Work that day didn’t feel… normal, and that was saying something, since nothing about work had seemed normal since I’d gone out on my own. I began to put together PowerPoint presentations for the meetings I’d scheduled. They would offer a general overview of various ad campaigns I’d worked on, discussed the dollar value of advertising for the client’s specific business, and preview the kind of work I could do for them. If the potential clients showed interest, I’d follow that up with a more specific proposal at a second meeting.
Even though I made significant headway, my thoughts would occasionally wander back to what I learned that morning.
My wife would be going to work on Monday, for Spannerman.
Good God.
Spannerman.
Still, it was date night and I was looking forward to spending the evening with Vivian. When I walked in the door, however, I felt as though I’d stepped into the wrong house. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were a mess, and London was parked in front of the television, something I’d never seen at that time of night. Vivian was nowhere to be seen, nor did she answer when I called for her. I walked from one room to the next, finally locating her in the den. She was seated in front of the computer researching all things Spannerman, and for the first time in our married life, she seemed almost frazzled. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and her hair looked as though she’d been twisting strands of it for most of the day. Beside her was a thick binder – she had printed and highlighted a thick sheaf of pages – and when she turned toward me, I could see that romance was not only off the table, but hadn’t even crossed her mind all day.
I hid my disappointment and after some small talk, I suggested we order Chinese food. We ate as a family, but Vivian remained distracted, and as soon as she finished eating, she went back to the den. While she clicked and printed, I cleaned the house and helped London get ready for bed. I filled the bathtub – London had reached the age where she could wash herself – brushed her hair and lay beside her in bed reading an assortment of books. In another first, Vivian simply kissed our daughter goodnight without reading a story, and when I found her back in the den, she told me that she still had another few hours to go. I watched television for a while and went to bed alone; when I woke the following morning, I found myself staring at Vivian and wondering how late she’d finally turned in.
She was back to her normal self soon after waking, but then again, it was Saturday morning. She was out the door right on schedule for her Me Time, and for the fifth time in seven days, I found myself playing Mr. Mom, if only part-time. On her way out the door, Vivian asked if I could take care of London for the day; she told me that she hadn’t quite finished the research from the night before and also had some things she needed to grab for work.
“No problem,” I said, and as a result, London and I found ourselves back at my parents’ place. Marge and Liz had gone to Asheville for the weekend, so London had my mom all to herself most of the day. Nonetheless, my mom found time to sidle up to me and mentioned that since I’d failed in my task of getting my dad to the doctor, Marge would be bringing him on Monday.
“It’s good to know that one of our kids really cares about their father,” my mom remarked.
Thanks, Mom.
My father, as usual, was in the garage. When I walked in, he poked his head around the hood of the car.
“You’re here,” he said to me.
“I thought I’d swing by with London.”
“No Vivian again?”
“She has some things to do for work. She got a job and starts on Monday.”
“Oh,” he said.
“That’s it?”
He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his hands. “It’s probably a good thing,” he finally said. “Someone in your family should be earning some money.”
Thanks, Dad.
After visiting with him for a bit – and with London happily baking with Nana – I sat on the couch in the living room, absently watching golf. I’m not a golfer and I don’t generally watch golf, but I found myself staring at logos on golf bags and shirts while trying to calculate how much money had gone to the advertising agencies who’d come up with that idea.
The whole thing depressed me.
Meanwhile, I texted Vivian twice and left a voicemail without getting a response; the house phone also went unanswered. Figuring she was out and about, I stopped at the grocery store on the way back from my parents’, something fairly rare for me. I usually only went to the store when we were out of something or when I was in the mood for something specific for dinner; I was the kind of shopper who used a handheld basket as opposed to a cart, like I was in a race to see how fast I could get out of there. For London, I grabbed a box of macaroni and cheese, slices of turkey breast and pears, which was only somewhat healthy, but also happened to be her favorite. For Vivian and me, I selected a New York strip and sashimi-grade tuna fillet that I could put on the grill, along with the makings for a salad, corn on the cob, and a bottle of Chardonnay.
While I hoped to make up for our lost date night, I also simply wanted to spend time with Vivian. I wanted to listen to her and hold her and discuss our future. I knew there were going to be changes in our lives, even challenges, and I wanted to promise that we’d get through them together as a couple. If Vivian felt more fulfilled and accomplished at work, she just might bring that better mood home with her; if we shared parenting more equally, we might begin to see each other in ways more conducive to a closer relationship. In the evenings, we’d visit about our days, revel in our successes and support each other in our struggles, and the extra money would make things easier as well. In other words, things would only get better for Vivian and me, and tonight was the first step in the process.