I Thought My Husband Was Taking the Lunch I Made Every Day, Until My Son Told Me What He Was Doing Around the Corner
“And then I kept making that same mistake because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“That if I showed the people I love who I really was, they might not love that version of me.”
Jamie stared at him.
“That’s dumb.”
Edward nodded.
“Yes.”
“It is.”
Jamie shrugged.
“I’d love you even if you didn’t have a job.”
Edward’s eyes changed.
“I know that now.”
Then Jamie looked at me.
“Did you know?”
“Not until today.”
“Are you mad?”
“I’m complicated.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I love your dad and I’m also upset with him.”
I smiled slightly.
“Adults can feel both things at the same time.”
Jamie nodded.
“Okay.”
Then he went back to his homework.
About thirty seconds later, without looking up, he asked,
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to keep throwing Mom’s lunches away?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Jamie kept writing.
“Her sandwiches are really good.”
The next morning, I packed Edward’s lunch.
Two sandwiches.
Apple slices.
Black coffee.
But I put them in a different bag.
He didn’t need the old construction lunchbox anymore.
Then I sat down with an index card.
For the first time in twelve years, writing the note felt different.
Before, I believed Edward would read it during lunch and then continue with the day I thought he was living.
Now I knew he would probably read it twice.
Fold it.
Keep it.
So I wrote:
I know who you are now.
I want to know everything else.
Edward read the note at the kitchen table.
This time, he didn’t fold it into his pocket.
He placed it carefully inside his wallet, in the compartment where he kept the things he never wanted to be without.
Then he stood.
“I’ll be home by six.”
I looked at him.
“I know.”
He kissed me.
And walked out the door.
He was wearing the navy suit.
This time, I knew why.
