Every Wrong Reason, Page 3

  “It’s going to get better,” Kara said so softly I barely heard her.

  I opened my eyes to keep from tripping and they immediately fell to the cracked sidewalk and patchy grass on either side. “I’m not sure it is,” I told her honestly.

  She dropped her hand on my shoulder and squeezed, pulling me into a side hug. “There’s more to life than Nick, babe. I promise you. And it won’t take you long to figure it out. You just need to get the divorce finalized so you can move on.” Her laugh vibrated through her. “And Eli would be a very good place to start.”

  “Maybe,” fell from my lips, but I didn’t feel any sentiment behind it. More sickness roiled through me and a cold sweat broke out on my neck. I swallowed against rising nausea and convinced myself not to throw up.

  I was getting a divorce, but even the thought of another man still felt like adultery. Whatever our faults, Nick and I had always been faithful to each other. Moving on seemed impossible when I had dedicated my entire life to one man.

  To the one man that had let me down and stomped on whatever remained of my happiness.

  Nick and I were over, I promised myself.

  I would move on eventually.

  And Nick would too.

  We grabbed our sandwiches, but I let Kara drop Eli’s off. I had lost any desire to communicate with other people. I practically crawled back to my classroom and sunk into my chair. My deli sandwich went uneaten, just like my one from home, because I couldn’t bring myself to feel good enough to eat.

  Kara had meant to encourage me, but she’d done the opposite.

  I realized that she was right. That one day I would move on.

  But that I was right too. Nick would move on as well.

  I knew I could find someone better for me. I knew my life would be better off without him.

  I just couldn’t swallow the hard pill that his life would be better off without me too.

  That he would find someone better than me.

  Chapter Two

  9. He hates my mother.

  Sunday rolled around with a crashing finality that made my legs lock up and my eyes instinctively roll of their own accord.

  The apocalypse had arrived.

  Also known as family dinner.

  It had been a tradition in my household as long as I could remember. It was cemented into place when my older brother, Josh, left for college; written in blood from all members of my family when he got married twelve years ago; and cursed to damn those members of the family that did not show up straight to the fiery pits of hell when I got married seven years ago.

  My mother was nothing if not intolerant of our absences. My father was the same way. He wasn’t the most amorous man alive; in fact, some might take his stoic demeanor and lack of affection to mean that he didn’t love us- or at least he didn’t like us very much. But the opposite was true. He did love us. More than he cared to tell us. He just showed us his love with high expectations that were both everlasting and time-oriented.

  Translation: Don’t ever be late. Never ever.

  Like I said, Sunday meant lunch with my parents. Neither of them could be bothered to pick up a phone during the week to check in with me, but by God, if I didn’t show up on Sunday, I’d better be dead.

  Nick had always found my family stand-offish at best. He loathed any time spent with them, but most of all Sunday lunches. My father, a successful plumber and notorious hard worker, didn’t and wouldn’t try to understand Nick’s aspirations to be a professional musician. And my mother, who had been both emotionally neglected all of her marriage and also completely spoiled by my father who only expected her to cook, clean, iron his shirts and go to bed with him at nine pm every night, refused to respect a man that would choose an unstable career and could therefore impose upon his family to support him.

  My mother always thought I could do better and she never kept that opinion to herself. My father didn’t speak his mind openly, but he had never been Nick’s number one fan, even if they could come together over the Bears and Blackhawks.

  When I walked into my parent’s dated, red brick row house five minutes before lunch began, I felt the dismal weight of failure settle on my shoulders.

  As disappointed as my parents were when I chose Nick, they were even more disappointed in my pending divorce.

  Love and happiness had never played a part in their marriage. They took vows, they made promises to each other and no matter how miserable they made the other, they kept their word.

  It was embarrassing to them that they had a child who couldn’t keep hers.

  Especially since my perfect brother Josh had married such a nice Catholic girl and their marriage was never in jeopardy of dissolving and, consequently, their souls never at risk of being damned. To ice the cake, my brother’s two kids were beautiful. Josh had a fantastic job and Emily, his wife, couldn’t have been a better homemaker.

  I, the baby of the family, was still acting like one. My dangerous job, my failed marriage and my lack of offspring spoke for me. I had disappointed my parents. In every way that mattered.

  “There she is,” my mother announced when I swept into the house, dropped my purse on the secretary desk near the front door and tripped into the dining room. My mother’s dark brown hair, which had streaks of gray that she would never bother to cover with dye, was pulled severely from her face in a bun on the top of her head. Her high cheekbones and pursed lips made my stomach twist with dread. I felt like one of my students when I called them out for missing homework.

  I should be nicer to them, I thought.

  No, wait. I had momentarily forgotten that I loved torturing them.

  Apparently my mother and I had more in common than I thought.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I huffed, even though I was early. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

  My father made an approving grunt. He hated traffic above everything else. If he could sell his soul for clear streets and green lights for the rest of his life, he would.

  He wouldn’t even ask to read the terms and conditions.

  Sign here, Satan? Sure thing.

  “We’re just sitting down,” my mother allowed. Her hazel eyes flicked across the table and took in my appearance with a shockingly quick assessment. “You’re too thin. It’s a good thing you come over here to eat.”

  I sunk onto my straight-backed oak chair and gripped the edges of the matching table that had been the centerpiece of my childhood. She said this to me every time she saw me during my divorce. Before that, it had been, “You’re gaining too much weight. You need to exercise.”

  “She’s under a lot of stress, Ma, give her a break.”

  I shot Josh a weak smile. He made life difficult for me because he did everything right the first time, but he always had my back. He really was a good guy, which was why it was so easy to hate him.

  “She’s under a lot of stress because she puts herself under a lot of stress.” My mother thrust the bowl of green beans amandine at my sister-in-law, Emily, catching her off guard. She jumped a little in her seat and I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing.

  I was thirty-years-old and hadn’t lived at home since the year before I got married, but my mother could get under my skin like no one else.

  She came equipped with internal radar of what buttons to push to piss me off the most. Zero to instant-rage in less than thirty seconds.

  It was actually pretty impressive.

  “Can I have the bread, please?” I kept my voice evenly upbeat and pasted on a fake smile. If I didn’t provoke them, I could be out of here in two hours.

  Nick would always come up with a code word before we walked in the house so that I would know when he’d reached his limit.

  Rotten bananas.

  Teriyaki chicken.

  Winter is coming.

  He would just blurt whatever safe word he’d prepped me with on the way over in the middle of a conversation and then jump to his feet as if he couldn’t live through
another second of my family. Sometimes it had been in the middle of the meal. Sometimes he made it to dessert.

  Sometimes he started spouting code words before we’d made it through the front door.

  During our marriage, I had been annoyed with his desperation to leave my family. I wanted him to somehow love spending time with them, even though I couldn’t stand it.

  Even though they were rude and unaccepting of him.

  Over the last four months, I’d realized this was one thing I could have been nicer about. I missed his code words now. I missed his push to leave so we didn’t get trapped in an endless marathon of bitter family and snide comments. I missed his intolerance for how my mom spoke to me.

  He had always been respectful to her face, but after we got in the car, he had always reassured me that I was beautiful, that I was successful and that I didn’t need her approval.

  I hadn’t done the same for him and now I wondered how her snarky digs must have cut him. I wondered if he had needed my encouragement as much as I needed his.

  I wondered if I had enjoyed his code words and sarcastic tolerance of my family, if we would still be together. I wondered if those small things would have fixed us.

  Or at least kept us from breaking.

  But it was all pointless now. Nick was gone and I was left to face my family alone.

  “Take two biscuits,” she demanded. “You’ll never find another man with those cheekbones.”

  “Cess,” my dad warned with his rumble of a voice. “Let the girl eat. She doesn’t need your instructions. I’m sure she’s got the basics of it figured out by now.”

  My mother’s disgruntled expression argued differently, but she let it drop. Cecily Simmons was a force to be reckoned with. I had never been under a different impression. My mother had intimidated the world from day one.

  But I had been born with something wild and uncaring. My mom overwhelmed me easily. I knew better than to talk back. I knew better than to start something with her.

  And yet, I could not keep my mouth shut.

  It might be some kind of disease.

  I should probably get it checked out.

  I told my mashed potatoes, “I’m not sure I want to find another man.”

  My mom snorted a bitter laugh and I felt my father freeze from across the table. I didn’t have to look at him to know I’d shocked the hell out of him and not in a good way.

  “Of course you want to find another man,” my mother insisted. “You think that now, but give it a few months or a year. You won’t want to be alone. You’ll get lonely and then you’ll see. You’ll know you need a man.”

  As if my mother’s words weren’t damaging enough, my father chimed in, “It’s dangerous out there, Katie.”

  Ladies and gentlemen, my parents’ opinion of me. Neither of them thought I was capable of taking care of myself. A man had to be part of my equation or I was destined to turn into a crazy cat lady that was raped and pillaged in her own home one night by the pizza delivery guy.

  As if my future didn’t feel bleak enough… Geez. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

  And obviously my army of cats would protect me.

  “Come on, guys,” Josh interrupted again. “Enough already. She walked in the house five minutes ago and you’re already giving her a hard time. Let her breathe a little, alright?”

  Both of my parents looked put out this time. I wanted to cry.

  One of my nieces piped up, wanting more mashed potatoes and the attention, thankfully, shifted off me.

  Josh had two beautiful girls that were as well behaved as children could be and still be kids. They whined too loud and they screamed like banshees when they got mad, but they were beautiful and lovely and so precious they made my uterus ache.

  Delaney and Adalyn had been easy for Josh and Emily. They had gotten pregnant exactly on schedule with their perfect lives, just like Josh had gotten the position he wanted and the raise he needed when they decided to start a family. Life worked out for Josh in a way that was completely unfamiliar to me.

  Not that I didn’t think he worked hard. I did. I knew he gave his hundred and ten percent and worked his ass off to be where he was today. But he shined brighter or something. The universe loved him more or maybe he had a head start toward perfection.

  I worked hard too. I worked my ass off too. And yet… there was something missing.

  I didn’t have a gorgeous house in the suburbs or my two point five kids. I barely had a puppy and a job that paid less than tolerable wages.

  I had a mountain of student loan debt and a husband that didn’t fight for me.

  And a pity party.

  I had a massive pity party that made me sick of myself and of the constantly self-absorbed thoughts I couldn’t shake. Ugh.

  I needed a wakeup call.

  Or a giant bottle of Grey Goose.

  “So how’s the school year going so far?” Emily asked while my parents drilled Josh about his newest promotion opportunity.

  “Rough,” I said honestly.

  “Because of the divorce?” Her tone was gentle and nonjudgmental. I loved my sister-in-law, despite her serendipitous marriage to my brother. We weren’t the closest friends, but Josh had chosen well.

  I chewed a bit of pork chop while I decided how to answer her. “That’s definitely part of the reason. But I have a few difficult classes this year. It’s only the middle of September and they’re already acting out. I feel like it’s getting harder and harder to get through to them.”

  Her frown was both authentic and sympathetic. “I think what you’re doing is amazing, Kate. Those students, all students, need teachers that genuinely care about them. You’re doing something great. You need to remember that.”

  Emily was six years older than me and even if it was hard for us to connect sometimes, she gave really good advice. This was something worth listening to.

  “Thanks, Emily. I needed to hear that.”

  She smiled softly at me. “And don’t worry about rushing into another relationship either. I know the divorce is something you want, but I’m sure you’re still struggling to move on.”

  I nodded, unable to form the words it would take to explain how very reluctant I was to even consider moving on.

  “It’s not like he was a bad guy…” My lame attempt at an explanation fell as flat as it tasted in my mouth. It was so much more complicated than two well-meaning people moving on with their lives. There were so many subtle nuances that would take days to explain. I needed complicated pie charts and colored graphs. I needed to watch a movie of my marriage and analyze exactly where things went wrong. Saying Nick was a great guy, though, usually caused people to question all of my motives.

  Was I having an affair?

  Was I a cold, heartless bitch?

  Had I been abducted by aliens who sucked out my soul and left me vapid and broken?

  I hadn’t ruled out that last option yet. It might have happened.

  Because why else would I have suggested that my husband leave me? For good.

  Aliens were a legitimate possibility.

  “Of course he’s not a bad guy!” Emily rushed to agree. “But sometimes… sometimes it doesn’t work out.”

  It wasn’t her words that bothered me, but her lack of conviction. I hated that everything had become so personal to me lately. I couldn’t have a conversation without a reminder of how great Nick was and what an idiot I was for leaving him. I was as obsessed with myself as everyone else.

  Only, I was really, really getting sick and tired of me.

  I cleared my throat to avoid commenting anymore.

  “Divorce is hard,” Emily went on. “When my parents divorced, my mom said it was like going through the death of a loved one. She struggled for a long time to stay out of depression.”

  I turned toward her and hoped to change the subject completely or at least get it off me. “That must have been really hard. How old were you?”

  She nodded slowly, clearly struggling
with hidden emotion. “I was eight,” she admitted. “They thought they would be better off without each other.”

  Her words hit too close to home and I immediately wanted to change the subject to something else. The weather. Football. Aliens and anal probing. Anything else. Instead, I said, “Were they?”

  She quickly shook her head. “I don’t know, honestly. My dad never remarried. My mom did. She seems happy now. But we went through a lot of painful years afterward. It was really, really hard on my sisters and me.”

  “At least we don’t have kids,” I mumbled to myself.

  If Emily heard me, she didn’t respond. And for that I was grateful. I didn’t need to talk about kids tonight or what it was like not to have them.

  I knew what it was like. I knew that acutely.

  I smiled at my youngest niece, Adalyn, as she tried to sneak long green beans back into the bowl. I shook my finger at her playfully and watched her five-year-old face turn red from embarrassment.

  Even Nick thought my nieces were precious. He had one brother, but Jared was younger than us and not married yet, so Delaney and Adalyn were all we had. Both of us loved to have them over so we could spoil them or take them to fun things around the city.

  They gave us the excuse to eat chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs and watch cartoons.

  I might not have appreciated his attitude toward my mother, but he had always been the best uncle. He would have made a phenomenal father.

  If only things had been different for us.

  After Josh and I cleaned off the table and started on the dishes, a job that was still ours no matter how old we got, I felt his probing eyes on me. I could feel the serious conversation brewing between us, but I had hoped to avoid this awkward portion of the afternoon.

  “I thought you would get back with him by now,” he said out of the blue, with soap bubbles up to his elbows and a porcelain platter squeezed between his hands.