As the months passed, I noticed something else.
Whenever Richard made one of his jokes about me, David’s expression would change.
He never challenged him.
He never caused a scene.
But his jaw would tighten, and suddenly he would become deeply interested in warming a bottle or cleaning something nearby.
Anything except laughing along with Richard.
I didn’t think much of it.
I was too occupied trying to survive life with triplets.
Then came the night when everything changed.
It was the World Cup final, and Richard invited six friends over to watch the game.
I prepared a huge pot of chili, filled bowls with chips, and loaded the coffee table with drinks.
“Bel, you’re a queen,” one of the guys said as I carried food into the living room.
“Enjoy it while it’s hot,” I joked.
Richard appeared in the doorway and clapped his hands.
“Gentlemen, my wife feeds you, cleans up after you, but apparently she doesn’t laugh at my jokes anymore!”
Several men chuckled.
David didn’t.
I carried the empty tray toward the kitchen and repeated the same thing to myself that I had told myself a hundred times.
It was just Richard being Richard.
Later, I came back to gather the dirty plates.
As I reached the kitchen doorway, the living room suddenly burst into loud laughter.
I turned around.
Richard was no longer sitting on the couch.
He stood beside the television.
And in his hand was the pastel pink package I kept hidden upstairs.
My protective underwear.
Six grown men were staring at me.
Richard lifted the package as though he had just won a trophy.
“Look what I found! Our triplets already know how to hold it in, but apparently their mother is still working on it!”
The room erupted with laughter again.
My ears began ringing.
