Punished by Divorce

Cookie & milk

Erik

“Hello, mother,” I said as I walked into the kitchen. My mother, Miranda Carlson, glanced over her shoulder and smiled when she saw me leaning against the doorframe.

“What on earth! Erik!” she stopped whatever she was doing, wiped her hands on her apron, and barreled toward me. I embraced her in a warm hug before I released her. “I didn’t know you were stopping by today…did I?” she questioned as she frowned.

“No,” I said. “Just…I think I need to talk about this whole thing with Naomi,” I added as I ventured deeper into the kitchen and sat down at the large wooden table. I couldn’t see her since I had my back to her, but I could hear my mother as she moved around the kitchen. I knew what she was doing, so I waited patiently. Eventually, a tall, large glass of full cream milk was set down in front of me, as well as a plate of my favorite homemade biscuits. Pecan fudge shortbread cookies.

“Now, tell me, what is on your mind?” she asked as she set down her own glass of milk and sat down across from me. This was something I considered my comfort zone. My safe space. This was something my mother had done for me for years. Whenever I was upset, or confused, or angry, this is how I’d work through it. A glass of milk, some cookies, and my mother, who supported me and helped me with just about everything in my life.

“You know I divorced Naomi because I found out the truth, right?” I started. I needed to make sure she understood. My mother gave me a quick, short nod, which was enough confirmation for me. I wasn’t quite ready to talk about it just yet, since there was so much to uncover, but I wasn’t here for that. “I never…I never ever truly formed any sort of connection with her,”

“With Naomi?”

“Yes…do you remember when we got married, I was busy with that big Stranton case?” I asked. My mother thought about it, and then she slowly started to nod. “So, I headed off to Blake City right after the reception, and…it took me longer than I had expected. I mean, I explained it to Naomi and she just…she didn’t seem to mind, you know? And by the time I got back…” my voice trailed off, and it was the second time I was embarrassed. How had I messed this up so badly?

“And by the time you got back…if I remember correctly, you were in and out of Cidwood for over four months, Erik. What…what are you trying to tell me here?”

“I never stayed at the penthouse with her, mother,” I admitted softly. “I never kissed her, I never slept with her…I barely saw her and…as time went on, she seemed happy with a dinner here and there. I made sure to pay for a cleaner…you know, so that she was taken care of…but I never…”

“You never connected with her,” my mother finished, and I nodded. “Why is that? Because of work?”

“Well, I mean, yes. I guess I just never thought about it. Naomi was my wife…but she was more like this person in another country and…and I was…I am so focused on Billora,” I explained. It was a sordid excuse, but I was much more curious to hear what my mother had to say about it.

“Then maybe it’s a good thing you found out the truth. Maybe it’s a good thing you filed for divorce. Maybe it’s a good thing you two never connected. The truth is, Erik…your father…I cannot explain his actions, nor his secrecy, and I know you’ll do the right thing once you’ve worked through it all…but he wasn’t…I wasn’t…what I’m trying to say is that we weren’t hopeful. You aren’t like your brother, Erik. You aren’t even like Samantha. Those two are family driven and…you…you are career driven. What you want is for the company to succeed and to continue to grow,”

“Is that wrong?” I asked softly. I knew I was a workaholic. I knew that, but what was I missing? “Is there something wrong with me? That I don’t want a family?”

“You should want a family,” my mother and I both looked over to see my grandparents standing by the doorway. “I smelt cookies,” my grandfather, Bill, added as he eyed the untouched plate.

“Mom, Dad, come on in and take a seat. I’ll get some more milk and cookies,” my mother said as she got up.

“No worries, dear. I’d prefer a cup of tea,” my grandmother, Wendy, remarked as she headed for the kettle. I saw my mother sigh softly, but I didn’t react.

“I’ll have milk,” my grandfather said as he closed the distance between us and sat down. “Now…I heard you divorced Bill’s granddaughter. How long were you two married?” he asked. Bill Scott – who was my grandfather’s childhood friend and business partner – was a bit of a touchy subject.

“Just a little over a year,” I said. He nodded thoughtfully as he reached out a picked up a cookie.

“I don’t believe there is anything wrong with you, son,” my grandfather remarked before he took his first bite. “Not everyone is wired the same way, but…you should want a family,”

“I don’t think I do,” I argued.

“A family is your support. Your very own team. Your wife is the one who comforts you in every possible way and your children are your pride and joy…also, the company has to be passed down to someone…”

“Eugene will have children, I’m sure,” I said, but my grandfather simply shook his head in disapproval.

“Regardless…there is nothing better than coming home after a long day of work to your family,” he carried on, but I wasn’t listening anymore. Was he right? Had I been thinking about having a family in the wrong way? I had figured it was a waste of time, time I could’ve used working. Was I wrong?