From The Revenge Party by Emily Lynn Paulson:
My fingers absently twisted my wedding ring. “So, you’ll always remember you’re mine,” Shane had whispered when he slipped it on. I found it romantic then. Lately, I’d woken from nightmares where it tightened in my sleep, cutting off circulation until my finger blackened and fell to the floor.
Stop spiraling, Katie. I pulled my hair into a bun and scanned my calendar for the day. I opened a spreadsheet, each cell color-coded and cross-referenced. I’d been planning events since Emma was in preschool. I was good at making things look effortless, at creating moments other people would remember. Color-coding was calming, giving everything a place. Even things that didn’t want one.
This afternoon, I needed to finish details for a graduation committee meeting, a class party, emails to vendors for the Sutton Stars charity auction, and hopefully make it to the gym in time for my noon class. Every January, I felt the crunch of all the things I’d said “yes” to at the beginning of the school year, and year after year, I kept saying yes.
My phone lit up, and a Google alert for Sutton Strategy filled the top of my screen. There were more and more of them lately.
MODERATE REPUBLICAN MCFADDEN AND HIS NOT-SO-MODERATE-TAKES—SMART STRATEGY, OR SELLING OUT? – By Anna Dollarhide
A side note in the piece made my scalp prickle: murmurs that Sutton Strategy was “positioning for higher office.” Whose? No one said.
I’d always ignored politics; what was the point in a blue state like Washington and an even bluer city? But Shane had dragged politics into our home, our dinner conversations, and my children’s classrooms. My eyes were wide open, and I couldn’t close them.
I’d watched him strategize and shift beliefs long enough to learn an important lesson: getting what you wanted sometimes meant playing by rules you hated.
Piper huffed like she’d heard enough and hopped down from her bed, trotting to the door.
“I surrender,” I told Piper, who jumped up after me, knowing I’d again given in to her furry charm when I grabbed the leash. “The party planning can wait, I suppose.”
It was silly of me to resist a rare sunny day during Seattle’s most extended season: a nine-month winter. I grew up here; I was used to it. I didn’t even own an umbrella. That’s how Pacific Northwest I was.
I walked past Shane’s office on the way out the door. Locked, as always.
It was such a small thing, but I knew better than anyone that in a marriage, small things could mean so much more.
We trotted down the driveway. “Wait, Piper, wait,” I begged as my impatient dog pulled my shoulder practically out of its socket, and another text popped up. It was Shane.
Got Emma gas. But going to be a late night with the McFadden team tonight, will miss the game, be home late. Don’t wait up. Love you.
A standard, responsible text, the kind of message a decent man sent so his wife wouldn’t worry. Before I could respond, another text.
Don’t forget to take your medication today. You seemed off this morning.
I glared at the screen. I thought I had things handled, but I was wrong.
I was running out of time.
