Chapter 4 #2
Brett nodded while chewing, making a vague sound that could have meant anything. His attention was already drifting, probably to whatever crisis needed solving at the office or whatever text message he was resisting checking.
I'd planned to tell him about the photography, about my small step toward reclaiming something that used to matter to me.
But watching him sit there, physically present but mentally elsewhere, I decided against it.
He wouldn't understand. Worse, he'd probably have opinions about how I should spend my time more productively.
"Actually," Brett said, suddenly focusing on Devin like he'd just remembered he was supposed to be an engaged father, "how's the UConn situation progressing? Any word from the scout?"
Devin's face brightened. "I'm waiting to hear back about the official visit. Coach Phelps thinks it's looking really good, but they want to see me play a few more games before making a final decision."
"Mm." Brett cut another piece of roast, his interest already waning. "That's good. You'll need to keep your grades up too. Academics matter more than athletics for college admission."
The comment hit Devin like a slap. I watched his expression shift from hopeful to hurt to composed. The look he'd perfected over years of his father's dismissals.
"My grades are fine, Dad. I've got a 3.7 GPA."
"Good. But fine isn't exceptional. These colleges are competitive.
" Brett reached for his wine glass, apparently unaware that he'd just deflated his son's excitement like a punctured balloon.
"Speaking of improvements, I've been thinking we should redo the pool area before spring.
The concrete is starting to crack, and those tiles are looking dated. "
Just like that, the conversation moved from Devin's dreams to home renovations.
From something that mattered to our son to something that mattered to our property values.
I watched Devin's shoulders slump slightly as he realized his father was more interested in discussing pool tiles than his athletic achievements.
"The pool looks fine to me," I said, my tone edged.
Brett looked at me with mild surprise. "The northeast corner has some serious cracks. We should address it before it becomes a bigger problem."
"Maybe we should address the fact that your son is being recruited by Division One colleges before we worry about pool maintenance."
My words silenced the dinner table. Devin looked up from his plate, surprised to hear me advocate for him so directly.
Brett set down his fork and gave me that patient look he used when he thought I was being unreasonable. "I'm very proud of Devin's athletic progress. But real concerns still need attention."
"Real concerns. Right." I stood up and started clearing plates, my movements sharp. "God forbid we spend five minutes celebrating our son's accomplishments when there are pool tiles to worry about."
"Lauren." Brett's tone carried a warning I chose to ignore.
"No, Brett. Devin has worked his ass off for this opportunity. He's one of the top players in the state, and you just dismissed it like it's a hobby that's getting in the way of more important things."
Devin was staring at his plate now, embarrassed by the conflict he'd inadvertently caused. But I was done protecting Brett's feelings at the expense of everyone else's.
"I didn't dismiss anything," Brett said, getting defensive. "I simply pointed out that academics are important too."
"You pointed out that his achievements aren't good enough. That fine isn't exceptional. That his dreams are secondary to your home improvement priorities."
I carried the plates to the kitchen with hands that were shaking slightly from anger and adrenaline. Brett followed me, leaving Devin alone at the dining room table to process whatever damage we'd just inflicted on our family dinner tradition.
"What's gotten into you lately?" He asked, keeping low so Devin wouldn't hear. "You've been picking fights over nothing."
"Nothing?" I turned to face him, dishwater dripping from my hands. "Our son's future is nothing? His feelings are nothing? The fact that you can't be bothered to show real interest in the most important thing happening in his life is nothing?"
"I am interested. I asked about UConn."
"You asked and then immediately moved on to pool renovations. You couldn't even pretend to care for five consecutive minutes."
Brett rubbed his forehead like I was giving him a headache. "I'm tired, Lauren. I've been working sixteen-hour days trying to close the European deal. I can't be 'on' every second I'm home."
"I'm not asking you to be on. I'm asking you to be present. To see your son for who he is instead of who you think he should be."
"He's seventeen years old. A little reality check about academics isn't going to crush him."
"It's not about academics, Brett. It's about you never being satisfied with anything he accomplishes. It's about him looking to you for approval and getting criticism instead."
We stood there in the kitchen, the space between us feeling like a canyon. Behind us, I could hear Devin quietly clearing the rest of the table, probably desperate to escape the tension we'd created.
"I don't know who you are anymore," I said quietly, slipping out before I could stop them.
Brett's expression shifted, surprise replacing defensiveness. "Excuse me?"
"You used to care about things that mattered. You used to notice when people were hurting. You used to be someone I actually liked spending time with."
"Lauren, you're being dramatic again."
"Am I?" I stepped closer to him, close enough to see the exhaustion in his eyes that I'd been interpreting as indifference. "Tell me, Brett. Do you still love me?"
The question sat between us like a live wire. I hadn't planned to ask it, hadn't even known I was going to until it was already out. But suddenly it felt like the most important question in the world.
Brett's face went through several expressions, shock giving way to something that looked almost like panic. "What kind of question is that? Of course, I love you. You're my wife."
"That's not what I asked," I said calmly, despite the fact that my heart was hammering. "I asked if you still love me. Not if you're committed to me or if you care about me or if you think I'm a good mother. I asked if you love me."
"Don't do this, Lauren. Don't look for problems where there aren't any."
But his non-answer was an answer. The way he couldn't meet my eyes was an answer. The way he treated my need for emotional connection like an inconvenience was an answer.
"I tried to make love to you a couple of nights ago, and you brushed me off like I was bothering you," I said, my tone cracking despite my best efforts to stay composed. "We haven't had real sex in over a month. You look at me like I'm furniture you've gotten tired of."
"I was tired," he said, getting defensive again. "I've been under enormous pressure at work. You have to understand that."
"I've been understanding for two years, Brett. I've been patient and supportive and willing to accept scraps of attention whenever you felt like giving them. But I'm tired too. I'm tired of feeling unwanted in my own marriage."
"It's going to get better," he said, reaching for me like physical contact could fix what statements couldn't. "Once this European deal closes, things will calm down. We'll have more time."
I stepped back before his hands could reach me. "You said that about the last deal. And the one before that. There's always going to be another deal, another crisis, another reason why our marriage has to wait."