car. I would drive his Corvette to the community college and experience life as a real college student. Even though I couldn’t imagine life without my baby girl, if only for a few hours, it gave me some breathing room. Between school, Monica, and Michael, I was busier than ever. And there would be no promotions with all my efforts—just a job after graduation.
Tammy and I had scheduled all our classes the same so we could still be together.
She and Ryan were engaged now and were planning their wedding that summer.
She tried not to make a big deal out of it, and I felt it was due to my lack of a wedding.
Nonetheless, I showed great enthusiasm to her and Ryan.
Ryan was now working for his father’s construction company, and the two of them hoped to build a house someday and move out of the little Cracker Jack house they rented.
In such a short time, we were adults dealing with all life pressures—bills, work, and family.
Life started early for me, and I was going to prove we would make it.
Some days seemed more complicated than others, and life pulled me in every direction.
I was on a leash, no matter what I did or where I went. Whether Monica was with my mom or Michael, I was expected to drop everything and apologize for getting out of class late, filling the car up, or stopping to pick up needed items at the store. Michael had yet to change a diaper. However, no one worried about coming home and helping me. My life was unimportant, and I never needed to rest or take a break and soak in the tub. And if I complained about it to my mom or Michael, I was reminded of my choice. What others saw as a choice, I saw as a sacrifice. And it would have been nice to have a little appreciation for it. But whenever I saw that smile on my baby’s chubby little cheeks, and Mama came out of her mouth, my choice was golden. Though she took so much of my time, she made me feel special and gave me the validation I needed and lacked.
Monica’s first birthday was coming, and I stopped after class to shop.
I carried bags filled with balloons and ‘baby’s first birthday’ decorations in the house, which turned into a big fight.
It was Michael’s day with Monica.
I walked in, and he gave me that exasperated look.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Michael, I told you yesterday.
I was stopping to get her birthday party stuff.
Remember?”
“No, I don’t fucking remember.
All I know is the baby smells like shit.
I’m hungry, and all you’ve been doing is running around in my car, shopping.”
“Why didn’t you change her?”
I was angry, and for once, I would show it.
“Don’t talk like that around her.
My God, Michael, are you helpless? I don’t ever see you rushing home to help me.
It would be nice to come home to some flowers and dinner.
Do you ever get the ache in the pit of your gut when you’re not home on time? No, you are so self-absorbed that you only care about yourself.”
I went and picked up Monica to change her diaper.
She was crying from all the shouting.
“Jill, don’t you bitch to me about having a kid.
That was your choice.”
I stopped but didn’t turn around.
Monica was in my arms, and I wanted to throw something at him.
It would have to wait until after I changed her diaper.
I heard him throwing pans around in the kitchen as I changed her diaper.
Placing her favorite toys around her, I kissed her head, told her I loved her, and returned to face Michael.
“Don’t you ever say it was my choice to have a baby.
We had sex.
We conceived a baby for which we are both responsible.
I just happened to be the one doing all the work.”
“Fuck you,”
he yelled.
I felt the tears stinging the back of my eyes.
I didn’t want to cry.
I didn’t want to show weakness as I tried to argue my point.
“You’ve been home, what…twenty minutes? Are you such a pussy that you can’t handle a little girl in that short of time? Be a father, Michael.
Change her diaper and start dinner—it’s called parenting.
What the hell!”
He walked abruptly to me and glared at me inches away.
“Don’t ever tell me what to be. This,”
he swirled his finger in the air, “is not what I wanted out of life.”
My chest was caving in.
I didn’t know if I could hold back the tears.
So many times, he referred to us as, this.
And each time, my heart broke a little more.
I knew I walked around with a fractured heart, and maybe someday it would heal. I just knew it wouldn’t be Michael who would cure it. “You are the most ungrateful bitch I have ever known. I work my ass off to buy you this house, pay for your school, buy things for a baby who shits and pisses her pants. I would rather be driving a Porsche up the West Coast, getting drunk at some club, and being laid by as many women as I want. But no! I’m here raising you and your daughter—here in this shitty house in hillbilly haven.”
“Stop it,”
I cried out.
“Trust me, Jill.
I would love to stop this.”
He rolled his finger around again.
“Then why don’t you leave?”
“Really? Why don’t I leave?”
“Why do you stay…if you can’t take…this anymore,”
I said, exaggerating my finger.
“And by the way, Michael, I and your daughter are not this.
We are your family.”
“Don’t tempt me, Jill.
I’m ready to walk out that door.”
“Then do it. Leave!”
“Then what the hell will you do?”
he mocked.
“How will you finish school?”
“Student loans.
Tammy’s getting loans.
I’ll do the same.”
“And how will you live?”
“I’ll work part-time or go to school part-time.”
He glared at me as his eyes showed no remorse and laughed.
“You’re as trapped in this hell as I am.”
“Why must you see it that way? Why can’t you be happy with us? You’re only miserable because you make it that way.
I’m willing to be happy, but you fight me all the way.”
“Happy! You’re happy?”
He screamed his response, and everything inside me was shaking.
“How can I be happy when I never wanted this?”
He stormed over to the wall, where a family picture of the three of us hung.
Pulling it off the wall, he stormed back to me.
“You want to see how sick I am of this family?”
The picture went flying through the room, and glass shattered everywhere.
I was crying and begging him to stop.
It was the only picture I had of us.
A coupon I had from Olan Mills after Monica was born.
I had always wanted a family portrait because, growing up, we never had one.
“Stop it, Michael.
Why do you have to be so cruel? You know I loved that picture of us.”
He didn’t stop there and took the picture from my birthday—the one of us together when I was pregnant and threw it across the room, breaking it as well.
Next, he ran to Monica’s baby picture, and I ran to stop him.
He pushed me back, and I fell to the floor.
“No, please don’t.
Not Monica’s picture, Michael.”
Please,” I begged.
His eyes got a crazed, satisfied look as he broke the frame across his knee.
I heard Monica crying in the doorway, terrified by Michael’s outrage, and I went to grab her.
She was shaking, and I feared what Michael would do next.
I held her tightly, trying to comfort her.
But I was crying and trembling as well.
“Please, Michael.
Just go away.”
“Are you kicking me out?”
“You don’t want to be with us anyway. Go!”
“If I leave, don’t expect me back,”
he said, walking over the broken glass.
“I don’t expect anything from you, Michael.
That’s the problem,”
I said quietly.
But he heard me and had to throw in more insults.
“Oh, don’t worry, Jill.
I’ve wanted to leave for a long time.
Have fun paying for all of this.
I know I will be—fucking anyone I want.”
“Like you haven’t been anyway,”
I said, turning to leave.
“That’s right, Jill.
It’s nice to look at something other than someone lounging around in scrubs all day.
I have to do something to keep me from going insane.”
“I have to wear them for clinicals.
You know that.
Oh, poor Michael.
Life is so rough for you.”
I heard him coming to the bedroom and froze when he grabbed my hair.
“What did you say?”
Monica’s cries were becoming panicked, and I begged him to stop.
“Nothing.
I’m sorry.
Just go away.
Go be with whoever you want.”
He let go of my hair and left the room.
I heard him slam our bedroom door, and I hoped he was packing.
A few minutes later, he returned and was holding his suitcase.
“Kiss the daycare at work goodbye.
You’ll have to quit school or have your mom here every day.
See what life gets you when you’re such a bitch,”
he said and left.
I calmed Monica down and put her in bed with a bottle as I cleaned up all the glass.
The pictures were unsalvageable.
I sat on the floor of the living room and silently cried.
Michael had destroyed all her baby pictures, and I would never have that time back.
I hated Michael. I hated that I loved a man who could do that.
I took the pictures and placed them in a drawer.
I still couldn’t throw them away.
The sack from the store containing Monica’s birthday decorations was still on the counter.
I took them out and cried some more.
It hurt that these simple, precious things meant so much to me yet were hated by Michael. Nothing about us was special to him, and I had to escape. He would never change because we were something he never wanted. He never wanted…this.
. . . . .
Friday was Mom’s day to have Monica, and I never mentioned the fight Michael and I had when I dropped her off before class.
I wasn’t ready to tell her, and I had been taking Monica to daycare at Michael’s work.
But I had to cut class early to drive an hour to pick her up.
I saw Michael’s car in the parking lot and wondered where he was staying.
I was curious if he checked to see if his daughter was in the daycare, to see if I brought her anyway and would be waiting for me. He never was, and it didn’t surprise me.
After classes, I picked my daughter up on time and rushed home to decorate for her first birthday party.
Mom and Dad, Tammy and Ryan, and Scott and Jen were all coming over.
I used the excuse that Michael had to travel for work and couldn’t get out of it.
Only Tammy knew that he was gone.
I didn’t know what I would say when they noticed all the pictures were gone from the wall.
The decorations were up—The Little Mermaid and Tammy made an Ariel cake.
Though she was only turning one, Monica loved to watch “The Little Mermaid”
for hours.
The cartoon was a lifesaver when trying to finish my homework, as Michael never offered help when he was home.
I hadn’t heard from him in four days, and I thought he would come by chance for his daughter’s birthday.
But deep down, I knew it was the last thing he wanted to do.
And it hurt more than ever to know he was sleeping with someone else.
I didn’t know who and hadn’t had time to find out.
Soon, however, I would be consumed by Michael’s betrayals and infidelities and miss out on life’s little joys with my daughter.
Tammy and I both helped Monica blow out her candle.
She was one year old, and Michael would never get this moment back.
It was these special, little moments in life he found no importance in, and to think that anything was better than us came crashing down on my heart.
I would have to give Monica enough for both of us.
“So, what are you going to do?”
Tammy asked once everyone was off eating their cake.
“I don’t know.
If I get divorced, I must quit school and find a job.
There’s no way I could afford this house on my own, even with student loans.
Michael may be an asshole, but at least he pays for my schooling with the help of the reimbursement program through Whirlpool.
If we divorce, it goes away.”
“Which is more important? Your degree or your sanity?”
“Ahh, it’s so tough.
Why can’t he love us like he should? I was all ready to divorce him last year.
Then, he suddenly had a change of heart.
I thought it would last.
But you’re right. I can’t go on like this. I should ask Mom if we can move back home and give Michael the house.”
It was the last thing I wanted to do.
“Well, if you’re single, you may get better assistance with school and other stuff.”
“Not with Michael’s income and child support.
It’s strange.
He’s the one who hates being in this marriage, but I am the one who feels trapped.
Maybe before I talk to Mom, I should talk to Michael.
Maybe we could devise an arrangement if he wants out so bad.”
“Like what?”
Tammy asked, her eyes wide with unbelief.
“I don’t know.
Maybe stay married while I live at home…”
I was starting to cry, and Tammy pulled me outside.
We stood on the patio in the backyard, and I tried desperately to compose myself.
“When we bought this house, Michael promised to build Monica a tree house in that tree,”
I said, nodding to the lone large maple tree.
“Well, she is a little young right now.”
“I know.
But I thought it’d be one of those things a father would do with anticipation.
For example, when they buy their newborn son a baseball bat and hat, Maybe if she were a boy, he’d be different.”
“No, not Michael.
That’s just the way he is, Jill.
The sooner you realize it has nothing to do with you and Monica, the better off you’ll be.
He’s just not the settling down type.”
She was right.
Guys like Michael would always live with the Peter Pan Syndrome.
He denied growing old and never wanting the responsibility.
I was the one-time chase he conquered before moving on to the next.
I was the obstacle in his way, and he hated me for this reason.
After the party, I kissed Mom and Dad goodbye and told Mom I would like to talk in the morning.
I could tell she knew something was wrong by the look in her eyes.
Mother’s always do.
She also looked at the empty walls and commented that I must already be packing.
I had no heart to tell her that Michael destroyed all our family pictures.
The house was empty of guests, and Monica was put to bed.
Maybe I would stop in Michael’s office after dropping Monica off and ask if he would talk.
But instead, I called and left a message on his voicemail at work.
I didn’t know any other way to get a hold of him.
It was dark, and lightning flashed.
A storm was coming, and I went around, closing all the windows as the rain began to pour.
Before closing the blinds to the back door, lightning flashed again, and I saw the quick image of someone sitting on the patio step.
My heart jumped, and fear shivered through my body.
I locked the door and grabbed the phone to call 911. With my finger, I pulled down enough of the blinds to see if someone was still there. The rain was coming down hard, and he was soaked. When the lightning flashed again, I recognized him. Michael.
What was he doing in the backyard—in the rain?
I ended the call before it rang and unlocked and opened the door.
“Michael?”
He turned around.
“What are you doing out here?”
He stood and walked toward me.
He was soaked and looked…strange.
“Are you drunk?”
“No, Jill.
I’m not drunk.”
“Then why are you sitting in the rain?”
The look on his face was full of sorrow.
It was not like him.
“I was looking at the tree.”
“Michael, you’re being weird.
Why didn’t you just come in through the front door?”
“I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
He was confusing me.
“Afraid you had the locks changed, and I wouldn’t be welcome.”
I didn’t know what to say and wanted to enjoy the silence between us in the rain.
It said more about Michael’s feelings than he could have said himself.
Was he going to say he was sorry? “It’s your house too.
But I did want to talk to you.
I left a message on your work voicemail.”
“I know.
I called in and listened.”
“Why didn’t you call the house then?”
I wanted to ask where he was staying but didn’t want to ruin whatever this moment was.
“I was afraid maybe you changed the number.”
He handed me a folded piece of paper.
It had become wet from the rain, and I told him to come inside.
The paper was still in my hands, and even though Tammy and I talked about me divorcing Michael, I feared he already had filed, and this was the paper telling me so.
As I unfolded it, I prepared myself for what it was and was willing to accept it.
At least someone had started the proceeding.
I looked at the wet paper and saw the heading: Menard’s.
I looked back up at Michael.
“What’s this?”
“Read it,” he said.
Through the wet paper, I could make out terms like 2x4 treated and buckles.
“I still don’t understand.”
“Sorry, it’s late.
It’s Monica’s birthday present.
It’s the lumber to make her tree house.
They’ll be delivering it tomorrow.
I wanted you to know.”
“Michael…I don’t know what to say.”
“I want to start building it.
Can I come home?”
I looked at him in shock.
It was the last thing I ever expected.
Would this be the turning point for us, and we would be together forever? This would be the one thing we would look back on and maybe laugh about someday.
Tell others struggling in their marriage to hold on and work it out? As much as I wanted it to be, I thought about the pictures he destroyed.
“Michael, I don’t know.
It really hurt when you destroyed our pictures.
Those are moments we’ll never get back.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry.
Can we have new ones made?”
“I’m not sure.
The studio’s not even in town anymore.
I don’t know how I could contact them.”
Beth had long gone to a college out of state.
“Why did you do it, Michael?”
“I don’t know.
I regret it.
I was angry and wanted to hurt you.”
“Why? Why do you want to hurt me? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t mean to.”
He took a deep breath.
“This isn’t going to come out right.
It makes me mad that I can’t walk away from you and Monica.”
“I don’t know how to take that,”
I said and tried to see the good in it.
“I never saw myself as the family type.
I saw one thing.
Me, success, and freedom.
I’m still trying to figure out where to put you and Monica.”
My arms hugged around me as I listened to his declaration of his true feelings.
It hurt me that he couldn’t find a place for us in his heart, yet he was honest with me.
I thought I should do the same.
“Michael, I never saw us married either.
Yes, in my stupid, girly fantasies.
But now that it’s real, I can’t imagine life any different.
And…I wished I did.
I wished I could stop loving you. I wish the things you did didn’t hurt me so much. I wish I never met you—not so much for myself. But so that you wouldn’t hate me.”
“Jill, I don’t hate you.
I hate that I do love you.
But, I don’t know how to show it.
All I do is fight it, and I know it isn’t fair to you.”
“You love me?”
He stared at me incredulously.
“Yes, Jill.”
I began to cry.
“You want to come home?”
“Yes.
I want to try.”
“Michael…”
He took me in his arms, and I cried in his chest.
“What kind of marriage is this if we wished we didn’t love each other?”
He picked me up, and my legs wrapped his waist.
“You’re a good wife, Jill.
I’m just not a good husband.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”
He carried me to the bedroom, and we kissed as we took off the wet clothes.
“I missed you,”
he said, picking me up again and laid me on the bed.
Even though I wasn’t sure if I did, I said it too.
“I missed you too, Michael.”
As he made love to me, he repeated how much he didn’t deserve me, and I knew it to be true.
He told me again what a wonderful wife and mother I was, and even though marriage was never in his plans, he couldn’t have picked a better wife.
I accepted Michael’s apology and his passionate lovemaking.
I was still torn between his hatred of loving us and his willingness to try.
But as time went on, the word try would leave a lousy taste in my mouth.
Because to love Monica and me was simple.
To love Michael would become a challenge.