Chapter 1
Gettingthemail.Justanother menial task of the stay-at-home mom. A lot of people don’t appreciate the things we do day in and day out, which I guess on some level I understand, because I used to be one of those people. But now Iama stay-at-home mom, and it’s an entirely different ballgame.
As I rifle through the envelopes in my hand—bill, bill, catalog, oh wait another bill— I stop and my brows furrow as I come to one that stands out from the rest. Flipping it over, I carefully lift the seam and pull out a thick sheet of cardstock.
An invitation…to my ten-year high school reunion.
Fuck. Has it really been ten years already? While I definitely don’t miss the hallowed halls of Brighton High, there are a few good memories. Very few.
If not for Brighton, I wouldn’t have the life I do, which I appreciate, as I take the steps to the glass front door of my colonial style house. Trent was the star quarterback two years ahead of me. I certainly have fond memories ofhimand of our secret time together when I was far too young to be engaging in with him.
I only say that now as a mom of three. If my daughters even considered doing what I did, well, I’d probably have an aneurism. But right now, they’re perfect children. My seven-year-old, Jessica; five-year-old, Kendall; with Charlie bringing up the rear, at three.
I drop the mail into the dish by the front door with a huff.
“Hey. What’s wrong?” Trent wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his chest. He’s always quick to notice when I’m off.
“What makes you think something is wrong?”
“You look like somebody peed in your Cheerios, and you’re a little pale. What’s up?”
I take the invitation off the table and hand it to him.
“Alright! Ten years. That’s awesome, Babe. It’s going to be fun. We’re going, right?”
“Do we have to?” My whole face crumples with the prospect.
“Don’t you remember how fun my reunion was? It’s going to be great.” His reunion was fun for him because he could go and drink and catch up with old friends. It wasn’t so fun for me.
“You’re forgetting one thing. You were popular in high school. I was not.” Not even a little. I had my core group of friends, which was plenty, and we made it through just fine. We weren’t bottom rung, but we weren’t top tier either. We fell somewhere in the middle, and I think the only thing that helped me get noticed was once things came to light about me and Trent.
He was a star, and I somehow managed to snag him. To this day, I still don’t understand how, except he said he saw something in me and had to get to know me more.
Too bad I’ve turned out to be what I am now. A mom with no job, no career, zero prospects, who's the owner of a beloved mom bod riddled with stretch marks that’s topped off with a pair of saggy boobs.
Though he claims to love my body, I can’t imagine how. We met in high school when things were still tight and perky.
But three kids later, nothing is tight or perky anymore.
Sometimes I wonder why Trent even stays with me. While he’s aged, he’s still in shape and sexy as hell. Our relationship has been less than perfect in recent years, and I don’t bring much to the table. Plus, our sex life is pretty nonexistent these days.
I’ve heard what his work buddies have to say about me. About how I don’t have any drive or desire to work or create my own career like their wives do.
For me, my kids are my number one priority. Being here with them, raising them right, watching them grow. It’s what Trent and I discussed when that stick first turned positive. He makes plenty as a stockbroker for me to stay home and…do what I do all day.
It’s not glamorous. I cook, I clean, I wipe noses and butts. Never ending piles of laundry consume my every thought.
To take it a step further, I’m on the PTA, run snack sign-ups in soccer for Jessica, and am Class Mom for all three, including Charlie’s preschool class.
All the activities I participate in and how hard I push myself to be more, stems from years of feeling looked down upon for “just staying home to relax all day.” Like being home with kids is relaxing.
There’s always been this idea that I’m somehow perfect. Where it came from or who started it, I don’t know. Yes, I did well for myself, got good grades and dated one of the top guys in school, though in secret for a long time. Yet somehow, I gained a reputation for being perfect.
“Don’t give me that nonsense, Les. You were popular enough. You were a sophomore at the prom.” His words drag me from my mind, a place I spend far too much time lately.
“I was only popular because of you. And only at the prom because of you.”
His jaw clenches. We broke up after he left for college. Magically, we found our way back to each other, albeit after a few years apart, but we still spent three years without each other, and he hates that fact.
