Page 29 of The Slapshot and the Single Mom
I grunt in response, not sure what I’m supposed to say.
“Anyway. He always sort of acted like his stuff was more important than mine, you know? But it was so subtle that it was easy to miss or wave away. He’d agree on the surface to do something I wanted to do, but then he’d be a whiny baby when it came time to do it. To the point that, over the years, I stopped asking to do what I wanted anymore.”
This time my grunt is more of an expression of displeasure. What a dick. Your wife likes to do something that isn’t your favorite and instead of just sucking it up—like she probably does for your shit often enough—or expressing that you’d rather sit this one out but she should go have fun without you, you agree to go and then throw a tantrum to make sure she’s miserable? That’s fucked up.
She shakes her head. “Yeah. Exactly. I was starting to realize that the reason I always felt so cranky and dismissed is because Iwasdismissed. Everything I liked or wanted had been dismissed for years.” She points her finger toward the kitchen. “When I hung those up, he pouted about it for a week and only spoke to me when absolutely necessary, which was a real treat since we worked together. Never mind that they were a Christmas gift from my parents or that I love them. He doesn’t like baseball, so why would we hang them up?” Her voice grows louder the longer she talks, and now she flings her hands up. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe becauseIlike baseball?” She shakes her head. “But that never mattered to him.”
Another deep breath, and she resumes her measured, calm tone. “The breaking point, though, was that I caught him flirting with one of the other women at work. She was an intern, and I saw them together once, and he acted every bit like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. They weren’t doing anything inappropriate—not that I saw, anyway—but it looked like I’d walked in on something that either had been or was about to be.” She shakes her head slowly and brings her shoulders forward and up in a shrug that also looks like she’s still trying to guard against a blow. “I didn’t push. I didn’t accuse. I didn’t even look for proof. I was just … done. If I couldn’t trust my husband not to cheat, I figured there wasn’t any point in trying by then. I’d been begging for the bare minimum of consideration for ages by that point.” She meets my eyes again. “I was tired of begging. Tired of pleading. Tired of expecting the man who shared my bed to acknowledge that I mattered to him. I didn’t file the next day or anything, but that was when I started to gather everything, to make my plan. I talked to my parents and let them know what was happening, then I started interviewing attorneys.” Here she finally grins. “I made sure to meet with everyone in a thirty minute radius from both work and where we lived. A friend told me that he wouldn’t be able to use any of them if they even consulted with me. There are plenty of attorneys farther away, of course, and maybe it’s petty, but I wanted him to have to work a little bit for something having to do with me. At least once. But I found one who I liked, who I knew would go to bat for me if push came to shove, and we filed. Kyle acted blindsided, but he should’ve known. He should’ve known the minute I found him cozied up to the intern. I guess he thought since I didn’t ask him about it, didn’t go through his texts, didn’t demand reassurance or proof or anything, that he was safe.” She lets out another humorless chuckle. “Idiot. But yeah.” She spreads her hands, palms up. “How am I supposed to explain that to a first grader?”
I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. “No kidding. That’s a lot. What did you actually tell him?”
Sucking in a deep breath, she lets it out slowly, her shoulders lifting in that same defensive shrug. “It’s a little bit of a blur at this point, but I’m pretty sure it was something like, ‘Sometimes grown ups realize that they need to live in their own houses and that’s why Daddy and I are getting divorced.’ Everything said to keep it simple and straightforward, so I did my best at that.” She finally cracks a sad smile. “I think part of it is that at that age they do the whole, ‘Why? Why? Why?’ thing about everything. My mom said that sometimes kids do that because they want to make sure the answers stay the same. After that, I just kept repeating the same thing even though I got really tired of repeating myself. It seemed like it took forever for him to stop, but really I think it was only a few months. It’s just that those few months were so hard in so many ways.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I murmur.
“Thank you.” Then she pastes on a bright smile. “Well, enough of that. Let’s talk about something different. Um, so, tell me your favorite hockey memory. Or at leastone ofyour favorite hockey memories.”
Grinning, I nod, sorting through a few stories and landing on the time a rookie’s prank went too far and the coaching staff ended up getting covered in maple syrup. Her laughter—that starts off nearly hysterical but slowly becomes more normal as my stories continue—is therapeutic for both of us, I think.
I’m going to do my best to make her laugh as often as I can. She’s clearly had enough tears in her life. It’s time someone helped her with the opposite, and that someone is me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Maggie
Jack is… perfect. He says all the right things, does all the right things, and that makes me more terrified than if he were a douchebag.
“He called me yesterday to let me know he got tickets to the baseball game this weekend,” I tell my therapist in the emergency session I booked for today, my heart racing and my hands clammy as I give voice to my hidden anxieties. I haven’t been seeing her as often these days, only when something comes up that I need extra support for—usually to do with Kyle being a dumbass and abandoning Liam. I should probably just get in her schedule again because the next thing on my list is to contact my attorney about revising the custody and child support agreement. She should be back from vacation by now, and Mom and Dad are right—if he’s not going to take his time, the least he can do is give me more money to feed and clothe Liam, pay for his extracurriculars and the day camps I have him signed up for so he has somewhere to go during the day and isn’t home bored and alone all summer while I’m at work.
My therapist cocks her head to the side, her steel gray curls swaying gently with the movement, her brow furrowing behind her dark-rimmed glasses. “Is that … bad?” She sounds almost confused, and I can’t help smiling.
I spread my hands, then wipe them on my thighs. “I mean, no? It’s actually really wonderful. He came over last weekend and he saw the prints I have on my wall of famous baseball stadiums—prints that Kyle gave me the silent treatment over for almost two weeks until I finally caved and put them in the guest bedroom that he never went into—and now he bought us tickets to a baseball game. I should be happy—and I am!—I’m just also … worried.”
“What are you worried about?” she asks, her voice calm.
“It feels too good to be true,” I say after a moment, my voice just above a whisper. “I mean, I know we’re friends, we’re not really dating”—Kim’s eyebrows raise at that statement—“but …” I shake my head again, grabbing the throw pillow next to me and clutching it in my lap. “I guess I’m worried that I’ll get used to being treated well, and then one day it’ll all stop.”
Kim makes a note on the pad in her lap. “Is that what happened with Kyle?”
I sit back on the couch, looking at the ceiling briefly as I think back to the early days of my relationship with Kyle. “Not exactly.” I shrug, meeting her eyes again. “I mean, he wasn’t as much of a dick in the beginning as he was by the time we divorced, but there was always this tendency for us to always do what he wanted. Which was mostly fine, I’m usually happy to go along with what other people want, especially if they have strong opinions, or at least stronger than mine, but …” I shrug again.
“But what?” Kim presses.
“But I always wanted to have my voice heard too. To feel like I mattered. I don’t need my wayallthe time, of course. But I like getting to do something I want to do too.”
“And with Jack, you’re getting that.”
I nod.
Kim shifts in her seat, crossing her legs and leaning her elbow on the arm of her chair, resting her chin in her hand and narrowing her eyes as she considers me. “I’m still not sure I see a problem,” she finally says. “I understand that you’re used to a slap following a gift or a compliment. That was Kyle’s MO, so you’ve come to expect it from everyone, even your parents, who have no history of treating you that way.”
I let out a breath, nodding slowly. “I guess that’s true.”
“So it’s understandable that Jack treating you well makes you uncomfortable when you’re used to being treated poorly. You also have developed some hyperindependent tendencies from being married to Kyle, which makes it difficult for you to accept gifts or help from anyone else.”
I squirm, hating how right she is. “Yeah. That’s true.”
“When you feel like this about Jack, I want you to review a list of what you’re worried about happening compared to the evidence in front of you. From what you’ve told me, you and Jack have struck up a mutually beneficial arrangement—he gets to go places and do things and therefore isn’t stuck at home bored until September and gets the added benefit of possibly being seen with you which makes him seem more stable than he’s been portrayed in the past, right?” I nod. “And you gettreated to fun nights out, which I agree with your mother’s assessment, you desperately need. You spent many years in your marriage putting everyone else first. And since your divorce, you’re still putting Liam first”—she holds up a hand—“which is definitely important with a child who is reliant on you. That’s not a criticism, but it does make it difficult for Maggie to get what she needs. I’m glad you’re letting your parents take Liam for overnights. I think that’s good for both of you, and his grandparents too. And I’m glad you’re getting to go out and have fun for the first time in far too long.”
