“I don’t want to, Rhys.” There was a plea in her tone.
“Fine!” I flung my hands up. “I’ll ask Tory to be my plus one.”
Her eyes go from disbelief to hurt. “What?”
Tory’s a colleague. She’s one of the administrators with whom I get along quite well. I know that Jayne is jealous of my relationship with her. She doesn’t say it, but I can sense it.
“So, anyone will do on your arm, Rhys?” she asked softly.
“That’s not what this is about,” I replied tightly, regretting bringing Tory up. “This is about support. About showing up.”
“When do you show up for me, Rhys?”
“Stop making this a quid pro quo. I need you there,” I barked. “Come on, Jayne. I’m head of cardio. You know how it is.”
She looked destroyed, and guilt twisted in my gut.
Lately, it’s there every time I talk to her.
We went to bed angry.
In the morning, she woke up when I did what I do: shut the damn alarm off and get another five minutes before she wakes me.
She made me breakfast. She told me to have a nice day. She didn’t pout. She didn’t bring up the previous night until I did.
“Are you coming to the gala tonight or not?”
“I’ll be there.”
Relief loosened my insides.
She wasn’t rejecting me.
She was going to do what I wanted her to do.
She still loved me.
But now I’m the asshole, pressuring my wife to do something she doesn’t want to do.
I pick up my phone and text her:I’ll be home by five. We have to leave at seven sharp.
I stare at the sent message, thumb hovering, debating if I should add something softer.
So, I write:Looking forward to it. You’ll look beautiful. Thank you for coming.
She replies with a thumbs-up emoji, and I have averted a disaster,again.
When did my marriage become such a mess? It used to not be this hard. It used to be easy.
So fucking easy.
Maybe we can go back to it, I think, as I walk out of my office.
We’ll have a good time at the gala. This time, I’ll make sure to be attentive, spend time with her, and not leave her to her own devices as I sometimes do.
Yeah, that should make her happy. That’ll fix whatever it is she’s feeling. Right?
I tug at my bowtie as I glance at my reflection in themirror in the living room, and tell myself, one more time, that this night is going to bejustfine.
