Page 10 of Marriage and the Midlife Crisis

The bedding blurred as tears welled in my eyes. The anger that had been swirling inside gave way to a wave of sadness and pain so intense that it nearly took my breath as I sobbed into my pillow.

I cried for myself, and our boys. I cried for Ryan – the Ryan he used to be, anyway. I cried until there were no more tears, leaving behind only a deep-rooted sense of loss and loneliness, and a fear that my marriage might not ever be the same as it used to be, if it could even be salvaged at all.

I eventually dragged myself out of bed and spent a long time standing under a hot shower, hoping it would erase the signs of my breakdown and energize me enough to face the day. My eyes were still slightly puffy afterward, but ten minutes with my gel eye-mask took care of that.

A cup of coffee, with an extra splash of creamer and a bit more sugar than usual helped my energy level a little. It helped my mood a little bit, too.

I was debating whether or not to eat something for breakfast when a text came through. My heartbeat sped up a little as I snatched the phone up, hoping to see Ryan’s name. I was disappointed but not surprised when it wasn’t him.

Mom: Happy birthday, honey. I wish Dad and I were in town to celebrate with you. I’ll make your favorite cake when we get home next month. Carol and I are off to our beachside yoga class and we’re making your dad go with us, so I’ll call you later. Love you bunches!

I put the phone down and leaned back in the chair, chuckling a little as I thought about my mom and her sister, both in their seventies, who had taken up numerous hobbies and classes and typically forced my dad to tag along to most of them. Aunt Carol had moved to Florida over twenty years ago to be closer to her grandkids, and Mom and Dad had been spending winters with her since they had both retired almost a decade ago. I could only imagine how thrilled – not – Dad was with beachside yoga.

He still complained about the pottery class they’d taken last year, claiming that Mom kept wanting to recreate the infamous pottery scent from the movie Ghost, and that he was “too damned old for that nonsense”.

I typed back a quick reply, and finished my coffee, deciding I wasn’t hungry for anything more. I went about my usual Saturday morning cleaning and laundry routine, fielding the occasional text from old friends and distant relatives who wanted to wish me a happy birthday.

The doorbell rang shortly after eleven, and I opened it to find an older man holding a vase filled with a gorgeous array of flowers. After confirming my name, he handed them to me with a cheerful smile, refused a tip – “It’s already been taken care of, dear,” and wished me a good day before making his way back down the driveway to his delivery van parked at the curb. I was thankful that we’d only gotten a light dusting of snow overnight which the sun had already melted from the concrete, so I didn’t have to worry about him slipping and hurting himself.

I set the vase down on the entry table, then fumbled to open the card nestled in among the colorful blooms.

Happy birthday to the best mom in the world!

We love you,

Garrett and Tanner

Smiling in delight, I bent to sniff the fragrant flowers. I carried the vase into the living room and set it down in the middle of the coffee table, then stood back to admire it. My smile faltered at the realization that our boys – still a little immature and thoughtless as eighteen year-olds can be, and busy with their college fraternity’s winter fundraiser this weekend – had remembered my birthday and taken the time to send flowers, while Ryan hadn’t even bothered to send me so much as a generic “happy birthday” text.

I comforted myself with the thought that given the time difference between Indy and Vegas, it was only a little past eight there. Ryan and Mitch were probably still asleep, and when Ryan did wake, he would likely realize what day it was and call me in a panic, full of apologies and promises to make it up to me.

“Promises he won’t keep, if recent experience is any indication,” I muttered under my breath, adjusting a few of the flowers and propping the card against the vase.

I was staring at the flowers, lost in a barrage of negative thoughts, when my cell phone rang. I dashed into the kitchen, snatching the phone up from where I’d set it on the island earlier.

Disappointment blossomed again when I saw Jen’s name on the screen, rather than my husband’s. As angry and hurt as I was, I wasn’t sure what I would have said if it had been Ryan calling, but I was still anxious to talk to him.

I sank down onto one of the barstools and took a deep breath before answering, only to be greeted with her and my brother serenading me with their truly awful rendition of the Happy Birthday song. Mark was totally off-key as always, and Jen’s natural vocal range spanned only about six notes, so she was pitchy at best, but that never stopped them from belting out their birthday greetings every year, without fail, to everyone in the family.

“You’d think that you two would sound better since you’ve had so much practice singing it over the years,” I joked as the last warbling note died out.

Jen snorted, while Mark protested that it wasn’t his fault that he’d inherited our father’s abysmal singing voice.

“True,” I agreed, laughing as I remembered Mom telling me last week that Dad had been asked not to sign up to perform anymore at the monthly talent show hosted by the senior center near Aunt Carol’s house. Apparently, some of the old folks were tired of turning off their hearing aids when they saw my dad stepping up to the microphone.

“Well, my lack of singing prowess aside, how’s the birthday going? What did Ryan say when he realized he fucked up?”

I laughed at his question, deliberately modulating my voice so that I sounded chipper and unbothered as I replied, “I haven’t talked to him yet. I’m sure he’ll call once he wakes up.”

I should have known it wouldn’t fool my big brother or my best friend.

“Are you kidding me?” Jen fumed, only to be interrupted by Mark.

“I’m gonna kick his ass,” he grumbled. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

“It’s still early in Vegas. I doubt they’re even awake yet. I’m sure he’ll call in a little while,” I soothed, causing Mark to mumble something under his breath.

“Well, if he doesn’t, you let me know. I’ll be happy to straighten him out,” he assured me, before telling us that he needed to go or he’d miss his appointment to get new tires put on his car.