I stood, laying the costume on the table and walking to him. I rubbed a hand across his back. “We made a chocolate cake. Becca got to lick the bowl.”
He rolled his eyes, his brows knitted in frustration when he turned to face me. “You know I hate it when you let her do that.”
“I know,” I said, keeping the smile planted on my face. “But she loves it.” I waited, but he didn't smile back. “I only let her have a little bit.” It wasn’t true, but it didn’t matter. I needed him to smile.
He finished the rest of his glass of water and set it in the sink. “What would you like for dinner, my love?” I swear sometimes I got whiplash from how quickly his mood changed, but still, there was a chill to his tone.
“I was thinking we could go out. That way no one has to cook or deal with dishes. What do you think? Jonathan’s?”
“Sounds delicious.” He kissed my lips quickly, not allowing me to savor him, and walked away. “I’m going to shower before we head out.”
I nodded, letting him get midway down the hall before I headed back to the table to finish sewing.
I was running the last thread through the fabric of her costume when I heard the water kick on upstairs. I put the sweater down, sticking the costume in the bag and the bag on top of the fridge, then headed down the hall. Becca was asleep in her room, but she should’ve been waking up within the hour.
In the middle of the hallway, I turned and headed up the stairs toward the bedrooms. I walked through our bedroom, lifting his scrubs from the floor and tossing them into the hamper. The water shut off as I opened the door, suffocated by the steam that smacked me in the face. My skin was suddenly dewy.
He opened the glass door of the shower, jumping back when he realized I was standing there. He grabbed a black bath towel from the rack.
“What the hell?”
“I thought I could join you…” I whispered, running a finger along the side of the door.
He sighed, rubbing the towel through his wet hair. “I’m already getting out, Naomi.”
“Well, God, I didn’t realize it was such a chore.” I was half joking, but he didn’t seem to care.
“It’s not a chore, but…just not right now, okay? Becca will be up soon, and you should start getting ready if we want to get a table.”
“We have time if you want to…” I stepped forward, rubbing a hand over his wet torso. “It’s my birthday, after all.”
He sighed again. “I had a shit day at work, Nae.” I hated it when he called me that, my mother’s signature nickname for me, too. Like I was a barnyard animal. “I just need a minute, okay?”
Where had the man I knew this morning gone? “Anything you want to talk about?”
“I’d just as soon not. I just need some time to get it out of my head.”
I stepped back. “Okay. Fair enough. I’ll be downstairs icing the cake.”
He ran the towel over the back of his neck. Before I got to the door, I looked back at him. “Oh, I meant to ask, do you want to be Winnie or Tigger? Becca wants us to dress up with her, and I’m going to grab some fabric while I’m out tomorrow.”
He shook his head, wrapping the towel around his waist. “You know…just do whatever you want. I probably won’t be able to do it anyway. I’ll end up working.”
“Well, we can go a different day if you have to work. I just plan to take her to my parents’ or—”
“That’s your thing, Nae, not mine. I don’t want to dress up.”
“It’s not my thing. It’s our daughter’s thing. Don’t you want to be a part of her childhood? These are the memories, Lucas. Right here. These are the things she’ll remember, and if you aren’t a part of them, she’ll always know that and wonder why.”
He groaned, patting his thigh. “Oh, great. Here we go. I haven’t been home a half hour, and already you’re in on me.”
“In on you?”
“You always do this, Naomi. According to you, I’m never doing enough. Not making enough money, not present enough of the time, not nice enough when I am home, not firm enough with Becca, not playful enough with her, not enough. Not ever. When are you going to realize I’m not you? Try as I might, I’m never going to be you.”
I blinked, surprised when my eyes began stinging with tears. “I…I never asked you to be me, Lucas. You know how much being a parent means to me. You know how badly I want to give Becca what I never had.”
“Yeah, I know,” he huffed. “Because life as Naomi freakin’ Roberts was just so terrible. All the money in the world while some of us were barely scraping by—”
“Money isn’t love, Lucas.” This was a fight we’d had before…so many times. He blamed me for growing up privileged and wealthy—despite the fact that my parents were never around—because he grew up poor, with an addict for a mother. “Money doesn’t buy happiness. We’ve discussed this.”
“Yes. Yes, we’ve discussed it, alright. ’Til I’m blue in the face, but that doesn’t change the facts. You may not have always felt loved, Nae, but you were always safe. You were always protected. That’s all I want to give Becca—”
“She’ll always be safe, though. You don’t have to fight so hard for that.” I reached for his arm, but he pulled away, grabbing boxers from his dresser drawer and throwing them on.
“Yeah, because your family provides for us. But I don’t want that, don’t you understand? I want to provide for my daughter, my family. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is that your family’s money is still paying off my student loans because I don’t make enough to afford the life we live?” He pulled a T-shirt over his head angrily.
“We have more money than we could ever need. Being a surgeon was what you wanted, Lucas, but you can’t fault me for giving Becca everything she’s entitled to. What would you rather me do? Pretend we don’t have access to money? Pretend to live within the means you provide us with?”
“The means I provide us with are a hell of a lot more than I had as a child.”
“So our child should do without?”
“You mean like I did?”
“You’ve said yourself you hated your childhood—”
“I did, Naomi!” He slammed a fist on the dresser. After he’d pulled on pants, he sank onto the edge of the bed, pulling on tennis shoes. “That’s exactly the point. And I want to be the reason we aren’t in a similar situation. I want it to be me.”
“Well, I guess you married the wrong woman, then. You knew I came from money when we dated, when you asked me to marry you. If my finances are such a burden to you, by all means, leave now. Because I can’t continue to apologize for having more than you did. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” I folded my arms across my chest, feeling hurt and angry. I was tired of having the same fight over and over. I was tired of feeling guilty because he wasn’t satisfied with the income he was making compared to the enormous debt he was in when we met. I was tired of apologizing for giving Becca more than he had as a child.
He stared at me, shocked by my outburst. It was rare I stood up to him, but apparently forty was bringing out a whole new side of me. I inhaled sharply, my chest rising and falling.