He twisted in his seat so he was looking at her head-on.
“I’m fine, just talking,” she said.
He twisted back around, threw his own stick in the fire.
“I know this is a hard time for you,” he said. “You have the book. You’re still adjusting to motherhood. I’m trying to be patient.”
She flinched at the way he said the last part—I’m trying to be patient. There was a fatigue there she hadn’t known he felt.
“Oh, I see,” she said. “I’m testing your patience.”
He put his fingers to his temples like she was giving him a headache.
“Ang, you’re trying to pick a fight right now,” he said.
“Maybe a fight needs to be picked.”
He stood, started pacing. “Don’t do this,” he said, shaking his head. More exasperation.
“Do what?”
He stopped his pacing, stared at her.
“You’re trying to push me away. This is your pattern, remember? You don’t think you’re worthy of love, so you pick fights so people will leave you and confirm your belief that you’ll always be abandoned.”
He rattled off the narrative,hernarrative, like it was old news.
She stood in a futile attempt to be on his level—she was so much shorter than him, and the discrepancy made her feel powerless.
“You resent me,” she said, stating it as a fact.
“What?”
“I just realized ... you resent me.”
It was something of a revelation. She’d thought he was different from all the stereotypical new fathers that were fixated on their own unmet needs while their wives turned their attention to the helpless offspring. But no. He wasn’t.
“I don’t resent you. You’re doing your thing, picking a fight.”
“Looks like you got me pegged,” she said.
“That’s not—”
“Are youboredof me? Is that it?”
He let his head hang back and stared at the sky above them.
“You’re still doing it,” he said, speaking to the stars.
“I’m going inside,” she said.
She turned on her heel and started walking, waiting for him to come after her. This was the chase they’d played out years ago, in the beginning of their relationship, after the honeymoon phase had ended and their issues reared their ugly heads. She’d thought they had evolved from this. Their entire business was founded on them having evolved from this.
“I’m not following you,” he called after her.
He was refusing the chase. She knew that was the right thing to do, rejecting their old dynamic, but she couldn’t help but feel it as a rejection of her very self.
Her entire body hummed with heat and anger. She stopped on the path. Her breathing was fast and furious. She raised one arm above her head, her hand clenched in a rebellious fist, then released one finger—thatfinger—toward the sky. It was immature—it was not her higher self—but it felt glorious.
