***
Over the past few months, I’d noticed David growing quieter around my husband.
He still came by, still bounced the babies on his knee, but when Richard cracked one of his jokes at my expense, David’s mouth would flatten into a line.
“You don’t have to.”
My husband’s friend would suddenly become very interested in whatever bottle he was warming or anything else in the vicinity. Anything but Richard.
I didn’t think about it much. I was too busy keeping three humans alive.
***
The night of the World Cup final, Richard invited six friends over. I made a big pot of chili, filled bowls with chips, and lined up cold drinks on the coffee table beside the sofa.
I didn’t think about it much.
“Bel, you’re a queen,” one of the guys said as I set down the plates.
“Enjoy it while it’s hot,” I answered.
Richard clapped his hands together in the doorway.
“Boys, my wife feeds you, she cleans up after you, she just doesn’t laugh at my jokes anymore!”
The room chuckled.
A couple of them exchanged a glance I didn’t quite catch. David didn’t smile.
“Enjoy it while it’s hot.”
I turned back toward the kitchen with the empty tray, telling myself it was fine, telling myself it was just Richard being Richard.
***
Later, I returned to the living room and collected the empty plates.
Then, from behind me, the living room erupted in a wave of laughter so loud it stopped me at the kitchen doorway.
The plates trembled in my hands as I stepped back into the living room.
It was just Richard being Richard.
Initially, on my way in, I noticed that my husband wasn’t on the couch.
I’d heard footsteps creaking down the stairs behind me. I’d assumed he was checking on the babies.
He wasn’t.
Six grown men sat crammed onto the sectional, beer bottles sweating on my coffee table, and every single one of them was looking at me. Not at the television. At me.
