And when you love someone, you do what you can to make them happy, even when it’s uncomfortable.
13
Ace
Veronica’s on my fucking nerves again today.
So Raya’s text came through at the perfect time, buzzing in my desk drawer while I’m staring at a spreadsheet that refuses to reconcile.
Wifey
I RSVP’d yes to your mom’s holiday dinner
I read it twice.
And relief floods through me at the words on my screen.
Thanks babe. ILY so much
Unfortunately, the happiness I feel doesn’t last long, because here comes Veronica again, breezing into my office, smelling all good, looking annoying as fuck.
"I have a new set of requests from the home office."
And then I'm forced to spend the next two hours going line by line through expense reports, Osha reports, and inspection findings.
By the time we're done, I lowkey wanna drive her to meet Raya my damn self.
I pull up to Shakers a little after six, ready to drown my fucking sorrows. I feel like a pussy for needing a drink after a hard day, especially given the fact that my father raised me to deal with my problems head on, not slink off to a bar to lick my wounds.
Oh well.
It is what it is.
I slide onto a stool and order an old fashioned. My eyes shift up at the flat-screen behind the bar, my head shaking when a player fumbles at the six-yard line.
Almost had it.
The smoky drink goes down smooth with just enough burn to make my eyes water. The glass sweats against my palm. I’m debating on another when a group of men takes the stools a few feet away. They look tired, but they’re talking loud.
“Man, I swear to God I’m dreading that shit,” one of them is saying.
“Same. It’s a whole fuckin’ circus at my house, man. My in-laws are in town, too. I’m cooked.”
The oldest one laughs. “I’ma see if they’ll let me sleep here.”
“Nah, look at this shit,” the first one says, holding up his phone. “Read it.”
“How she too tired to cook? Don’t she stay home all day?”
“Now you see what I’m dealing with,” he says with a shake of his head.
Now, I freely acknowledge I’ve only been married a few months and am still deep in the throes of the honeymoon phase, I suppose, but all I can think is, if it’s that serious, why not take your bitch ass by Boston Market on the way home and grabsome takeout so homegirl can get a break? And if your in-laws are irritating, drink your beers at home to tune their asses out so your wife isn’t bearing the burden all by herself.
I don’t know, man. Listening to that sad group of grizzled old husbands, I have to wonder—is it inevitable, the way men start prolonging their time away from home? Staying a little late at a job they don’t even like…taking the scenic route…making extraneous stops…sitting in the car in the garage playing on their phone, promising themselves just one more song...
That last one was my father’s move.
I pray to God I never feel like that.
