* * *
“Why?” Bill asked the next night.
He’d insisted on picking me up from work, but had avoided me through dinner, and as I’d returned to the couch for another night. He hadn’t spoken to me until now, in the middle of the night. I didn’t know what time it was as he perched on the edge of the couch, rousing me with his one-word question.Why?
I rubbed my eyes and examined his silhouette in the dark. I sniffed the air. “Have you been smoking?” I asked, the words grating from my throat. Bill had quit after our wedding and hadn’t had a cigarette in years as far as I knew.
He shifted. “Just answer the question.”
“Why . . . ?” I repeated. I didn’t think I could ever explain David and me. Even if I were courageous enough to try, it would never make sense to Bill. “I was attracted to him. When Davena died, I felt . . . threatened. Scared. Life is so short. I didn’t know it at the time, but I panicked. I was attracted to him,” I said again. “That night, he was there.”
“And I wasn’t.”
I wanted to reassure him that if he had been, things might have been different, but it would be a lie. The events leading up to that first night had made me reckless. But it would have happened anyway, I knew. The proof was evident every time I was near David.
“Things were perfect before,” he said into the darkness. “This will change everything.”
“Bill,” I said, hedging. “Things were not perfect.”
“We’re happy, though. We don’t argue, we’re still intimate, I respect you. I don’t abuse you. We don’t eat dinner together as much as we used to, but that’s temporary until work settles down. We have good friends. When was the last time we fought?”
“I know that to you, it doesn’t make sense. But there are . . .” I proceeded carefully. “Other things that played a part in all of this. You put so much pressure on me about the future.”
“But you knew this was coming,” he said. “The house, a baby—you knew.”
“And because I knew, I feel guilty that I’m not ready.”
“I can’t believe we’re discussing this once again,” he said.
I sat up against the arm of the couch and flipped on the bedside lamp. “Because you dismiss my feelings, like you are now. Don’t do that.”
“What am I supposed to do? Tell you that it’sokayyou don’t want kids? That it’sokayto continue living like college students in this shoebox? Sure, honey, let’s wait until we’re forty to decide.” He put his elbows on his knees. “No, Liv. It’s unacceptable. It’s impossible. You don’t know what you want.”
“I’m not saying I’ll never want those things, but I don’t feel that way now,” I explained. “And when you tell me what I want and ignore my concerns, I shut down.”
He sounded far away when he responded, “I hope you aren’t trying to turn this on me.”
“I’m not, but you asked why I did this. I’m telling you that sometimes, I don’t feel that I have your support.”
“How can you say that to me?” His expression fell. “I’ve always supported you.You’rethe one who’s emotionally unavailable.”
I cocked my head. “And you love that. It means not having to deal with the real issues.”
He withdrew, clearly taken aback. “I love that? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Yes, you do,” I said, emboldened by a truth that had gone unspoken too long. “You see what you want to see. It’s easier to ignore the problems.”
“Whatproblems?”
“Problems between us. My issues growing up. My fear to open up, to move forward in this marriage.”
“Hang on a sec,” he said. “You’ve made it clear over the years that you hate when I ask too many questions. You don’t talk about your parents’ divorce, period.”
“Then make me tell you!” I pleaded. “God, Bill, all those times I brushed you off, you never cared enough to try harder. Things are always enough for you, and . . . they aren’t for me anymore.”
“This doesn’t make any fucking sense.Youdon’t make any sense. Give me one example of how I’ve not cared about what you have to say.”
“I’m not going to play games and go tit for tat—”
