started to approach him. If he wouldn’t come to her, she’d go to him. She was willing to meet him halfway and she wanted to demonstrate that.
He turned to face her and put his hands up as if to stop her. “I can’t talk about this right now,” he said. “I need to have a smoke.” He disappeared into the sanctuary of the garage.
As the door slammed behind Eric, Annie turned and surveyed the mess that had been made in the kitchen; the mess that had been left for her to clean up. The white plastic mixing bowl full of pancake batter stood next to the electric griddle, globs of spilled, lumpy batter dripping down the sides of the bowl and dotting their way to the griddle. Dollops of batter were also covering the edges and handles of the griddle, the heat of the appliance cooking it just enough to make it as hard as concrete. A short distance away, there was a clean circle of countertop surrounded by a thin layer of flour, where the bowl sat when the ingredients had initially been combined. From the looks of the counter, it was difficult to believe that anything had made it into the bowl. Jagged halves of eggshells were piled in a jumbled heap, the slimy excess egg whites oozing out from underneath them.
The plastic from the bacon package was lying on the counter, greasy side down, in a puddle of flour and milk. It pushed Annie right over the edge she had been so precariously clinging to for the past few minutes. Angry tears sprung from where she’d been hiding them, as if in an ambush. The enemy, however, was not present amongst the aftershock of cooking supplies and ingredients. With nothing to attack, the tears trailed down her cheeks silently and fell onto the counter, adding a taste of salt to the recipe.
She decided right then and there that she was not going to clean it up. As thoughtful as it might have been of Eric to make breakfast, she just couldn’t do it. This was going to come as a surprise to him she knew, because the unspoken arrangement was that when he cooked she cleaned up, and when she cooked, she also cleaned up. She tried repeatedly to convince Eric of the inequity of it all, but he refused to see it her way.
In spite of her anger, it was difficult for Annie to walk away from the mess. She was so used to doing things to avoid upsetting Eric, this new behavior did not come easily. So what if he got mad, she told herself, what was he going to do? Leave me for not doing the dishes?
Annie forced herself to leave the pancake disaster in the kitchen and walked down the hall to the bedroom. Her eyes fell upon another mess -- the bed. It had been a restless night. The sheets were pulled out from the mattress on every side, and were swirled into a tangled mess, much like the eggshells on the kitchen counter. She sighed and closed her eyes. She’d take care of this -- it would alleviate the guilt plaguing her for not doing the dishes.
As she pulled the sheets off the bed, she was struck by grief of a different kind. It used to be that when the sheets were this disheveled, it was because the night had been filled with passionate lovemaking. Annie had to stop and really think to remember the last time that had happened in their bed. It had been a very long time. The pregnancy had wreaked havoc with their love life. She had read that it often had the opposite effect, since the fear of pregnancy was eliminated, but that was not the case for them. The larger she became, the further away Eric became. It was as though her growing belly was pushing him away. Maybe it was my growing thighs, she thought as they jiggled when she put one of her knees on the bed as she reached for the corner of the bottom sheet. She grabbed the flowered percale fabric firmly and pulled it toward her, nearly falling off the bed in the process.
On her way to place the sheets in the laundry hamper, she passed the full length mirror and stopped in front of it. She glanced at herself quickly, almost afraid of what she’d see looking back at her. When the initial peek didn’t prove to be too upsetting, she looked again, taking more time. Her shoulder-length brown hair was still unbrushed from the night before, framing her face with a halo of unruly curls. She tucked some loose strands behind her ears as she examined herself more closely.
Sad, weary eyes looked back at her. It reminded her of when she saw herself in the Polaroid picture of she and Dillon for the first time. It looked like someone else at first and then she realized it was her own blue eyes that were so painfully absent of joy. That was to be expected, but she was alarmed at how sad she looked. No wonder Eric was avoiding her. Who would want to look at that all the time? She made herself smile, just to see if she could. It felt foreign to force the corners of her mouth into an upward curve -- it seemed like an eternity since she had made that motion. Her face looked more pleasant, but her eyes remained haunted and lonely. Maybe it will just take practice, she thought. Maybe it will get easier if I smile a little bit every day. She was suddenly struck with guilt. How could she be thinking about smiling when her baby had just died? What kind of unfeeling monster was she? She put all thoughts of smiling or not smiling in the back of her mind. She couldn’t think about that right now -- she’d wait until later.
Her eyes made their way down the rest of her body. She was wearing black knit shorts and a light pink tank top. The fabric of the tank top stretched over what used to be her wonderfully pregnant breasts and abdomen. Even if Eric had been turned off by her growing girth, she had loved every minute of being pregnant. She put her hands on her stomach now and her heart ached when she felt its flabby softness rather than the firmness of Dillon’s little bottom or the protruding point of a tiny elbow that had been there before. Again, she forced away the sad thoughts -- she’d take them out later. She had no doubt that they’d be there waiting for her. She practiced her smile again.
Even though she was a little out of shape, she didn’t think she looked unattractive -- or did she? Her thoughts drifted to Eric’s whereabouts the day before and a frown immediately pulled the corners of her mouth down even further. Compared to Kelly, she looked like Two Ton Tillie. She turned and viewed her profile. No matter how much she sucked her tummy in, she still looked about four months pregnant. Her breasts were no longer swollen and engorged with milk as they had been -- they were almost back to their normal state. Eric had made favorable comments about how sexy she looked when they had been larger -- now she feared he wouldn’t even look at her. She knew that if she had a baby to nurse and take care of, the way her body looked wouldn’t matter so much. Both she and Eric would have been preoccupied with falling in love with Dillon instead her being preoccupied with the fear of Eric falling out of love with her.
She put fresh sheets on the bed. It felt good to smooth the cool fabric over the mattress and to make square corners with the top sheet. It was neat and orderly and perfect -- just the opposite of her life at the moment. It was good to have control over something.
Annie showered and put on a brightly colored sundress. It was light and airy and camouflaged the parts of her body that she disliked just enough so that she looked less disgusting to herself. She blow-dried and styled her hair and applied make-up for the first time in several days. She’d tried wearing make-up when she came home from the hospital, but she just cried it off almost as soon as she put it on. While she was at the store yesterday, she bought some waterproof mascara and eyeliner in the hopes of at least looking good through her tears. She felt prettier taking the time to look nice even though thinking of Kelly’s perfectly applied make-up and her long, blonde hair made her cringe and feel queasy. What was it with the intense reactions to this woman? And why was Eric so irrational about her? Back in the old days, he would’ve scoffed about a woman who was that “high maintenance” but now he was enthralled. She was the exact opposite of what Eric found attractive -- or was she?
Annie emerged from the bedroom with new resolve to make more of an effort with Eric. She would save her tears for those times when she was alone. If being down in the dumps all the time was driving her husband toward another woman, she had better pay attention. She had to make some changes.
It had been an hour since she’d made the decision to leave the kitchen mess the way it was and nothing had changed in her absence, except that all the spills would now be even harder to clean. It would take a crow bar and brute strength to clean up this disaster now. Where was Eric? She was relieved that he hadn’t come back into the house and blown a gasket seeing the mess still there, but at the same time it bothered her that he hadn’t. Where was he?
Annie went out to the garage to see what he was up to. Probably another cigarette, she mused grimly. He had been smoking more than ever since Dillon