The Ugly Chair

“I can’t believe you,” Dan huffs behind me, shattering what was a comfortable silence between us.

Anxiety shoots through me at his tone and the malice in his words. I feel my heart beat in my neck.

“Whatever Dan,” I say quickly. Trying to sound impatient, dismissive. As if he doesn’t affect me. I have no desire to fight in the middle of this furniture store.

Keeping my back to him I walk forward and inspect the next rocking chair. This one a black and brown pattern. I touch the soft fabric tenderly. It’s ugly, but looks very comfortable.

“I have one day off and this is what you make me do? Waste my time looking at baby stuff?”

I feel his resentment like a brand on my skin.

Yes, how dare I ask you to spend one of your precious days off helping your pregnant wife buy a rocking chair for your unborn child, I think bitterly. But overwhelming sadness washes over me at my thought.

“Five minutes and I’ll be done,” I say patiently.

I start picking at my wedding ring. A nervous tick I had been developing recently.

This is supposed to be a happy occasion. Buying furniture for the baby’s nursery. But when I look over my shoulder at Dan I see frustration in every line of his face.

If I ignore him, maybe he’ll calm down.

“Just pick a chair already,” he says loudly.

Embarrassment begins to color my cheeks. I wonder, not for the first time, if he realizes how whiny he sounds when he’s impatient. Surely not or he would try harder to keep his adult tantrums to a minimum.

I give a quick scan around the ‘Baby’s First’ section of the store hoping nobody is in ear shot. The closest couple is yards away. Soft smiles on their faces as they debate between white and chestnut crib designs. My frown deepens.

“Hurry up and pick something,” he bites.

It’s my fault honestly for bringing him here and expecting a positive response. He hates shopping.

I’m such an idiot.

“I will pick one when I find something I like.” I turn back to the ugly chair to hide my discomfort.

Why was he always like this? I had tried over and over again to create opportunities for him to be happy. I wanted him to show me he was excited about our future as parents. But there hadn’t been a single time, besides when we agreed to us trying for a baby, that I’d seen a semi positive response to the idea of being a father. I knew if I just found something he could be happy about then it would be okay. But I kept falling short.

I could feel myself becoming desperate. What could I do?

“Why do I have to be here for this again?”

His tone. His attitude.

My patience snaps.

“Oh my god! Just go wait in the car Dan!” I bark over my shoulder.

I keep my eyes trained on the ugly chair. I know if I see his face I’ll cave and lead us both out of the store.

“You know what actually? I don’t care if you go stick your head in the men’s room toilet. Just leave.”

There is a tangible thickness left in the air in the wake of my words. I feel his anger like a wet blanket on my shoulders.

He only waits a second before stomping away. Taking the heaviness of his presence with him.

I take a deep breath and collect myself. In his absence, my defenses crumble. I’m left only with disappointment and dread.

I will pay for that later. I’ll hear about how unruly and inappropriate I was. How I embarrassed him. I’ll listen and nod to try and keep the peace but hate myself for it.

Regret sits heavy in my gut. As if in response a little tap flits against my inner stomach. I touch the spot of contact gingerly.

“I’m sorry little girl,” I say to my rounded belly.

Tears begin to whell in my eyes. I hate how easily his anger and frustration scare me. If I could stand up for myself more then he wouldn’t be so mean to me. He would respect me more and he’d care more about how much he hurts me.

I huff and look at the ceiling. Why couldn’t he just look at the stupid chairs without complaining? And now I’ve learned, once again, I’m going to be doing everything myself because he can’t be bothered. The world seems to grow darker at the thought.

“Is this one taken?”

I look to my left and meet the eyes of a man with salt and pepper hair and glasses. He smiles kindly and has a placating look about him. He looks like the Dad type who asks waiters what their names are and makes a point to use them.

He looks pointedly at the ugly black and brown chair.

“Yes,” I say. I don’t know why. I don’t even like the thing.

“Oh,” he gives me an apologetic smile.

“Sorry to bother you.”

He turns away and I frown at his retreating form.

A squeal pulls my gaze to the far corner where a family is gathered around a collection of tables. Small children and their mothers. Some men with diaper bags and a standing woman with greying blond hair and leathery skin. The brightest smile lights her face as she watches the squealing littles be settled around the table. Her smile widens as the salt and pepper haired man approaches, gesturing to another chair off in the corner for inspection. The smile he gives her is gentle and tender.

I decide very quickly that I hate the aging woman with the bright smile. I hate her and her happy family. I scowl at the ugly chair next to me that the dad type, apparently grandpa type actually, asked about.

I had two months and the baby would be here. Just two months and then everything would be better. I just knew that when Dan saw her for the first time he’d be happy. He was so kind and gentle when was happy. And he’d be so proud watching me be a mother. I just had to be patient.

I sit tentatively in the ugly chair. Surprised at how plush it is. I lean my head back and settle in further picking again at my wedding ring. I sigh, close my eyes, and try to empty my mind and focus on the feel of the comfortable fabric under me. It is too soft, I decide. I know the longer I sit here the harder it will be to rise.