AUTHOR'S NOTE
Here's Part 2. If it took too long, I'm sorry. For those of you who commented on Part 1--or even bothered reading it, for that matter--thank you.
It should go without saying that if you haven't read Part 1, you should do so now.
Again, any and all comments are most appreciated.
NINE
The next morning at seven found me at Uncle Jack's doorstep.
"You look like shit," he grumbled, holding the door open for me.
He, of course, looked like he'd been awake for three hours, which he probably had.
"Got a few minutes?" I mumbled, walking past him.
"Coffee's in the kitchen," he said, following me into the home.
It hadn't changed since they'd moved back after his retirement. Looking around, I expected Aunt Aileen to poke her head out of the kitchen and rush over for a big hug and wet kiss on the cheek.
Funny, I thought, but his home was still a home all these years after Aunt Aileen's death. Mine already felt like just a building with bathrooms, and Nina and the girls were still there when I'd left. Sleeping peacefully.
Uncle Jack waved me toward the kitchen table while he poured me a cup of coffee and topped his own off.
He was settled and sipping his coffee before I spoke.
"I'm getting divorced."
He nodded, sipping his coffee.
There must be something about military coffee that prepares men for swallowing molten lava in great gulps. I could barely slurp the smallest amount after blowing on it, but he was nearly halfway done with his cup before he spoke.
"So she's finally gone back to him." Somewhere deep in his chest a rumbling rose up that passed for a laugh. "Poor bastard."
"Him or me?"
"Him, of course," he said, surprised I had to ask. "You're the lucky bastard."
Seeing the dismay on my face, he softened his voice and marched on.
"I know it doesn't seem that way right now. I know this sucks. You feel rejected and lost and all that sad shit. Like you'll never get laid again. She's cast you aside, so now you're damaged goods."
He sipped his coffee before continuing.
"The thing is, you'll get over it. Pretty quickly, too. And you'll move on with your life. You'll find someone else, someone to start a family of your own with. Then all of this will just be a pathetic little learning experience. Sure, you'll wonder now and then how they're all doing. What're those little goddamned monsters of hers doing and how they're getting along."
I raised my head up to defend the girls, but old Uncle Jack was on a roll and he cut me off.
"It's not their fault they're monsters, Tim. Jesus Christ, boy, don't you see that? It's her fault. And her husband's, for that matter. But it doesn't change what it is. Who gives a shit who's at fault? Either way, they're still monsters. Monsters that will only get worse and make your life even more miserable."
He put his now empty mug down to the side and leaned over the table, staring me down before continuing. He smelled like Old Spice. Just like Dad, Uncle Jack was an Old Spice man. For some reason, this memory perked my attention and helped me focus in on what he said.
"Think about this, Tim. Don't answer right away, okay? Think first."
I nodded.
"Every day toward the end of your shift. You know, just before you have to go home. Know what it's like? We're just picking up and starting to turn out the plates. Can you see it in your head?"
I could see it. The rush of adrenaline as we get the first dinner rush caught up before I take off.
"You always dawdle," he said. "Ever notice that? You always try to come up with just one or two more things that need to be done before you take off. Right?"
He was, and I nodded.
"You ever wonder why that is?"
I tried to smile. "Because I don't want you to fuck it all up."
He slammed his hand on the table top, jarring the smile from my face.
"I'm serious here," he said. "So think about it for a minute. Don't just answer, but think about it. What're you thinking that last half hour before you leave to go home."
He swiped his mug from the table and stood to get more. Turning back with his full mug in one hand and the coffee pot in the other, he looked at my still nearly full mug before topping it off to near overflowing.
"Figure it out yet?" he asked as he sat back down.
I shook my head.
A sad smile came over his face. "Because you don't want to go home, Tim. That's what it is."
I started to say something, but he raised his hand to silence me.
"When I was in the Corps--when I was working any job, for that matter--I could never wait to get home. I wanted it more than anything in the whole damned world. Not just after the long cruises, but those times we had regular shore duty with nine to five jobs. I still couldn't wait to get home."
He leaned into me again and fixed me with his words. "And I loved my fucking job, Tim. I lived and breathed the goddamned Marine Corps."
I nodded. He'd been mopey for months after they finally forced the mandatory retirement he'd managed to delay for three years.
"And yeah, there were times I worked late, too. But only if I had to get something done. Otherwise, I was home as quick as I could get there. Because I wanted to be with my wife and my kids."
The impact of his words drove home. He didn't even have to say it, but I was prepared, and even agreed with him, when he did.
"You dread going home, Tim. And not just because you love working in the kitchen so fuckin' much. No, you dread the stress." A brief smile played over his lips. "Maybe not so much on Thursday nights, huh? I can guess what that's about."
I tried to smile with him, but the impact of the realization froze me. How had I never seen this?
"When those little girls are there, you worry about what you're going home to, don't you?"
I nodded without thinking.
"Because no matter what they do, you're all but forced to just shut the hell up and deal with it, right?"
I kept right on nodding.
"And it galls you, don't it?"
"But they're her kids, Jack. She's supposed to love them more than-- "
"And you're her husband," he said. "She's supposed to make them respect you. Make 'em listen to you and mind you. But she doesn't do those things, does she?"
"But they've been through-- "
"Big fuckin' deal," he thundered. "I'm sorry, Tim. Life's unfair, the world's unfair. It's not their fault, either. But they've been dealt a shitty hand with a couple of self-centered parents. And now those same parents expect everyone to bow down and kiss those little girls' asses because they're hurting. Don't work that way, and you of all people know it."
What could I say? He was right.
"Nina's been playing the victim--and encouraging the girls to follow right along with her--for so long she forgets that she's the one who started all of this mess. And now the girls expect everyone to be so goddamned . . . so . . . well, you know what I mean. They expect to get away with murder and expect everyone to just smile and pat their heads and tell them it's okay. Don't worry about it because your family broke up and we don't really want to force you to deal with it."
He gulped the last of another mug of coffee before finishing. The man's belly must be a cast iron cauldron to drink so much scalding coffee so quickly.
"No, Tim. You didn't want to go home because you didn't want to deal with the bullshit. And you felt guilty--you still feel guilty--because you've bought into Nina's load of shit. You actually believe you need to tiptoe around those little girls for the rest of your life because of what they've been through. But hey, here's a fucking newsflash: How about you and Nina just start raising them to be responsible little girls? Who'll maybe grow into responsible, well-adjusted young ladies?"
Uncle Jack stood and took my still half-full mug away from me and poured it into the sink.
"And here's another idea. How about you tell Nina to quit her fucking moping around and just learn to be happy with the bed she's made for herself? Time for her to quit crying about a bunch of shit she did four, five years ago and start living in the present."
He turned back to me and finished.
"Sorry, Timmer, but you weren't really her husband. You never came first in her life, you know it, and you've always known it. Sure, she has kids and they've gotta come first. Fine. But that doesn't mean you need to be treated like shit in your own home by a couple of snot-nosed little brats. And by a wife who really looked at you as nothing more than a shoulder to cry on and comfort her and tell her she was pretty and it would all be all right."
Uncle Jack slumped before finishing. I guess so much talking had really taken it out of him.
"Think about it for awhile, Tim," he said. His voice was softer now, sad. "Give it some time and really think back on what you had with them. Ask yourself if she treated you as well as you treated her. Or if she even tried to treat you as well as you treated her and the girls. Think about the last time she comforted you rather than the other way around. The last time she noticed you had had a bad day and just gave you a back rub or a hug to make you feel better."
I swayed in my chair. I didn't need to think about it. Uncle Jack was right: My marriage had been completely one way. I'd spent my every waking moment trying to make sure she was happy, but she'd rarely noticed my down moods unless they somehow clashed with her upbeat moods. When I'd been stressed, she'd always get pissed off and tell me to get over it.
"And when you've thought all of this through," Uncle Jack concluded, "ask yourself two questions. First, do you really give a shit that she's gone?"
He leaned in for the grand finale. "And second, why were you so willing to put up with this for so long and still think it was undying love?"
My eyes went wide at that one. Game, set, match in two simple questions.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
TEN
I decided to stay extra late at work that Friday night. I wanted to make sure Nina and the girls had plenty of time to get moved out, and I didn't want to see them--any of them--when I got home. Nina would just make a scene, and I didn't want to have to say my goodbyes to the girls. This was their happy day, the day all three of them had been waiting for for so long. No sense in ruining it with any tearful farewells or anything.
Fine. I was a pouty fucking coward. Sue me.
So I worked an extra long day, cooking from open to close, and sat at the bar having a few beers while the kitchen and dining room staffs did their clean up chores. Two sips into the second bottle of Lite, Clara approached me.
