Chapter 22 #3
“No, please don’t feel bad about chasing your dreams. And don’t feel bad for me about this situation.
I’m the one who jumped into this marriage after knowing Josh for what, a few weeks?
I left my whole world behind for him. And I didn’t regret it one bit, at first. But now that we have kids .
. .” she says, “it’s like I can feel him pulling away and I don’t know what I can do about it.
He’s gone a lot, and I have no idea who any of these people are that he travels with.
I want to hold on tightly, make him stay here and spend time with his family.
But I feel like the more tightly I hold on, the more he pulls away. ”
“Lauren, I had no idea.” I wrap my arms around her, and I can tell how hard she’s trying not to cry by the way she holds her breath through our hug.
“This is all so new,” she says. “Having kids. Feeling my heart grow larger to accommodate how much I love them, and Josh, and our life together. Watching him grow distant while all this is happening . . . we should be enjoying this time together, watching our girls grow and hit their milestones, reveling in the family we’ve created.
Having my expectations be so out of line with my reality is hard. ”
“Have you talked to him? Told him how you’re feeling?”
“Every time I try to bring it up,” she says, her voice dropping even lower to make sure they can’t hear us in the other room, “he makes it seem like this is about me being insecure and clingy. He thinks that me not wanting him to go on these ski trips every few weeks is ridiculous. He reminds me that he used to be gone for months at a time when he was competing on the National Ski Team, and he clearly doesn’t understand why this is different.
But that was his job, and we didn’t have kids. ”
I can’t argue the second point, but the first is kind of wrong.
Josh is a ski pro. These trips he takes are him traveling with other pros, representing the brands that sponsor him.
As someone who used to be in sports marketing, I know Lauren understands that this is what pays their bills.
I’m sure Josh has a decent amount of savings, but this huge house they built had to have cost a fortune, and bills still need to be paid.
“Now he’s choosing to leave his family like twenty-five percent of the time just for fun, and when he is here . . .” She pauses. “Sometimes it seems like his head is somewhere else.”
I am both shocked by this revelation, and shocked she’s telling me. I have no experience in this area, no advice to offer.
“Have you talked to anyone else about how you’re feeling?”
“Like a therapist?” she asks, then lets out a bitter laugh. “When would I have time to do that? Even when he’s home, Josh is useless with the girls.”
I think about the way he was hovering near her earlier. “Josh has always seemed so protective of you, like he just wants to make sure you’re happy.”
“Yeah, it always felt that way to me too. I’m not sure what’s changed, but now it feels like he’s becoming controlling and absent at the same time.”
“Lauren,” I say, bowing my head so she won’t see the frown. How has she been going through this and hasn’t told any of us? “What can I do?”
“There’s nothing you can do, really. He’s the one who should be doing something differently, and until I figure out how to have a talk with him about this that doesn’t result in him telling me I’m being clingy and desperate, or me telling him he’s being controlling . . . there isn’t much anyone can do.”
“I really think you should talk to someone. I’d offer to watch the girls for you, but since I’m going to be gone the next couple months, I’m useless.
But,” I say, an idea forming in my mind as it comes out my mouth, “Morgan used to nanny during the summers in college, didn’t she? And hasn’t she babysat for you before?”
“She has,” Lauren says, but I can tell by her voice that she doesn’t like asking for help, even if it’s from her cousin.
“Why don’t you see if she could watch the girls while you talk to someone? Her work schedule is totally flexible, so it doesn’t matter if it has to be during the day.”
Lauren gives me a small smile that doesn’t touch her sad eyes, but it’s a start.
“If that doesn’t work out, I’ll help you think up another plan, okay? I really want to make sure you get the help you need to navigate this in a way that’s going to be good for you, Josh, and the girls.”
Lauren folds into me and I wrap my arms around her small frame, trying really hard not to imagine this same situation playing out between me and Aleksandr if we tried to make things work between us. Things already work, even with a child in the mix, I remind myself.
But I can’t shake the niggly feeling that what Lauren is experiencing is, if not the norm, still totally normal. Once the newness and the lust fade, is this what you’re left with—chasing your husband’s affections, begging for his spare moments, hoping he’ll be the father you thought he’d be?
I promised myself a long time ago that I’d never put a man and his needs before my own, that I’d always be first string in my own life. I can’t go through the kind of hurt I’ve been through before, or the kind I’m seeing Lauren go through right now.
I just can’t.
I’ve never known the kind of bone-weary exhaustion that I’m experiencing.
Even back in my modeling days, when it felt like all I ever did was go from photoshoots to runways to parties, over and over again—running on caffeine and too little food—I wasn’t this tired.
You were also almost a decade younger, I remind myself, you had more energy then.
I collapse onto my couch, wondering how I can simultaneously feel so fulfilled and so empty at the same time.
The show is amazing. The crew, the guests, the whole experience—it has completely blown away my expectations.
It’s so much better than I could have even imagined.
And my company is doing well. Morgan has really stepped up in my absence, the junior event planners are doing amazing.
Finding the time to fit in meetings and calls, and making sure that no balls get dropped has been a challenge, but things could not be going better. And yet . . .
I’m running on empty.
I’m lonely.
I’m missing Sasha and Stella more than I thought possible.
Even so, I’m holding him at a distance, afraid to trust him with my heart.
I know we need to have some important conversations: about why he cut me out of his life when we were teenagers, about how to move forward from here.
But I can’t seem to bring myself to talk to him about these things over the phone, especially not when I’m this tired all the time.
I pull up our text thread and rewatch the video Stella sent me earlier.
I miss you so much, Petra. Look what Dada and I made.
The camera flips, and it shows me a calendar on her wall.
There are three weeks’ worth of red X’s on it, and on the last day it says in big red letters: PETRA!
She flips the camera back to herself. I can’t wait to see you. How long will you stay?
I open the camera on my phone to record a video reply and am appalled at the dark circles under my eyes, the way my skin looks sallow and my eyelids look droopy—all the things my “TV makeup” hides are so obvious now that I’ve washed my face.
Ugh. I don’t want to document myself looking like this.
Even though I know Stella won’t care, I don’t really want Sasha to see me like this either.
It’s vain and stupid, this hesitance I’m feeling, but I hate being vulnerable in any way.
I’ll film a reply to her tomorrow, after the hair and makeup people on set have had their way with me.
I’m sure I can find a few moments alone in my dressing room to record and send it.
I pull up the Reminders on my phone and set it for tomorrow so I don’t forget.
No matter how good my intentions are , I’m juggling too many balls and liable to drop them all if I rely on my memory.
I scroll back to Sasha’s last text above Stella’s video.
Aleksandr
Call me tonight if you have a minute.
My finger hovers over the call button on the screen, but I hesitate to touch it.
I’m not sure I have the energy for a conversation.
Especially not if it’s as tense as the last conversation we had.
How have I only talked to him once in the last week and a half?
I feel simultaneously awed that the time is passing so quickly, and ashamed that I haven’t made time for him.
But where would I find the time, exactly?
Right now, when I can barely keep my eyes open and it’s almost midnight his time?
I hit the button to initiate the call, then put the phone on speaker and set it next to me on the cushion as I stretch out on the couch.
“’Lo?” Aleksandr’s voice is groggy when he answers his phone with a half-word.
“Hey there. I’m sorry I’m calling so late.”
“’S fine,” he says.
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“I said to call me tonight when you have a minute,” he says, his voice functioning appropriately now that he’s waking up. “I wanted to talk to you, I don’t care what time it is.”
“Being in different time zones sucks. It makes it even harder to talk to you and impossible to talk to Stella.” When I get up in the morning, she’s already at school. When I get home from work, she’s already long asleep.
“Hey,” he says, “what’s wrong? You sound like you’re tearing up.”
I use the back of my hand to wipe away the tears that are streaming down my face.
“I’m just exhausted, so everything seems like an insurmountable problem. I’m fine, really.”
“Why are you so exhausted? Are you sleeping poorly?”
“No, I’m sleeping fine.” In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever slept so much in my life, but I still wake up feeling exhausted.