Wanting to settle the score, I say, “He gave me a present the day after. It was a shirt made for me that said Serial Zipper. I didn’t think it was funny. He did.” Then I shrug. “He can be an ass like that.”
There, threw the first punch. Maybe we can stop all this lovey-dovey bullshit and start actually fighting in front of this man so he believes there’s absolutely no hope for us.
“I was trying to make light of a tough situation.” Wilder thumbs toward me. “She’s always been uptight, can’t take a joke.”
“I can take a joke when it’s funny,” I say. “You think I wanted to zip my husband’s penis inside a sleeping bag?”
“You once wished I zipped my dick in my pants when I forgot to unload the dishwasher.”
Ohhh no, you don’t. You’re not throwing me under the bus.
Gearing up for a battle of wits, I turn toward him, gloves on, ready to fight.
“That’s because you never unload it. You think I like coming home after working a hard day to find that you didn’t do the one thing I asked you to do?”
“Says the girl who never cleans up her hair off the shower wall.”
“Or the guy who doesn’t know what it means to shave his face over the sink.”
He laughs. “Real rich, coming from the girl who doesn’t understand what a recycling bin is. If it’s paper, it gets recycled.”
“Don’t play the saint. You miss recycling things all the time.”
He gasps in shock and then narrows his eyes. “I never do, and you fucking know that. But speaking of missing things, how about all the times I’ve asked you to wait to watch our showstogether, but instead you just watch them yourself while I’m at the gym?”
Motioning to him, I shout back, “You spend hours at the gym, and your muscles aren’t ever bigger.”
His face falls in shock. “Yeah, well, all those food blogs you read are useless, because your chicken tastes like cardboard.”
“That’s a family recipe!” I yell, unsure of where that came from.
“Okay, okay,” Sanders says as he lifts a hockey stick and puts it between us, backing us up against either side of the couch. “This was exactly what I was waiting for. I could see it in your body language, I could see you wanting to get it out, and now that you have, we can really start working.”
“There’s no use,” I say, waving off Sanders. “This is a joke. I think we both know where this is going. No point in continuing.”
“You see. This is what I’m dealing with,” Wilder says, gesturing toward me. “She doesn’t want to try. She doesn’t want to give me the benefit of the doubt. She’s ready to walk away.” He shakes his head and are those…oh my God, are those actual tears forming in his eyes? “I’m not ready to let go.”
Sanders nods slowly. “Yes, I see that.” He stands from his chair and then moves to the coffee table, where he takes a seat right in front of us. “I’ve seen many couples with this same sort of attitude. Some pettiness and built-up animosity cloud their vision on how to work on their marriage. I’m here to tell you, this is never over. Ever. Even if you think it is, you’re not even close to being over.”
Not the thing I want to hear.
But then there’s Wilder, nodding and taking my hand in his as if to say, “Yes, Sanders, we might still have a chance to repair this.”
No, you moron, we’re supposed to be mad at each other.
Hating each other.
Not holding hands in hope.
“Now that we’ve gotten here and found the point of contention, here is what I suggest?—”
“Can we just pause for a second?” I say, not wanting there to be a solution but really wanting to end this farce once we leave this office. “I’ll be honest, walking in here, I told Wilder to make it seem like we’re okay, because I wanted to save face. You’re my boss’s husband after all, but to be truthful, we’re both unhappy. And we’ve been unhappy for a while. And I don’t want to fool you into thinking that there is a chance we can change things.”
“She’s right.” Wilder nods, surprising me. “We can’t seem to get past the bitterness we hold in our hearts.”
Oh, give me a break.
“So I appreciate this session,” I say with finality, “but I think it’s best if we just move on.”
