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Do we have to talk so much? Why can’t I come home from work and just sit and watch TV? I mean, I’m not rude or ignoring her. If she asks a question, most of the time I answer it the first time. Or maybe the second? Surely not the third.
#7 Physical or mental abuse.
I’ve never in my life laid a hand on her. Let’s clarify here, in anger. Because sex doesn’t count on that one, right?
#8 Loss of love.
Had she fallen out of love with me? How could that be possible? She fucked me in the shower this morning.
#9 Not meeting family obligations.
I admit, I could improve my score on this one. I work a lot.
#10 Last one? Employment problems.
I run my own business and I’m the most sought after custom home builder in Maricopa County. It’s a business that gives her freedom. One where she only works because she’s bored during the day. Pretty sure my income isn’t the problem here.
You see that guy? The one with his head in his hands contemplating his next move?
He’s in hell. I’m sure of it.
My phone beeps beside me. I scramble for it, pushing aside plans and paperwork only to see it’s a text message from Brantley.
Brantley: Everything ok?
No. It’s not okay. Today’s been like being on an airplane and knowing the world just went to war and you can’t check anything. You can’t obsessively sit in front of the television while we show our military power. Instead, you’re stuck with no Wi-Fi and are 30,000 feet in the air hoping you’re not about to be shot down.
Me: Can’t get a hold of her. Did the inspector show up?
Brantley: No. I tried calling him but he didn’t answer.
What’s with people and not answering their phone today? Is it national “Do Not Answer Your Phone Day?”
Brantley: Sent Trey to the ER. They took the nail out but he’ll be off work the rest of the week.
Great. Just fucking great.
Remember my phobia with hiring people? Well, I need this job on Aster Drive by the end of the month which is why I hired Trey in the first place. The last thing I need is a laid-up trainee.
Brantley and I started Cooper Custom Homes right out of college. My trust fund financed the initial start-up of it, but it’s been just the two of us for eight years. Occasionally we contract out for certain aspects of the jobs we do. For the most part, it’s just us, and we like it that way. I take pride in knowing we built a home from the ground up.
Me: Call me when the inspector shows up. Drywall is being delivered tomorrow.
I check the time again. 2:46 p.m.
Picking up my phone, I select Madison’s name again. This time it doesn’t even ring before it goes to voicemail, so I finally leave a message. The fifty-third call, I leave a fucking message.
“Hey, it’s me. Your husband.Stillyour husband as the state of Arizona will say for the next….” I scan the paperwork where it says I have twenty days to respond, but the parties can’t advance with divorce proceedings for sixty days. “Sixty days. Is this a fuckin’ joke, Mad?” I seethe into the phone, practically spitting the words out. “You send me divorce papers, and then you don’t bother to check your phone at all today? It’s bullshit, you know?”
Okay so if I wanted to get her attention, do you think I have it now?
Probably not. This is Madison we’re talking about. I once couldn’t get a hold of her when she was pregnant because she was at the grocery store and couldn’t hear her phone ringing. I was in the parking lot when she got out, leaned against her car expecting a reason as to why she didn’t answer. I mean, she was nine months pregnant with Callan and ready to pop any day. Of course I was concerned, and she didn’t answer her phone?
The nerve of her, right?
Am I over the top?
Probably.