Chapter Thirty-Nine
Wendy
March
"So, how are you doing?"
The question makes me smile. It used to not. I used to want to shrink away when Dr. Pace asked me that, but I later learned that was because it was a bit of an uncommon question.
Usually, when people saw me, their first question was about the boys or Atlas.
Because that's what I let my identity become—wife and mother.
"How are you doing?"
"Well, the boys—"
"No, Wendy, how are YOU doing?"
I genuinely had no idea how to answer that question. I was alive, so that was good. My boys were happy and healthy, so that was good. The house was clean, so that was good. Dinner was prepared, so that was good.
But how was I?
Not great. I was in a marriage that was cracked down the middle, my boys were distrustful of their father after his absence, my husband was having a mental health crisis, and if I didn't keep everything afloat, then it would all collapse.
But now? After months of therapy, of feeling every emotion under the sun, of healing, of hurting, of crying, of laughing, of reconnecting with not only my husband, but myself?
"I'm doing amazing. Still working at Mabel's, but mostly in the back now, which has been really nice. I think Mabel is looking to slow down a little bit, so she's been asking me about becoming a manager and looking after the store for her."
"How do you feel about that?"
"I don't know,” I admit with a grimace. “I like everyone who works there. The people in this town make the job easy, but I love doing the numbers more. I like the quiet of the office and the peace of the routine, so I think I'm going to decline."
"You have to do what you like," Dr. Pace nods. "I'm happy you're not feeling guilty for wanting to say no."
I smile at the acknowledgement that I am working on my guilt, that I don't let it run my life and sit in it until it turns everything sour.
When Mabel first approached me with that offer, I was going to say yes because saying no could hurt Mabel's feelings or put her in a bad position if she wanted to hire a manager immediately.
But, I'm done twisting myself into a pretzel to cater to someone else's needs.
There needs to be a balance, and for too long the scale has been tipped in the other direction. I've found that speaking up for myself can only incur good things in return.
While the guilt still churns in my stomach, I think of the potential future if I don't stand up for myself and enable bad behavior. It looks like what I just battled out of with my husband.
Never again.
"Me too."
Dr. Pace makes a note, "How are the kids?"
Pride swells in my chest as I think about the last month.
"Noah's art is going to be featured in a national magazine for youth artists, and he's bouncing off the walls about it. Atlas bought a nice frame for it to hang in the house."
Dr. Pace smiles at that, remembering me talking about when Atlas ignored Noah's last big accomplishment. When Noah showed Atlas, he had picked him up and spun our giggling boy around as we celebrated him.
"And Liam?"
"Liam's team won their championship, and he was named MVP," I grin. "And he's dating his best friend, Birdie."
"Ah, young love," Dr. Pace laughs, gesturing to me. "You know a thing or two about that."
"And we explicitly told them that we are happy for them, we support their relationship, but to please take things slow," I say, before adding. "I know we sound like hypocrites, but Atlas and I understand we're the exception of teen pregnancy, not the rule."
Dr. Pace tilts her head, "And Atlas?"
The smile stretches across my face and I can even feel my cheeks heating as I tell her, "Taking it slow, but..."
Dr. Pace raises an eyebrow, encouraging me to continue. "But..."
"I want him to move back in."
"Have you told him that?"
"Not yet," I shake my head. "We've been... we just want to be careful. Everything feels kind of delicate now. Like one wrong move might trigger a collapse."
"It's good to be careful," Dr. Pace says, leaning forward. "Do you feel ready for him to move back in?"
"Yes, I'm just... it'll be a change. Even from before... that year. Things are going to feel different."
"Change can be scary and deeply uncomfortable. But..."
I smile, thinking back to one of her mantras that has really helped me.
"Discomfort is necessary for growth."
"Which is annoying, but true."
I nod, feeling that itchy feeling creeping up my back. Dr. Pace doesn't miss this; she rarely misses anything.
"What else is going on, Wendy?"
I name the one thing that's been like a splinter lodged in my brain.
"I'm worried that it's too soon and people will think I'm weak. For taking him back. For forgiving him."
She narrows her eyes. "What else?"
Huffing, I push the words out through a tight throat.
"I'm worried I will think I'm weak, because... well, what if it happens again..."
"It very well might. Atlas could have a backslide," Dr. Pace says bluntly, her voice firm. "I think the question you might need to ask yourself is if it does happen again, are you willing to fight once more?"
"Yes," I respond instantly, not even thinking.
Dr. Pace smiles. "Why?"
"Because I love Atlas. Because his mental illness wasn't his fault.
His trauma wasn't his fault. He knows his trauma wasn't his fault, but it's his responsibility to manage.
He's managing it. He's changed. He's so involved with the boys now.
He's so present, and when he has bad moments, when he has nightmares, he calls me.
He doesn't suffer in silence anymore..."
Dr. Pace nods, her face eager. "And..."
"And because I found my voice," I say, feeling pride in myself welling inside my chest. "Because I won't enable bad behavior any longer. I won't lie down and be a doormat in the future. I will remain Wendy, and he will remain Atlas, and we will be a true partnership."
"Then that's your answer, isn't it?" Dr. Pace shrugs, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. "Strong women aren't unfeeling. I happen to think the ones who feel the deepest are the bravest."
Brave.
If you asked me a year ago to give a word to describe myself, I don't think brave would have been a word used.
I'm glad it is now.
◆◆◆
I'm walking out of the therapy, feeling as I usually do—drained, but lighter.
It's Friday, and Atlas is at home with the boys, which we've both agreed is more beneficial to them to be in the space they're most comfortable, so instead of dropping them off at Diane and Emmett's, Atlas just comes over to watch them.
And I think that's been extremely beneficial to our healing in the environment we're most comfortable in. Remembering what we built in this home, remembering what we almost lost in this home, and continuing to build something even better in this home.
For the last two weeks, Atlas has left work on time, comes right over to the house, and we all eat together as a family.
On days that I work, Atlas volunteers to pick up takeout for us. On the days I do cook, he tries to get there even earlier to help.
It's different, and it took me a little bit to get used to it.
Before, when I would be in the kitchen cooking, Atlas would get home from work, exhausted, go up to take a shower, then settle on the couch with Liam to watch ESPN.
Noah would sit at the coffee table with them, sketching in his book or playing on his little Nintendo. I would juggle dinner and cleaning up as I went, leaving less mess for me afterward, and then call them in.
Now, Atlas gets home—usually with flowers for me and little snacks or surprises for the boys. He kisses me before he rushes up to shower, but he comes right back down into the kitchen after and asks, "What can I do for you, baby?"
So, I'll hand him veggies to chop while I handle the main course, or if it's an easier meal, he'll just hang out in the kitchen with me.
The boys will either be doing their homework at the table or finishing up their chores before setting the table for us and grabbing drinks. Atlas, while he's always been so complimentary with me, has dialed up his game.
Instead of complimenting the result, he recognizes and praises the work.
"Thank you for cooking, baby."
"I appreciate you so much, sweetheart."
"You make my life so much easier—thank you."
It healed something in me that I didn't even know was hurt. The labor that was unnoticed has finally been seen. I feel seen, appreciated, and so loved by my husband and my sons, too.
Atlas raises an eyebrow at the boys, "Hey, what do you say?"
"Thanks for cooking, Mama," Liam says, smiling at me.
"You're the best cook in the world!" Noah chirps through a mouthful of spaghetti.
Sometimes I have to breathe through the emotions welling up inside of me, blaming my teary eyes on cutting onions.
I thought my life was damn near perfect before, and to me, it probably was. But that's because I wasn't aware of this reality I'm living in.
This is perfection to me.
My husband is healing, talking, and smiling more. Liam is shining so bright with his friends and his Birdie. Noah is so happy with improving his art and becoming so independent.
And me, I feel like a newer, better version of myself—happier, more confident. I feel beautiful, not just my appearance, but who I am. I'm so happy.
And also a little scared that this is fleeting, but like my husband doesn't let his fear rule his love for us anymore, I won't let my fear ruin this. Never.
My phone buzzes in my purse, and when I pull it out, I smile seeing a text from Atlas.
Hi baby.
Meet me at our spot.
Drive safe.
"Our spot, huh?" I laugh, feeling giddy like a teenager all of a sudden.
I slide into my car and start it before I send him a quick message.
On my way. <3
◆◆◆
"What is this?"
"It's a picnic, baby."
"I see that. But... how did you—"
"I have my ways," Atlas says, taking my hand.
It's a mild mid-March night, Spring has sprung very early it seems. It's usually a bit colder up here, but as Atlas always tells me, he's my space heater, so I'll just have to cuddle close.