My husband,\u00a0Mark, was frozen by the napkin dispenser. His hand hovered in mid-air, a statue of domestic terror. His face had drained of color, turning the shade of old, wet newsprint.<\/p>\n
The room waited. The parents, sensing the sudden drop in barometric pressure, paused with plastic forks suspended over paper plates.<\/p>\n
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I didn\u2019t freeze. I didn\u2019t faint. I felt a cold, crystalline calm settle over my skeleton. This was it. The moment the universe had finally decided to drop the other shoe.<\/p>\n
\u201cChelsea,\u201d I said. My voice was cheerful, loud enough to carry to the back of the room. \u201cSo glad you could make it.\u201d<\/p>\n
She tilted her head, a flicker of confusion dampening her smugness. She had expected tears. She had expected a scene where she was the young, vibrant victor and I was the frumpy, blindsided wife. She thought she was staking territory.<\/p>\n
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