Page 59 of The Temptation of Truth
He doesn’t mean it. I’ve heard this tone hundreds of times before. Like the people who used to tell me my family’s accident wasn’t my fault. Placating, borderline patronizing, and completely fake.
It makes me feel worse for a multitude of reasons, but the most jarring is I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because I’m relieved, and he has no idea.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.”
I wipe my eyes again and take steadying breaths through my nose. Guilt, once again, swirls in my stomach, and I try to fight off the nausea. I’m a terrible wife. I shouldn’t be feeling this way, especially not when he thinks I’m feeling the opposite.
“I’m okay, B. Really.”
“Maybe we should see a nutritionist? You don’t always eat the best. You should cut back on sugar and starches. I’ve been doing some research, and if we want to get pregnant, you have to take better care of yourself.”
I frown and stare hard at the tile floor as I attempt to process what he just said.
He can’t mean...
“You just said it isn’t my fault.”
He sighs. “It’s not. But it’syourbody. Have you thought of working out?”
I scoff. It’s quiet, nearly a mere puff of air, but he hears it, and he sighs again. Louder. More frustrated. Angry.
“This isn’t a joke, Aurora.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“I’m just saying that if this was something you really wanted for us, you’d be watching what you eat and working out more.”
I drop back onto my butt, the cold floor seeping through the thin fabric of my pajama pants, and stare at the brown wooden shelves under the sink.
“How do you know it’s not you?” I ask, defeat and defensiveness warring in my head.
“I drink protein shakes. I take supplements. I work out.”
“Watching sports on television doesn’t make you an athlete, Brady. You can’t work out by osmosis.”
I don’t realize how harsh I sound until the words have already left me. My husband goes silent, and regret fills me. I squeeze my eyes shut and run my fingers through my sleep-mussed hair.
“I’m sorry. That was mean.”
“Yeah, it was. You don’t have to take your guilt out on me.”
My eyes snap open.Guilt.
He knows? He knows I’m relieved? That I’m having second thoughts?
“What do you mean?” I ask tentatively, my voice choked with nerves. He must pick up on my worry because his next statement is soft and gentle. Like how you’d speak to a child.
“I get that you feel bad for not taking this seriously and letting yourself go, but you’re being unfair to me.”
“What? Unfair to you? Letting myself go?”
“Auri, come on. You know what I’m saying.”
“I don’t, actually. Please elaborate.”
He sighs yet again. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Say it. Say it, Brady.”
