Bad Husband Page 6

  “What’s up?”

  “Where are you? The drywall is here.”

  I gasp. Of all the days for West Ridge Drywall to be on time, it’s today when I’m running late. And I don’t do late, just so we’re clear. I once, in elementary school, gave a tardy slip to my teacher for not starting class the exact minute it was set to begin. You can probably sense my mood today based on that information right there, and the fact that my wife of the last eight years told me she didn’t love me last night.

  “I’m dropping off Callan at school and then I’ll be there.”

  Brantley’s quiet for a minute and then chuckles. “So I take it last night didn’t go well?”

  “I’ll see you in an hour,” I tell him, hoping he can sense Callan’s in the truck with me, given I just told him that, but this is Brantley we’re talking about, and he’s sometimes not so bright on the hidden messages.

  “Fine. Stop by the office though and pick up the electrical permits there.”

  “Why? They should be at the jobsite already.”

  “They were, but Steve never showed up last night, and I accidently took them back to the office and forgot them.”

  Damn it. “Fine. See you in two hours then.”

  Tossing the phone in the seat next to me, Callan’s laughter floats through the truck. He’s always had the cutest laugh to the point when you hear it, you immediately smile. Doesn’t matter if you’re running late.

  I smile at him in the rearview mirror, watching his eyes light up as he watches his movie. I don’t know why, but I think back to the day Madison told me she was pregnant with him.

  We were still in college, actually just starting summer break before our senior year when she came knocking on my door, red faced and crying. I knew immediately something was up but her being pregnant definitely wasn’t what I was thinking. We’d been seeing each other since that Halloween party, but had yet to move in together or even take our relationship past dating and fucking.

  It changed that day when she said, “I’m pregnant.” Actually blurted it out while giving me a blow job and handed me the pee stick.

  From then on, my plans changed. I knew I’d have my own business and I wanted to be with Madison, but once she told me she was pregnant, I asked her to marry me. No way did I want her raising this kid alone or thinking she was alone. Like I said, my mother was constantly alone and I wouldn’t have Madison going through that too.

  Obviously she said yes and in November, after being together a year, we got married. In February, Callan was born, and three years later, we had Noah.

  BY THE TIME we get to Callan’s school, I’m rushing to get him out of the truck and realize I didn’t pack him a lunch. Shit. Was I supposed to?

  I stop as we’re walking into the school, moms surrounding me and I’m almost embarrassed to ask. “Wait, what do you eat during the day?”

  He looks up at me with those wide blue eyes. “I usually eat what Mommy gives me, but I can eat school lunch too. Just tell the office lady.”

  I look around. What office lady?

  Callan nudges my hand. “In there, Dad.” He then points to the door that clearly states Office. At least they keep it simple around here.

  “Okay.” I glance down at him. “Thanks.”

  He starts to walk away from me, up the hall to where I assume his class might be when he turns and smiles. “Thanks for taking me to school.”

  “Anytime, buddy.” Kneeling, I motion for him to come back over and he does. It’s not as awkward as I expect it to be, but I wrap my arms around him. “Have a good day.”

  “I will. You too.”

  I doubt my day will be good, but I’m not about to tell him that. I know he can sense my apprehension and the sadness on my face. He’s too perceptive.

  Callan jets the other way, his head down and never looking up at any of the other students around him. Turning, I open the door to the office only to have three women staring up at me. “Can I help you?” a younger one asks, only to flash me a beaming smile and her cleavage. Not only does she actually fucking pull down on her blouse, she leans in as if to give me a better view.

  It’s the craziest fucking shit. Want to pick up chicks? Guys, listen up. They’re not at the bars. They’re at the elementary schools.

  Drop your kid off at school. If you don’t have one, offer to take the little shit down the road who keeps egging your car. Make him work for you.

  And when you get to the school, act depressed. They’ll run to you.

  “Can I help you, sir?” Here we go with the sir again and from a girl barely old enough to babysit my son.

  I pull my wallet out of my back pocket. “My son needs lunch.”

  Another woman to the left of the jailbait walks over and puts her hand on the counter. “Are you a substitute teacher?”

  I give her a look of confusion. “No. Do I look like one?”

  The lady who strangely resembles Mrs. Doubtfire shrugs. “Not really, but I’d gladly be your student.”

  What. The. Actual. Fuck?

  Is she flirting with me?

  Another woman, even older than Mrs. Doubtfire, approaches the counter. “Do you have a child who goes here? I’ve never seen you before, and I know all the parents.”

  I’m not surprised this lady knows all the parents. She’s like a hundred years old. She probably has them all in that ancient brain of hers.

  “Callan Cooper.”

  The ladies awe at one another. “Awe, little Callan is such a sweetie.”

  While I’m glad he’s a sweetie as they call it, this only confirms those douche bags at the soccer fields theory last night that my son is, in fact, a mama’s boy.

  After putting twenty bucks in Callan’s lunch account, I rush to the office to get the permits and then to the jobsite where Brantley and the inspector are.

  “Jesus, you look like shit.” Brantley laughs, staring at me with wide eyes as he’s leaning against the counter eating a bagel.

  “Yeah, well…” I take a drink of my coffee and lean up against the counter beside him. “I feel like shit. Noah stabbed me with a GI Joe.”

  “Man, that kid is a little baller.” He laughs. Brantley claims Noah’s going to grow up to be his hero. He literally takes shit from no one. Never ever think you’ve one-upped my youngest. He remembers everything. He had to get shots one day when he was something like two, and Madison took him. Afterward he wouldn’t even acknowledge her for two days because she held him down. Big grudge holder that one.

  “What took you so long this morning? You’re usually here before me?”

  He’s right. I hate to be late. I don’t do late. It ruins my whole day if I’m even a minute late.

  “Had to take Callan to school.” And then I remember all the looks I got this morning. “Dude, you know how you’re always going to the bars to hook up with women, I think you need to get a kid. You wouldn’t believe how many chicks hit on me while I was there.”

  “Well, I’d entertain the idea of a kid, it usually comes with problems, as you can attest to. And I’m never getting married. They say marriage is like a prison sentence. It’s why you wear rings. They’re tiny shackles. Besides that, Grady seems to be as much as I can handle.”

  He’s talking about Madison’s best friend’s kid. They’re not important right now. I’ll explain later.

  “True.”

  “So what did she say?” Brantley asks, flipping through a book of tile samples he has in his hand. “She give you a reason?”

  I tell Brantley everything. Always have. If there’s anyone who knows me, it’s Brantley. We spend fourteen hours a day together. It’s safe to say he knows me better than anyone.

  “She said she doesn’t love me anymore.” Do you hear the dejection in my voice? You should. It’s pathetic, and even I want to slap myself.

  “Well, that’s just stupid.” He sets down the tile book and turns to face me as he runs his hand through his golden-brown hair. “Of course she still loves you.
Maybe you need to do something to get her attention? I once knew this guy who had a star named after his girlfriend. My cousin, he named a black hole after his mother-in-law. You could do that too.”

  Sighing, I glance at the inspector approaching us. “My life is a black hole.”

  AROUND NOON, MADISON sends me an invite on my calendar. A meeting at Callan’s school. Immediately I call her because I have no idea why she’d send it to me, or what I’m supposed to do with it.

  “What’s this meeting with his teacher?”

  I wish I could see her face because just the tone of her voice is telling me something I should listen to. But I can’t, and I don’t.

  “Apparently his teacher needs to see us.”

  While I’m not wild about taking off in the middle of the day when I have the plumbing inspector meeting me here in an hour, I know this is what Madison was talking about and if there’s ever a test, this has to be it, right?

  So the good husband and father I’m trying to be would go to the school conference, wouldn’t he?

  “Yeah, I’ll make it work. Should we be concerned? Does he usually have parent-teacher conferences?”

  She pauses, the line quiet for a moment. “Well, no, he doesn’t.” I can hear talking in the background, mostly women, I think. “His teacher made a special request to meet with the both of us today.”

  “All right. About last night—”

  And she cuts me off with, “I have a client in fifteen minutes.”

  “A man or a woman?”

  “Ridley, I don’t have time for this.”

  “I’m just asking… man or woman?”

  “Woman.”

  Is she lying? Probably, but I’ll let her slide for now. What was I going to do, drive to her work and wait outside her door?

  Well, I thought about it, but I can’t today. I have drywall to be hanging and a compliance inspector up my ass about not meeting electrical codes.

  Take a look around.

  Do you see those parents sitting nervously in the classroom? The ones not talking to one another with an unspoken void between the two of them?

  I don’t think there’s a void, but I know she does. When I look over at her, I feel it radiating from her. I don’t think she’s telling the truth about not loving me; she still does, even if I have to prove it to her, but there’s something else there I intend on finding out.

  “Where’s Callan at?” I’ve never been to a parent-teacher conference, and I don’t remember having them as a kid. I remember plenty of student-principal talks. Surely that’s not what this is because we’ve never even had to punish Callan. We won’t talk about Noah right now.

  “He’s at Trisha’s house. She watches him on Wednesdays because I usually run late with clients.”

  It’s apparent, a maybe partial grounds for her rash and totally uncalled for decision yesterday, that I know nothing about my family’s schedule.

  “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” a woman who seems old enough to maybe babysit my son says, sitting down in a chair meant for first graders, not adults. What’s with this school and hiring kids? Do they just wait for them to get out of sixth grade and offer them teaching jobs?

  Just so you know, I’m miserable and completely uncomfortable. Look at me squeezed into a chair meant for a child across from the teacher. Not only am I wearing work jeans and a shirt that’s covered in grout and I look like Shrek in the chair with my knees up around my elbows.

  The teacher looks at me. “Are you Callan’s uncle?”

  What the fuck?

  “No.” I glare at Madison because after last night and the soccer dad’s, does she mention me to anyone or do they just assume she had a sperm donor? “I’m his father.”

  If you just repeated Star Wars in your head, I’m high-fiving you right now.

  Focus though. His teacher is somewhat attractive, if you’re into eighteen-year-olds. We discussed this already. I’m not, but I can bet your ass if Brantley was here with me, he’d be asking this girl out.

  Anyway, you can’t miss she’s pretty, and I can see why Callan loves her so much. She’s nurturing in a sense, but not in a way I want to put my head on her tits and hug the shit out of her like I do with Madison. Nurturing in a way I’d probably let her read me a story while I took a nap on the floor in this very classroom.

  She’s talking now so I better pay attention.

  I straighten up in my mini chair meant for Umpa Lumpa’s and listen in.

  “As I’m sure you both know, Callan’s incredibly talented and gifted not only as a first grader but a child. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to teach someone who has such a thirst and desire to learn. When we spoke at the last parent teacher night, I informed you Callan was taking it upon himself to visually act out his feelings toward the assignments we were taking on as a class. This usually ranged anywhere from a loud, deep sigh accompanied by an eye roll or could escalate to a deep groan that ended with him dropping his head onto his desk and pounding his fist exclaiming “Oh for the love of Stephen Hawking are you serious?”

  I look to Madison. Our son does this shit? That’s odd, right?

  I don’t ask this, but I’m certainly thinking it. You’ve met him. Does this seem normal for a kid his age?

  Madison straightens her back, taking on the posture of a mama bear about to protect her young. “After our last conversation, I had a long talk with Callen about keeping his thoughts about those things to himself. He assured me he’s stopped his disruptive behavior. Are you telling me that’s not true?”

  Ms. Sadie waves her hand around, which she does a lot when talking. I’ve nearly been smacked upside the head twice now. “No, no, Mrs. Cooper, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” She lays her hands on the folder and folds them. At least I don’t have to dodge her hands anymore. I silently wonder if you were to tie her wrists together, would she stop talking? “Quite the opposite actually. I just wanted to review where we stood last time we spoke so that I could share with you that Callen has taken great lengths to not outwardly display any displeasure with the lesson plan.”

  At this point, I’m thinking to myself this is good. These parent-teacher conferences are a breeze. I don’t know why parents complain about this shit.

  Guess what? I’m wrong. As usual.

  “He has, however, not completely given up his crusade to express his distaste.” With every word, I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Instead of disrupting the class with his dramatic enactments of frustration, he has taken to drawing his displeasure for my eyes only.” And then Ms. Sadie opens a folder filled with what looks like assignments and worksheets. Each one she sets before us has Callan’s name at the top and a pretty simple, but to the point, comic strip at the bottom. Each one shows a stick figure student sitting at a desk with his head down exclaiming either the word “Seriously? Ugh!” or the phrase, “Please, Lord, take me now.” “Most of my students can’t even read those words let alone write them like Callan can.”

  I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. This shit is funny. He’s also an amazing artist for almost seven. I look back up at the teacher, smiling, and Madison, and it seems I’m the only one who thinks so.

  Ms. Sadie clears her throat and turns from Madison to me. “Please understand I absolutely adore Callan. He is truly a one in a million student, and I know in my heart he is destined to accomplish great things. My concern, however, does lay in the fact that I fear Callan’s less than desirable behavior stems from boredom. He’s just so much more advanced than the other kids. I would suggest him skipping a grade, but I’m afraid because of his age, that wouldn’t be the best course of action for his emotional wellbeing.”

  Madison again speaks before I have a chance. “So what would you suggest then?”

  “Well, I was hoping maybe you both would be open to Callan possibly attending Primrose Academy. It’s a school for gifted students and Callan would be in a classroom with other likeminded children.”

  “When
you say like minds, what exactly do you mean?” Madison asks.

  I’ve always known Callan was gifted, but I was thinking more along the lines of he may just be able to access nuclear codes or some weird shit like that.

  “Well, as I’m sure you know Callan, has a far more advanced thought process. His interests and likes are usually more developed and thought out than most of the other students in his grade.”

  “Are you saying he can’t relate to the other kids in his class?” I ask because I’ve sensed this already just at the one soccer practice I went to.

  “I wouldn’t say he can’t relate to anyone. I would say he has a harder time relating to the boys in the class over the girls.”

  Probably cockier than I need to be, I chuckle leaning to the side in the chair. “So he’s a ladies’ man?”

  Madison may not sense my humor, but Ms. Sadie smiles, steely blue eyes entertained. “Basically, yes.”

  My confidence soars to a new level. I grin at Madison and wink, draping my arm over her chair. “He takes after his father.”

  Madison rolls her eyes, her lips thinned with irritation. She pushes me back in my seat next to her. “Stop it. This is serious.”

  While I’m giving myself varying mental high-fives and fist pumps, Madison looks more concerned.

  “Is it a problem the girls like him?” I can’t miss the concern in my wife’s voice, and I think maybe I should be taking this more serious than I have been.

  Ms. Sadie considers Madison’s question and then shakes her head. “Well, normally no, but since we’re on the subject, it seems the girls have taken on a very possessive relationship with Callan. They are constantly competing with each other for his attention.” She’s back to talking with her hands. “During recess, Callan and the girls tend to gravitate toward the picnic benches where they have started a sort of origami club. It seems that the girls have taken on the task to try and outshine the other with more creative origami shapes in an attempt to impress Callan. There have been several incidents of sabotage.”

  Sabotage? I don’t know about you, but I’m picturing little girls with pigtails boxing next to the flag pole over my son’s attention. I guess maybe I don’t know anything about little girls.