Two weeks ago, over spaghetti, Ryan had mumbled something about his mom, Dana, wiring « a little help » that month. When I asked what he meant, he waved me off.
« It’s nothing, Em. She just likes feeling useful. »
« Ryan, if we’re struggling, I want to know. »
« We’re not struggling. Drop it. »
He changed the subject to a work deadline, and I let him because I was too tired to push.
« She just likes feeling useful. »
Since my maternity leave had started, something in my husband had become tight and mean. He complained about the air conditioner bill, my snack wrappers, and, most of all, about my moving around at night.
« You’ve been flopping around for an hour, » Ryan had snapped two nights earlier.
« I’m sorry, honey. I can’t get comfortable. »
« Well, figure it out. Some of us have work in the morning. »
