Page 60 of The Marriage Game

I look up at him, wondering if we should talk more about everything that’s come out today. The very thought feels exhausting. I know it’s good we’re communicating more, but I think what I most want to do right now is—

“Let’s do something fun,” I voice my thoughts before I can let guilt make me second guess the choice. It’s not as if we’llneverpick our conversation back up, and besides we’re long overdue for some couple fun.

“Something more fun than a horseback ride that turned into the two of us painfully baring our souls to each other?” Max asks sardonically, making me laugh.

“Exactly,” I agree, lightness filling me. This was a good choice.

“So what should we do?” he asks.

My mind is blank. What do I do for fun? What dowedo for fun? So much of our last few years have been wrapped up in the kids and work…our dwindling date nights typically involved dinner and maybe a movie. Once upon a time we used to just go for walks together. Nothing too exciting. I always liked those things, though. Until I started to wonder if doing the same thing all the time made us boring. If perhaps, Max found me boring and that was why he stopped prioritizing our dates.

If Will and Brooke had an hour to themselves out here, Will would surely come up with some epic adventure for them to go on. And Luke and Hannah are so personable that they’d probably manage to find another couple to do some cute foursome activity. But just because that’s what my sisters’ marriages look like that doesn’t mean that’s what ours has to look like.

I think about what Dorothy said about confusing love and romance. Maybe I’m also confusing other people’s versions of happiness with my own. Maybe I’ll never know what Max thinks if I’m not honest about how I’m feeling.

“Max,” I begin, “what do you like to do for fun?”

Max cocks his head at me, then to my surprise he shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t really know anymore, Jill. It feels like lately all I do is work.” He runs a hand over the back of his neck as he reluctantly adds, “Maybe you were right before, and I do work too much. Just like my dad.”

I stop walking and turn to stare at him. I know I just said I wanted a break from the intense discussions we were having, but hearing Max admit that he works too much is a huge deal. Still, I hate the shame in his voice.

“Hey,” I say softly, taking him by the hand, “I know that you want to provide for our family, and I’m so thankful that I've never had to worry that you wouldn’t do so, but maybe just remember that it’s not just financial provision we need. We need you.” The words are out before I can process the implication of them. I just admitted that I need my husband…My heart races in my chest and shame of my own starts to rear its head telling me that I’m inadequate and inferior, but then something dazzling catches my eyes: Max is smiling. No, not just smiling—beaming.

It’s a smile that’s like sunshine, warming me through and pushing away the cloud of darkness that had shadowed my thoughts.

“You need me?” he says, brow raised in question, a playful tilt to his head. His energy must be contagious because I find myself smacking him lightly on the shoulder. The flirty action feels both foreign and familiar, like the first time you sleep through the night after having a baby–you know you’ve done it before, but it feels extra amazing after so long.

“Don’t be weird about it, Max,” I tell him, noting how his smile may have chased away some of my insecurity, but my heart is still beating faster than normal.

“Weird about my wife saying she needs me? I would never.” He feigns innocence, then leans close. “You know I need you too, right?” His eyes trace a slow path around my face, sendingunexpected heat blazing through me. “In so many ways,” he adds, his hands coming up to grip my waist–and oh,that’swhy my heart is beating fast. It’s the thrill of knowing my husband wants me…after all these years, he’s still here flirting with me. Desiring me.

Suddenly I can think of another way to spend this hour of free time, and the hungry look in Max’s eyes tells me that he’s thinking the same thing. I can’t remember the last timeIinitiated sex or really anything physical at all between us. Is today the day?

I’m not sure why exactly I’m hesitating. It’s like admitting I might want sex too somehow shifts the power dynamics between us. I used to accuse Max of only complimenting me when he wanted to have sex, but I think subconsciously I’ve been treating sex like a gift I’m bestowing on him or a favor I’m doing him. It’s almost as if I expect him to feel indebted to me for having sex with him. And I always want him to feel like he owes me something rather than the other way around. Because owing someone something means you need them.

Goodness, I’ve twisted things up so much in my head. I can see that…yet I can’t seem to set them straight again. They’re a necklace discarded in a jewelry box, inexplicably yet irreparably tangled the next time you go to wear it.

“Jill,” Max breathes my name, his breath warm and tempting against my skin. It would be so easy to play my part…make some sort of excuse so that he has to convince me to have sex…it would be so easy…so formulaic. Another cycle in the lather, rinse, repeat of our lives.

But then I remember Max praying for me, his arms wrapped around me. I remember the way he saved my family seats next to ours and his steady, unmovable presence from my life. Lastly, I remember him sliding me off my horse, a sort of reverence in the way he held me.

And then I shed the first set of chains holding me bondage to a marriage that isn’t living up to God’s perfect design and kiss my husband with the force of the desire I have for him.

Chapter 23

Max

91/2Years Ago

Anothervictory.Mystomachsours. It’s ridiculous that I care so much about this, but I can’t seem to stop myself from dwelling on it. Jill’s ex just led his team to another Super Bowl win. Meanwhile, I haven’t done any of the things I wanted to do careerwise.

I’m still working at my family’s firm, day in, day out. Sure I clock the most billable hours of anyone else at the firm, but compared to winning multiple super bowls, that’s nothing. Not like Jill can go to a party and introduce me as her lawyer husband who beats out all of the other lawyers at his firm when it comes to hours billable. That just sounds like bragging.Meanwhile Tucker Campbell probably can’t go anywhere without being recognized and lauded for his accomplishments.

Does she ever wish she’d stayed with him?

The intrusive thought pops into my head as it does from time to time. Usually in the months of January and February, when football is on everyone’s mind. I try not to give it too much headspace, but it seems to stick around anyway, like the guest who refuses to leave. I find myself responding to it with my actions—losing my patience with the kids far too easily or snapping at Jill for silly things.

I need to stop. It’s not good.

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