prompt. “You want to be one of those guys in a Nature Valley ad? Sitting on a mountain with your Labrador retriever, getting a hard-on over the smell of trees?”
“Yeah!” he nearly yells. “I want that. I think that’s how I’d thrive. But you’re not going to let me thrive, Naomi. I can already tell. You’re content right here in your cement prison—”
“Oh god.” I roll my eyes so hard, I see the spirit realm. “Take up hiking.”
“—begging to get seasonal depression by locking yourself in a dark room and never going outside. Going to work doesn’t count because you’re still sitting in a car during transit. And I see you, Naomi. I see you never looking at the sky or taking the time to stop and smell the—” He sees how excited I am for him to finish that sentence and he kills it abruptly. “You’re barely living, you know.”
“I had no idea you were so thirsty to be one with nature.” I use air quotes around one with nature. He hates it when people use air quotes. “What the hell kind of YouTube videos have you been watching in there on your computer wife? Seriously, where is this coming from?”
“MY HEART,” he roars, and he’s so sincere and agitated that I double over in a fit of laughter. “Shut up! Stop laughing.” He’s pacing now. He’s been putting some deep thought into this. Who is this man in my living room with Armageddon eyes and a yearning desire to skip rocks across a lake?
“I want a helmet with a flashlight on it,” he’s raving. “I want a fireplace. A shotgun in case of coyotes. I want shovels and a shed to put them in. I want a canoe.”
“Don’t let me stop you from getting a canoe,” I say, dead serious. “Nicholas, I’m here to support all your dreams. Please, go get a canoe. I’d love nothing more than to watch you paddle out into the middle of a lake.”
“I need to feel alive!”
“I think what you need is a granola bar and maybe a trial run with the Eagle Scouts.”
“I knew you wouldn’t take me seriously. That’s why I haven’t said anything. But I’m not keeping it bottled up anymore, Naomi, I swear to god. I’m going to start living the way I want. I’m going to have the life I want, everything I want, no matter what it takes. I don’t have forever; I’m already in my thirties.”
“You’re right, you’re practically an old man. Your time is now! Start living your best life.”
“I’m serious.” He pinches a nickel that’s sitting on the TV stand. “Heads, we start doing things my way. Tails, we stay the same.”
“You want to plan our lives based on a coin toss? That sounds about right.” I wish he’d flip a coin to decide the fate of our relationship while he’s at it. Heads, we break up. Tails, we flip the coin again. We could quit each other right now and blame it all on the coin.
He flips the nickel. It lands on the back of his hand. Nicholas stares at the glimmer of silver.
“Well?”
“I guess you’ll find out.”
“Fabulous, be sure to keep me in the loop.” I sprawl out on our three-seater, arrowing a lazy smile up at him. “Good night.”
“Good night? If you want me to go to bed, then you’re going to have to move. I’m taking the couch tonight.”
“No, you can have your bed full of Skittles. I’m staying right here.”
He storms back to the bedroom and closes the door with a barely audible snick that’s somehow even worse than if he’d shut it violently. I hear the lock turn, and then it’s just me alone in the silence.
We’ve never yelled at each other before. We’re usually so wary of rocking the boat that we’re maybe only eighty percent honest with each other. We’ve both dialed it up to one hundred for once, and logically I know I shouldn’t feel better now but I kind of do. As the minutes tick by and I listen to his dresser drawers close, our mattress springs compressing as he rolls over them as furiously as he can manage, I have an intriguing revelation.
We’ve been together for almost two years, and this is our first real fight.
It takes eight strategically placed pins to make it look like I do not have bangs. The disguise requires twenty-six minutes to perfect, and I skulk into the Junk Yard on Monday breathing a sigh of relief