The Wrong Family(19)
“He’s not Alfie, and Nigel had every right to be angry.”
Their shock pleased her. Winnie had never so much as raised her voice at one of them. As the people pleaser of the group, she fought to stay in everyone’s good graces; her favorite place to be was the favorite.
“You’ve all been under a lot of stress, you’re right. We shouldn’t be commenting.” Don nudged his wife, who looked like she’d sucked a lime without the tequila.
“Let’s have risotto!” Vicky pumped her fist into the air.
She was still holding her wineglass, Winnie noted—her true best friend. Where had that come from? Winnie rubbed her temples, chiding herself. Vicky wasn’t the enemy, no one was. This was just a sticky situation. She felt so, so tired.
* * *
Despite Winnie sticking up for her husband at the dinner party, they were currently not speaking. The minute their last guest left and the door closed behind them, he’d turned and given her a look. Winnie had felt battered by that look, betrayed. For once, she’d stopped caring what people thought of her and had been rude to her friends. She could barely wrap her mind around how he could be displeased with her; she’d done exactly what he always asked her to do, which was to be on his side.
“What was that for?” But he was already en route to the kitchen, so she’d posed her question to his back.
“I’m going to bed, Winnie.” He’d said it with so much finality she’d stopped dead in her tracks. She’d felt very small and stupid in that moment. She’d meant to say something to call him back, but she was in shock. And then he’d left her downstairs with the dishes and a million questions. That, she thought, is not my husband. The thought had scared her so much she’d marched upstairs after him if only to reassure herself. How much had he had to drink? She’d been too preoccupied with keeping face to count his drinks. Dinner parties were the one night she never got on him about drinking, though she liked to keep tabs.
She felt smashed and crashed. Her brother was never going to talk to her again. He was still holding a grudge against their sister Candace, and they’d fought years ago—Winnie couldn’t even remember about what. Not to mention the residual fallout with the rest of the family after he spun his own version of the story to the rest of the siblings. What had she been thinking anyway? Inviting all those people over when the emotional temperature in the house had a broken gauge. Hadn’t her husband always accused her of making rash decisions? She always did the wrong thing, made the wrong choice.
Nigel was coming out of the bathroom when she walked in, and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. She was nervous, she realized. Her toes curled and uncurled on the hardwood as Winnie stood a few feet inside their bedroom, watching as Nigel pulled off his T-shirt in the way that always made her stomach do a little flip—by grabbing it from behind his neck and pulling it over his head. She watched for the peacock, as she called it, the cowlick that always shot up when given the chance. When he was shirtless and walking toward her, Winnie forgot that she was supposed to be angry with him. For a moment she thought he was coming toward her to kiss her, like one of those romance novels she sometimes read, but at the last minute he breezed right past where she stood and out of the bedroom.
She followed on his heels, refusing to be so easily dismissed this time. He was back in the kitchen, opening the fridge and bending down to see inside. Winnie watched him pull out a Gatorade, snapping off the lid and taking a long drink. She had time to wonder when he’d shaved and if his Adam’s apple had always been that pronounced before he replaced the lid and headed for the door, the bottle held loosely in his hand. He was still acting like she wasn’t there, so she stepped into his path, blocking his way.
“We need to talk.” She folded her arms across her chest and immediately felt childish. To make matters worse, Nigel acknowledged the action with a little raise of his eyebrows. He tucked his bottom lip under his teeth and stared at her through half narrowed eyes. If Winnie had wondered if he was drunk, she had her answer.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve—”
“No, you never do know, do you?”
Her lips were still curled around her last word when he cut in, and they stayed that way as her eyes narrowed in disbelief.
“Know what, Nigel? How am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me?”
His eyes rolled toward the ceiling like he was searching for something in the skylights.
“I did... I have... Winnie!” He ran his hands through his hair, yanking on it in frustration. Winnie frowned at all of this, pushing air loudly through her nose.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if this is about my brother—I stood up for you ton—”
Again he cut her off. “I didn’t want your brother to move in, I didn’t want to have this fucking dinner party, and if we talk about this right now I’m going to say things I regret. So do you really want to do this, Winnie, right now?”
She heard herself say “yes,” but it was all smoke; she was afraid. Her husband had never spoken to her like this, and after all this time, after everything that they endured together, it could only mean one thing: he was over it. It meaning her and their marriage, the fascination he’d once held for her—gone.
That’s when the shouting began, and true to his word, he said things he couldn’t take back. Winnie pressed her lips together, the hurt rocking around in her chest like a wild horse. Didn’t he know that once words were out, they stuck in people’s minds like barbs? She only ever brought up that night when she absolutely needed to—why couldn’t he do the same? For the most part it was around anniversaries that the grief woke up in her chest like a hibernating thing. She’d found that even if she didn’t consciously remember that it was that time of year, an unexplained sadness would creep up on her. She didn’t always know what was wrong; sometimes it took a few days of depression to figure it out. It was as if her entire body grieved on a sort of rhythm. Nigel shouting those ugly words at her had woken her grief, and now it would follow her around like a shadow.