Page 39 of The Devil You Know
He looks up at me and offers a tired smile as he loosens the knot on his tie. “Hey, Jane. Sorry I’m late—rough commute today.”
He leans in to give me a hug and a kiss, which I accept somewhat stiffly. He doesn’t seem to notice though and heads to the kitchen. I follow him.
“Listen,” I say. “I was just in the bathroom and I noticed you bought Scout toilet paper…”
“Yeah.” Ben reaches up on one of the shelves in the kitchen and pulls out a jar of Nutella. Every once in a while, he takes a break from peanut butter and has Nutella instead, which I believe has hazelnuts in it, but it’s basically just spreadable chocolate. After a full day of obese patients with heart disease, it’s hard not to wince when I see my husband eating spoonfuls from a big jar of chocolate. “I got it two days ago.”
“But why did you buyScouttoilet paper?” I say. “YouknowI hate that brand. They’re the worst.”
Ben pauses mid-bite of Nutella. “I didn’t know you hate Scout toilet paper. How would I know that?”
“I’ve told you that a million times!” I cry.
“I don’t remember that,” says the guy with the worst memory in the world, apparently.
“Trust me.” I fold my arms across my chest. “I told you. Scout toilet paper is basically unusable.”
“I had no idea you were such a toilet paper diva,” Ben mutters.
“I’m not a toilet paper diva!” Any affection I had for my husband when he first walked in the door is fading fast. “I just don’t like that one brand!Anything elsewould have been better.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” He takes another spoonful of Nutella. “You told me to buy toilet paper and I did. I had no idea that I had to be so selective about which brand to buy.”
“Well, now we’ve got twenty-four rolls of crappy toilet paper,” I point out.
On another occasion, I’m sure Ben would have cracked a joke about my saying “crappy toilet paper,” but now he just sighs. “Listen, Jane,” he says, “I had a bad day at work and I’ve been stuck in traffic for almost two hours. Can we discuss the toilet paper another time?”
“Fine,” I say, even though I know I’m the one who’s now going to have to go out and buy new toilet paper. He’s not even offering. He’s just standing there, eating spoonfuls of Nutella. Well, at least tomorrow is Saturday.
“Please don’t eat half the jar of Nutella,” I tell him. “I’m making dinner soon.”
“I’m not eating half the jar,” he says around a mouthful of hazelnut and chocolate.
“You know,” I say, “maybe you wouldn’t be gaining so much weight if you’d stop eating peanut butter and chocolate all the time.”
I counsel patients on their weight so often, the words come out almost automatically. But I can tell as soon as they leave my mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. The red that had faded from Ben’s face when he came indoors now rises up again in his cheeks.
“Thanks for the tip, Jane,” he says through his teeth. He tosses the spoon on the counter and practically throws the Nutella back on the shelf. He slams the cabinet door shut. “I’m going upstairs. I’d like to be alone for a while.”
“Okay,” I say in a small voice. “Um, do you still want to have dinner with us later?”
“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I guess so. Whatever.”
He brushes past me, and a few seconds later, I hear his footsteps on the stairs. The door to our bedroom slams shut and I’m left alone once again.
Chapter 14
Leah has gotten to an age where grocery shopping with her is impossible.
When she was an infant, it was easy. I just put her in one of those baby carriers and I’d walk around with her glued to my chest. Usually, she slept through the whole thing. Then when she was a little older, I’d put her in the cart and she’d enjoy riding around while I shopped.
Now Leah starts out wanting to be in the cart, but within five minutes, she wants to get out. As soon as she’s out, she wants to either run everywhere in the store, steer the cart herself (usually into other customers), or get back in again. It’s exhausting. And don’t even get me started on those carts that have little cars attached to the front of them. Leah will ride in that car for sixty seconds, then I’m stuck pushing around a giant, heavy cart that is impossible to steer while she runs away from me.
Right now, Leah is running free, her red curls flying behind her, while I struggle to manage my rapidly filling cart. She’s running down the candy aisle, of course. It’snot bad enough that they taunt you with candy at checkout—they’ve got have a wholeaisledevoted to it?
“Want this,” Leah tells me, pointing to a bag of peanut butter cups.
Those are Ben’s favorite. I used to frequently surprise him with a package of peanut butter cups when I went to the grocery store. Even though I did it fairly often, he always seemed so thrilled when I left the peanut butter cups on his pillow.
