and me. I feel the crisp air. I hear a car door slam. Voices trailing behind me.
Slowly, I’m sucked back into that memory.
I go willingly….
May 2014
A fresh new year of marriage should always come with arguments, tears, and frustrations. But a new batch of happiness, smiles, and laughter should always outweigh the bad. Always.
I tried to tell myself that, but as I sat across from Wes in the restaurant I knew it was all a farce. Gone were the days of making toasts and promises to each other and talking about what the future might hold.
There was this wall between us. It was transparent. Never noticeable to the public eye. Just to us. Sometimes I would forget it was there. Sometimes there were moments where I missed the Wes I fell in love with, reached out for him, only to be blocked.
This distance wasn’t instantaneous. We didn’t go from being in love with each other one second, to being virtual strangers the next. The more time passed and I wasn’t pregnant, the more resentful and frustrated I became. Making partner at the firm may have been Wes’s dream, but it wasn’t mine. Lately he’d been getting home later and later. I had more of a relationship with his voicemail than him. I kept trying to figure out how we got here, how we let it get to this point. Was it because of my desperation to start a family? Wes’s ability to go from zero to one hundred within seconds?
I didn’t know and it drove me crazy.
Our partnership that used to be so strong was now dismal. I remembered when we were engaged, how I would shake my head at the couples around us who were divorcing, separating, splitting. There were nasty spats. I would always think to myself: That will never be us. We will never let things get that bad.
But here we were.
Here we were.
Slowly, I moved my food around the plate and shot Wes a glance. His attention was on his food and it was as though today were an average day for him.
No happy anniversary. No nothing.
I didn’t expect a huge celebration, or any materialistic things. I just wanted an acknowledgment. A “Hey! We’ve made it through another year together. Next year will be even better!”
But we were almost done with dinner and I didn’t see that acknowledgment surfacing anytime soon.
He wiped his mouth and dropped his napkin on the table. There was a combative look in his eyes, as though I was his prey and he was the predator. It made me squirm in my seat. “Aren’t you going to finish?” he asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
He chuckled. “Victoria, Victoria…”
“What?”
He moved his arm away and stared at me. “What do you mean, ‘what’?” he said, his voice rising an octave. “Can’t I say your name?”
For a good second I looked him in the eye and tried to find a piece of the Wes that I loved. I couldn’t find even the smallest one.
“What?”
“God, we’re fucked-up.” I dropped my face into my hands.
His eyes flared up with anger and hurt. “That’s a shitty thing to say.”
“It’s the truth.” I lifted my head and stared into his emotionless eyes. “Do you even love me anymore?”
“Of course.”
“Can you tell me that you love me just as much as you did at the beginning?”
“No. I can tell you I love you more.” He said his words earnestly and with such apparent conviction that I almost believed him.
Almost.
Love is three-dimensional. So deep and vast. So powerful that you can’t say the word without the emotion splashed across your face and displayed in your eyes.
Wes’s eyes were dull and flat.
“I think our definitions of love are different,” I said quietly.
He barked out a laugh. “You live in a fucking garden. ‘Let me tend to this flower!’ ” He mimicked my voice. “ ‘Oh, this flower needs water.’ ‘And this one isn’t getting enough sunshine!’ ” One more mocking laugh. “If you get away from those flowers you might realize what love is.”
I shook my head.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked gruffly.
I wished I was mad. Mad was an emotion. An emotion that kick-starts your heart. I had nothing to give.
“You’re mad,” he announced.
He shifted. “I’m sorry. All right?” Wes’s voice lowered. It was gentle and imploring.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Fine,” I said. I put my fork down across my still-full plate, trying to think of how I could tell him the next thing I had to say as gently as possible. Yet I didn’t see any