The Push by Ashley Audrain (e reading malayalam books txt) 📕

the happenings that took us from a place we could have survived, even in the grave face of a death that nearly killed me, too, to the place we simply could not come back from. These things became too heavy and too hurtful, habitual abuses in what once felt like the safest place in the world.

That’s why I didn’t go for breakfast with you on your thirty-ninth birthday.

57

You poured yourself a cup of coffee and slid the resignation letter toward me. I’d just come back from dropping off Violet and hadn’t expected you to be home.

‘But why?’

You sat back and crossed your legs. I noticed then that you hadn’t shaved your face in a few days. Maybe three or four. There was so much about you I didn’t see anymore.

‘I want something more forward thinking. Maybe something focused on sustainability. There’s no room for creativity there anymore. Wesley’s got his hands in everything.’

I watched your fingers rap slowly on the wood table. My eyes shifted to the letter and your signature. The note was brief. A few sentences. Dated the day before.

‘We should have talked about this, don’t you think?’ I didn’t really know how we were doing financially, or how much we had saved. My mind raced back, trying to remember the last bank statement I’d seen. You paid our bills. I didn’t keep track of what we earned and spent. I felt the foolishness rise inside me. ‘I mean are we okay financially? This is a big decision.’

‘We’re fine.’ You liked to keep me out of it. You tapped the table again. ‘I didn’t want to bother you with this.’

‘So what now?’

‘I’ve got some opportunities lined up.’

You stretched back in your chair and bounced your heels. You seemed restless. And maybe relieved. I couldn’t quite place it then.

‘I’m going for a run.’

‘It’s cold out today.’

‘Carry on. Do whatever you do during the day when I’m not here.’ You tousled my hair like you always did to Violet and left the kitchen to find your running shoes. You never went for runs anymore.

Something didn’t feel right. My head was light. I had an urge to call your mother. She was walking the dog when she answered.

I told her I wanted to talk about the holidays early, to go over the plans for their visit. They were to book a flight for December twenty-second and we’d take Violet skating the next day with your sister. I asked about gift ideas for your father. We talked through who should cook what for the dinner.

‘I know this will be hard again,’ she said. ‘Without Sam.’

‘I miss him.’

‘Me, too.’

‘Helen,’ I said, wondering if I should have just said good-bye. ‘Fox told me this morning that he resigned from his job. Did you know he was thinking of leaving?’

‘No, he didn’t mention it.’ She paused. ‘If money is a problem, you know we can always help. I don’t want you to worry about that.’

‘It’s not that. It’s – I feel like I don’t know him anymore. He’s grown so … distant.’ I held my breath and rolled my eyes to myself. I didn’t like talking to her about you, but I was desperate for some kind of reassurance. ‘I feel like something else might be going on.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so, honey. No.’ Her tone suggested she understood what I was inferring. ‘You’re still grieving parents, Blythe. This is a hard time for both of you. Maybe Fox is struggling more than you realize.’ She gave me space to agree, but I didn’t speak. ‘Be patient with him.’

‘Please don’t mention to him that I called, okay?’ I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the tension.

‘Of course.’ She changed the topic back to which day they should fly home and I watched for you from the window of the living room.

Your laptop was on and I knew your password. Your desk looked the same, tools scattered, a project in progress left wherever we’d interrupted you the night before. Nothing looked as though it were winding down, nothing looked different. I opened your in-box and scrolled through the messages. The email from your boss wasn’t hard to find: I’m glad we both agree this is the best outcome given the nature of the incident. I’m sorry it had to end this way. Perhaps we both could have used better discretion in how things were handled. Cynthia will be in touch with the details of the severance we agreed on.

There was an incident of some kind. Severance – you had been fired.

I opened an email sent that morning from your assistant. You hadn’t read it yet. She’d written only, I just met with HR. Call me.

I went to Violet’s room and picked up the unicorn pencil and eraser she gave her. I smelled the rubber, as though it were possible to find some kind of confirmation. I put it back on her shelf and lay down on her unmade bed.

I clutched my pounding chest with both hands. The late nights at the office. The rejection when I touched you. The way your fingers had tapped the table as you lied to me. I closed my eyes and smelled Violet’s pungent sleepiness on the pillow.

‘I hate you,’ I whispered. To you both. I hated both of you. I wanted only Sam. If he was there, everything would have been okay. I cried until I heard you open the front door. Your shoes dropped on the tiles. Your feet hit the stairs. I lay still and you walked past Violet’s bedroom door and into the bathroom for a shower. I’d left the email open on your laptop. You’d find it twenty minutes later and not say a word to me.

58

The next morning, I waited outside for a while before I came back in the house