The more you sit, the worse you feel, and the worse you feel the more you sit.
|I hadn't even made it downstairs before he was 'helping' me.
"Rome!" I heard him shout from the kitchen. It was on my left, so I ducked right, into the living room. I know he knew I was avoiding the subject, which is why he kept going.
"Ooh, or Fiji. I... don't know anything about it, but I've heard people say it a lot!"
Part of me wished there was a vocal equivalent of rolling my eyes that wouldn't make it sound like I fell on my face. The last thing I needed was to give him a reason to join me any sooner.
A few days ago I'd have felt guilty for avoiding my husband. Now, day three of a fourteen day vacation, I'd throw myself out a window to get out of talking about some 'cozy little cabin' or 'hot air balloon ride over the rain forest' (and why did all his ideas sound like the start of a horror movie anyway?)
I don't know how long I'd sat there before he finally gave up yelling at me across the house, bringing me a mug of coffee and a look that expressed just how hard he was trying to get me to open up.
I hated it.
"Dan, c'mon. You're gunna spend two weeks shut in at home?"
I looked him in the eyes, steeled myself to say something snippy and cool, and... sighed.
"I dunno Bobby, I just... I hate talking about this. Can't we talk about anything else? Please? How's your mom? We should call her."
"The last time you called my mom she made you cry."
"Well. Your mom is a very mean person."
He sat down next to me and scooted over, till we were hip to hip. It reminded me of sitting in the bleachers during gym.
"Why won't you at least try to think of somewhere to go?”
I didn’t have an answer to that, so I retreated into my coffee. He always knew how to make it the way I liked it. Too much cream, too much sugar, like I was drinking desert. Damn. He was always so patient with me, even though I was surely frustrating him to no end.
Finally I had to say something.
“Because all of me would rather stay here where I’m comfortable and safe and don’t have to worry about buying bottled water or learning a new language. Because I’m tired, and boring, and I just wanna sleep way too much and not have to worry about anything.”
Bobby had this look of pity he reserved for injured puppies and me when I’m feeling down. I expected him to use it now, but something else crept up. Made his eyes wide and mouth small. He stood up and turned his back to me.
“You always have these little… pity parties, Dan. I know the depression… But we both know sitting in this house doesn’t help you one bit. And. And I-”
His phone rang. He yanked it out of his pocket and let out a pleasant “Hello” that jived with his aggressively angular body language.
“Yeah, yeah I can give you a lift. No problem. Yea, seeya soon, bye.”
He didn’t turn back around.
“I’ve gotta go get dad, his car won’t start,” Bobby said, like he was talking to a child he was particularly pissed at.
“Got it,” I muttered like a child who pissed someone off.
I thought about how much frustration had been building up in my husband as he walked out the door. I hadn’t been easy to deal with without work as a distraction. I stayed in bed most of the day, watched TV all night, never had anything to say to him… no wonder he was so insistent on this vacation. He needed something exciting.
I slunk back upstairs after I heard his car pull out of the driveway, though there was no one to slink away from. Maybe myself? Can’t think like that, if anything because it sounds like what a sad teen would say in some YA novel. I reminded myself I’m an adult, damnit. A mopey and depressed adult but an adult all the same.
Instead of headed to the bedroom to mope, as was my plan, I found myself walking into the home office and sitting at the desk.
“Just try…” I muttered, booting up the computer. Putting even a tiny bit of effort into this vacation thing would at least make ME feel a little better.
Funny enough, though, I didn’t have to try at all. My browser already had my email opened, where I’d deleted some spam the night before. Today there was something new sitting inside.
That’s why now, three hours later, I’m pulling into my driveway. Bobby is sitting on the porch, duffel bag over his shoulder. He has this smile on his face, one I’ve only seen a few times since we’ve been married. It was his adventurous smile. I think the difference between this smile and all his others is the way he looks at me when he does it. Like we’re partners in crime.
It always makes me smile back.
“I think this is the vacation old gays take before they die,” he said, climbing into the passenger seat of the RV. He was joking. Kind of.
“We’re old and gay,” I kind of joked back.
“YOU’RE old, I’m still in my prime~”
I roll my eyes. He laughs, and I laugh too.
Before we’re even out of the driveway I’m wishing I’d thought of this earlier.