Page 6 of Untangled
“And you’re still endearing,” I reply.
Some of the time.
I catch the phrase before it leaves my mouth. Because the purpose of today’s exercise, maybe of all of these exercises, is to focus on the positive.
“Some of the time,” he answers anyway, and something that’s been twisted tight behind my ribs releases at the unexpected moment of communion.
He knows what I know, which is that we’re trying to learn how to love a different person than the one we fell in love with.
We have twenty-two days left to do it.
Day 3
Hold hands while discussing what you’d like your life to look like ten years from now.
“That’s it? Just talk while holding hands?” Daniel asks after pulling the day’s card from the top of the deck.
We’re sitting on the couch again, the same cushion between us that might as well be the third party toour relationship.
“That’s what it says,” I reply, not wanting to question the method of whatever couples therapist(I hope it’s a couples therapist?)designed this experiment.
I feel tired today, worn down physically and emotionally, like the bones beneath my skin are unusually heavy. I’m not entirely sure why, but another early morning with Violet and Daniel’s late arrival for dinner are part of it. I roll my shoulders to try and expel some of the tension that likes to hide itself there.
With the swish of his chinos against the leather, Daniel turns to face me, tucking one foot onto his opposite knee and holding out two open palms. In my head, I figured we’d sit side by side, my right hand in his left. He wants us facing each other, both hands held. It’s a bid for more connection,and even in my weariness, I can appreciate the gesture.
I shift to mirror his position and place my palms on top. He rotates his hands beneath mine until he can separate my fingers with his and then fold them on top of my knuckles. He gives a gentle squeeze of encouragement.
“Look, we’re already halfway done,” he says, and it’s a necessary bit of levity. It coaches a soft smile from my lips.
“A-plus effort so far,” I say in reply. “Thanks for taking the lead on this one.”
“You seemed like you could use a break. Want to talk about it?”
I consider it for a moment before deciding to use my current frustrations to inform my hopes for ten years from now. That seems like a more productive path forward. “I want to talk about the future,” I say instead. “A decade from now—what do you see?”
“Well, to start, I’ll be forty-two. That feels much too old, much too soon. Violet will be almost eleven. She’ll probably be in full tween mode at that point. We need to figure out the parental controls on YouTube before then.”
“I think assuming she’ll want to watch YouTube on our living room tv, with us in proximity, is wishful thinking for eleven,” I reply. The vision makes me happy nonetheless—a walking, talking, string-bean of a girl (if heredity has any say) with long blonde hair and her dad’s chestnut eyes standing in this very room. Right now, at ten months old, she’s much more of a squish than a person. It will be wild to watch that change.
“I’m sure my hair will be fully salt and pepper,” Daniel adds, and the mental image expands to include him in the kitchen opening some mail. No more bottle rack next to the sink or high chair next to the table. There will have been days of small pink toys—maybe Barbies or bracelet making kits, things I can hardly conceptualize now—that are gone by then.
“You’re supposed to be envisioning your dream life,” I redirect with a laugh, “not ruminating on your age and hair.”
“Okay fine, let me think,” he says. His thumbs rub absentmindedly across the thin flesh of my hands, and it’s comfortable, sitting here with him like this. More so than I expected. “Ten years from now, huh. I want…I guess I just want to behappy. Hopefully I’ll be a managing partner by then. I want to come home to this house, to you and Violet. Maybe another one? A little sister or brother. I want to support them in whatever sport or activity or interest they have and feel like the proudest dad in the world. Maybe we could travel since the kids will be older. I’d love to go to Europe with you. Or if not, maybe we could spend our evenings on the back patio we finally built.”
At this, I level him with a look.
“What?” he replies, with a tone just north of teasing and another small pulse against my hands. “This ismyten year plan. I can include whatever I want, same as you. But seriously, though, I just hope we’re all healthy and happy. That’s the big dream.”
“That’s my big dream too. Healthy and happy and thriving.” I think for another moment, squinting my eyes as though that may help me see the future clearly. “Maybe another baby, although that threatens the ‘thriving’ part for me, at least for a while.”
It’s a statement we both know is true. My pregnancy and postpartum with Violet was rough to say the least. “But maybe by then, ten years from now,” I continue, “I’ll be far enough removed. I’d like to be working a job I really enjoy, with the kid—kids?—in school. Something hands on that doesn’t have me stuck behind a computer all day. I’dreallylike for both of us to arrive home each evening for familydinner, to be done with never knowing when you’ll wrap up for the day.”
He nods, and his eyes search mine, maybe looking for that frustration or exhaustion I felt earlier. I don’t feel it so acutely now.
“Most of all, though, I’d like to sleep,” I say on a laugh. “Do you think that’s doable?”
“God, I hope so,” he replies, before silence stretches between us.
