Page 28 of Much Ado About Hockey

“Then why are you nagging me?”

Karen jerked back out of his grasp hard enough to bump her head on the window glass behind her head. Her hand jerked up to touch the spot, rubbing it to remove any of his touch, as she glared at him – matching his expression. Jett was sitting there, giving her a weird frown and rubbing his finger along a crease between his brows like he was perturbed.

“Nagging?”

“Nagging,” he affirmed. “I was trying to be nice, trying to put on a show for them cause they are peeking out the blinds, and you are taking that moment, telling me what I’ve done wrong, and then getting all ‘wifey’ with me by nagging – and instead we could have been having an intimate moment. You could have kissed me, but oh no, instead, you had to whine about your car door. I’ve seen your ‘guns,’ and you’re not weak in the slightest,”he rambled on – and held up his arm, flexing it – and to her shock, he blew a kiss to his muscle like it was something precious. “Now, they ain’t my ‘guns,’ but your arms aren’t exactly floppy. You’re soft and squishy but strong enough to open your car door, or at least I thought so.”

“Oh my gosh,” Karen muttered, now rubbing her forehead. Did he really just refer to her as ‘soft and squishy’ – and then kiss his bicep? What was his problem? “That’s it. I’m gonna have an aneurysm.”

“Please don’t because I don’t know C.R.P., and you already blew your chance at having me liplock you, Nutella.”

“Are you kidding me?” she began, and it escalated out of control like a volcano blowing its top. She could feel a tic starting at the corner of her eye. “IT’S C. P. R. – AND YOU ARE THE ONE GIVING ME THE ANEURYSM!”

“You’re yelling,” he said flatly, looking unperturbed.

“I KNOW!”

“So it’s deliberate? Cool. It makes your boobs puff up, and they get this little ‘oomph’ that looks hot…” And to Karen’s disbelief, he put his hands on his chest and groped himself, making a motion that he was pretending to touch a fictional bosom.

That wouldneverbe her bosom – that much was for sure! Maybe she should have a psychiatric evaluation – or simply eliminate the problem.

Let’s go with option number two…

“Get out of my car,” she uttered – and to her shock – Jett did. He got out of her car and leaned into the door frame with an expression she couldn’t decipher… and that singular look made her pause.

“We’ll do this your way, but two things you should know, Nutella.”

“What?” she bit out, peeved.

“We’re still married – and I leave on Friday for Quebec. Whether or not you are there is completely up to you,” he said simply with no expression on his face, but those words were telling. He didn’t care if she was there, but he would hold her to the marriage… and he had the license, which meant he held the cards in her mind. “Figure out what you want to do by Friday,” Jett finished, shutting the door and began to walk off.

“That’s it?!” she yelped in the now-silent car, gripping the steering wheel and having her little tantrum - alone. “You can’t just…” and words failed her as she stared at him.

Jett dug out his cell phone from his pocket, never once looking back at the car or her, and she was waiting there like some forlorn, lovesick idiot.

“We’re not in love!” she hollered from the safety of her enclosed car. “You’re just pissing me off and so difficult sometimes. This is your fault – not mine – and…” her words died off again as Jett looked up, past her vehicle. He raised a hand and jogged past her car like it was not even there.

Where was he going?

And with who?

She cracked open her door, leaning out, and about to holler his name, only to see him get into the backseat of an Uber. He was taking an Uber instead of continuing this discussion with her – effectively shutting her out. It was just like the ex-girlfriends he’d labeled in his cell phone, so he knew what phone calls to avoid. He was selectively ending the conversation –with her.

Letting out an unholy screech from behind her gritted teeth, she slammed the door shut. Pinching her eyes closed, she drew in several breaths, and that wasn’t enough. As his rideshare drove off, she opened and slammed shut her car door repeatedly out of sheer frustration, relishing each bang of the door for seconds… and then stopped.

“He just left,” she whispered in shock, unsure how to handle the feelings within her. She told him to get out of her car – and he did –finding a way to get by without crawling back to her. He was obviously a man who wouldn’t beg, grovel, or plead for any woman. No, Jett just proved that he didn’t need her for anything except that marriage license, and it was humbling.

If she wanted to know different aspects of Jett, she’d just found one she didn’t expect. Lesson learned… the hardest way possible.

“Why did he still mention the flight on Friday? Does he still want me to go?”

As much as it galled her to admit it, Jett was right. She had been yelling, and he didn’t have to take it from anyone – including her. She was his wife, and he was choosing to share his life with her, but she needed to choose him back.

Relationships involved respecting the other partner, and she’d screeched at him in frustration. He’d cracked jokes, made comments, and called her out on it – but in a way she couldn’t relate… and she exploded.

Jett put distance between them because she was flipping her lid –at him. So, he’d been the bigger person, doing the adult thing rather than continue with an argument that was escalating over nothing, yet still finishing the discussion with a timebound option to cool off, process, and make her decision about their next steps. She needed to figure out whether she was going to Quebec – and what it meant to her about giving this relationship, this marriage, a chance.

In her psychology classes in college, they talked about boundaries and how to handle disagreements, and he’d done just that. He took the high road, drew a line, stepped back, and gave her space.

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