And then came his 35th birthday. That was the final straw.
We were having dinner when Todd casually informed me of his plans.
“Claire, I want a grand, proper birthday dinner this year. Invite the family, my friends, everyone.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You mean you want me to plan it?”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “You’re good at this kind of thing. Just make it nice, okay? I don’t want to look bad in front of everyone.”
“Nice?” I repeated.
“Yeah, just don’t go overboard or anything. Keep it classy.”
To be honest, I didn’t want to agree, but I decided to give him one more chance. After all, it was his birthday, and I wanted to make it special even if he didn’t deserve it.
For the next two weeks, I worked diligently on planning Todd’s “grand, proper birthday dinner.” If he wanted classy, I’d give him classy.
Every day after work, I’d come home, tie my hair back, and start cleaning, organizing, and getting everything ready. I even borrowed some extra chairs and a folding table from our neighbor, Janice, just to ensure everyone would have a place to sit.
What did Todd do? Absolutely nothing.
“I’m really swamped at work,” he said one night, kicking off his shoes and plopping down on the couch. “But you’ve got this, honey. You’re good at these things.”
Good at these things? I was so exhausted I almost wanted to cry.
But instead of getting angry, I just forced a smile and said, “Yeah, I’ve got this.”
The day of the party finally arrived.
I woke up early and made sure everything was flawless. The house was spotless, the table was set with beautiful tablecloths and handwritten name cards. The appetizers were in the fridge, the main courses were cooking, and the cake was adorned with some shiny gold accents.
Yes, I went all out.
Todd strolled into the kitchen around noon, glued to his phone as usual. He barely even glanced at the food I’d prepared.
“Looks good,” he said, closing the fridge door. Then, as if it were no big deal, he added, “But hey, uh, don’t worry about finishing all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to the bar with the guys to watch the game. Cancel everything. Tell everyone something came up.”
“You’re leaving your birthday dinner?” I asked. “Todd, I’ve been planning this for weeks!”
“It’s not a big deal, Claire,” he said, shrugging. “Just call everyone and tell them we’re busy or something. They’ll understand.”
“You can’t do this, Todd!” I shouted, but he had already left.
