"I thought that you were gonna text me if you were gonna be home late," I ask.
"Sorry. I thought I did honestly. And I looked and I didn't send the text. Here you can look at my phone and see," Lincoln explains as he walks over to me and hands me his phone.
The thing is, I'm caught between wanting to look at his phone to assure myself and also not wanting to do it, because me doing it is going to tell him I don't trust him and make me look petty as I stand there combing through his phone.
And then… what if he's lying?
I mean, we've always been honest in our relationship, but I don't know. I feel like this is a discussion that we need to really sit down and have. I give him his phone.
"Look, I shouldn't have to comb through your phone or see the proof that you drafted it, and you shouldn't be standing there making me feel worried about you not coming home," I tell him.
His eyes close very slowly and he takes a deep breath, still not looking at me as if he's exhausted. I try another approach.
"Baby, I'm so sorry if it seems like I'm putting a lot on you because I know you work hard," I attempt gently.
"No. It's fine. We need to talk about these things. And if it's making you unhappy, then let's talk about it. I just…" Lincoln trails off.
He pauses for a moment, putting his hands in his pockets, his head bowed, looking utterly exhausted.
"I'm just really tired. So if I'm not all there or I don't remember everything or I say the wrong thing, please don't hold it against me, Gabby," he pleads.
"It's okay. Look, we don't have to do it right now. It's just that for hours, I felt worried. It's now almost twelve o'clock and—" I begin.
"I know and I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," he apologizes, shaking his head very slowly from side to side, his eyes tight. I can see his body waver for a second.
"I mean, if you wanna talk about this tomorrow, I mean…" he mumbles, his words starting to slur.
"Are youdrunk?" I ask.
"No. I'm just really tired," he insists as he moves toward the couch.
I feel really bad for him. And I don't know, maybe it's just me, but I really feel like the asshole right now. I understand my feelings are valid. But he is working so hard, so maybe it's possible he forgot. But still, we're supposed to prioritize each other. And if other things begin to take up priority over our relationship, then I don't feel like we're gonna make it. And I wanna tell him all of this, and I actually prepare to.
I sit down beside him to his left, looking over at my husband as he folds his arms and puts on the most awake face that he can, which actually fails because his eyes can't open more than halfway.
"Lincoln?" I question, looking at him.
"I'm here, baby," he answers.
His voice sounds so tired, like he's trying his utmost to be here with me and failing. He looks over at me, takes his left hand, and rests it on my right thigh. He gives me a tired and weary smile.
"Please, let's talk," Lincoln urges.
His eyes look like they're barely opening, but then he sits back and rests on the couch, releasing a sigh.
I talk slowly.
"Wejusthad a conversation about you letting me know that you're gonna be home late. I don't wanna have to worry about you and, you know, thewholesituation. And I just…" I look around the room trying to find my words.
"I love you, and I don't wanna put more stress on you. It just feels like you're not considering my feelings," I tell him.
He nods very slowly.
"Okay. How is it that it feels as though I'm not considering your feelings?" he asks.
Is he angry? He seems to catch on to my expression.
"I'm not trying to invalidate what you're saying. Ipromiseyou. Like I said, I'm really tired, baby. I just want to know what it is that I'm doing," Lincoln explains.
