Page 10 of You Will Never Be Me

As usual, the guilt overwhelms everything else, and I end upgetting up from the table and fetching a bunch of vegan “chicken” nuggets that I’d dumped into the air fryer twenty minutes ago. “Ta da!” I say, placing the nuggets in the center of the table. Everyone’s eyes brighten, even baby Sabine’s, and she’s still on purees, so I don’t know what she’s so excited about.

“How many am I allowed, Mommy?” Noemie says as Elea scoops huge spoonfuls of nuggets onto her own plate. I have to bite back a snarky comment about Elea not waiting for her sister before digging in. I force myself to focus on Noemie and do a quick calculation in my head. “Um, I think four’s a safe number. Do you agree, honey?” I add, turning to Ben.

I’ve caught him spacing out, as usual. It’s as though he hates my company so much these days that he’d rather escape into his own head. Anywhere but here. He blinks, then says, “Oh, yeah. Sounds good.”

Again, I repress the urge to snark at him and ask what exactly he’s saying yes to. There is so much bitterness to swallow these days. At least everyone’s eating now, even if it is frozen nuggets. Still, they’re organic and vegan, so that’s not too bad, right?

The peace lasts about five minutes. “Hey, Daddy, after this, can we go on Amazon and buy me a new iPad?” Elea says.

“Hmm?” Ben looks lost for a split second, his mouth full of vegan nugget, then he shrugs. “Sure.”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” I say, and realize there’s too much of a bite in my voice. I modulate it to a calmer tone. “I think it’s a good lesson for you to learn, sweetie. To take better care of your belongings.”

“But it’s literally been forever!”

“Mm-hmm,” I say without much sympathy.

“But I need it!” Elea whines.

I level my gaze at her. “Really? You need an iPad? What for?”

“All the educational games on it,” she shoots back. This kid definitely has too much sass for a six-year-old. “You were the one who said that I’m smart enough to get into a STEM program. Did you change your mind?”

“Of course not, but you’re taking robotics at school, and engineering. I don’t think you need an iPad to teach you STEM.”

“Daddy!” Elea whines, staring at him with huge, imploring eyes.

Ben opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, I quickly say, “Mommy and Daddy will discuss this later.”

He presses his lips together into a thin line and nods. I press mine into a smile. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s pretending that everything is fine. “So I’m really looking forward to the shoot this weekend!” I say brightly.

Elea rolls her eyes, but Noemie gives me a small smile. Ben stares at me blankly, then says, “What shoot?”

It is so hard not to sigh at him. “The one with Maya? For next month’s posts.” Every month, I book a full-day session with Maya Alexander, my favorite photographer. We go through at least ten outfit changes, all of them matchy-matchy, of course, and all of them of us doing a different family activity. Since we’re shooting for October posts, I’ve already lined up a whole bunch of fall activities: I bought a dozen pumpkins, which we’ll paint white. I got orange food coloring so we can pretend to be making pumpkin smoothies, pumpkin cakes, and pumpkin cookies. And I got Halloween decorations, Halloween costumes (at least three different sets), and so on and so forth. Maya charges $350 per hour, so I have to be ruthless when it comes to planning these shoots.

“Oh god,” Ben groans. He actually throws his head back and moans like I’ve asked him to enroll in a marathon.

I resist saying anything snarky. I just look at him.

“I can’t do it,” he says, finally. “I’ve got an open house that day.”

Do not get angry. Do not show how furious you are.I keep my voice even as I say, “I’ve reminded you twice about this shoot. You know how important they are.”

“So is my job,” he bites back.

I want to shriek with laughter. His job. Ben is a midlevel Realtor who takes home less than forty grand a year, before taxes. Meanwhile, I’m making close to half a million a year after taxes. Guess who’s shouldering the burden of the mortgage on our beautiful Spanish-style home in the heart of Pasadena, and the extensive healthcare that covers Noemie’s ongoing treatment, and the competitive private school that the twins go to—the one that boasts at least twelve different kinds of STEM activities? Not to mention the pricey gymnastics and ballet classes?

But I don’t throw all of these at him. I’ve been warned, time and again, by well-meaning people like my own mother, that earning more than my husband does will emasculate him. And I don’t want to do that to Ben, not in front of the girls. So I swallow yet more bitterness and rage and say, “I’m sorry, but I told you about the shoot months in advance. It’s in our shared calendar. Maya is extremely popular; she won’t be able to fit us into another slot last minute.”

“Then you’ll just have to do the shoot without me,” Ben says, with a shrug. “Because I’m not canceling the open house.”

“Ben, please,” I plead. “The house you’re showing—it’s the one in Alhambra, right? I mean, it’s not…” I struggle for the right words to say. I don’t want the knife to cut too deep. “I mean, look,October is such a lucrative month for me. I’ll earn probably double the usual months. October aesthetics are—”

“If I hear that damn word one more time.” Though his voice is quiet, it is dripping with venom. “Aesthetics,” he spits out. “Our lives are nothing but aesthetics.” He takes a sharp inhale, as though he wants to throw his chair across the room. But then he glances at the twins, who are watching closely, and says (slowly, enunciating each word like I’m hard of hearing), “I am not rescheduling my open house.”

I can taste tears at the back of my throat. More than anything, I wish I could talk to Meredith about this.

“Go on,” Ben mutters as he stabs at a vegan nugget. “Go bitch about me to Mer like you always do. Oh wait, you guys aren’t talking because you’re in high school, apparently.”

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