On a perfectly ordinary evening, Julian announced after dinner:
"Can you stop with all the housework? You should be enriching your mind, improving yourself."
"Chloe doesn't need a mother whose entire world is her family."
My hand, polishing a wine glass, froze. The implication was immediate.
He was measuring me against someone else.
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1
My six-year-old daughter was still in the living room. I willed my face into a neutral mask and set the wine glass down.
"Chloe, honey, go play with your Legos in your room for a bit."
After my daughter padded out, I flicked on the TV, the screen immediately filling with some trashy reality show.
Julian’s brow tightened.
"Why is the kitchen still a mess? It's going to start smelling."
He was meticulous about smells. Our home was always immaculate.
Anything that could possibly develop an odor had to be dealt with instantly.
I poured myself a glass of red wine, my eyes fixed on the screen.
"If it's a job anyone can do, why don't you?"
Julian let out a faint, condescending laugh.
"I'm just making a suggestion. For Chloe's sake, as well."
"Why are you having such a strong reaction?"
"Clean it or don't. It's up to you."
On the television, the guests were in a screaming match.
A man was complaining to the camera about his partner:
"Look at the state of you! Is there a single shred of the woman I married left? I feel suffocated just looking at your dull face every single day."
The accused woman looked utterly crushed, her mouth opening and closing with no sound.
She just let her partner play the victim for the cameras.
Pure melodrama.
I turned my head to look at Julian.
"Tell me, do you think all cheaters try to play the victim to justify their own infidelity?"
His face tensed, but he quickly smoothed it back into his cool, professorial mask.
"What kind of question is that? How would I know."
I said nothing, just held his gaze, unblinking.
I watched his Adam's apple bob before he spoke again.
"If you're so bored, go take an art history class. Broaden your horizons."
"Stop wasting your time on this garbage."
I turned off the TV, stood, and headed for my room.
As I passed him, I didn't forget to add:
"Professor Julian, don't forget to clean the kitchen."
The next day, I hired a housekeeper for cooking and cleaning.
When Julian came home that evening, my daughter and I had already finished dinner.
He saw the stranger in our home, his brow furrowing as his eyes shot a question at me.
"She's the new housekeeper," I said simply.
"You know I don't like strangers in the house. I'd rather you went back to cooking. I'm used to your food."
I smiled.
"After all these years, aren't you sick of it?"
I was never one to swallow my anger.
In college, when a girl spread rumors about me, I plastered proof of her lies all over the campus bulletin board and made her publicly apologize, crying as she begged for a department transfer.
My tactic was to play up the victim card, making sure everyone's sympathy was firmly on my side.
Faced with my sarcasm, Julian sighed.
"I say one thing, and you hold onto it like a weapon."
"Evelyn, you can't live in your own world forever. You need to soften up."
"You need to set a good example for your daughter..."
I snatched the wine glass from the table and hurled it at his feet. It shattered.
"Are you done?"
"If you don't want dinner, I'll have the housekeeper throw it out."
Ignoring his stunned expression, I turned to the frightened housekeeper, my voice dropping to a gentle hush.
"You can head home for today. Thank you. Please come back at the same time tomorrow."
"Ma'am, should I clean up the kitchen?"
I shook my head.
"No need. I have someone else in mind for that."
After the housekeeper left, Julian seemed to have lost his appetite.
"How could you lose your temper like that in front of a stranger?"
"What, did I embarrass you? The great Ivy League professor?"
"You think I'm vulgar and tasteless, not like *her*, is that it?"
"Evelyn, you're being completely irrational!"
