AT THE END OF THE DAY

The writing prompt is The End of the Day.

All day she waited with breathless anticipation for him to come home. She'd washed her hair and blown it dry rather than pull it back in a ponytail. She’d had her eyebrows waxed and spent a considerable amount of time choosing the perfect outfit for the most important moment of her life.

The mail was put in neat piles the way he liked--bills on top. She had carefully picked up the papers, clothes and clutter that generally filled the house so that nothing would annoy him tonight.

She'd waited so long to tell him--they had so few moments together. The hospital brochure lay on the counter—a radiant baby on the cover—outlining the tour of the maternity ward and the Lamaze classes. Just like in the movies, she pictured him by her side, helping her breathe, massaging her shoulders, taking time to be there. She arranged and rearranged the brochure and paperwork so it would be right. Perfect.

Gazing at herself endlessly in the mirror she wondered if it was her imagination or if she really radiated an estrogenic glow. She felt luminous--beautiful.

Of course, he was late—missed the earlier train but she refused to let it foil her plans. In fact, it allowed her more time to set the perfect stage. She ran her hand over her abdomen. It was early to be sure, but was there a slight swelling? She knew the fetus was a miniscule cluster of cells but…. she stroked her baby nonetheless.

He missed the next train but she refused to be deterred. She tried watching tv, reading a magazine, but had no concentration. Her hair was starting to look limp; her luminosity fading. The carefully prepared dinner was already ruined. But he would be so happy. This would do it—would make him love her more—bond them more tightly.

Walking in the door, he carelessly pilfered through the mail and didn’t mention the neat pile. Looking past her, he didn’t notice the hair, the eyebrows, the perfect outfit, the estrogenic glow.

“I’m starving…..”

Walking into the kitchen, he picked up the hospital brochure. None of this was going as planned.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Her stomach knotted up for some reason. Nothing felt right anymore; it was all unraveling.

“Well?” he asked, waving the brochure.

She had envisioned sitting in his lap, telling him the good news, watching his eyes light up—soften maybe. Look at her and overwhelm her with his joy!

“WELL?”

Haltingly, for some reason sounding guilty, she told him they were having a baby. A baby. But she said it all wrong--almost like she was apologizing.

He stood for a while, his face inscrutable, then he perfunctorily placed the brochure back on the counter.

“When’s it due?” No smiling. No rubbing her belly. No hug. No joy.

“March."

He walked and opened the refrigerator. “That’s my busiest time of the year—registration statements and all that…. We really should have talked more about planning this.”

Popping his wrapped dinner plate into the microwave, he went to watch tv. The brochure fluttered to the floor as he walked by--a big wrinkle covered the baby's face.

Standing in the kitchen, feeling lonelier than she could remember, she stared into space, into the deep void of her life. The estrogenic glow faded from her face--if it had ever even been there. But at the end of the day, what could she do?