Days Like These
Sam hated days like these.
Pulling into his driveway, Sam recalled meeting his mother for breakfast that morning. His wife had pleaded with him not to go, since she knew how his mother could be, but he went anyway.
His eyes stared at a knot in the wood on the table while he slowly stirred his coffee. His mind was on other things, allowing him to hardly acknowledge what his mother was saying. Some would think this quite the accomplishment, as she talked an awful lot. But to him, this was just the way life was.
“Samuel,” his mother sighed. She refused to call him Sam. “When will you give me a grandchild? I’d thought I always wanted a granddaughter, but at this point, I don’t care. Maybe it’s not conventional, but you could still name a girl Charlie, I suppose. Charlotte, you know, and call her Charlie? That way you’d still be honoring your grandfather?”
“Yea, Mom. Could you pass the ketchup?”
“Oh, Samuel. Wouldn’t it be great? A little girl to wake up to on Christmas morning, seeing the excitement on her face as she saw the new dollhouse Granny got her!” She leaned over and brushed his hair back. “Really, Samuel, sit up. We’re in a restaurant.”
He wanted to scream. He wanted to tell her to give up. He wanted to stand up and leave. He wanted to stop this thirty-year conversation once and for all.
“Mom, look, I’m just not in the mood.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Samuel,” his mother replied as he knew she would. “This is what mothers do. Should I stop caring about you…”
He always went and listened to her whining. He put up with her complaining. He comforted her when he needed comforting. Not everyone could be perfect and live a storybook life. It had been a long time since he had tried to convince his mother of this.
“What a lie,” Sam said. Still in his car, he looked at the house he and his wife shared. Everything, from the white picket fence to the petunias bordering their walkway, was perfectly arranged around their perfect little home. “What an outrageous lie.”
Hoisting himself out of his car, Sam slowly made his way toward the front porch. He knew the moment he opened the door his wife would be right there waiting, ready to ask a million questions he did not want to answer.
Ah, damn, Sam thought as he heard the door open before he made it to the front steps. Her hands on her hips, she peered down at him through cool blue eyes. Her brown curls were pulled back into a ponytail, making her look more like a cheerleader than the lawyer that she was.
That is definitely not a cheerleader look; Sam smirked as he noticed the expression on his wife’s face. Her small lips were drawn tight, and her forehead was wrinkled in that accusatory manner Sam hated. He almost turned and walked straight back to his car, wanting to avoid what he knew what was coming next. If people would leave me alone, he thought, the world would be a much happier place. Well, at least MY world would be, damn it.
“Hi, honey,” his wife said as he hung his coat in the hall closet. “How was your day?” The words that came out of her mouth were not angry, but the tone gave them a whole new meaning. She was trying to hide her emotions, make everything seem like it was still bearable. He knew she wanted to know if he had gone to see his mother that morning.
“Fine,” he replied, not even glancing her way. He was still fighting the urge to turn and walk out the door. He just wanted to disappear for a little while. He didn’t want to deal with disappointments or annoyances anymore. But instead, he made his way to the kitchen table.
They sat on opposite ends of the table, neither one saying anything as they ate their dinner. The clanging of forks on plates was the only sound to be heard. He was afraid to look toward his wife. He could feel her staring straight at him, waiting for an opportunity to break the silence he cherished so much.
“That was pretty darn good,” Sam said as he pushed his chair away from the table. “You do know how to cook.”
“Well… thanks,” she said. She looked puzzled, as if she did not believe him. “Is everything okay? How was your breakfast with your mom this morning?” He swore he heard a critical tone in her voice. “How is she doing?”
“It was fine. I went. She bitched. I listened. I ate. I went to work. I came home. She’s the same as she always has been and always will be.”
“You don’t have to be smart with me. I was just asking.”
“I know. But don’t you think I’ve answered enough questions for one day? That’s all I get from anyone: hound, hound, hound. Can’t you think of anything better to do?”
“What’s gotten into you today?” Her voice was rising. He knew she didn’t want to yell. He knew he shouldn’t be so cross with her. He knew it wasn’t her fault. But everything was so hard now. “If your mother upsets you so much, maybe you shouldn’t visit with her. Or let her know she’s upsettin—“
“I don’t want to get into it,” he said. He could feel the heat rising up his neck. “I’ve dealt with it enough for one day. There is no need to get you involved.”
“Get me involved?” He had broken through her shell. Her blue eyes narrowed. “I just want you to be happy, Samuel.”
“Screw you.” He threw his napkin on his plate and stood up. He could not put up with any more bickering.
“Where are you going, Samuel? I made you your favorite dessert…”
Her voice trailed off as he walked down the hall. Sam did not even slow down as he walked toward the living room. Nothing good could come from continuing this conversation. He needed time to think. He needed something, anything, to make him feel worthwhile once again.
As he walked down the hallway, he passed the room. He had decorated the room himself, with rubber ducky wallpaper and a white antique crib. There were teddy bears and other stuffed animals lining the shelves he had built. The peach colored baby blanket his mother had knit hung over the back of the rocking chair that sat unmoving in the corner. No matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t help but stop and look into the room, everyday hoping that things would be different.
He tried so hard for the past six years to keep it together. Six years full of disappointment after disappointment. Six years of miscarriages that had led to their last pregnancy ending in the stillborn birth of their son.
Now he questioned if it was all worth waiting for or if he was hoping for something that could never be.
Sam slept on the couch on days where he was reminded that noting would ever turn out the “right way.” Lately, these days blended together, causing him to forget the last time he held his wife as he fell asleep. She stood in the entrance to the living room, silent tears falling from her eyes.
Sam hated days like these.
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