Good, welcome to my world.
I fall back on the bed. Great, this is just what we need. No husband, no nanny, and I can count down the days until my event.
“What about your mother?” Gabriel suggests.
“My mother just left, Gabriel! She is not driving from upstate to stay with Jackson for a week.”
“Bring Jack up there, then.”
“No, Gabriel, I am not going a week without seeing my kid. “
“Well, Kat, you can’t have it all.”
Gabriel can be such a jerk sometimes. My feet find the ground faster than my mind can grasp words for a comeback. I storm out of the room and grab Jackson’s bag to pack. Ten o’clock at night and I’m driving upstate.
By the time I get back home, it’s almost four in morning. My mother insisted on talking about my argument with Gabriel. She, of course, took Gabriel’s side. The woman is in love with the man. If I didn’t marry him, I’m sure she would have.
As I turn into the driveway, I consider calling out sick. How am I ever going to get to the office on time?
I turn off the ignition and undo my seatbelt. Unplugging my iPhone, I open the center console and put the charger away. As I place the white cord inside, I feel something soft at the bottom of the compartment. I hadn’t noticed it when I took the cable out earlier. My fingers pinch the soft material and lift it out.
Just breathe, Kat.
In my hands is a black lace thong. What is this doing here? I own lace thongs, but the label inside, Agent Provocateur, confirms this lacey undergarment is not mine. Upon further inspection, I see the thing has a clasp at the bottom where you’d attach a garter belt. This is the kinky stuff you give your friends at their bachelorette party.
I panic and shove the thong back into the center console and close it. Whose could those be and why are they in our car? Like flashes from a movie, the scene plays before my eyes. That little tramp, Becca, buying underwear at Bloomingdale’s. She was on the phone, talking about some guy she met in the park.
My body begins to spasm as I punch the steering wheel in front of me with the palm of my hand. I am such a moron! I knew it. I absolutely knew something was up. But instead of saying something, I decided to let it go.
What I should have done was hired a private investigator. I should have had documentation of this little affair. I should have gotten a lawyer. I should be making him pay.
“Just breathe.” I attempt to say the words out load just as I have almost my entire life.
Well, not anymore!
I storm into the house, looking for Gabriel. Taking the stairs two at a time, I call out his name, but he’s not there. He must have left for the airport already.
What time was his flight again? I can’t think. I can’t breathe. My chest heaves. I place my hand over my heart to calm my erratic pulse. I think I’m having a heart attack. What is going on? Where is my husband? Why is there another woman’s underwear in our car?
Our bedroom is empty, the bed is made, and the light is turned off. I turn to his dresser and start rummaging through his things—pants, sweaters, shirts, everything—trying to find a clue, any clue. Isn’t this what they do in the movies, go through the husband’s things after suspicions of an affair? But to look for what? What am I looking for? More underwear? I don’t know.
I virtually spray the room with Gabriel’s clothes, pulling pant pockets inside out and finding nothing, before heading to his closet. Suits! In the movies, the wife always finds an incriminating receipt in their husband’s suit jacket.
One by one, I inspect his suits—inside the chest pocket, the inside pocket, the pants—but I find nothing.
Putting my hand on my forehead, I try to get my bearings. What am I looking for? What can I look in next?
The dirty clothes!
Running into the bathroom, I dump the hamper upside down, digging through its contents. I even smell each shirt, looking for a sign of perfume, and inspect the collars for lipstick stains, anything.
My breath quickens. My heart is leaping out of chest. I’m anxious and nervous for what I might find. Do I want to find something? Is this what I suspected all along?
As I inspect the last shirt to find… nothing, my body gives way and collapses on the floor. The tears discharge and fall down my face. I cry big, heavy, ugly tears. My breath hitches and my nose runs. I rub my face with my shirtsleeve and try to pace myself. The release is refreshing as I finally begin to catch my breath.
What has happened to my life? Where did we go wrong? I stop and lift my head to peek into the bedroom to take a look at the warpath I’ve left behind. Clothing on the bed, dresser, across lamps, and on the floor. It looks like a mental ward.
I’m going insane. That’s it. I have officially lost my mind. Maybe I made up finding the thong in the car. It was really there, wasn’t it?
My head in my hands, I sob and release weeks of frustration and disappointment. Hell, I’m releasing two years of frustration and disappointment. What happened to us? What happened to the young couple that met on a stairwell and couldn’t resist the passion they ignited in each other? What happened to the young couple that promised forever and dreams to each other on a sailboat?
Well, one is crying on the bathroom floor, and the other is on a plane to Chicago.
I lie on the bathroom floor for what feels like forever. I lift my head and see the sun is threatening to make an appearance. After my sobfest, I feel weak and numb. Slowly, I retrieve myself from the floor and mechanically pick up each piece of laundry from the bathroom floor and place it in the hamper. Next, I move into the bedroom and carefully place every article of clothing back in its respected drawer or hanger, exactly as I left it.
Looking in the mirror, I can see but a shadow of myself. Eyes puffy and splotchy. My hair is a mess. I’m exhausted, but I can’t stay home. I can’t stay in this room. There is only one place I can go. After a quick shower, I throw on a new skirt suit and head out the door.
The morning’s events have left me distracted. Gabriel is seeing someone else? As much of a confirmation I have in the form of sexy underwear, I can’t help but wonder how the hell this happened. If you asked me a week ago if I thought Gabriel was capable of cheating, I would have told you no. There’s no way.
God, I’m so naïve. Even Malory saw the writing on the wall, but I kept pushing it to the side. It was easy to. Gabriel is the most dedicated husband and father I have ever met. His parents have been together for forty years, and he always said he wanted to grow old together just like them. No, this is not my Gabriel. The man I’ve been with for ten years. The only man I’ve ever been with.
Could that be the problem? Am I boring in bed? Have I become unattractive since having the baby? When Gabriel and I met, he loved my inexperience. He indulged in teaching me how to love my body and use it for pleasure. We spent the first years wrapped in each other, all arms and legs and wet kisses. No matter where we were, we found a place to escape to be alone.
But then what happened? Life happened. Gabriel started spending more time at the office than he did at home. I found myself traveling for work and going out for dinners with colleagues when he wasn’t around.
And then Jackson came and romance went out the window. Quickies were the new norm. Both with conversation and in the bedroom. But was it enough to drive him into the arms of another woman? I was available. I would have responded.
Maybe he doesn’t want to be with me anymore. Especially the last few weeks, I’ve been distracted with work and… Asher. No, that has nothing to do with it. No matter how attracted I may be to my boss, that is where it ends. I would never… ever do anything to jeopardize my marriage.
Would I feel the same way if Gabriel had a little crush? I know the answer. I would be furious. But it’s different. Women have more control than men do. Don’t we?