Page 48 of Bad Husband

As Madison takes all the kids outside, I grab Brantley and drag him into the kitchen. “We have to find the mice.”

Brantley shakes his head as if I’m asking him to commit murder with me. “Nope. No can do. What if I run into Sampson or Saul?”

“Where are your balls?”

“Hairy and attached,” he jabs, glaring at me. “Unlike yours.”

What an asshole. I’m tempted to revise our contract for our 70/30 percent ownership. Not really, but still. Jerk move. “You know… you’re being a real dick.” I shove him away from me, annoyed everything I do lately turns to shit. “I thought you were my best friend.”

“Fine.” He sighs and reaches for a beer in the fridge. “But I swear to fucking God, if I find one of those snakes, I’ll never come over here again.”

Brantley begins to look through the couch cushions and on top of the entertainment center while I check under the furniture and inside the first-floor closets.

After twenty minutes, we meet back in the living room to discuss our next move over a beer. Sticking my hand in a bowl of chips on the table, that’s when I feel something furry. It’s a fucking mouse.

Screaming, I toss it at Brantley who jumps back in shock, loses his footing and falls on the ground where guess who’s at his feet?

Sampson or Saul, I’m not sure there’s a difference between the two and don’t actually care. All I care about is they were found, and I intend on finishing our house because I no longer want to live in this one.

Callan’s had seven birthdays and until today, I can’t remember ever giving him a present that was just from me. It’s always come from Madison and me but this one, it’s from me. Only.

The book he wanted about Chernobyl.

When he opens it away from the other kids at his party, his eyes light up like they did the other night.

Standing in the kitchen, alone with me, his arms wrap tightly around my neck, the book on the counter. “Thanks, Dad. It’s the best present ever.” My arms move around him, holding him to my chest.

Madison’s near the back door, watching us from a distance as tears sting my eyes. There’s been a few times I’ve been brought to tears by our children. Mostly out of pain at the hands of Noah, but there’re these moments when they make you proud or happy, moments like this when I know I’ve given him exactly what he wanted.

My stare catches Madison’s and she mouths, “Thank you,” to me.

I wink and then pull back to hold Callan at arm’s length. “You like it?”

“Iloveit!” Reaching for the book, he opens it to flip through the pages.

You see the man standing in front of his son, the one where nothing can ruin his day now?

His day is about to be ruined.

“I thought you said you’d have wine here?” a voice asks from behind us, and I don’t even have to look to know who it is talking to Madison. My good feeling is gone, out the fucking door like a dust storm blowing through the house.

There’s no “Thanks for inviting me,” or “How have you been?” or even, “Happy Birthday, Callan.” That’s not how Jenna works. She goes straight for the weakness that’s consumed her life for twenty years.

“I do, Mom,” Madison says, her sandals clicking against the tile as she moves closer. “It’s on the counter.”

I can smell Jenna’s perfume before she approaches me from behind. It’s patchouli oil. Quite possibly the worst smell in the world as far as I’m concerned.

“Oh, well hello, Ridley. Are you even going to say hello?”

No. I want you to leave.

I smile, despite my complete distaste for Madison’s mother. “Jenna.”

Her blue eyes stand out against her brown hair I know she dyes probably once a week. And then her stare moves to Callan, who’s watching her. She hands him a present. “Happy Birthday.”

Do you see how forced the “Happy Birthday” is? She once called him in July to wish him happy birthday. His birthday is February 27th. It certainly hasn’t changed since his birth, which she was present and drunk at. We couldn’t even let her hold him because she couldn’t stand up straight.

She’s part of the reason Madison has never touched a drop of alcohol in her life.

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