Don't look at me like that
It’s hard to get over the habit of wanting to share news with Beth. I told her I thought I found a place. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but that made her mad.
We talked for a while when she got home. I try to avoid rehashing history: who said what when. Who started which nasty exchange. We’re not going to resolve those, I say. She says, “Sure. Now that you’re leaving, you’re all rational and able to discuss things calmly”.
Yes and no.
I tell her how I still hope that I’ll hit on the right combination to win her back. Fixing the screen. Clearing the dishwasher. Taking care of this or that errand. Buying that Tiffany bracelet for her birthday. Paying attention to her. Leaving her alone.
But the thing that I really want to discuss can’t be discussed calmly. Eventually it boils over and scalds us both. So sure, I can be calm about how we’ve come to this place. How no one can blame us for not trying, after three years of counseling. How we’re very good in email and on the phone. How we still have a job to do together to raise the boy.
“Stop trying to look at the happy side of all this,” she says.
“There isn’t a happy side,” I counter. “This is all sad. I’m just trying to think about the things we can still do well.”
“Well stop looking at me like you pity me.”
“I don’t pity you, and I don’t feel sorry for you. I am sad, and I feel sorry for me. This is not what I wanted.”
“Fine. Just stop looking at me,” she says.