I peer out the front door of the bar to see Calvin’s black Sanders Hollow Ranch truck flying in.
I groan and point to my bartender, Dakota. “You’re up girl. I’m going to my office.”
At least I don’t need to have a public audience for this confrontation.
Voices grow louder down the hall.
“Dakota, it’s fine. You don’t have to lie for her, I know she’s here.”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t here. I said she’s mad at you and you should go home.” The sass in my bartender’s voice makes me chuckle a little. Her ferocity is why I hired her.
“She’s mywife, I’m going to fix it.”
“Oh really? Because you’re acting like herhusbandright now instead of a grown child throwing a fit?”
“She left me! I’m not going to sit by while she moves out!”
His boots stomp down the hallway.Fucking boots.My heart used to flutter when he’d call me his wife, when he would tell me how much he loves me and that he’s going to do everything he can to fix things, but that was too many apologies ago.
The door to my office flies open and a frantic Calvin is on the other side.
“Hello, Calvin,” I say flatly.
“Hello, Calvin? That’s what we’re opening with?”
“It’s a standard greeting, I don’t know what you were expecting.”
I swivel in my office chair to face him. I watch as he takes in the space full of suitcases and bags, a bed set up on the couch behind me. His eyes flit between me and all of my things.
“Is this what you want?”
“What Iwant?”I spit at him. “What I want is for you to be a grown man. My husband. I want a partner in life, not a child to take care of. I want a husband that will listen to me when I tell him I feel unloved and unappreciated. I want him to do thethings I’m telling him I need to feel loved. So, no, I don’twant this.”
His mouth falls open, staring at me, speechless. He has nothing to say, because this is the same conversation we’ve had countless times. At least he knows his usual platitudes won’t work this time.
“Are we done here? I have work to do.”
“No, we aren’t done. We areneverdone.” He pushes past me and starts rolling my suitcases toward the door.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m moving your ass back home. You aren’t leaving. We aren’t done. We’re going to fight about it and then things will be okay like they always are.”
I stand in front of him. Blocking him from leaving. “That’s the fucking problem! Things are going to go back to how theyalwaysare. I can’t do that anymore, Cal. I’m not happy.”
My admission makes him drop the handles he’s holding. “You’re not happy?” He questions in a small voice I’ve never heard from my husband before.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “No. I’m not, Cal. And I’m so tired of trying to fix us.”
He steps toward me, reaching out, but dropping his hands instead. “I didn’t know we needed fixin’.”
“I know you didn’t. But I’ve been telling you for years. And that’s the part that needs fixing.” I whisper.
He opens and closes his mouth, but doesn’t say anything before he walks past me and out of my office, closing the door.
My chest is heaving as I look at that closed door. I can feel the panic rising in my body and the tears filling my eyes. I’m frozen to my spot, staring.
I stuck to my boundary. I told him I wasn’t happy. And he left. So why don’t I feel better?
