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Bloberta is doing the dishes when she hears the familiar sound of the front door opening, essentially breaking the silence in her mind. She's been softly humming as her hands worked, moving in autopilot as she did something she could do blindfolded, with one arm tied behind her back. Her peace is interrupted by someone getting in.
She can't remember locking the door. Shapey is often outside playing, will scream until he's let out like some unruly dog. Orel does the same, though most times he will stick to playing at home in his room. She has no clue what he does in there but it's none of her business. But this time, it can't be Shapey and it can't be Orel.
She often doesn't keep track of where they come and go but she knows that Shapey is in the kitchen now, she knows because every now and then he'll make his presence known by shouting "drink" and trying to grope her chest. And Orel is in his room. He's always in his room these days, still hasn't quite gotten over his dad leaving.
His dad. Of course. Bloberta hasn't even had the time to get alarmed but she urges herself to be calm, she knows who just walked in. And judging by the loud and fast footsteps coming from upstairs and then the sound of her eldest son sprinting down the stairs, Orel knows too. She goes to the living room just in time to see Orel hug his dad tightly.
"Dad!" he shouts like he's witnessing the second coming of Jesus Christ.
Clay doesn't respond to the hug at first, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides until he sighs and holds Orel's shoulders for a second. He pushes him away gently. He makes no effort to look at Bloberta and she bitterly refuses to let that bother her. Clay has been gone for some time. She can hardly muster up the energy to hate him anymore.
"Wow," Clay laughs weakly, his face contorted in what could be disgust but could also be plain awkwardness. "Someone missed me."
He sounds entirely unconvincing when he says it, like he's trying to be sarcastic. But Orel did miss him. Enough to make Bloberta wonder if the kid likes her at all. He's been so utterly inconsolable since Clay left, took his departure harder than any of them did. Bloberta even suspects he's aware of her meetings with Roger Papermouth.
And that he doesn't approve.
"I really did, dad. Where'd you go?"
Clay's gaze wanders around the house and Bloberta can feel him looking for an excuse. All he manages is another laugh, so forced that it sounds more like a sob and then he shrugs.
"I've been around, son. That's all you need to know."
And Orel nods dutifully, mentally preparing to do what he always does as the mindless lap dog he often acts like. He clearly has a lot more to ask his father. He keeps fiddling with his hands like he's not sure what to do with them, they're probably itching to reach for Clay again. But he stays put. He can tell that's not what Clay wants.
"Orel, how'd you... how'd you like to see your grandpa again?"
Bloberta's mouth hangs open in shock before she can even think of the implications of what he just said. Orel's eyes go wide, he starts actually bouncing up and down like he can't physically contain himself. Clay looks pained. Like he's actively having a heart attack as he's speaking, he's disheveled, sweaty, his hair is a mess and he looks wornout.
God, the man is absolutely pathetic. How could she ever think he would make a good husband? How could anyone? She can't help but wonder what he's been doing for the past months. Where he's been staying. He doesn't look drunk for once but he does have a haunted look in his eyes. And this sudden talk about his father. He couldn't possibly be...
"But..." Orel hesitates a bit, obviously nervous to be contradicting his father as soon as he came back home. "You told me that grandpa couldn't be trusted."
Bloberta looks at Clay with a side smile, not at all discouraged by his persisting refusal to look her in the eye. She wonders how he'll get himself out of that one. She knows he most likely will dismiss Orel like he does whenever he asks something he doesn't particularly want to talk about but part of her wonders if he'll go back on his word.
"Well, Orel," he shifts his gaze to the ground, seemingly unable to even look Orel in the eye. "Sometimes people can change their minds."
This surprises her. Clay doesn't seem like the type to change his mind on anything and she would know, she's been married to the man for twenty years. Was. She isn't anymore. It's always hard to remember that, her identity was always so closely tied to being Clay's wife. Bloberta Puppington. It's hard trying to be Bloberta Hymentact again.
Especially when it never felt like she quite belonged in that regard either, how sad is that? She couldn't even fit with the family she was born in. In a way, she has to admit... she's just as pathetic as Clay. But she can live with that. As long as she doesn't have to be pathetic with him, everything's fine. They can be equally pathetic apart.
"I'm really glad you're back, dad."
Clay blinks slowly, looking like he can barely hear what's being said. Bloberta rethinks her impression that he isn't drunk but further inspection of him, that is just looking closely, doesn't reveal any of the usual signs. For one, he doesn't reek of it. She can't smell the faint breath of pure alcohol in the air that she's come to associate with him.
"Thanks, son," Clay says, again very slowly.
Even as he speaks he seems to be in deep thought about something. It's the first time she's seen him think so hard about what to say before saying it. It's a little, no, more than a little disconcerting to see this sober, rational, willing to give second chances version of her husband. Her ex-husband. She can't help but wonder if it'll last.
"I prayed to God every day that he'd make sure you get back home soon," Orel continues, clearly very proud of himself. "Oh! And I asked Reverend Putty to pray for you. So you'd find some peace of mind."
It's obviously something he heard from an adult, she can tell by the way her son phrases it. But she does know it's true. Orel has been insufferable lately, constantly asking her about Clay, where is he, when is he coming back, mom? Why did he leave, mom? Did I say something to make him upset? Did I do something?
She had neither the patience for his incessant questioning, nor the time. She has been investing quite a lot on her newfound relationship with Roger Papermouth. And the man has proven to be a promising lover. Bloberta admires the shiny necklace he gave her, after practically thanking her for taking his money from him.
It feels nice to get a man's attention after being married to Clay for so long. It's not enough, most of the time. She can feel that familiar numbness creeping up whenever she stands still for too long, can hear the white noise filling her head when she gets up and stays in bed for a while, staring at her own hands. Unable to move.
Finding something to clean around the house usually fills her head with the peaceful kind of silence. The silence that isn't filled with a dark hole in her chest devouring every thought that she should get up and do something productive. Instead, she feels the silence of her mind finally being brought to peace. She focuses on a task and it does the trick.
"Good boy, son," Clay says after what feels like too long.
He's still taking his time responding. And being far more gentle with Orel than he's been in the past. He hasn't snapped at him at all now, hasn't run off to his study and grumbled about never being left alone. He obviously wants to, she can see in the way his shoulders are tense, in the way he seems to shrink into himself.
He's very clearly fighting against every instinct in his body that begs that he gets away from his family now. The real question is why. Why is he fighting against it rather than giving in? What changed in his time away that he now seems to want their son to have a relationship with his grandfather? She really doesn't think he could actually...
"I've also been showing Shapey pictures of you every day! So he doesn't forget what you look like. I heard that can happen when people are away for too long, little kids can actually forget how they look," Orel overshares as usual.
Bloberta laughs, what difference would it make if Shapey remembered Clay's face or not? Not like he's even the boy's father.
"Uh-huh. Great."
Orel doesn't seem willing to stop talking anytime soon, "Coach Stopframe has been asking about you."
"He has?" Clay asks, seeming genuinely surprised.
"Yep. He asks me about you every time I have PE class. You should give him a call. I've been told it's healthy for divorced parents to have friends to help them through... the process."
Ugh, that. Orel has been obsessed with divorced couples since Clay left. The one time Roger came to their house to take Bloberta out, Orel pestered him with question after question about his divorce. Roger ended up crying at one point. It was a very uncomfortable thing for Bloberta to witness. A man crying. She doesn't think she's ever seen that.
For all she's very familiar with all sides of her husband, ex-husband, especially the most pathetic sides of him, she's never been a witness to him actually crying before. Even if she was, she doesn't think she would be able to do much about it. It deeply bothers her, seeing grown men cry. It doesn't look natural. It's abominable.
"I'll make sure to do just that, then," Clay says and he finally seems ready to get back to his study, Bloberta sighs in relief when she feels the routine kicking in.
For a moment, nothing happens. She stands there waiting for this strange interaction to be over so she can go back to the dishes while Orel keeps staring at his father expectantly, a smile plastered on his face. Clay stares at him just as intensely, like Orel is some elaborate puzzle he needs to solve. Finally, he sighs in what appears to be resignation.
"You can go back to whatever you were doing," he groans. "I'm not going anywhere."
Orel nods, "Oh, alright then. Bye, dad!"
And he runs back upstairs, eager to take any instructions Clay gives in, possibly believing if he does what his dad wants the man will have no reason to leave. Bloberta crosses her arms, still staring at Clay as she patiently waits for him to stop being such a coward and finally face her. She hopes he notices the new earrings Roger got for her.
Hopes he asks her about it, so she can see the look on his face when she tells him she already has someone. It's not like she hates Clay, at least she doesn't think she does anymore. It's that this is too good not to shove in his face. She's waited years for someone to appreciate her the way she deserves. Clay needs to know she can have that.
"Well, that was an interesting conversation," she remarks, hoping to aggravate Clay.
She succeeds in making him look at her for once, his eyes sunken and tired and completely full of disdain. Bloberta raises her head up high, her hair tucked behind her ears to make the shiny earrings she has on very visible. It still takes a frankly embarrassing amount of time for Clay to finally notice, his gaze turning from poisonous to confused.
"Are those new?"
He would never have noticed them if they didn't look so pricey, she knows that. The fool is most likely wondering when and if he ever bought something as extravagant for her. Bloberta does feel a surge of irritation rising in her chest but it easily goes away when she realizes this is the opening she needs to start bragging.
"Oh, you noticed?" she asks, all fake sheepishness. "Yeah, they're new. Roger bought them for me. Aren't they pretty?"
"Roger... Roger Papermouth?" Clay asks, dumbfounded.
Bloberta grins, "Yes. We've been seeing each other. We do have a lot in common, going through divorces and all."
Clay stares for what feels like an eternity to her, his face contorted in what could be jealousy, could be hatred, could be disgust. His mouth moves slowly, forcing a smile that looks almost painful as he grinds his teeth. Bloberta swears she can hear his jaw click from how hard he's trying. It somehow manages to be both hilarious and concerning.
"Good for you," Clay speaks through his teeth.
She's relieved to see they're heading to the same old routine. Of course they don't need to lie and call each other dear or honey anymore. But they're still being dishonest. Still not quite saying what they mean. She never tells him she pretended he was dead in her head while he was gone, never tells him how fun that was.
But she also doesn't tell him she doesn't think she hates him anymore. That she stopped caring. Not like before, when she would pretend not to care but be on the brink of sobbing in helplessness every time she remembered what she turned him to, who she had to live with. A monster of her own creation. Now she genuinely doesn't think she cares.
Maybe that's why the idea of going back to normal doesn't upset her as much. Things may not actually change between them but in a way, everything's changed. She changed. And it no longer matters to her if Clay manages to change or not, whether that be for the better or for the worse. It is no longer her problem.
"Good to have you back," she says and she doesn't mean it at all.
She goes back to the kitchen. Back to the same old life, only this time it's nothing like before. But one thing didn't change, will probably never change. They're still being dishonest. They still look each other in the eye and say the exact same lies. Exchange the same courtesies. Pretend they're not both liars. There are very few moments of honestly between her and Clay.
She thinks their last fight, the one that led to the divorce, may very well have been the last one of them.
And she's fine with that. She can live with that.