Page 5 of Marriage and the Midlife Crisis

“Oh, shit, he must have clicked on the wrong flight,” I told her in a panicked voice. I reached into my top desk drawer for the cell phone I’d put away before the meeting, trying to figure out how to break it to him that I not only knew about his surprise, but that we would miss the flight.

Jen jumped up and leaned my shoulder over to peer at the screen, and I pointed to the departure time. “Maybe you can transfer it to a different flight without a penalty,” she suggested, and I sighed as I saw that I had a voicemail message from him.

I hit the button to listen to it, while trying to simultaneously scroll through the email to see if there was an option to change flights. I was so focused on the screen in front of me that it took a moment for Ryan’s words to register. When they did, my breath caught in my throat.

“Hey, sweets, I was hoping to catch you before you went into your meeting. Mitch scored last-minute VIP tickets to a big celebrity golf tournament in Vegas this weekend, so we’re heading to the airport soon to fly out. I told him I’d pay for the flights since the VIP passes include the hotel suite and tournament tickets. I’ll be home Sunday, but it will be late.”

I heard his best friend’s voice calling to him in the background, then my husband told him he’d be right out.

“Sorry, I have to go. The Uber driver just pulled up. Our return flight doesn’t land until almost eleven Sunday night, so I’ll take an Uber home, too. I don’t want you to have to pick me up from the airport that late.”

Mitch’s voice sounded again, a little louder and more urgently this time, and Ryan cursed under his breath before telling me he would call me later, then ended the call.

I continued holding the now-silent phone to my ear, stunned at what I’d just heard. I vaguely registered Jen trying to get my attention, and I lowered the phone to my desk with a shaky hand.

“Are you OK, hon? What did Ryan say?”

I sat there for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts.

“The plane tickets weren’t for me,” I said quietly. “Apparently, he and Mitch are going to some golf thing this weekend.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

I didn’t bother explaining, I just pressed the button to play the message on speakerphone. Jen huffed loudly as she listened, shaking her head in disbelief.

“What the fuck, Mel?”

Yeah, my thoughts exactly. What. The. Fuck?

I tapped the screen to call Ryan back and exhaled noisily when his voicemail picked up. I disconnected the call without leaving a message, since I wasn’t sure exactly what the hell I would say anyway.

I stood, and my desk chair rolled back so quickly that it hit the wall behind me. I reached for my purse and scooped my phone up off the desk, my movements frantic as I tried to ward off the tears burning the back of my eyes. I blinked rapidly, desperately trying to keep them at bay until I could get out of the office with at least a modicum of dignity intact.

“Oh, hon, I’m sorry. I can’t believe he –“

“I have to go home. I can’t deal with this here,” I interrupted her. “When Neela gets back from taking the Godwins to lunch, let her know I’m not feeling well and left early, would you?” Luckily, our boss was so thrilled with the new contract we’d gotten today that she wouldn’t even question it.

She nodded, then reached for my arm as I brushed past her. “Are you OK to drive?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. My throat was too tight to be able to say anything else.

I kept it together until I got to my trusty Honda SUV and tried to reach Ryan one more time. The call went straight to voicemail again. He’d obviously already turned off his phone, either in preparation for the flight, or to avoid my call, I wasn’t sure which. I stared blankly out the car’s front window until my vision turned hazy from the tears welling in my eyes.

Ryan had clearly forgotten my birthday, but that wasn’t what hurt the most. It was merely a sign of something I’d been unwilling to acknowledge for well over a year now – something that I couldn’t pretend to ignore anymore. I was no longer a priority in my husband’s life. I was an afterthought at best, and if I were honest with myself, it had been that way for a while.

And now, I couldn’t deny it any longer. My marriage was in trouble.

I hurriedly swiped away the tears as they spilled down my cheeks, then resolutely pushed the ignition button to start the engine. I forced myself to keep my focus on the road as I made the short trip to our house. Pulling into the driveway, I came to a stop behind Mitch’s stupidly expensive red Corvette, which was parked directly in front of the garage door. In his typical, never-thinking-about-anyone-but-himself-style, the asshole had parked directly in the middle of the driveway, blocking access to my side of the two-car garage. I guess my SUV would have to remain parked outside all weekend. Since snow was in the forecast for tonight, I would probably have to scrape my windshield if I went anywhere over the next two days.

It was a first-world problem, obviously, but it still ratcheted up my irritation another notch. At the very least, Ryan could have told Mitch to park in front of his own side of the garage, since clearly Ryan wouldn’t be driving his own stupidly expensive – although his was black – sports car this weekend. But no, clearly my husband didn’t even give me a moment’s consideration while he was scrambling to make it to the airport on time.

My spine was rigid as I got out of my SUV and slammed the door behind me. I pressed the lock button on my key fob with more force than necessary, then stomped up the steps to my front door, grumbling under my breath about inconsiderate, selfish assholes and their inconsiderate, selfish asshole friends.

Once inside, I tossed my purse on the table in the entryway and slipped off the high-heeled pumps that had been pinching my toes all morning, then trudged toward the stairs. I planned to change into my comfy clothes, then spend the afternoon binge-watching whatever the hell I could find on the TV and feeling sorry for myself.

I walked into the bedroom, my steps slowing as I took in the mess that Ryan had made in his obvious haste to pack. Our bed – which I’d neatly made as always before I left for work this morning – was covered with several empty hangers, stray socks, and a few random articles of clothing haphazardly folded and then tossed aside as if he’d changed his mind about what to pack. The pants and button-down shirt he’d worn to work this morning were lying in a discarded heap on the floor at the foot of the bed, with his balled-up socks on top of the pile, like the cherry on top of a shit sundae. He had clearly taken time to change into something more comfortable for the flight but couldn’t take ten seconds to toss his dirty clothes into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. Typical.

Our bathroom hadn’t fared much better. It appeared that Ryan had ransacked his side of the vanity in his quest to find his toiletry bag and the things he need to put in it, with two drawers not even closed all the way, and assorted items scattered on the normally pristine countertop.