We All Fall Down

Chapter 5

Rick

Married life was not quit what I expected. After an intimate celebration with close friends and my parents, I rented a modest apartment close to the community college where I was taking some prerequisites until Patrice graduated high school. We sold her trailer and used that money to buy a car and some furniture for our home. My mother froze several casseroles for us to have while Patrice and I maintained our busy schedules.

"And how are things?" Mother always asked when she made her weekly calls to check in.

"Things are great! We are working hard, Patrice is graduating early so she will start her classes at the community college soon while we save up for nursing school," I lied.

In the months since our nuptials, Patrice seemed to grow less and less interested in the things that used to light her fire. I knew if I told my mother, she would offer unbiased, sage advice. But I didn't want to have to admit I might have rushed things. I thought I'd known everything I needed to know in order to be the perfect husband for her. I hadn't had the foresight to see that I, too, would have needs one day. She never seemed to consider me either.

I had a rare, free evening the Thursday before Patrice's 19th birthday, so I checked her schedule and was pleased to find that her shift at the laundromat was over by 6:00pm. I made reservations at her favorite Italian place, laid out a dress and shoes for her to change into and quickly tidied our mess of an apartment. Bearing in mind her job, I'd assumed she would take on—at least—that role as I did most everything else, but as I took inventory in the two hours I'd spent scrubbing counters and finding underwear in places no one should be leaving their unmentionables, I realized we needed to discuss the division of household duties.

"Well, that's very chauvinistic of you to assume I'd be doing the laundry," she said, crossing her arms over her sweater that had a week-old spaghetti stain.

"You work at the laundromat, Patrice!" I paced the 10-feet of the living area, gesticulating. "We met when I was doing my family's laundry! I'm not assuming you'll do it because you're a woman. I'm assuming you'll do it because you work there!" I had never raised my voice at Patrice, not ever. But I was quite frustrated having come off of some major exams into an apartment that smelled of rotten food and mildewed towels.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not Little Miss Susie Homemaker like your mother!" She slumped back on the sofa, ripping her sweater off.

"Don't be ugly about my mother. She's been nothing but kind to you!"

"Right. All the times she's visited, she's been lovely," Patrice rolled her eyes. My parents have not been over since we moved in 6 months ago.

"I haven't invited them in hopes you would," I clenched my teeth, working very hard to remain calm.

"I told you—"

"Don't even say it! I'll shit if you say that silly thing about parents once more time, Patrice!" I clutched at my hair, fisting it and sucking air in controlled counts.

"Ugh! What do you want from me?!" She flung her arms in the air.

"I want you to be the woman I fell in love with! Sometimes, I don't even feel like you love me at all!"

"Well, soooorry I'm not perfect!" At that, she burst into tears and curled into the fetal position. Her tears trickled down her cheeks and onto the sofa cushion.

"Oh, don't give me that. You don't get to play victim! I've done everything for you!" I tripped over a shoe and kicked it across the floor, watching it thud against a blackened banana peel that had just missed the trashcan. "This place is a pigsty!"