Page 29 of The Devil You Know
“No!” Leah says firmly. “They’re circles. I don’t like circles. I only like dinosaurs.”
“Leah!” I snap. “Either you have the circle nuggets or nothing at all!”
My daughter’s little chin trembles. She’s so utterly adorable when she’s sad over something—I just want to reach out and scoop her up in my arms. This is definitely evolution at work, to make children so adorable when they’re at their most difficult.
I cuddle Leah for a few minutes and we eventually compromise on a ham sandwich. I make it for her and get her set up watchingDora the Explorerin the living room. I’m sure I’m a terrible mom for allowing her to watch the amount of TV she does, but at this point, it’s the only thing keeping me sane.
I walk upstairs to the bedroom I share with Ben. I find him sitting on our bed, his laptop on his legs like always. I wonder if that’s why we’re having so much trouble conceiving—maybe the laptop is killing all his sperm. He’s wearing his Yankees shirt, which is actually something I bought him years ago as a joke. Ben is from Boston originally and therefore is a diehard Red Sox fan,which means he hates the Yankees with a passion. So I bought him the shirt to tease him, but then Ben started wearing that shirt all the time. He told me that it reminded him of me. “You’re my little Yankee,” he would always say with a grin. He’s worn it so much that the Yankees logo is peeling off and there’s a hole in the seam of the sleeve. These days, he wears it out of laziness and comfort more than anything.
“Ben,” I say.
He looks up without smiling. “Oh. Hi.”
“I need you to take out the trash.”
He sighs. “I’m working, okay? This is… it’s not a good time. I’ll do it later.”
Bullshit. I can’t see the screen, but I bet he’s just doing a crossword puzzle.
“You hadall dayto take out the trash,” I point out. “You could have done itat any timetoday but you didn’t.”
“Look, I said I’ll do it,” he shoots back. “Why do I have to get up and do it this instant just because you came home from work and are all pissy?”
“Because it’soverflowing.” I put my hands on my hips. “And the kitchen is covered with garbage.”
“You know,” he says, “you can take out the garbage too. It’sallowed. Or was it in our marriage vows that I have to take out the trash?”
I glare at him. Taking out the trash is a chore that Ben always owned ever since we moved in together yearsago. I always cooked and did our laundry, while Benalwaystook out the trash.
When I don’t step up to his bait, Ben shoves the laptop off his legs. “Fine,” he snaps. “I’ll take out the trash if you’re incapable of doing it yourself.”
I follow Ben down to the kitchen where he makes a big show of changing the trash as noisily as possible. I know I shouldn’t do anything to make the situation worse, but I’m steamed too. It’shismess that I want to clean up. I’ve been at work all day and he’s just been lying around the house. Asking him to do the one chore he’s always done is not at all unreasonable.
“By the way…” I yank the box from his Swedish meatball dinner off the kitchen counter and wag it in his face. “When you have a microwave meal, you’re allowed to throw the packaging away. I’m not, like, saving it for arts and crafts projects.”
“Noted,” he mutters.
“Also…” I fumble around the counter again and pick up a little square of paper. “Why am I always finding these on my counter?”
“That’s cheese paper,” he says. “It separates the slices of cheese in the packaging.”
“And those can’t go in the garbage because…?”
“What the hell do you want from me, Jane?” Ben’s voice raises several notches. “I’m taking out the trash like you wanted!”
“I want you to throw out your goddamn cheese paper!”
“I’m sorry you’re soinconveniencedby my cheese paper. I had no idea.”
“Well, I am!”
Both of us whirl around, simultaneously sensing Leah’s presence at the entrance to the kitchen. She’s standing there, staring at us with her big green eyes.
“You’re fighting too loud again,” she says. “I can’t hear Dora.”
Ben’s shoulder’s sag and he looks mildly embarrassed. His parents got divorced when he was a kid and he always told me how difficult it was—both the arguing before the divorce and the chilly relationship after. My parents are divorced too. The fact that both of us came from broken families increases our risk of divorce—I pointed this out to Ben when we were first married.
“That will never happen to us,” he said confidently.
