“Showing up. Yes, that’s the role my dad played,” Dakota said.
“You’ve probably seen on social media the viral post about the woman who had an amazing Christmas all laid out. Every wish met. Everything was glorious and festive. In the video, the dad said it was his favorite time of year. Then one of the kidspoints to the empty stocking. ‘Why is there an empty stocking?’ ‘Oh,’ says the mom, ‘that’s mine.’”
“Empty?”
“Her husband loves Christmas because he gets all of the joy and zero of the mental load and physical work. She was cut out of the joy but carried the entire load. Not only the load, but she’s also responsible for the outcome. Everyone’s happiness lands in her lap. Their disappointment is her failure. Her disappointment goes unnoticed.”
“I’m not on social media much,” Dakota said. “I didn’t see it. But I can picture it because I’m sure that’s what happened every year in my house growing up. My sister and I would make something special for each of our relatives. Simple things, I remember one year I dipped fat pretzel sticks into chocolate and then got to decorate them with sprinkles. I had a great time doing it. I remember how proud I was and how everyone praised my good job. It was mom’s good job figuring out that it would be happily received if it were made by a little kid.”
That image charmed Rylee. “How old?”
“Four? Maybe five? I never remember my dad or anyone wondering how we could make Mom happy.” He paused. “Man, that hits hard.”
“She plans. He follows. Our culture expects women to have unrealistic amounts of energy to remember everything about everything for everybody, while the partner simply shows up knowing all will go well.”
“It’s unfair at best and borders on abusive—emotional abuse.”
“I agree. And I brought this up because you asked. And I assume you want me to tell you the truth.”
“Always,” Dakota said.
“On the ‘What I don’t want in a relationship’ list is for someone to assume that planning and forethought are gender roles. In scientific studies, that’s simply not borne out.”
“No, she’s shackled with it.”
“I mentioned the end of my marriage came from the love language issue. But this was another big one for me. It helped to end my first marriage. I was deployed to Afghanistan, and I’d get back to base happy to read messages from home. My messages from hubby weren’t, ‘How are you? I’m thinking about you and sending you love.’ They were, ‘Who’s the plumber?’ ‘Did I have my cholesterol checked?’ ‘You didn’t remind me that it was my sister’s birthday. Did you have a gift and card ready for her somewhere?’”
“That’s extreme.”
“You think? I don’t know.”
“Yeah, that’s bad. Are you wondering if I ascribe to that way of living?” Dakota asked. “I wasn’t paying attention, now I will. What I can tell you is that I live on my own. I haven’t forgotten a special day in years, maybe because I’ve learned to set alarms not just for the day, but also for the day when I need to make preparations. I travel a lot, I have to think ahead.” He stilled. “You have me reviewing my life.”
“How does it look?”
“The last lady I was dating, Rose, has two kids. She was always tired. Now, that I’m looking back on that—and I have a feeling that I’m going to have to do a lot of looking back and thinking this through—her emotions would catch quickly.”
“Short fuse? Overly emotional?”
“Exhausted, I think. Just before our relationship ended—it ended amicably—her kids’ pet died, and she was hysterical on the phone asking me to please come and take it to the garbage bin at her apartment before the kids came home, since she had no place to do a burial ritual with them. In the light of thisconversation, I could hear it in her voice that she was cooked. She didn’t have an ounce more to give.”
“I’m glad she had someone to call. If she was—as you called it—cooked, can you imagine what might have happened if you’d said no? In that moment, she had to have great faith in your integrity.”
“That’s really nice of you to say.”
“I met a woman named Rose,” Rylee said. “She looked like she was at the end of her rope. Like she didn’t have anything else to give. And yet, she gave me a lifeline. When she flashes in my mind, I send her something in the air. Do you believe in that?”
“I think I need a better idea of what you’re describing,” Dakota said.
“I think of someone, in this case Rose, and I know she was wrung dry, so I send her a smile, or I send her a thought like, ‘I hope something happens today that makes you feel special.’ Or ‘I hope some unexpected good comes your way that eases things for you—an empty parking spot close to the door, a whole street of lights that turn green, a spare twenty in your pocket so you buy yourself some chocolate.’”
“That’s very sweet. Do I believe in it? Yes. Tank and I communicate in pictures that we send back and forth. You know, Tank picked you out of the crowd at the race and wanted desperately to meet you. Tank fell in love with you at first sight.”
Rylee swallowed back the thick emotion that clogged her throat. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much that helps me right now.”
Dakota grasped her chin and tipped her head up so he could kiss her gently. “I asked what you didn’t want in a relationship.” He released her, and Rylee settled back against his chest. “I’d like to know the other side of that coin. What do you want from love?”
“Love?” Rylee’s voice was soft, so it wouldn’t carry to the others. “Simple things. I want to pile my fork high, so he can taste what I’m tasting. I want him to hold something out and say, ‘smell this.’”
