It’s eight-thirty at night, which is Bobby’s bedtime, and Elliot still isn’t back from work.
This has been happening more and more lately. It used to be just an occasional thing, but now it’s more like twice a week. But this is the first time Elliot hasn’t responded to my text messages asking when he’ll be home. It’s like I’m just supposed to accept that he’ll be home at some unknown time in the future, and not worry about it.
I’d be a lot less worried about it if Brianna wasn’t with him. It’s not that I don’t trust him, but…
I still don’t know who he was talking to on the phone the other night. But I haven’t gotten any other text messages. Maybe whoever was harassing me decided to leave me alone.
I read Bobby his usual bedtime story. He loves the Goosebumps books, even though I’m worried they give him nightmares. I sit on the edge of his bed, recounting the story of the ventriloquist dummy that came to life.
“Are you sure this isn’t scaring you?” I ask him. Bobby rolls his eyes. “No! It’s not scary. It’s funny.” Whatever. “Okay, well, it’s time for sleep.”
“But Dad isn’t home yet!”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and see if there are any text messages from Elliot. Nothing.
“Can you call him?” Bobby asks.
I had been trying not to be an annoying wife, but now that Bobby is asking me to call him, I feel like it gives me a license to do it. I select Elliot’s number from the list of favorites and it rings on the other line.
And rings.
He’s not picking up.
“Sorry, Bobby.” I disconnect the call before it goes to voicemail. “He’s really busy at work.”
Bobby’s lower lip trembles. “But he always says good night.”
I let out a sigh. My only other option is to call the number for his office. At least then I’ll know if he’s on the road or not. Ordinarily, I
wouldn’t do it because it means speaking to Brianna. But it’s late enough that I’m willing to make an exception.
I dial the number and it rings three times before Brianna’s peppy voice comes on the line. “Elliot Masterson’s office. This is Brianna.”
Great. Not only is he still at work at eight-thirty at night, but he’s with his gorgeous secretary. All alone.
“Um, hi.” I clear my throat. “This is April.” “Who?”
“April Masterson. Elliot’s wife.” I grit my teeth. “Is Elliot still at the office?”
“Yes, he’s still here,” Brianna reports.
There’s an interminable pause. “Well, can I talk to him?” “Oh. I’m sorry, that would be impossible. He’s very busy.”
Bobby reaches out to tug on my shirt sleeve. “Is he coming home soon?”
I clear my throat. “His son is about to go to sleep and would like to talk to him. You really can’t put him on the line?”
“I’m so sorry.” But she doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I’ll let him know to give you a call when he has a chance.”
“You really can’t put him on the line for two seconds?” “I’m afraid not.”
I want to slam down the phone, but that won’t do me any good. Brianna is the boss over there. She is the gatekeeper if I want to talk to my husband, and she is not letting me through the gate.
Of course, this is Elliot’s fault for not texting me. Or answering his damn phone.
On the plus side, at least I know he hasn’t crashed his Tesla on the way home and is lying in a ditch somewhere. I just have to wait and he’ll be home eventually.
I give Bobby a few extra hugs to make up for the fact that Elliot isn’t around. It takes some time, but I coax him into going to sleep. Elliot still hasn’t texted me, so I leave my phone downstairs so I won’t keep checking it, and I take a long, hot shower. A shower is my only chance of relaxing. If I sit and watch TV, I’m just going to be thinking about Elliot.
Maybe I should do a test bake tonight. I’ve been wanting to do a pound cake using ricotta cheese on my show. I haven’t figured out the secret yet
though. By the time I’m ready to film, I’ll probably have turned out at least four ricotta pound cakes.
After about thirty minutes under scalding hot water, I feel a lot better. The hot water is so soothing. It’s like getting a full body massage. I still feel angry at Elliot, but I can think about things differently. I know he’s under tremendous pressure at work lately. He has a chance to make partner this year, and it’s a big deal. I should be grateful to him for working so hard to support his family. I need to be more accepting of his long hours.
And then I hear glass shattering downstairs.
