Page 2 of Catching Our Moment

Kelcie

The repercussions of the drama in the drop-off line hit hard and fast.

James came home in the middle of the day, not just to abscond with more small appliances, but to ream me out for publicly humiliating Amber.

Our broadcast made it through the halls of the middle school quicker than wildfire. Being PTA president, Amber was volunteering and spent the morning in the teachers’ lounge, crying.

It was my fault.

I’d humiliated her .

After all, it wasn’t her fault my husband fell in love with her.

It wasn’t her fault our marriage failed.

Because, after all, she wouldn’t have sex with him if we were together. She had done the right thing. She wasn’t an adulteress or anything.

I didn’t say a word. I just crossed my arms and leaned against the wall while he listed how I had behaved immaturely and explained how this didn’t have to be filled with so much drama.

“I’m sorry if you’re hurt or if you have unresolved feelings for me, Kelce, but don’t take them out on her.”

“Oh, I have unresolved feelings, alright,” I murmured. What I gave up for this man…for this idea of a happy family. He was acting like he had sacrificed. I tore my heart out of my chest to marry him and put my whole self into our family.

I bit down, burying those feelings like I always had. “James, I’m fine. It was a mistake. I explained the situation to Grace and Aliya, and they reacted to the news. The car speakers kicked in. I didn’t intentionally set out to do it.”

“Oh, I can only imagine what your friends had to say.”

“Like you’ve ever cared what my friends thought of you.”

He opened his mouth to respond, and my phone rang. I held my hand up and leaned into the kitchen to grab it off the counter.

Shaw—as if summoned at the exact time it would hit the hardest. Dawson Shawfield. My former BFF and the most popular tight end in professional football. One of the sacrifices —the sacrifice —I made when I married James.

I closed my eyes. If he was calling, it meant one thing: one of our big-mouth friends had told him. And I couldn’t handle hearing his voice. Not now.

I sent the call to voicemail. I’d rather deal with the appliance-creeping James.

I continued holding my hand up to James and, with a steady voice, said, “Listen. You’ve dropped a bomb on our home, on our family. Just back off. I deserve a moment to digest this. Give me that without pillaging our home.”

He closed his mouth, put his hands on his hips, and nodded once. In utter silence, we stood in the foyer of our home—the one we’d shared—and I ran my hand over my still-disheveled hair.

Damn, I needed a shower.

A text came through.

Grace

Shaw heard. He’s going to call you. Please talk to him.

Me

How did that happen exactly?

I did not need my friends circling the wagons and having Shaw come riding in on a white horse. I’m sure James and I could settle this, with Aaron’s best interests in mind, if I could have a moment to get my bearings. But if my friends got involved, and Shaw stepped in, things would…escalate.

Grace

It wasn’t me. I swear. It was Wyatt.

Me

Yeah. And how did he?—

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the kitchen again. James was on his knees in the pantry, pulling out the KitchenAid mixer.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” My voice was on the verge of maniacal laughter, and James jumped like a child with his hand in the cookie jar. The KitchenAid mixer crashed to the floor and narrowly escaped his foot.

“Son of a bitch, Kelcie,” he growled at me.

I threw an accusing arm out at him. “You don’t even cook, let alone bake. Put it back.”

“You only use it for?—”

“Put. It. Back.”

My phone chimed again with another text message, and I held the phone to my forehead, praying for patience. “So help me, James. Enough with pinching the appliances.”

Another message came in. And another.

I checked my phone. Multiple messages from the group chat—Wyatt, Gracie, Aliya, and Shaw—coordinated how they were each going to eviscerate James and explained why I wasn’t responding.

Me

Excuse me. Back off. I’m handling it.

If they came here, I’d be attending bail hearings instead of defending my home from my soon-to-be-ex’s petty theft of small electronics.

My mouth opened, and the words popped out: “I’m going to go home for the weekend and take some time—” Time to stop the planned public evisceration.

James’s expression opened with optimism. “I think that’s a great idea. Go home and be with your friends. Take Aaron?—"

“I was going to see if you wanted to stay here with Aaron and spend some time with him. Talk to him about what will happen with you moving out.”

His hands went back in his pockets, and he shifted on his feet. He stared over my head.

“You have plans.” I thought out loud.

“I’m going to move into the condo I rented…so, yeah.”

Bullshit. Having dropped the D word on me, he was hoping to drop his D on her, obviously. He was hoping to get laid.

Surprisingly, I didn’t care. There was no punch to the gut. My frustration, anger, and maybe embarrassment grew at this further proof that he had his whole life planned out, and my head was still spinning.

“Fine.” I put the KitchenAid mixer back in its place and firmly closed the pantry door.

The phone rang again. I didn’t even look at it, just sent it to voicemail.

“We can discuss Aaron's schedule when you get back.” There was relief and hope in his tone that I wouldn’t be “difficult.”

I nodded. “Whatever.” My new favorite word.

I wanted to take my shower.

I halted. “Just one thing. Not in my house, James. Go to her place or your new love nest. But at least have respect for me, for our son, not to have her in my house. Don’t even pull up in the driveway with her. I don’t want the neighbors talking more than they will be.”

He walked past me but wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Then, let me get a few more things.”

I followed him down the hallway and stood quietly.

Another text came in.

Grace

I tried to talk Shaw down. But he wants to talk to you.

If you don’t answer, he will just come out here. He and Wyatt are making plans.

Dammit. Wyatt was the brother I never had. He was the kind of guy you always wanted on your side and at your back, because loyalty to him was a commandment. Once Wyatt got involved, things happened. Nothing you could necessarily attribute to or pin on him. But they happened.

In school, a bully would mysteriously appear to wet himself during a school assembly, or your rival would finally get caught for cheating on a test and be cut from the team.

Once, we complained to Wyatt about a teacher who stared at our chests and made inappropriate comments. Within a few days, that teacher was arrested for soliciting a female police officer working undercover as part of a sting targeting online predators.

I wasn’t saying he set it up—it could’ve been a coincidence. But when we heard, he looked at his watch and said, “Good response time.”

So, I had grave concerns about unleashing Wyatt.

Besides, I was a bit insulted. They thought I would fall apart.

Me

Tell them to stand down. I’m OK—no need to sound the alarm. James is here now. Aaron and I will come there for the weekend so I can regroup. Can we stay with you?

Grace

Of course. Pack a bag and get up here.

Me

I’m serious, though. Please tell them to stand down. I’m fine. I have enough on my plate right now and don’t need them stirring the pot.

Grace

I’ll see what I can do, but Shaw is already on his way, honey. You know they care about you and Aaron.

Me

Yeah. And they knew this day was coming. I bet they even had a plan already drawn up. I wonder if they had money on how long it would take before my marriage failed.

Grace

Honey. It’s not like that. Please don’t be mad at them.

Tears welled in my eyes for the first time as all the emotions surfaced at once—anger, embarrassment, shame, sadness…and, dammit, failure.

When I first found out about my pregnancy with Aaron, I postponed my physical therapy career. I burned my friendship with Shaw after he offered to slip into the role as baby daddy and, instead, ran to James the minute he wanted to give marriage and parenthood a shot. All to have it fail.

When it came down to it, marriage to James was like driving an economy car when what I’d walked away from was a fully loaded luxury vehicle.

And seeing Shaw was a reminder of the choice I’d made—the leap I failed to take. I chose what I thought was the safe path, and it blew up in my face. Seeing Shaw was my reckoning, and that pain would be salt in the wound that was the failure of my marriage.

Me

I don’t want this to be a thing.

Grace

Honey, you didn’t answer his call. That’s all he needs to know. It’s a thing.

My thumbs hovered over the screen. Maybe if I texted him, it would be enough.

I could tell him I was fine and that I’d contact him once things settled.

I heard he was on the West Coast doing promos for some new sponsor, and his model girlfriend was keeping him occupied.

His schedule was too full for him to be involved in my domestic nonsense.

I tightened my eyes. I could’ve used one of his amazing bear hugs.

I’d bury myself in his chest, and he’d lean down, whispering that everything would be okay and that he had my back.

My last hug from Shaw had been the night he was drafted into the professional football league, back when I was pregnant with Aaron.

I took a cleansing breath and released it then investigated the noise from the master bedroom. James was kneeling in the closet, rummaging around.

I didn't want to encourage further conversation with him, so I sat at the kitchen counter.

Hopefully, Aaron would be amenable to traveling. He didn’t like sudden changes in his routine, so I tried to think of what I could do to distract and entice him to make the transition easier. Maybe some chicken nuggets for dinner.

James came out of our room with a few clothes on hangers and the Roomba tucked under his arm.

“Uh-uh. No.” I followed him and grabbed the robot vacuum. “No way.”

I grabbed the beat-up toaster his mother had given us for our wedding over a decade ago, yanking it out of the wall, crumbs scattering, and placed it in his arms. “If you need an appliance, take this.” I tamped down my frustration, determined to get him out of the house before we wrestled for the air fryer or the indoor grill.

Growing up with a father as a football coach, I knew how to drop a shoulder and take down a guy twice my size—hard. I channeled that energy into using his body as a tackling dummy and shoved him out the front door, slamming it on his protests.

I managed not to throat-punch him. So there was that… Yay, me.

I leaned against the door and let the realization sink in that, after a decade of being a wife in a loveless marriage, this was an opportunity for me—and a small victory. I could quit pretending I was happy and seek out change for myself.

I stared at the front door and let my gaze linger over the house. It was no longer home to me.

I straightened, took in a deep, cleansing breath, and made a mental list of what to do next.

I needed to shower, pack…and plan.

But first, I needed to make a few calls.