The Out

Chapter 2

David came home at 7:30 p.m.

"When did you leave the office?" Stacy blandly asked.

"Around 7. But rush hour had died down by then, so I wasn't as backed up as if I'd left at five. That's a scorcher. I wonder if I should start going in late to the office too, miss that rush hour also. Some of the other guys do that. It's called Flex Time. Might save me gas."

Stacy did the math. He had left that apartment around 6:45 p.m., if traffic was similar to when she had left it earlier. Or maybe he had left it at 7, if traffic had let up even more. He had been there for an hour and a half. That was where his extra time at the office had been spent. No reports, no burning the midnight oil, just grinding some other woman.

"What did you do while you were late?" she asked.

"More of what I do when I'm not late. It's just really piling up."

Stacy knew it was a lie, but she wouldn't force it. Even if she hadn't known what he was really doing, she would have known it was a lie. David prided himself on being efficient with his time, cutting out distraction and focusing on work so he could finish all of it within his allotted eight hours and breaks. He had once said that valuing one's time was tantamount to valuing one's self, since all one had on this earth was a finite amount of time and energy. Did that mean he respected himself less now? She hoped he did, but she couldn't be sure.

Other than David's late hours, he had seemed to act normally. He gave Carrie as much attention as ever, though it wasn't so much; Carrie was good at playing by herself while David read the newspaper and Stacy browsed the sections he didn't. He didn't know how much she had the television on during the day, how Carrie became a zombie to it while Stacy left on a mental vacation with chemical help. By night, Stacy was sobering up for him and the quiet newspaper helped. It also made her feel human, that she could still read, still pretend to engage with the world. Maybe, if she ever went to a dinner party, she could even talk about current events in an informed manner. Not that she knew anyone who would host one. Reading the newspaper was like buying that fancy dress, preparation for an event that might never happen, but it was nice to have it on hand anyway. Then, if the chance came up, she wouldn't have to turn it down. But the chance never did come up, and Stacy had lost hope that it ever would. She had no friends other than her next door neighbor, and even that was a tenuous relationship that had probably been a net negative on her life.

If David noticed that Stacy cooked a faster meal than usual, he didn't say anything. Usually Stacy put something from the freezer into the oven for an hour, timed to David's return from work, but she had not had time to do that tonight, so she had gone for a quick microwave meal instead. Did he notice what he ate? It wasn't his favorite food, nor hers, but he finished his plate and even Carrie gave it a good try, so Stacy considered it a success. It was cheap food, made by minimum wage workers or illegal immigrants hundreds of miles away. How much boredom and modern slavery had labored to bring this to their table? How much death in the slaughterhouse, suffering of the employees, manipulation by companies that had been subsidized by the government itself so that the constituency most likely to vote could put food on the table with as little effort as possible?

Everything in this little rented house was shit, Stacy reflected. The manufactured food, the cheap clothing from China, the toys that broke if Carrie so much as looked at them. How had they buried themselves in so much garbage? Because it had been pleasant to acquire at the time. Stacy wondered if she needed real help, but that was expensive. There was a strip mall within walking distance of home; she could push Carrie in the stroller and buy enough groceries and supplies for the day if she was unable to drive. They'd go to a park, then to the store, and then maybe to another store because everyone was bored. Things were acquired, capitalism achieved. It filled an emotional hole at least for a little while, while the thing was still new, before it lost its luster by joining the pile of crap that was this home.

Stacy wondered: If I kissed David, would I taste her? If I fucked him, would I get traces of her lubricant?

She had not done either to David in so long, the question seemed hypothetical. She wanted to be angry at him, but she couldn't rouse it up. What was there to be jealous of? She hadn't slept with David. She hadn't even wanted to. She'd let the relationship go to pot; or maybe he had. Who knew? There was a mutual responsibility for how things had come out. He hadn't supported her in parenthood and she hadn't supported him from the office. Their conversations were limited to practicalities and small talk; they took no interest in each other's minds. Had they ever? Did the other woman?

Somehow, that hurt even more than the idea that she might be taking care of David's physical needs, the idea that they might be having pillow talk over politics or cultural issues. Stacy had conversations like this with David at least once, at least in the early stages of when they knew each other, before they said everything they had to say. She still had a brain, didn't she? Why didn't David want it anymore? Had her exterior really become so repellant? But as Stacy examined herself, she knew that her exterior was merely a reflection of herself, a sign of priorities that had shifted from engaging her body in the world to running away from it. What had once been sweat at the gym was now a munchies binge in front of the television. Her body had been so little used in so long, she thought it might break from the simplest stretch or movement. Maybe sex would break her. It was hard to tell. She didn't even want sex anymore, was relieved when David kept to his side of the bed, like a roommate.

She thought if she had any self-respect, she would leave him. Or was that it? As she thought of it more, she realized that she liked the power she held over him. He thought he was getting away with it, and technically he was at the moment, but it wasn't a clean break. She knew, but he didn't know that she knew. How could she use this against him? She imagined the ways she could spring it on him when he least expected it, when he was weakest. What would that look like? Would he cry, submit to her demands? What were her demands?

She considered the legal situation. They weren't married but were they common-law? No, it probably took more years of living together than the short ones they had. But they had a child together. She could claim child support, and perhaps some pension for herself too if she was a full-time parent staying home with Carrie. Would that be enough? She didn't want to go back to work. Work had ground into her, made her hate life. Or had it? Maybe it would be different now, if work was a release from motherhood. But if she worked, she would have to pay for daycare, and that could cost more than the paycheck itself. No, easier not to work, to focus on Carrie. Not that anyone really focused on her, but she had to be watched, at least passively.

She watched David eat his shitty food. Stacy wondered if she was the problem here. It was a brief pang, but it hit her too hard to stop. What if David replaced her with the other woman? What if she cooked better food? What if she...dear God, what if she was a better mother? Stacy felt sick to think of it, but had to admit that it might be true. What if it was she who had dragged everything down, let it go to shit? What if a replacement was in order, and David was doing the right thing?

But then, what was David doing? Stacy knew it involved headboard-banging, but not much else. Was it a trope that attached men always told the other woman that they were leaving the first? Had David told that to the woman in the fourplex? She didn't know. What would it look like if she was replaced? She knew she could be replaced for David, she was just one of multiple women to him, always had been, even when they met. But she couldn't be replaced for Carrie, could she?

"Mommy, mommy..." Carrie toddled to her, needing a hug and attention. Stacy picked her up and held her to her chest, feeling the toddler's warmth against her heart. No, nothing could replace this bond. She would fight to keep it. She would fight to keep this girl with her and off the street. This was her family. This was, perhaps, her only family.

But David was done. Not tonight, and possibly not for a long time, but it was inevitable now. Perhaps it always had been. What else could be said?