lie no. 26 | part ii | 09.08.19

I drove her to the airport yesterday. It seemed weird she was going so far away but would be back in a few days. It was early so I tried to go back to sleep when I got home. The Skins didn’t play for another eight hours.

She texted me when she landed in Dallas. I never thought she’d make her connection. I was up then, making eggs. I don’t get why she booked a flight with a 45-minute connection for an international trip. I wonder if it was a 777-300 or 200.

I woke up this morning and saw she texted a few hours ago when she landed in Hong Kong. I can’t believe she’s in Asia right now. She’ll be back in three days. She’ll be back in time for the Chamber party. She never gets jetlagged. I read Playbook. Then I called for Sammy—do I need to get a dog walker this week? How often does Bec walk her? I snapped a selfie with Sams and sent it to Bec and told her to text when she found the driver I surprised her with.

I let Sams out after I made coffee. I made eggs. It was quiet. It was nice. I read email. I showered. I went to work. 

That night it was quiet again at the house. I went home to let Sammy out before meeting up with the guys. I took a selfie of me and Sams and sent it to Bec. I can’t believe she’s in Asia. She said she was going to go on a mileage run last December and didn’t. She kept saying she was going to go to Colombia. She didn’t. I booked us flights there for her birthday the following month. That seemed to do the trick. She was predictable back then. A year ago. 

I thought she changed when she started her last job, the one she quit. At least that’s what I told the couples’ therapist Bec made us start going to a few weeks back. Therapy is normal for her. I didn’t know what to call it in my calendar so I just put doc. Bec kept telling me it’s no different than going to a doctor or dentist appointment. It’s pretty different.

We met at a coffee shop on the same block as the therapist the first time we went. It was so strange. It was weird to talk about our relationship and our childhoods with this stranger. Things hadn’t been great for a while, she wasn’t wrong there, but I knew it would blow over. She just had too much time on her hands. But Bec was right, it got easier the next week. Every week seemed excessive. She talked about going to therapy together for months but never did anything about it. I wasn’t going to do anything about it. How do you even find a therapist. I wasn’t going to ask anyone. Like, hey man, do you and your wife have a good therapist you’d recommend? No. Bec found one a couple blocks from my office and asked if I’d go with her. Still, it was hard to take an hour a week from work to do this. Bec went to her own therapist too. Therapy isn’t cheap. 

It wasn’t so bad. Therapy. Bec was the only one I could talk to about it. And all she wanted to do was talk about it. Like we hadn’t just spent an hour talking about us. Then we had to talk about talking about us after too. 

Some days I’d get home from work and I could tell she was trying to look busy, like that pic of Trump with the empty desk and fake phone call. That’s her joke, not mine. I wouldn’t say that. I’m really proud of her. It takes balls to quit your job—especially how she did—and start a business. I don’t know what she does all day. Well, that’s not true. She tells me about it in excruciating detail every day. I almost miss her coming home every day so exhausted and stressed out and pissed off. She didn’t talk as much then. She’d just pour a glass of wine and zone out on the Real Housewives of Chicago. That shit’s so painful. But this is too. She still seems exhausted and stressed out and pissed off—over me or us, though. I try to stay out of her way.

I mean, I talk all day long. It’s the last thing I want to do when I get home. When she worked the super early shift at USA Today we used to joke about how I could tell when she hadn’t talked to many people because she wouldn’t stop talking to me. This was like that but worse. It wasn’t just what happened it was how it made her feel. Which is apparently a lot. She feels a lot these days. And she always wants to talk about and dissect every little thing.

A year ago all I had to worry about was which room she’d deconstructed while I was at work. Now she was deconstructing our marriage. Every detail. I don’t say anything anymore—she doesn’t seem to notice. I go straight to the kitchen when I get home. I change first. I focus on the food. When does the next season of Housewives start? She hasn’t watched it in months so it must be soon. Hopefully it’s soon. Baseball starts in a few months. Fuck Harper. Man, that guy. Shit or get off the pot, dude. At least we have Soto now.

Bec texts. I call her but can barely hear her—it’s loud as shit at Cafe Milano. She just ate some epic Michelin-starred buns for breakfast. The night before she left I made her promise not to just eat McDonald’s and cereal bars. She says she doesn’t like Chinese food but I know that’s not true. She just won’t try it. She tells me about the noodles in the market the night before and the buns. I’m so glad but kind of surprised. We don’t talk for long, she’s annoyed I answered the phone at a party. At Milano. On a Monday.

I can’t believe she’s in Asia. She’ll be back in two days. Maybe the break away from here will be good for her. She’s always happiest when she’s traveling. Maybe I won’t have to put doc on my calendar next week. I go home around 11 and try her back as I flag down a cab. She’s annoyed I’m still saying bye to the guys. They are being kind of obnoxious. She’s trying to tell her own cab driver where she wants to go. Some beach. She asks me to find a place she should eat lunch near there. We hang up and I find her a spot that looks good. I text it to her and tell her to send a pic if she goes. I hope I don’t have early meetings in the morning.