Page 4 of Merry Little Midlife Matchmaker

The useless man-child in question flung open the door when I was halfway up the path heading toward it. It was probably uncharitable of me to think of him in those particular terms, but he’d ruined my bath and forced me to run into the handsomest man I’d seen in years looking likethis.

“What took you so long?” Isaac demanded.

I lifted the bag. “I told you. I had to stop at the pharmacy.”

“I gave Zach a glass of water and he threw it all up. It’s all over the carpet, Lizzie.” Isaac arched his brows at me like it was my fault.

“Did you make him drink the entire glass?”

“You said to give him fluids!”

“Small amounts, Isaac,” I snapped, and shuffled past him into the beautiful home his new wife had decorated. I took a deep breath, smelling fresh flowers and the tinge of distant vomit, and I tried to calm myself. Isaac led me to the kids’ bedrooms, and I found Zach curled up on his side on the bed with a bucket on the ground next to him. There was a towel in the middle of the floor which I suspected was covering the results of the water-induced vomiting spell.

“Mom,” he croaked.

“Hey, honey,” I soothed, and sat next to him. His hair was damp when I pushed it off his forehead, his skin clammy. He didn’t feel hot, which was good. Poor baby. “I brought you some stuff to make you feel better. You think you can try to have some?”

“I threw up the water Dad gave me.”

“Let’s try just a little sip,” I said, cracking the lid for him. “You’ll feel better, and we need to keep you hydrated.”

Zach, my brave boy, lifted himself up onto his pillows and let me help him with the drink bottle. He took a few small sips and nodded.

“Stomach’s not too mad about that?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll leave it right here,” I told him, putting the bottle on his bedside table before smoothing his hair away from his forehead again.

He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. “I want to go home,” he told me in a small voice.

“Me too,” Hazel said, creeping into the room. She burrowed against me, body between my knees as her hands went around my waist.

I kissed her temple. “I’ll talk to your father. Are you feeling okay?”

My daughter nodded. “I just want to go home.”

I stayed with them for a few more minutes and watched Zach have some small sips of the electrolyte drink, then went off in search of my ex-husband. All of a sudden, I realized how much my body ached. Tiredness seemed to slam into me like a croquet mallet to the side of the head, and my only option was to grin and bear it as I handled everything the evening flung at me.

Isaac wasn’t in the bathroom, which was still covered in vomit, and he wasn’t in either of the bathrooms looking for athermometer. I wandered down the stairs and found him sitting in front of the TV, watching sports replays.

I stood just behind him for a moment, the familiar noise of ESPN blaring on the television, and felt such a deep, unshakable revulsion that I had to cling to the wall for support. This, in a nutshell, had been my marriage. We lasted six years together, four of which had been consumed—for me—by childcare and housework. I’d watched Isaac do favors for his parents, for his siblings, for his neighbors, while he let me drown. He’d played the perfect, doting husband and father whenever he had an audience, and hadn’t lifted a finger to help when it was just the two of us. I’d felt invisible and neglected, and every time I tried to bring it up, he’d brushed me off.

Then I found out about his coworker. About their text messages full of love hearts and inside jokes. About the business trip he’d told me was boring and routine. Still, I wanted to save my marriage. I’d been made so small and invisible that I was willing to fight for scraps like a mangy street dog.

It wasn’t until Hazel, aged four, asked me why Daddy didn’t ever want to play with her that I realized I needed to get out.

When I asked for a divorce, he said he was blindsided. All the social capital he’d built up doing favors for everyone but me paid off, and he waltzed out of our marriage with a thousand shoulders to cry on. I was the shrew who’d nagged him so much he had no choice but to pull away.

And still, I was here. Putting myself last.

But what choice did I have? It wasn’t like Isaac was going to care for the kids the way they deserved.

“The kids want to come home tonight,” I said, a little more curtly than I meant to. “We can make up the night on another weekend.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Isaac said, not taking his eyes off the box. “I had them all day, and I’ve got Christmas this year. We can just stick to the custody schedule.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll get their stuff and get out of your hair.”

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