Page 43 of All In
Maria
Bursting through the door, I toss my purse onto the counter, and in a flurry, shed my jacket and shoes. I carefully hang them in the coat closet, making sure that it’s orderly. With a sense of urgency, I decide the kitchen should be my starting point since Nate will see this room first when he comes home. I check Sam’s watch that still rests on my wrist. It’s five-fifteen. Nate is going to be here any second, and I just got home.
“There is no way I am going to get everything done in time, let alone start dinner,” I say in a panic, my head hot from the anxiety. I’m also sick to my stomach. Is it from the baby or knowing that the house won’t be perfect when Nate comes home?
Who knows at this point?
I barely had a moment to catch my breath on this busy day. It started with a dentist’s appointment. Then I had lunch with my mom, followed by grocery shopping and my monthly OB appointment.
Yep, I’m pregnant. Four months, to be exact.
The doctor kept me longer because my blood pressure was above normal. Which was high because I was running late, knowing the race to get the house ready would await me when I got home.
But I can’t think about how nauseous I am right now because I’m home an hour late and already behind.
In a frenzy, I dash through my house, hurling breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, wiping down the kitchen counters, and emptying the trash.
“God, I’m running so behind.” I drag the full—and heavy—trash bag to the bin outside and heave it in. Racing back inside, panic consumes me as I realize I only have minutes left before he pulls in.
In my head, I’m trying to prioritize what needs done because I won’t be able to make the entire house “Nate ready” in time. Once the kitchen is taken care of, my attention shifts to the living room. I tidy up the throw pillows, fluffing them and arranging them where they need to be, followed by neatly folding the blankets.
As I survey the open living space to make sure I have missed nothing, a wave of nausea hits me. I cover my mouth before I barely make it to the half bath that sits off of the kitchen. The contents of lunch with my mom splash into the toilet with force.
So gross.
It hits me again.
"God, how much did I eat?"I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as I brace myself to stand, flushing the toilet as I do.
When I found out I was pregnant, my doctor told me that this morning sickness would last only the first three months. Well, that was a lie. Because now I’m four months along and the barfing hasn’t stopped. Plus, it’s definitely not only in the morning.
As I stand at the sink, cupping water into my hand to drink and rinse this taste out of my mouth, I hear the door that leads to the garage from the kitchen open and close. My heart rate spikes as I anticipate the first words that will come out of his mouth. I know exactly what they will be.
“Where’s dinner?” Nate calls from the kitchen as I hear him throw his keys on the kitchen counter.
Yep, knew it.
Not “Hello,” not “Hey honey, I’m home.” Instead, I got “Where’s dinner?” I grit my teeth together, and with a quick swipe of my hands on the towel hanging from the rack, I move to leave the bathroom.Oh, wait!I straighten the towel meticulously before stepping out to give him an answer he won’t like.
This is my life now, and I need to accept it.
As soon as we returned from our honeymoon, Nate’s controlling behaviors surfaced. I knew he wanted a perfect 1950s type of life and was a clean freak. However, I had no inkling that he would be like this. When we were dating, Nate liked having control, but he always respected my boundaries. For the most part, he played a supportive role in my life, giving me the freedom to pursue my dreams. No one cheered louder as I walked across the stage at college graduation. In that moment, I felt a sense of pride radiating from him, as if he truly appreciated my accomplishment of finally getting my degree. But now I realize that what concerned him was his reputation.
It’s almost like he was hiding his true self because here’s how things work around here.
Nate leaves for work at seven-thirty sharp every morning. When he wakes up, his coffee needs to be ready (in his favorite mug, cream with two spoonfuls of sugar) sitting at the breakfast nook table next to his two fried eggs and a slice of toast with Smuckers grape jam. While he eats, I get his lunch ready. His lunch is the one thing he isn’t particular about. After he finishes his breakfast, he takes a shower while I iron his work clothes, which are then neatly arranged on the freshly made bed. I take care to starch his shirt and pants, making sure they are perfectly creased. Which he inspects when I’m done. In the beginning, I had to re-iron more times than I like to count. I have it down to science now. While he gets dressed, I wipe down the glass shower door because Nate doesn’t like streaks or mildew. It has to sparkle.
When he’s ready to leave, I always make sure that I’m standing at the door, his lunch in hand. He kisses me goodbye and leaves as I stand and watch him drive away. He beeps as soon as he turns onto the street.
And I can finally breathe.
But not for long, because then I am on the clock. No matter what I have going on for the day, the house must be spotless when he comes home, and dinner needs to be hot and ready to eat. Plus, I have to make sure that I look put-together and ready to greet my husband after his long day of work. Which means a full face of makeup, a cute outfit, and not a hair out of place. With how I have been feeling lately, that last one has been difficult.
The evenings are when I can truly unwind and enjoy some peace and quiet since Nate works out. And that only lasts until around nine o’clock. Which is when he wants sex.
The weekends are somewhat better, but not by much. Nate takes charge of our plans, leaving me with no input. However, there are two seasons that I love. Fall through the first half of winter, because he spends every Sunday with his buddies watching football. And the summer, because he golfs with his dad at the country club. These are the times when I get to embrace my true self. I relish in them.
Then there is our home. Nate made all the decisions when we were building the house, from the color of the walls to the style of the furniture. He generously let me pick out the curtains and artwork, half of which he changed. And when Nate wanted to start a family, he told me to quit taking my birth control. So, I did. Even though I was nowhere near ready to become a mother.
