“Karan, she’s disabled.”
It’s not the same as his parents. Not at all. There will come a day when Karan’s parents are older, or one of them becomes sick again. A day when they truly do need us more than they do now. But that day is not today.
“Sheneedsme. I’m the only real mother she’s truly known.”
“I know that, and that’s why I would have said yes!” I flinch at Karan’s volume, but he instantly reads me and lowers it back down. “But I should have been included in that conversation. Don’t you see that? You completely took away my power.
“Maybe out of spite because of the way I am with my parents, maybe not, but still, Rachel. That made me feel weak. And untrustworthy. Like…” His voice nearly breaks. “Less of a man.”
A wave of shame and guilt hits me with full force. For a moment, I’m speechless.
As long as I’ve known him, Karan never showed signs of being fragile in his masculinity. He didn’t mope whenever I defeated him at beer pong during our time in the CEGEP dorms at John Abbott.
When we both began our careers and my starting salary was higher than his, he celebrated me instead of feeling intimidated. Any time he got hit on by another man during our outings in the Village, he respectfully turned them down and seemed to feel flattered instead of freaked out.
But I’ve been taking all of that for granted.
My husband’s lack of fragility doesn’t mean he’s bulletproof.
Of course his lack of control would make him feel weak. He’s already conflicted about being under his parents’ thumb. How terrifying, how disorienting it must have felt for me to take away his control in our home as well.
I don’t remain in my speechless daze for very long, since these thoughts electrocute my mind in the matter of a second. Within the next passing second, I’m out of my chair and nestled in Karan’s lap, holding his head against mine, cheek to cheek.
“You’re as much of a man as you were when I married you,” I whisper to him, feeling a shudder passes through his body as he returns my embrace. “If not more. I’m so sorry, Karan.”
“I should have said something earlier, I know, but I was too fucking exhausted from work to even think about getting in a fight with you.”
Karan leans back to take my face in his hands. The way he looks at me makes me feel like the most precious thing in the world.
“All I ever wanted was to make you—and our sons—happy.”
I chuckle through my tears. “Maybe we both need to work on our boundaries with our families, then.”
“Yeah.” He strokes my cheek in a reverent motion. “Maybe it’s time we talk about going to couple’s counseling.”
My body goes rigid. Karan senses this, his expression shifting to worry. He knows what I’m going to say before I say it, but still, I’ve got to say it.
“I don’t know if a counselor can help us,” I whisper.
“This is different, Rach. It’s for the two of us.”
“But what if it isn’t?”
I’ve gone through multiple psychologists, therapists, counselors, you name it. There’s a lot of shit I needed to work through when I took my sister out of our childhood home and went no contact with our parents. But, in my experience, none of these professionals can ever tell me anything I don’t already know myself.
Apparently, I’m too self-aware for therapy.
“Baby. Look at me.”
It’s only when Karan says this that I realize I’ve let my gaze fall to the ground. My husband’s soft brown eyes remain patient, steadfast.
“Couple’s therapy is completely different from going alone. As long as we both go with an open mind, we can make this work.”
“I…” My chin trembles. “I don’t know.”
“Okay.” Karan places a hand on my shoulder. “How about we take a break?”
I nearly sob out of relief. “Yeah. Okay.”
