My husband made fun of me at a pool party, saying I was NOT as attractive as his brother's new wife — so I put him in his place.
I was rocking back and forth in the same worn-out armchair.
"Dad snores."
"I know, darling. He's very good at it."
I heard soft footsteps receding into the distance, then a muffled sound, then silence. I closed my eyes for exactly four seconds before Onica woke up with hiccups.
***
At 7 a.m., I was in the kitchen, pumping breast milk under my blazer while stirring my porridge with my other hand. My laptop was open on the countertop; a marketing presentation was already loading for my 9 a.m. meeting.
"He's really good at it."
***
I had gone back to work a few weeks after having Onica because my husband, Carl, had been laid off during the company's "downsizing".
***
My husband came in shuffling his feet, his hair disheveled, his phone in his hand.
"Is the coffee ready?"
"You'll have to do it yourself," I told him.
"A very strong asset?"
"She woke up at two, four, and five o'clock."
"It's up to you to do it."
Carl grunted, scrolled through something on his screen, then turned it the other way when I glanced over.
Sports results, no doubt. Or the job offers section.
I decided to believe it was the second option, because believing anything else was too complicated.
"Alice came by yesterday," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "She brought a chicken casserole and told me I looked exhausted. But she said it nicely, you know? Like she really meant it."
I decided to believe that it was the second option.
"Yeah, that's Alice for you."
"Steve is lucky."
"Mm." My husband continued scrolling on his screen.
***
J’ai jeté un coup d’œil au miroir du couloir en allant chercher les chaussures de Bradley. Un sweat à capuche taché. La queue de cheval d’hier.
Avant, il y avait une femme qui portait des talons pour les dîners du vendredi et qui se mettait du rouge à lèvres juste pour sortir les poubelles. Elle était là quelque part, probablement en train de faire la sieste.
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