I nearly burst into tears.
I blamed the hormones.
That week, I decided to reclaim one tiny piece of myself.
One squat.
Just one.
The oatmeal was spinning in the microwave.
How hard could it be?
Apparently… very.
Something popped in my lower back, and I froze halfway down, arms stretched out like I was surrendering.
Bradley wandered into the kitchen, stared for a long moment, then tilted his head.
“Mommy, why are you stuck like a frog? Are you gonna hop?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Can you hop?”
“Not currently, no.”
He accepted that answer, opened the refrigerator, grabbed a string cheese, and wandered away while I remained crouched beside the microwave.
I laughed until tears rolled down my face before carefully unfolding myself like an old lawn chair.
The highlight of my week had become my three-year-old comparing me to a frog.
That evening, Carl started again.
“Have you seen Alice? She’s literally the definition of beauty.”
I’d already noticed how often both Carl and Steve complimented Alice.
Even so, I kept my voice calm.
“That’s nice of you to notice her, but right now beauty is the last thing on my mind. I’m simply trying to survive with a schedule like mine.”
I still wanted to believe he understood.
He didn’t.
Friday evening, Carl practically bounced through the front door.
“So,” he announced while cracking open a beer he hadn’t paid for, “I’m throwing a pool party. For my 40th. A big one!”
“Here?”
“Where else? Steve’s coming. Alice too, obviously.”
Obviously.
“Carl, I’m exhausted. Onica isn’t sleeping through the night. Bradley…”
“Nina. It’s my 40th!”
I looked at him.
The fresh haircut.
The phone always lying face down.
The man who once brought me flowers for no reason.
“Fine,” I said. “We’ll have a party.”
Quietly, standing there in my stained shirt, I made one decision.
Whatever it took, I was walking out to that pool looking like the woman I remembered.
Four o’clock arrived much too soon that Saturday.
I stood in the kitchen icing cupcakes with one hand while warming a bottle with the other.
Onica slept in her bouncer beside me.
Carl was still upstairs.
By nine, I’d hung patio lights, inflated a palm tree, dressed Bradley in tiny swim trunks, and taped a Happy 40th banner across the fence.
Carl finally wandered downstairs nearly an hour later, yawning.
“Wow, the place looks decent,” he said. “You didn’t overdo the cheesy stuff, right?”
“Just the right amount of cheesy,” I replied.
Guests began arriving around noon.
Steve carried in a cooler.
Alice followed with an enormous fruit platter.
