Chapter 25 Becca
Becca
At what age does a midlife crisis begin?
Or is it normal for people to just wake up one day and not be themselves anymore?
Thank God I volunteered to teach summer classes, because I can barely stand to be around Jimmy lately.
In a few short months, I’ve turned into Chelsey, finding myself annoyed all the time, at just about everything he does.
He barely talks anymore, and I haven’t cared to either, so truthfully, I don’t know if it’s him having the crisis or me.
Either way, I further appreciate working for a university and having the option to work in the summer because I may feel like Chelsey, but I could never in my life sit around all day like her.
Plus, I still can’t let go of my conversation with her that night, so I know at least part of the problem is me.
I blame it on pregnancy hormones. It explained my sudden change of attitude and distaste for everyone around me, including my husband.
It made sense. From what I’ve heard about pregnancy, it would explain a lot of what I felt.
My obsession with what he was or wasn’t doing.
My notice of his sudden lack of interest in doing things for me that he would normally do, without me asking first, at least. Always feeling irritable and not being able to sleep.
My period not showing up finally gave me the excuse I had been looking for. But then the test was negative, so that excuse went out the window. I wasn’t even sure if I was sad or happy that it was negative.
My period stayed away for a second week, so I took another test, but that one was negative too.
I still wasn’t sad, just disappointed I didn’t have another excuse for how I felt.
I also thought that if I were pregnant, he would start doting on me again, but almost three weeks late, my period finally came, confirming it was just me and my messed-up attitude.
But it can’t be just me, because he hasn’t even noticed, at least he hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t seemed to notice a difference, even though I know there is one. His attitude lately just mirrors mine, and it drives me nuts.
There is something wrong with your wife, idiot. Do something!
But there’s nothing.
It’s times like these that I kind of wish I had more friends to talk to. Chelsey isn’t the best to have serious conversations with. She’s too airheaded to really consider anyone else’s perspective but her own.
The only other person I really see is his mom.
I’m surely not going to talk to her about her son being an asshole while she sits there getting chemotherapy.
And I’m especially not going to sit there and talk to her about my hidden concerns about the girl, I’m sure she ‘just loved’ like everyone else.
I never felt like she liked me much, which is why I volunteered to help her when she got sick.
So this is definitely not a topic I’ll be talking to her about any time soon.
So, I don’t talk to anyone but Rosie and Rex, and I’m pretty sure even they are getting sick of me.
I’m sitting in the office he hardly uses anymore, grading papers, when I hear him get home. It’s only 3 p.m. Check-in time. When he’s at a site, he’s normally not home this early. I hear him stop in the doorway.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I copy.
“How’s it going?”
I roll my eyes as far in my head as they will go. Why does that come off as such a weird thing to ask your wife? Maybe because you barely speak to her?
“Just grading papers, you?”
“Good. I’m going to get in the shower.”
I finally turn around to look at him and notice his hair isn’t styled as it usually is for work, and he’s not wearing a tie. As a matter of fact, the top two buttons are unbuttoned.
“Long day at work?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Is all he says.
“Want to tell me about it?”
“Not really much to tell. Just a long day.” He says before walking away.
“Good to see you too. Missed you. Love you.” I mumble sarcastically to myself as I hear the water turn on.
I drop the pen down on the desk and lean my head back on the chair, covering my face with my hands. Relax Becca.
I try to tell myself. It’s not what you think.
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. But what if it is?
The elephant in the room has taken over our whole house. Nothing has been the same since he saw her, and that’s exactly why I did what I did.
It was mid-December 2009. My birthday weekend. Jimmy and I had been together for about four months and took advantage of the break from school to get away for the night. His brother got us a hotel room. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it wasn’t one of our parents’ houses either.
Jimmy was in the shower, like he is now, when his phone rang.
I’d never looked at his phone before. I’d never felt the need to, but something this day told me I should.
I waited until it stopped ringing to be nosey.
By the time I reached the other side of the bed, it lit up again. That time, a text. From Autumn.
Hey. I'm sorry I know it's been a while and you're probably mad at me, but I just want to talk. I miss you. Call me back please.
I blinked as I stared at the phone. She was the missed call, too.
That was the first time I realized how she really made me feel.
Why was she reaching out to him? Did she know about me?
It was Christmas break, so she was probably back home and wanted to see him.
No. That wasn’t happening. He had finally just stopped talking about her.
My fingers were shaking as I deleted the message, the missed call, then blocked her number. After carefully setting the phone back down exactly how it was, I rushed back over to where I was sitting.
He didn’t need to know. He was happy again. I was happy. We were happy. Plus, it was my birthday, and she was definitely not invited.
Why do I keep thinking about this? I don’t know exactly. Probably because I had control over that situation, and I have no control now. None. I can’t pretend she’s ignoring him because we’ve seen her, and it was clear she wasn’t.
If she has the same one, I know the number isn’t blocked anymore, because we both got new numbers when we got on the same phone plan.
I don’t know if they’ve talked since we saw her, but I’d be stupid to think they haven’t. I don’t want to bring her up to him to find out because I don’t think I can hide my irritation this time.
So here we stay. In purgatory. One where I probably care too much, and he doesn’t seem to care at all.