Chapter 12

12

ASPEN

If anyone were to have told me that one day I would be grateful to have had my tires slashed, I would’ve laughed and asked just how much weed they’d smoked. But that is actually how I feel. Ridiculously grateful. Because without the slashed tires, Liv wouldn’t be coming over to my place for the third time this week, and Liv’s presence is a godsend.

Her daughter Rain gets along beautifully with Sabine. Well, about as beautifully as two babies can get along, which is to say they alternate between ignoring each other and sucking on each other’s toes. But the most important thing is that the two girls keep each other occupied in the playpen, leaving me and Liv gobs of time to devote to our work.

Liv is a meticulous worker. Her organizational skills are to die for, and she has a natural eye for spotting early trends. I suppose I should’ve known all of this before she came to work in person, but somehow, when she was working for me remotely, it was too easy for me to miss just how brilliant she is. How capable. How likable. In just a short time, I went from seeing her purely as my assistant to both an employee and a friend.

“You’re probably sick of me saying this,” she says, “but I still can’t get over how Pinterest worthy your entire house is.”

I roll my eyes with a laugh, but inside I’m glowing with pleasure. Because I’ve poured so much effort into making sure our home is, indeed, Pinterest worthy. Every choice I made in home decoration was through the eye of a phone camera. What might look good in person doesn’t necessarily translate well to the nine-by-sixteen Reels format. And Ben is forever snorting and telling me we need more colors in the house that aren’t some shade of nude or gray or white, but the thing with bright colors is that it’s too easy for them to end up looking garish on a phone screen.

My phone buzzes then. Another text message.

Why are you ignoring me?? WE NEED TO TALK.

I turn it to Silent and work on keeping the smile on my face.

“And Ben is sooo sweet,” Liv says, stroking the petals of the fresh vase of peonies in the middle of the kitchen counter. “I can’t believe he still gets you flowers for no reason.”

My smile wavers as the sadness weighs down on it, threatening to break it. Because of course the flowers aren’t from Ben. I have a subscription at a local florist to have new bouquets delivered to my doorstep once a week. But when Liv first walked into the house, she’d assumed they were from Ben, and I didn’t have the heart to correct her. And now it’s become A Thing. Argh, why didn’t I just correct her from the very beginning? There is no shame in getting myself flowers. Surely, it’s the feminist thing to do. But it’s too late to set the record straight now.

“What’s the secret to having the perfect marriage?” Liv says, and she looks so earnest that I almost break down in tears then and there.

I’m this close to telling her that I don’t have the perfect marriage. I have whatever’s the exact opposite of a perfect marriage. The answer is in my mouth, aching to spill out, but then I hear Sabine’s delighted squeal, and I glance over at her in the playpen, and she’s so beautiful that it’s hard to believe she’s real. Ben and I made that, along with our robust twins. Despite the flaws in our marriage, we created something so unbelievably good.

I meet Liv’s eye and say, “I don’t think any of us has the perfect marriage. But if you want my advice, I think the most important thing in any relationship is to not keep score. I feel like a lot of couples have this pent-up resentment toward each other. They’re like, ‘Oh, I gave in about X, so you should give in about this thing now.’?”

Liv says, “Oohhh,” her eyes wide, her eyebrows raised as she slowly nods. “I love that. You’re so right. I’m going to bring that up in our counseling session, because Adam and I definitely keep score, and it makes us like…almost hate each other.” She covers her mouth like she’s just let out a burp. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that. Please don’t judge me.”

If I were to judge anyone, it would be myself. At least Liv has the courage to be real with me. “How long have you been in marriage counseling?”

“About two months now. It’s really helpful.”

I’m about to ask her more about it when one of the girls starts crying, so the chat is cut short, which is probably just as well. But the rest of the day, I can’t quite shake the thought of seeking marriage counseling with Ben. By the time he gets home from his open house, I’m ready. Liv is gone and the kids are perched in the living room, watching the Disney Channel. I bring him a glass of chardonnay as he takes his seat at the dining table.

“Oh, thanks,” he says, looking surprised by the wine, which kind of pierces at me. Have I really been such a horrible wife that my husband is taken aback when I offer him something as small as a drink?

“Sure. How was the open house?”

Ben shifts in his seat, breaking eye contact. My internal alarm goes off. I’m not the only person in this room who’s hiding something.

“It was fine,” he mutters, taking off the cling film that I’d put over his plate of food.

Definitely guilty of something. “Any promising offers?”

Ben gives a long-suffering sigh before glancing up at me. “I’ve had a long day. I’d rather not do this right now.”

Do what? The question’s on the tip of my tongue, but somehow, I manage to swallow it down like a bitter pill. I nod to nobody in particular. Ben isn’t even looking at me anymore to see me nodding; he’s hyper-focused on stabbing into his roast chicken. Well , I chirp brightly (and silently) to myself, this is at least a good way to segue into what I wanted to discuss .

“Um, so I was chatting with Liv today—”

A tiny, mirthless snort from Ben. “Your new best friend,” he mutters.

I’m not sure why that feels like such a dig, but I choose to ignore it for now. “And she mentioned that she and Adam—her husband—are in marriage counseling, and that it’s really helpful.”

Ben stops chewing. His eyes settle on me, and I almost shrink away at the burning malignity in them. How could anyone look at their spouse this way? He chases down the mouthful with a large gulp of wine. “Chicken’s dry,” he says finally, his gaze still searing a hole in my skin. “Again. Looks amazing though. I bet your followers love it.”

Your followers is said with as much disgust as one might say the words “sex offender.”

Again, I swallow the retort clawing its way up my throat. “I was thinking maybe we could see a marriage counselor as well.”

“Why? Don’t we have ‘the perfect marriage’?” It comes out absolutely dripping with sarcasm.

My voice cracks. I can barely hold the tears back when I say, “Ben, please. I’m trying to make this work.”

He softens then, at the sight of my raw desperation. Another sigh, though this time, it’s one of defeat. As though by pleading with him to see a counselor, I’ve attacked him. “Fine.” He says it to the chicken breast and not to me, but I have to be grateful for what little scraps he gives me.

“Thank you,” I whisper. Then, because I find myself ridiculously overwhelmed with gratitude for his acquiescence, I reach out and squeeze his hand.

I pretend not to feel his hand twitch and stiffen, as though mine were a scorpion crawling onto his skin.

···

Ben surprises me by speaking up when the counselor, Laura, asks who’d like to begin.

“I’ll go first, I guess,” he says. And he gets right into it. “I’m tired of living in an Instagram account.”

“Oh? Can you clarify that, Ben?” Laura says. Her voice is very calming. I should learn how to modulate my voice so my questions don’t come out too aggressively.

“Well, Aspen here’s an influencer.” That tone again, like “influencer” is a dirty word. Ben gives Laura a look and laughs a little, as though he expected her to laugh along with him. She doesn’t. I decide that I like her. “When we first met, I thought it was cute, you know? I was so supportive. I did everything I could to help her grow online, and now it’s grown way out of control. It’s ridiculous. I’m sick of feeling like everything we do is purely for ‘aesthetics.’ When we bought our house, I didn’t have a say at all in how I’d like it to be decorated. Oh no, Ben knows nothing about aesthetics. I wanted some color in the house. I always thought that when I had kids one day, they’d have this vibrant nursery full of every color of the rainbow, but no. The whole house is gray or white or eggshell or whatever the fuck. Even our kids’ toys all have to be color coordinated. God forbid I ever get them a brightly colored plastic toy! No, it all has to be boring Nordic wooden toys that they don’t even like to play with. What even is Nordic wood? Is it Norwegian?” He gives a short, shrill laugh before raking his fingers through his hair. “It’s—it’s exhausting.”

Every word in his well-prepared speech slices into me, opening the wound even wider, exposing me to Laura. By the time Ben’s done, I feel like I can barely look Laura in the eye. She must think I’m the worst wife and mother in the world. His testament is so scathing and so full of wrath, it’s a wonder Laura doesn’t just go, “Okay you guys, there is no hope for the two of you. Off you go now in separate directions.”

But when I raise my gaze to Laura’s, I find nothing but empathy in her eyes. “Thank you, Ben. That was enlightening.” She nods encouragingly to me. “Would you like to tell me what you think about what Ben said, Aspen?”

Tears prick my eyes, and I don’t bother trying to fight them. What’s the point? “Um—” My voice cracks and I take in a shuddery breath. “He’s right. All of it.” I turn to him and clasp his hands in mine. “You’re right.” Ben looks confused. I sniffle and turn back to Laura. “Ben’s right. I’m tired of it, too—of having to pretend to have the perfect life. But the thing is, I don’t know if I can afford to stop. I’m responsible for most of our finances. The mortgage, the healthcare…One of our daughters, Noemie, she’s diabetic. The insulin alone is costing us eight hundred dollars a month, and that’s with insurance. Then there are the pediatrician costs and other drugs, not to mention the exorbitant school fees, and—” This time, when my voice breaks, I let it. I sit there and cry and don’t even bother trying to hide my tears. Laura hands me a box of tissues, and I thank her in a small voice. “I’m sorry. I just feel so helpless. What would we do without my income?”

Ben pulls his hands away and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He looks everywhere but at me.

“I mean, maybe we could downsize to a smaller house,” I continue between sobs, “but I’ve been trying and trying, and I can’t figure out a way to afford Noemie’s healthcare without my career. And Ben—I’m sorry, babe, but your income…”

“Isn’t anywhere near big enough,” Ben mutters. “I know.”

“Ben’s a Realtor,” I say for Laura’s sake. “His job doesn’t have health insurance. Mine doesn’t provide it either, to be fair. I’m paying for our family health insurance.”

She says, “Ah, I see. Right. Well, I think you both have very legitimate concerns.”

“It really hurts my feelings,” I add, “when Ben treats my career as an influencer as something silly.”

“Do you feel that he does that often?” Laura says.

I chew on my lip and nod. “I get the feeling that Ben thinks it’s shallow and fake. I think maybe it’s easy to see it that way because I have to appear bubbly in my videos, even when I don’t feel cheerful. I’m a momfluencer, and one of the many reasons I love what I do is because it connects me to other moms. We help one another feel less alone. Being a mom can be so isolating. I put a lot of thought into my content, and I wish he would recognize that. Especially since I’m the one supporting the family financially.”

When Laura looks at Ben, there is, for just a split second, a flash of contempt in her expression. And I wonder how many wives have sat here on this leather couch and told her how dismissive their husbands are of their careers. Ben squirms, his gaze locked onto his lap.

“Ben, do you have anything to say to that?”

He shrugs, his whole demeanor that of a guilty schoolboy.

“Well.” Laura leans back and takes a deep breath. “Thank you both for being so honest with me and with each other. I think there is a lot to work with here. There are some issues, yes, but I also sense a ton of love between you two.”

Is there? I want to shout at Ben. Is there still a ton of love between the two of us? Or are there only its remains, festering away?

I wish Ben would look up and meet my eyes. Convey to me somehow that he’s in this, too—that I’m not the only one fighting to keep our marriage intact. But when he does lift his head, his gaze is trained on Laura’s. He’s deliberately not looking at me, and his jaw is set in a way I find familiar. A stubborn expression that I used to find attractive and so masculine, but which I now know is nothing more than childish petulance. Despite everything I brought up, or maybe because of all the things I brought up, Ben is even more set in his thinking. He’ll continue casting me as the villain, refusing to face the reality of our situation, and resenting me for doing what needs to be done to support the family.

And I know, then, that no matter what Laura says, no matter how obediently we do whatever homework she assigns us, our marriage is over. The only question that remains is which of us will have the courage to say it out loud.