Page 32 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
I smiled. "Is it that obvious?"
"No. I just turned sixty-five, and I’ve started counting by fives. Forty was a good one. A weird one, but good." She smiled with an almost nostalgic look on her face. She seemed nice.
We made it through takeoff. About twenty minutes in, she tucked her book into the seat pocket and turned slightly toward me, nodding at my ring.
"Left the husband behind, did you? Or wife maybe? You never know these days so figure it could be either one!" she remarked.
I laughed. "Husband." Then I hesitated. "And yes, just me on this trip."
She nodded. Like that answered more than the question. "Been married long?"
"Six years now."
"Mmmmm. Yeah—coming up on that seven-year itch. Supposedly it’s when things get real, and life can get in the waymore. Crazy, but probably a little truer than not—I’m no scientist though. Just someone with a lot of experience with a husband who was stupid for probably the first ten to twelve years of our marriage and didn’t really become wise until maybe the last ten years. We hit forty-five just a couple months ago! I’m still amazed I let him live through it." She laughed at her own joke. I liked her so much that I found myself laughing along. There was something open and approachable about this lady. Unexplainable really.
"You sound like you’ve seen a few versions of marriage."
"Oh sure. You stay married for as long as I have, you learn that your marriage is something new every year. You grow, you change, kids come and grow, grandkids come and grow, change jobs, change homes—every change comes with almost an entirely different relationship. Though there is one thing that has absolutely never changed—my husband snores like a lawnmower. Years ago, I ordered these strips off of an infomercial, snuck them on him while he was sleeping! He stayed sleeping right through it and snored the whole time. I learned then that, sometimes you have to adapt. My next order was earplugs for myself. Slept like a baby ever since. Sure, he still leaves his socks everywhere—even right next to the hamper sometimes! But we still hold hands at the movies. Still share a bed every night. Still kiss goodbye and still laugh together. That has to count for something."
I genuinely smiled at her monologue. "I guess it does."
She looked at me for a beat, then said, "You look tired. You know, it’s normal to feel tired in a marriage. Sometimes resentful. Sometimes angry. But what always got me through was communication—usually me forcing it. Men, at least men of my generation, aren’t alway great at communication. So Ilearned to imitate with Randall. And he learned to give a little and actually talk." She sighed. "There were some tough years. But—you know—nothing’s perfect. The question is, if it’s real or not. And whether you can decide that trying again when you're sick of trying is worth it."
I didn’t respond right away. Just nodded.
"Love changes," she added. "Doesn’t mean it disappears. Just looks different than it did at twenty-five."
"I think I’m just... trying to figure out if mine’s still in there."
She smiled again. This one softer. "Then you’re already doing the work. Most people don’t stop to ask the question—they just jump."
We talked a little more—books, grown kids, her trip to visit her niece. She didn’t press. Just offered bits of kindness like little morsels. She shared about her family. I talked about mine, including my inherited family with the Barretts as in-laws and the craziness of what came with my mother-in-law’s giant family, the Doyles.
By the time we landed, I felt... different. Certainly not fixed, not even better. Just different.
I turned my phone on and opened the messages.
There was a text from Caden.
Caden: Okay. I love you. Safe travels.
I know I had told him not to text while I was away, but I had to admit—while I was gone, there was this weird feeling of disappointment that he hadn’t messaged more. Wrong of me, I know. But sometimes you feel what you feel and there isn’trhyme or reason to it. I missed him. I honestly didn’t think I would.
I’ve really been considering everything—not just the purse. I think at some point I’d started to feel like, since he’d forgotten so many major things, that he was never there for anything. Something Barbara said made me think a little deeper. Sure he was always working late—sometimes I did too—but, except the last few nights before Miami, we always went to bed at night together. He always pulled me close while we slept. We still had an incredible sex life. We still kissed goodbye in the mornings and watched TV on Saturday nights. Our marriage wasn’t just one moment—it was made up of millions. He fucked up, yes, but I needed to really spend some time reflecting on everything, not just the big things. I had all these mixed feelings rolling around in my head and in my gut.
I know that things are wrong right now. He needs to change.Weneed to change.
Chapter 16: A Thousand Paper Cuts
~Caden~
My phone buzzed just as I was putting the finishing touches on the house. I stood back, surveying the living room. Three bundles of yellow tulips brightened the coffee table, dining room, and kitchen island. The scent of lime and cilantro hung in the air, mingling with the vanilla candles I'd lit on the mantle. In the kitchen, the cast iron skillet waited, filled with layers of corn tortillas, spiced beef, and that sharp white cheese she always corrected me on the pronunciation of. My stomach growled at the memory of us, legs tangled on the couch, fighting over the last bite with our forks clinking against the pan.
I checked my watch. If Felicity made it in time before Macy went home, I'd have just enough time to warm it before dinner time.
Macy was upstairs getting ready when I saw Jessica's name flashed across my phone.
I almost didn't answer. Almost let it go to voicemail like I should have done a dozen times over the past few months. But Macy is here, so I obviously can’t. I’m still working on figuring out the balance. I thought it could be something that Felicity and I decide on together…instead of me making another unilateral decision that impacts my wife—without thinking of how it affects her.
