Page 9 of The Marriage Game

“I see,” she says tightly. Jill doesn’t believe in silencing phones.“Just turn the volume down on the ringer,”she’s been known to say.“That way you can still hear it if it’s an emergency, but it won’t be disruptive.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “But hey, you’re okay, so that’s good.”

Jill’s posture stiffens, but she nods. “Yes, I’m fine. It was only a fender bender. I’ll take the car in on Monday. I already called the collision shop.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for taking care of that.”

“Of course.” She nods and turns back to her task.

Our conversation sounded completely cordial, but there’s an undercurrent of discontent to it that makes my stomach feel queasy. I watch her for a minute before turning back to Greg who’s still waiting patiently for me at the other end of our massive kitchen. I hate to fire him, but he’ll find another campaign to work easily enough. Besides, even more than I want to win the role of attorney general I want to win my wife back.

Luckily the two go hand in hand. If I win the election in November, then surely Jill will remember what made her fall in love with me all of those years ago. Win-win.

Chapter 5

Jill

ThenextmorningIwake up in a pool of blood.

Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. It’s only my period, after all. But since I’ve lost any semblance of regularity when it comes to the occurrence, it always takes me by surprise. And the surprise definitely gives the whole thing a vicious edge.

Of course it also explains my rather erratic behavior last night. And my decision to take on the role of managing Max’s campaign just so I could sabotage the whole thing.

In that light of day, having descended from the cloud of theatrics and insanity that my premenstrual hormones often send me to, I can see what a bad idea this is. I mean, am I really going to sabotage my husband’s campaign? The idea is almost laughable. Me, a saboteur? Please!

Once I’ve taken care of the whole pool-of-blood situation I get back in bed. My alarm isn’t set to go off for another fifteen minutes, so I pick my phone off my bedside table and start idly scrolling through news headlines. I know I should grab my Bibleand spend some time with Jesus, but my mind is too amped up to focus.

I have to fix this whole situation with Max. I need to communicate to him that I don’t want him to run for attorney general. Apparently he missed all of the indications I’ve given him that I’m ready to be done with the world of politics, so I’m going to have to directly spell it out. It may even be possible, I concede, that I haven’t given him all that many clear indications that I’m ready to be done with the world of politics.

Yes, I’ve spent an awful lot of timethinkingabout how much I’m looking forward to Max being just an attorney for a change. A man who has plenty of clients, yes, but no constituents. But have I actually said as much to him? Maybe not directly.

Though I’m positive that my indirect game has been strong. Is it my fault if he can’t interpret my facial expressions and fits of silence?

If you go to Spain, it’s your responsibility as the English-speaking party to translate what the people there are saying. By extension when Max comes to Jill Land, he should bring a guidebook.

Jill Land? In retrospect that sounds sort of egotistical.

Or dirty.

Either way, I’m nixing the comparison.

The point is: in a marriage there are often unspoken expectations. Him being present for our family instead of working all of the time is one of those. Which means by definition it’s meant to be left, well, unspoken. Like a game of charades for married couples.

And who doesn’t like playing charades?

My phone dings and a text appears on the screen in the group chat I have with my sisters.

Hannah

Question: How does one go about getting one’s children to stay out of their bed? Asking because I woke up with Josiah’s foot in my face…again.

Aww, I smile to myself. A pant of nostalgia hitting me. I quickly type a reply.

Jill

You don’t. You sit back and enjoy the snuggles and cute toddler feet. Before you know it those feet will be big and gross and refuse to even hug you.

Brooke

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