Page 31 of Bad Husband

“Because I have dishes to finish, laundry to start, laundry to fold, kids to get bathed and then eventually get some sleep tonight because I have to work in the morning.”

My heart beats a little faster. She said we could talk and now it just seems like she’s making excuses. “You said we could talk.”

“If you want to talk, then get the boys ready for bed, that way we have some time.”

I did it last night. I can do it tonight too.

Do you see the amusement in her eyes? Why is she looking at me like that? It’s like the time I was in the delivery room when Callan was born, and the doctor asked if I wanted to see the baby crowning. Being a soon-to-be father, I had no fucking clue what crowning meant so I looked to Madison and she gave me a half grin, much like this one, and said, “If you want to.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Now she full-on grins. “Because.”

“Because why?”

She turns back to the dishwasher. “You’re wasting time. Go get the boys ready for bed.”

REMEMBER WHEN I said Madison smile seemed off?

Yeah, well, it fucking was. I’m beginning to think I was set up for failure tonight on all accounts. Look at how my nights went so far?

Dinner?

Disaster.

Playing with the kids?

Epic failure.

Bath time?

Take a look around and you’d probably get an answer.

Have you ever bathed a three-year-old?

There’s absolutely nothing easy about it. I think I’d rather bath a cat who was clawing the shit out of me. No offense, Mr. Poppy.

Do you see the gallon of water on the floor and the dad on his knees trying to soak up all the water with towels?

That’s how my night’s going.

“Noah, stop it with the water.” Raising my hand up, I push my hair from my face only to have it soaking wet now because just as I say, “Keep it inside the tub,” he takes a cup full of water and splashes me in the face.

“Spash, Daddy.”

It’s illegal to punch a toddler. I actually tell myself this a few times.

Callan stands at the doorway and hands me a clean towel. “Mom’s going tokillyou.”

I wipe my face off. “What’s his deal?”

“Well for starters, you shouldn’t have given him a cup.” Callan pushes past me to the tub and rips the plastic cup out of Noah’s hand. “And second, don’t fill the tub up so high. The less water he has in there, the less that ends up on the floor.”

Where was he when we started this bath-time fun?

Reading.

I hand him a dry towel I find under the sink. “Can you help me clean this up before your mom sees it?”

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