Unmet Expectations

Hennessy

They say that unmet expectations can mean the end for your marriage. The first time I read that, I agreed with it. I would get annoyed whenever I cleaned the dishes and Evan would put a dirty glass in the sink. I mean really, how hard is it to wash the glass? It’s one glass and you can see that I just finished cleaning the rest of the dishes. Evan would get annoyed if he came home and I wasn’t working on dinner. I understood why he got mad, but it would frustrate me to no end that he didn’t understand the difficulties of taking care of a rambunctious two year old boy every day.

Little things like these are trivial in the grand scheme of things. Life is too short to let those things bother you. That’s true, but it’s easier said than done. Everyday life is busy and hectic. You might be having a perfectly fine day and then out of nowhere, one thing happens that just swings your mood right around. Even the best intentions don’t always end the way you want them to.

My marriage to Evan was like any other when we started out. We were in love and excited for a grand adventure. Just 4 months after we got married, we moved across the country. We were young, I was twenty two and Evan, twenty four. We enjoyed working on the home we bought and exploring our new city. It wasn’t until after we had Hudson that things took a turn for the worst.

I could smell the alcohol on his breath from my spot next to him on the couch. I knew he had had too much to drink again tonight. His eyes were bloodshot and half-cast. He kept talking in circles and cursing at the movie we had on the tv. “God damn pussy! Why are you wearing goggles? Are you a faggot? Why do you need goggles? You’re checking under the hood of the car! Is that for all the cum that sprays at your face!”

“Evan, please stop. Hudson doesn’t need to hear you talking like this.” I was astounded by the words coming out of his mouth. They mad no sense, were vulgar and completely unnecessary. But that's the way he got when he'd had too much to drink.

“I don’t give a fuck! You think I give a fuck? Hudson! You give a fuck?!”

Hudson looked up from where he was playing on the floor among a pile of his toys and smiled at his daddy. “See! Hudson doesn’t care! He doesn’t even know what I’m saying!”

I sighed before going to collect my son from the floor and ushering him down the hall. We’ve had this argument before and it’s not worth the fight when I can just take Hudson out of earshot. “Come on, sweetie. It’s almost bedtime. Why don’t we go take a bath?”

“Baa!,” says Hudson, as he excitedly waves his arms and takes off for the bathroom.

Hudson is over a year old and while he can’t talk yet, he’s very observant and has been trying out new words. I had just gotten his clothes off and placed him in the tub with a few of his boats floating in the water when the bathroom door banged against the wall behind me.

“Why the hell are you both in here?! What, you can’t spend time with me now if I don’t do exactly what you say?”

I don’t even turn around to look at Evan, as I grab the wash cloth and baby soap. After putting soap on it and starting to gently rub it along Hudson’s body as he plays, I respond. “You know why we left. I asked you not to cuss and you didn’t care to listen. Fine, but I don’t want Hudson around that. Especially when you’ve had so much to drink. I’ll just get him bathed and put him to bed.”

“Oh! So now I’ve had too much to drink too! Man, you must have it rough! Staying at home all day while I go off to work and make money for this family! Heaven forbid I come home and try to relax. I forgot I’m just your servant and need to do as I’m told.”

I still haven’t turned around. Whenever Evan gets like this, he starts to get nasty. I’ve yet to find a way to respond to him. If I ignore him, he follows me around and gets in my face. If I continue talking to him, he shoots down anything I say. Besides that, any conversation will just be a waste of energy going in circles and “forgotten” by him the next day. At this point, I’m just exhausted.

Nights like those were a common occurrence at our house. Everyday I would stay home with Hudson, doing chores around the house and keeping him entertained. By the time five o’clock would roll around, Evan would be pulling into the driveway. That time was usually the best for us. Sure he was tired from a ten hour day, but he hadn’t had anything to drink yet and he was generally happy to see us.

He’d walk in the door and greet us both with a smile. We’d get five or so minutes of his time before he would head outside for his workout before coming in for a shower. It was after the shower that I dreaded. Every night, he’d head to the corner of the kitchen where he kept his liquor and pour himself a drink. He’d open that dark walnut cabinet and pull out a large full bottle. By the end of the night, that bottle would be gone, or close to it. He’d fill a glass three quarters of the way with his liquor of choice for the night and top it off with a little soda. With how quickly Evan finished his drinks, I wouldn’t have to wait long before he was starting to feel it… and show it.

After more than a year of struggling, it finally became too much before I filed for divorce. I loved my husband dearly. Before we married, we were best friends. He was the person I told everything to and the one I reached out to when I needed help. But I remembered what it was like to grow up with an alcoholic father. I remember the anger I had for my mom. She stayed with him for so long. She put us both in situations we didn’t have to be in because she kept him around. She allowed him access to us and our lives.

I didn’t want my son to feel that same resentment toward me. I didn’t want him to grow up thinking the way Evan behaved was normal. I didn’t want to repeat that cycle. I didn’t want him to have nasty memories of his dad for the rest of his life.

Which brings me to now. I’m sitting in the front seat of my truck, driving down the highway, pulling a trailer loaded with what possessions I could fit in it. Hudson is passed out in his carseat in the backseat, while I listen to the radio. Today is the last day of our road trip back to my hometown. We should be at my mom’s house in just another hour or so.

Here I was at twenty five. I’m a single mom, with no job, moving back in with my mom. What’s worse, is my mom and I got along great, as long as we didn’t spend too much time together. But put us in the same room, or in this case, house, for too long, and tension was likely to ensue with our need to argue about every little thing. I loved her, but honestly we were too much alike to be together all the time.

Here’s to hoping this move is the right one, especially given that this is my only option at the moment. I needed to find a job and a place that Hudson and I could call our own and I needed to find them soon.