4. Theo
FOUR
THEO
I can’t tell if I love or hate Sunday breakfast at the in-laws’.
On one end, Noreen makes a wonderful spread—pancakes, eggs, all the works—and is always so accommodating and lovely. On the other hand, it constantly reminds me what a failure of a husband I am.
Noreen and her husband, Bill, are the poster parents. On and off paper, they’re perfect. They love us with all their hearts, jump at the chance to spend time with us, and give us any help we need.
But, just like Clara, they’re itching for a grandchild to shower all their love on.
“Theo, you’ve barely eaten,” Noreen comments, gesturing at the pancakes on my plate. “Do you not like chocolate chip ones? I thought I’d experiment today.”
I shake my head. “It’s not that.” No, it’s the fact that Clara and I are still coming off our fight from last night, and I can’t find it in me to enjoy your food. “I’m just not super hungry this morning.”
Clara eyes me like she doesn’t believe me, and so does Noreen, but neither of them pushes. Bill finally sets his paper down, joining the superficial conversation we started before my lack of eating was noticed. “So, Theo, how’s work?”
“It’s work,” I tell him. There’s nothing special about what I do. Selling insurance isn’t an exciting job. I only took it because Clara and I were freshly married and in need of money. Pursuing my dream of becoming a writer didn’t seem responsible at the time. I can’t say any of that, so I try to search my brain for something relatively interesting that happened this week. “Um, we went to an Italian restaurant for a birthday lunch.”
“That’s nice,” Noreen comments, helping herself to some eggs. “Management that treats their employees well is good management.”
I nod along. My boss is… fine. He’s a regular old man with a personality that resembles watching paint dry. “It’s employee appreciation next week. He might get us donuts.”
“Good. Need to put some meat on those bones,” Bill jokes, but it’s all lighthearted.
“Speaking of which,” Noreen begins, getting up from the table and disappearing into the living room. She comes back with a pair of pants, draping them over a chair. “I got these all patched up for you. Fixed the little tear by the ankles.”
“Thank you,” I say with a smile I’m sure doesn’t quite meet my eyes.
I love Clara’s parents. Little things like fixing my pants mean a lot to me, seeing as though my parents passed when I was nineteen. I’d always been close to Noreen and Bill throughout high school when I first started dating their daughter. They took me under their wing after the car accident left me orphaned and took care of all the things I couldn’t. They helped me pay my bills, land a job at the grocery store, and just figure out how to live after such a tragedy.
They gave me comfort when I needed it, so did Clara, and that’s something I’ll be forever grateful for. It’s also why I’m determined to make my marriage work. These people have given me everything, and I owe it to them to fix whatever’s wrong between Clara and I. Bringing a baby into the mix—they’d love that—would be the least I could do to repay them for what they’ve done for me. But would I really consider that? Especially when I’m not too sure I want children anymore. What lines would I cross and what would I be willing to do to make this work?
“Oh, did Clara tell you we’re getting a new priest?” Noreen asks.
“Yeah, she mentioned it,” I say, digging into my pancakes even though they’re entirely unappetizing, just to have something to do.
“Marcy told me all about him,” Noreen continues, blushing a bit. “Says he’s very handsome.”
Bill chuckles. “Now, don’t get any ideas.”
“Oh hush,” Noreen tells him, raising her hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is he seems great. He’s young and Marcy tells me he’s very polite and respectful. She thinks he’ll be good for the congregation. He might draw more people in.”
Bill rolls his eyes. “With his looks, I’m guessing.”
“Father Paul was so stuffy,” Clara says, finally joining the conversation. She’s also apparently still a bit ruffled by what happened last night, since she’s usually not this quiet.
“That he was.” Noreen pats her daughter’s hand, smiling at her. “You okay, honey?”
“Yeah.” Clara doesn’t look it, but she smiles regardless. “Think I’m just feeling a bit under the weather.”
“Might have been the chicken,” I mumble under my breath. I curse at myself a moment later but am thankful that nobody heard me. Fuck, I need to get it together. “Um, what’s his name?”
“Father Matteo.”
I’m not as devout as Clara and her parents, even though I attend church every Sunday. I got into Catholicism after my parents died, simply because I was looking for answers. They told me everything happens for a reason, but I still have a hard time believing that. God and I… We’re not exactly on the best of terms, but I try. What I really enjoy about church, however, is the sense of community. I like being involved and interacting with my neighbors. That might be the main reason I’m there in those pews every Sunday without fail.
I can’t disagree the church needs some life though. Father Paul was nice, but there was no passion in him. It seemed like he was doing the bare minimum, going through the motions.
Sound familiar?
I stuff a pancake in my mouth, feeling more like a piece of shit every minute I sit here. I haven’t said one word to my wife since we started eating. I’m lost in my head as the conversation continues without me. Guilt consumes me, but I don’t know what to do about it.
Try harder. Be better.
If only it were that easy.
“Would you look at that? If we don’t head out now, we’re going to be late,” Noreen says, alarm in her voice as she shoots up out of her seat. “Bill, help me get the plates.”
“I got it, Noreen,” I offer, taking her plate before she can.
I go around the table and collect them, heading to the kitchen once I have them all. They don’t have a dishwasher, so I start up the sink, falling back into my own mind as I wash the plates. It isn’t until Clara comes up behind me, wrapping her arms around my middle that I realize I’ve been washing the same fork for five minutes.
“Hey,” she whispers behind me, dropping her cheek on my back. “I’m sorry about last night.”
I squeeze the sponge in my hand, my head falling forward as I sigh. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“No, I do.” She keeps her arms around me as she moves, and I back up so she can lean against the counter in front of me. “I shouldn’t keep pushing about the baby. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.”
“I just need some time,” I tell her honestly, even though I don’t know how much time that is. “I really… I’m sorry.”
Her lips quirk up in that beautiful smile I fell in love with. “Now who’s the one apologizing when they don’t have to?”
I shake my head with a chuckle, pressing my forehead against hers. “Just a little time.”
“I know.” She presses a quick kiss to my lips before looking up at me through long lashes that frame her brilliant green eyes. “I love you, you know?”
“I love you too.” And I mean it. Whatever’s happening between Clara and me, it’s not about there being no love there. It’s just faded, no longer as bright as it should be, but fires always flicker before they flame.
“Come on,” she urges, pushing against my chest. “We can wash these later. Mama wants to head out.”
I nod and give her one more kiss, disappointed when I still don’t feel any spark.
It’ll get better. It’ll get better. It’ll get better.
Maybe if I say that enough, it’ll be true.