Page 1 of Slayer Mom
one
. . .
He was late for dinner.That made the fourth time this week. He’d been working overtime a lot lately, but this time he’d reassured me that he wouldn’t, since I was making his favorite, meatloaf. I’d asked Marj to watch the boys for the night, and I’d actually set the dining room table with candles because I hadn’t seen my husband naked for what felt like months. Stolen moments in the shower before work, or in the middle of the night when my three o’clock insomnia struck, weren’t enough to keep our marriage alive.
I’d scattered rose petals on the bed even though I knew what a pain it was to clean up. I was wearing uncomfortable lingerie under the silky blouse and pencil skirt I never wore.
I glanced at the clock again.
9:45 p.m.
I should start cleaning up. I sighed heavily and hung up my nice clothes in the laundry room then put my ugliest apron on over my lingerie and scraped the mashed potatoes into the Tupperware while I ate the raspberry cheesecake with my fingers. I shouldn’t be angry. I should have told him that I wanted to make more than meatloaf, maybe even child numberthree, but I’d wanted to be romantic and have a surprise for him. He’d used to like that kind of thing, but now I was something he’d have to schedule in. Was he having an affair with his secretary? His secretary was Josh, a happily married and balding fifty-year-old, so not likely, but stranger things had happened.
By the time he came in, I was feeling sick from eating the entire cheesecake. Also angry. When I heard him pull into the garage, I hurried and pulled on his old sweats over my lingerie so he didn’t feel bad about ruining my plans. I was officially not in the mood and I didn’t want to talk about it.
He was a good husband. If he’d been working too much the last few years, that wasn’t the worst thing he could do, not by a long shot, but still. I threw myself on the couch and turned on the tv in time to catch a cat food commercial when he opened the door and came in.
I listened to him take off his shoes, hang up his suit jacket and put his briefcase in its slot by the door before he walked soundlessly in his sock-footed feet into the living room.
“Were you burning candles?” he asked as he came in, leaned over, and kissed the top of my head. He sniffed before he pulled away and came around the couch, his tall, broad-shouldered, lean-waisted figure as perfect as it had been the first time I’d seen him. It wasn’t his looks that won me, though. It was his smile and how intelligent he was without being stiff. Not that I’d gotten to sample his sense of humor for a long time.
Candles? They were scentless, and I burned them in the other room.
I shook my head. “Must be the meatloaf you smell. You should warm some up if you haven’t eaten.”
The show came on while he was beside me. I stared at the horror movie and felt like an idiot.
“I thought that you hated horror movies.”
I do. I really, really hate horror movies. I clicked off the tv and turned to give him a bright smile. “I was in the mood for something different. How was work?”
He studied me with his dark eyes. Sometimes I wondered if he’d heard what I said, because it took him some time to process through things. “Where are the children?”
Was he changing the subject? “They’re having a sleepover with Mike at Marj’s. They’re probably up playing video games and eating unhealthy snacks.” No, it was after midnight on a school night. She had them all sleeping soundly.
He knelt down on the carpet in front of me and leaned close. I leaned in too, because maybe this evening could be somewhat salvaged. He had the tall dark and handsome thing down perfectly, and he always smelled like a man, a little wild, a little windblown, even when he did nothing but walk from his car to the house.
“You should call and tell her that I’m on my way to pick them up.”
Wait, what? I stared at him while my heart pounded as his words tangled in my mind. If he didn’t want them to sleep over there, had he heard something about one of them? Had I let them into a pedophile’s house, or some kind of internet scam? “You don’t trust Marj, or is it George?”
“I’m sure they’re fine.” He gave me a flat smile that didn’t tell me anything. “After you call, go to bed, and I’ll take care of getting them and settling them down.”
“Hold on. I’m not going to call Marj this latewithout a reason. Also, they’re old enough to settle themselves down.”
“It’s nothing about Marj, just the boys are older. Sleepovers are for little children.”
I stared at him, bewildered by this sudden change of philosophy. Who was he and what had happened to the days when we were so in-sync with how we wanted to raise our kids?
He gave me a slight smile. “Am I sounding neurotic? Humor me, love. As children grow up, different rules must apply.”
“That makes no sense.” We didn’t argue very often, but I’d had to vacuum up rose petals and eaten an entire pan of cheesecake on my own. I was not in an easy-going mood. “It’s after midnight. You don’t wake up people after midnight to rescue your children unless they need rescuing. Age isn’t a reason. If you didn’t want the boys to have sleepovers, you should have talked to me about it before I arranged this.”
His smile flickered and faded. “I see. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it on my own.”
“Like you’ve decided on your own that the boys shouldn’t have sleepovers without telling your wife about your changed convictions?”
He looked confused and then he inhaled deeply. “You’re angry.”
