What if you took a few gulps of mine?
I want to roll around on the floor with him. I want to smell his hair. I want to kiss his neck. I want to sneak into one of those doctor on call rooms they have on soap operas and make love to him on the bunk beds. I want to show him what I have missed. Show him what he has missed. Show him what I have learned. I want to lose sight of where I end and he begins.And we will do that. I know that. But I also have to remember that this is the beginning of the solution. This is the part where we do the work to fix our marriage.
I love you, I say, my voice quivering. My muscles relaxing. My eyes filling with tears.I love you, too, he says, his voice breaking into a cry. It’s a controlled cry. His tears barely make their way over the edge of his eyelid.And it is now that I understand the true value of the past ten months.
Sure, I have learned things about myself. I’ve learned what I want in bed. I’ve learned to ask for what I need. I’ve learned that love and romance don’t have to be the same thing. I’ve learned that not everyone wants one or the other. I’ve learned that what you need and what you want are both equally important in love. I’ve learned a lot. But I could have learned these things with Ryan by my side. I could have sought out these lessons with him instead of away from him. No, the true value of this year isn’t that I’ve learned ways to fix my marriage. The value of this year has been that I finally want to fix my marriage.I have the energy to do it. I have the passion to do it. I have the drive. And I believe.
I want my marriage to work. I want it to work so bad that I feel it deep in my bones. I know the sun will rise tomorrow if I fail. I know that I can live with myself if we don’t make it. But I want it. I want it so bad.
So you’ll stayed married to me? Ryan asks. It has the weight and vulnerability of when he asked me to marry him, all those years ago.I didn’t say good-bye to Thumper. I couldn’t do it. It makes me sick to think about sleeping in this stupid apartment tonight. I don’t have a bed yet. I don’t have much of anything yet except our TV. My friends have helped me put everything where it sort of belongs, and they left about an hour ago.
I’m miserable. I’m f**king miserable about this. I was glad when my friends left, because I didn’t have it in me to pretend to be OK anymore. I’m not OK. I feel sick. I’ve lost my wife and my dog. I’ve lost my home.I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m writing this. I don’t even know if I’m going to send it. Part of me thinks that you and I have been so dishonest with each other lately that a little honesty, a little discourse, might improve things. I have spent so long saying, Sure, I’ll go to the mall with you to pick out new lipstick, when I didn’t want to. Saying, Yeah, Greek food sounds great, when it doesn’t, that I hate you for it now. I hate Greek food, OK? I hate it. I hate how we can never just get a hamburger anymore. Why does every dinner have to be a tour of the world? And if so, why can’t we just stick with normal shit like Italian and Chinese? Why Persian food? Why Ethiopian food? I hate it. And I hate that you love it. It’s so pretentious, Lauren. Just eat normal food.
Ah. See? This is why I know that it’s good that I left. I hate you for liking falafel. I don’t think that’s healthy.But also, I don’t know that it’s so unhealthy that it means I have to sleep alone tonight on this shitty carpet.