June 1984 – Fairfield, CT
Jonathan came running into Angela's office. This was the only place she could find peace to work that Saturday afternoon. As thrilled as she was with the renovations, all the banging, stomping, and screeching of power tools upstairs was giving her a headache.
"Mom, can I have my allowance now?" Angela dragged her gaze up from the accounting journal in front of her. "Joey wants to take me to the arcade at the bowling alley!"
"You're 6," Angela's half-lidded face said without inflection.
"Please, Mom? It's really fun! Joey has a portable game he let me play, but he said the arcade is even better!"
"So, you're going to take him to play games?"
"Yeah."
Angela took off her large frame glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Jonathan, what happened to your allowance from last week. What did you do with it?"
"We bought candy. Joey showed me this kind called Fun Dip! You suck it right off the stick!"
Angela's eyes widened, "Tell me Joey had his own."
"Oh, yeah. I got him some."
"You spent both dollars on candy?"
"No, we bought more than that."
"With what?"
Jonathan shrugged, "My other money."
"All of it? You spent all your money on candy?"
"No, we bought other stuff, too."
The only thing holding Angela's eyes in her head were her low-fallen brows. She spoke slowly and distinctly, "What did you buy?"
Jonathan shrugged again.
Angela sighed and looked down at the journal in front of her for a few seconds. She bit her lip, thinking. "Jonathan, come here."
While he made his way over, Angela retrieved a fresh legal pad from her bookshelf and sat back down.
"You need to record what you do with your money so you can decide if you want to keep doing it…and so I don't get upset."
She drew several vertical lines down the paper and labeled the columns.
"Here. This is your Accounting Journal. As you can see, I've listed your accounts here, and the top columns show whether the entry will be a debit or a credit."
Jonathan stared at her.
Angela blinked.
"…Alright, you learn this system, your allowance goes to five dollars a week."
Jonathan's face never moved, "Six."
"Done!" Angela smiled widely, not sure if she was more proud or scared.
Angela came up to the TV Jonathan was watching that night and turned the volume all the way down. The work crew had gone, and she'd purposefully waited until his show had finished. She needed his attention. "Hi, honey. I have to talk to you a minute," she said carefully.
Sitting down stiffly next to his sweet, little face, she couldn't imagine a scarier audience. Jonathan looked expectantly up at her but didn't say anything.
Angela briefly rolled her lips between her teeth to absorb her nerves. "Um, Jonathan… Daddy called me at work."
Her heart shattered at the delight in her son's eyes. She reached out and gently brushed his pin-straight bangs across his forehead. Scrunching her face, she tried to cut the head off. "He isn't coming home soon, like we thought."
Jonathan's whine was 100 percent pain. "Why?"
Angela's mouth was ready to go, but it had nothing to say. She'd tried to think of the most appropriate, honest answer to this for the past few weeks and hadn't come up with anything.
"There's a lot of reasons, I think… He's got some big projects he's going to be working on, but he didn't say when he'd be done."
Jonathan's teary, brown eyes disappeared, and Angela's anger on the subject deferred to her grief. It didn't matter why. Jonathan was right: it was sad.
She pulled him in and hugged him snugly, just letting him cry. Resting her head on top of his, she let out a jagged exhale. We've made such a mess.
Jonathan slept in Michael's sweater that night; Angela certainly didn't want to. Ever since their last conversation, she'd wanted to light it on fire and post it as the standard over their house. But Jonathan wasn't in her situation. He loved his daddy and missed him terribly.
But letting him have his own relationship with Michael was an asphyxiating level of maturity which she hoped could be momentarily mollified with avoidance. As far as she was concerned, the less they talked about Michael, the better.
But that didn't mean she wasn't thinking about him. She plunked down the stairs, her low-grade seething still able to power her day well into the evening.
The things he's said to me! Ugghhh! Just the thought of him touching me feels like I'd disintegrate beneath his fingers. Flinching internally, her heartrate continued to whir, and she found herself wishing she had a treadmill at home.
Angela made a hot cup of tea to settle her nerves. She sat down, cross-legged, on the couch and her memories joined her.
All the slammed doors that woke up Jonathan. His embarrassing displays. The ferocious one-liners, specifically crafted to rip her to shreds. I'd stood there and taken it. All those years, I didn't say anything. Why? Why did I think that was okay? Somewhere deep inside her, she heard, 'Why wouldn't it be?' Ugly as it was, that voice felt familiar and in-charge. Tipping her head back, she exhaled in frustration. I guess I'm used to feeling lonely and left.
As baseless as she understood it was, she didn't know how to stop believing she deserved to be treated like this. 'Trust the truth,' Isabel had said. I guess, even if I don't feel it, I can still act on what I know to be true. She smiled thinking of the action she'd already taken. She couldn't wait to see the soft cream and mauve motif come to life upstairs. That feels really good - caring about something I want. Her smile involuntarily widened. Under her currently held beliefs, this should feel selfish and wrong, but it didn't.
Should
I "should" be missing my husband; he's been gone for so long. Under "normal" circumstances, yes, I 'should'. But that isn't my story. Angela started to feel a heaviness in her chest. 'We come, we endure, and then we leave.' He'd revealed his life motto years ago. She shut her eyes to the pain. That is all he wanted. I just didn't want to believe it. He could be great when he wanted to be with me. I really do feel like all he ever wants until he's done with me. Every time. She dropped her forehead into her palm and rubbed it fruitlessly.
It was all so cruelly confusing. She remembered admitting to Wendy that they loved each other as much as they hated each other. Angela smiled and slowly lifted her head. Wendy wasn't shocked by that at all. These conflicting emotions weird me out and scare me, but it seemed obvious to her. I just want there to be one bad guy, and there isn't. I want to know my target and go after it with all that's in me. That's what I'm trained to do. But this is like having to kill a pet that's contracted rabies…Angela scowled. Well, maybe a really ugly dog who growled at you all the time anyway.
What would it have been like if he would've agreed to come home, take that job? I know I couldn't do what he asked. Just the thought of sitting on a soaked tree branch, face smeared in Bug Off, sweating through every article of clothing as I attempt to "make dinner" over an open fire…that's not happening. Michael never liked Manhattan, but he acclimated well. When we got married, he was such a baby. But he got in a groove and found outlets he could deal with… His promotion helped give him power and autonomy... Angela sighed. 'Outlets he could deal with' - I don't want him to "deal with" his life. He said he didn't want to be in the city, and I want him to be happy... I just wanted him to be happy with me. But he's not. She felt her chest tighten and her anger rise. And then he gets mean.
Angela didn't want to believe Michael couldn't be happy with her. She just wanted to be mad that he wouldn't. But he does want to. I want to. Why can't we be happy? She took a sip of her tea and placed the cup on a coaster. She slumped back into the couch. Michael said this same stuff years ago at Chesterton's. I just wasn't listening. I didn't want to. I mean, he was right there, living and breathing, in front of me. Even in all his anger, he wanted me; I could feel it. And I really wanted him. It just wasn't enough for either of us. She pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged her shins in close. Why? She felt Jonathan's plea come out of her heart in her own voice.
The truth is, with Michael gone, the hope is gone. The hope for "us". That's what hurts. It's not him being gone that's the problem - actually, things are much less chaotic without him. But him being gone and still thinking, hoping, one day we could be happy - that hurts - because we aren't, and the unfulfilled waiting is excruciating. Angela considered this. She actually felt less like clawing his eyes out when she could accept that they couldn't make each other happy.
She tried to accept it, really understand it. We can't fit together like we want to, and now I don't even want to. She did start to breathe easier, but it was sad, and she didn't like it. It hurt. We've been together over seven years! …Was it all for naught? She remembered telling Michael that wasn't true. But was it? Did I just want to believe that my investment hadn't been pointless? We did try. Is that enough to be worthwhile? Is the experience gained worth all we've lost, all this pain? Ugh! We did get Jonathan…
Angela rolled her eyes at herself. Am I just trying not to be sad? Am I trying to think it through enough, so I can rationalize the pain away? The truth is, this is just really, really sad. Like hearing an earthquake before it hits, Angela knew her tears were coming for her and didn't try to stop them. It was nice to have the company.
Crying on the couch, she realized she wasn't just sad, she was hurt. She'd often see Michael's mean expression in her mind. She had many memories from which to choose. That cruel and derisive look reminding her that her station offered no privilege. It hurt deeply and shoved her loneliness into the spotlight. She felt herself looking around frantically, wanting him to be gentle and kind, wanting him to be her friend. If she'd inadvertently hurt him, she wanted him to talk to her and try to understand what had happened. But his go-to was a cataclysmic reaction of disgust and fury. He had zero regard for reigning in his own pain, content to unleash it on her as mercilessly as a wizard casting a spell.
Merciless. Like his family is to him.
I don't want to be in his family. It's sad that he is, but I don't want that. I don't like it, and I can't stand the thought of either me or Jonathan becoming the same way. Michael already thinks I am. He thinks I don't care how he's lonely and hurting, but he's wrong. At least, he was.
I've been so lonely with him! It's a gaping hole, and it felt like I was filling it when we touched. That's how this whole thing started. He was there for me, saw me, when I needed him. He cared. I could always feel how he felt when he touched me. He wouldn't say it, but he'd show me. That's as real and present as we ever were. Angela tilted her head, not entirely sure that sat right. She scoffed. …save for when we were screaming at each other. She thought of the way they'd yelled at each other on the way to La Torre, and how they were too afraid to do it again until the parking garage at Newark. It was all so big. The truth was too big for our fantasy, and we knew it. …We just wanted it. Badly. I gave up so much of myself to make it happen.
Angela crunched her neck to the side and squinted her eyes. It all hurt so much. Even now, she knew if he were here, she'd yell at him again and hope to God she didn't wake up with her head on his chest. I don't want that; I'd restart this whole, hopeless cycle, and I have GOT to get out of it. He doesn't want to be with who I want to be. She started to feel her fury build - she was so angry - but she couldn't sustain it. And I don't want to be with who he's choosing to be.
Oh, this is all so exhausting!
Heaving herself off the couch, she picked up her mostly-full cup of cold tea and trudged toward the kitchen.
That's enough pain for tonight.
The next afternoon, Angela brought a cold can of soda up to her bathroom.
"Johnny?"
Her lead contractor was working the Sunday shift alone, and she thought she'd take a minute to go say, "Hi".
Johnny made a considerable effort to turn his face up to her from where he was bent over a big bucket. With a grunt, he bent straight back up at the waist, where he amply filled out his Carhartt overalls. "Yes, ma'am?" he breathed.
Angela smiled kindly, "Would you like a soda?"
Johnny returned her smile and plodded over to her. "That's right nice'a you. Yes, please," he said, wiping the sweat off his face.
He took the soda and Angela looked around, obviously pleased at his work. Johnny popped the top and took a sip.
"Everything's coming along nicely," she smiled.
Johnny followed her gaze around the room. "Yuh," he nodded in contentment. "You sure do like pink."
Angela chuckled a little and walked over to run her hand along the countertop. "Yes, I do. I never really cared about what I liked before." She turned toward him and smiled, "But this feels like me."
"Well, good." He waved his thumb toward the picture in her bedroom. "Your husband seems like an understanding fellow."
Angela looked down, wishing she could throw that picture away. Jonathan would notice, and with him thinking I still want his daddy to come home as much as he does, his heart has softened toward me. She felt guilty being manipulative, but things were difficult enough and she just wasn't ready to deal with that yet.
Angela answered Johnny quietly. "He's, uh…he's not really going to be around…" She looked back up at him, cautiously trying to collect herself. "So, I don't think it's going to matter."
Johnny glanced away for a second, but then gave her an empathetic smile.
I can't believe I just told him that. The pull to bring someone kind into her heart had been gaining strength recently – especially a man - and she didn't know why. She wasn't interested in Johnny. I guess I just want a guy to be nice to me. Her neediness embarrassed her, and she tried to shake off the conversation.
Angela walked over to his bucket, "What's this for?"
Swallowing a large gulp of soda, Johnny squinted and pointed toward the drywall. "I'm mixin' up some paste for your wallpaper over there."
"Ooh! That sounds like fun."
Johnny looked a little amused, "Yuh."
Angela bit her lower lip, staring down at the concoction, and kind of swung from foot to foot over the bucket.
With a resigned smile, Johnny put his soda on the counter. "Would you like to give it a go, Miss Angela?"
Her head spun up to him as effortlessly as her hands flew in the air. "Might I?"
"There you go, just put a little more on with the roller there and…uh-"
"Like this?" She said, rolling a giant glob onto the paper.
Johnny breathed out steadily. "Uh, yeah... Maybe not quite so much paste next time. It's…uh-" He looked at her childlike face and sighed another smile. "…You're doing great."
"I can't believe I'm wallpapering!" she laughed, pushing the roller up and down the wall.
Johnny smiled and rubbed the back of his neck, "Yuh, you're doin' it…"
"So, once the paste has a chance to dry a little, we pick it up and smooth it out?"
"Here's hopin', ma'am," he said with a nervous chuckle.
Angela got to the end of the wall, the strips peeling in large, damp ribbons from where she'd placed them with such care.
"Well!" Angela said rubbing her hands against each other. Johnny handed her a shop rag, and she tried to take it from him like he hadn't just handed her a rodent. Wiping her hands dutifully, she turned to look up at her work.
"So, about how long does this take to dry?"
"Oh, hopefully, we'll have a little time to work with. …Say, I was just thinking about my insurance. Um, I'm not sure it covers me if someone else does the work." Angela's head went back in realization. "I should probably finish this up on my own."
"Oh, yes. Of course. Well, thank you for showing me how, Johnny. It was a delightful experience!"
His smile didn't take long to go from frozen to warm. "You're welcome, Miss Angela. Thank you for the soda."
Angela patted his shoulder and smiled as she left him to his work.
"Oh, Miss Angela?"
She popped her head back in the bathroom, "Yes?"
"…I know it's not my business, but maybe be pretty careful with who you tell that your husband isn't going to be here?"
Angela's face froze.
Johnny's gentle expression contorted into all kinds of uncomfortable. "You just never know, and uh…I wouldn't want nothin'…I mean. I'd just want you and your son to be okay."
A small but grateful smile broke through Angela's fierce blush. She nodded and answered softly, "Thank you, Johnny," and left the room.
Johnny turned to look up at the wall and allowed himself an extensive exhale.
A/N: I don't remember everyone who was in the ig discussion, but I believe markaleen made the comment that there's no way Michael would've lived in Angela's bedroom/bathroom that was in the first season of the show. (If it was someone else, lemme know and I'll be happy to credit whoever it was!) But that made a ton of sense to me, that she would've been done with compromise at this point. I'm grateful for the idea!
Also, on another platform, drquinngeekery took issue with Angela's claim in Protecting the President that she hung the bathroom wallpaper, and I think that was an *excellent* point. But maybe she thought she did. ;)
