“Vivian…”
“You need to stop acting like I’m the bad guy. You’re not exactly perfect.”
“I never said I was.”
“Then stop finding fault with everything I do.”
“I’m not…”
By then, however, she’d already left the dining room.
For the next half hour, we avoided each other. Or rather, she avoided me. She’d always been better at it than I was. I know because I kept peeking at her, hoping to detect a thaw in her mood, and found myself wondering why we couldn’t seem to discuss anything that bothered me without it turning into an argument.
I grilled the tuna and the steak, hoping she’d at least taste the food, and set the table on the back porch. After bringing the food over, I called for Vivian, only to see her emerge with London in tow.
I put small portions on both their plates and though both Vivian and London took a few bites, my wife’s silent treatment continued. If there was one positive from the meal, it was that London didn’t seem to notice, since she and her mom chatted as though I wasn’t there at all.
By the time we finished dinner, I was as annoyed with Vivian as she was with me. I went to the den and fired up my computer, thinking I’d continue working on my presentations, but it turned out to be a pointless exercise, since I continued to replay all that had happened.
I couldn’t escape a gnawing sense of failure. Somehow, I’d blown it again, even though I wasn’t sure exactly what it was I’d done so wrong. By then, Vivian had already begun the process of getting London ready for bed and I heard her as she descended the steps.
“She’s ready for a story,” she said. “Not a long one, though. She’s already yawning.”
“All right,” I said, and in her expression, I thought I saw the same kind of remorse that I was feeling about the evening. “Hey,” I said, reaching for her hand. “I’m sorry about the way tonight turned out.”
She shrugged. “It’s been a stressful week for both of us.”
I read to London and kissed her goodnight; when I found Vivian in the family room, she was already in her pajamas, a magazine open in her lap, and the television turned to some reality show.
“Hey,” she said, as soon as I sat beside her, seemingly more interested in the magazine than me. “I had to change out of my clothes into something comfy. I’m wiped out. I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last before turning in.”
I understood what she hadn’t specifically verbalized: The idea that the two of us might make love later was out of the question.
“I’m tired, too.”
“I can’t believe she’ll be starting school next month. It doesn’t seem possible.”
“I still don’t know why they start so early,” I said, picking up the thread of the conversation. “Didn’t we always start school after Labor Day when we were in school? I mean, why August twenty-fifth?”
“I have no idea. Something about the mandatory number of school days, I think.”
I reached for the remote control. “Would you mind if I found something else to watch?”
Her eyes suddenly flashed toward the TV. “I was watching that. I just wanted something brainless to help me unwind.”
I put the remote control down. For a while, neither of us said anything. Finally: “What do you want to do tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure yet. I know I have to pick up the suit that’s getting tailored, but that’s about it. Why? What are you thinking?”
“Whatever you’d like to do. You’ve been so busy this week, we haven’t been able to spend much time together.”
“I know. It’s been absolutely crazy.”
Though I might have been imagining it, she didn’t sound as bothered by the recent schedule as I was. “And about dinner tonight…”
She shook her head. “Let’s not talk about it, Russ. I just want to relax.”
“I was trying to tell you that I was getting concerned when I didn’t hear from you…”
She lowered the magazine.
“Really?”
“What?”
“You want to do this right now? I told you that I’m tired. I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Why are you getting upset again?”
“Because I know what you’re trying to do.”
“What am I trying to do?”
“You’re trying to get me to apologize, but I didn’t do anything wrong. Do you want me to say that I’m sorry for getting a good job? Or to apologize for trying to dress like a professional? Or for getting a bite to eat because I was shaking? Did you ever stop to think that maybe you should apologize for trying to pick a fight in the first place?”
“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight.”
“That’s exactly what you were trying to do,” she said, staring at me like I was crazy. “You got upset as soon I told you that I’d already eaten, and you wanted to make sure I knew it. So I tried to be sweet. I invited you to the dining room to show you what I got. I kissed you. And right after that, you started in on me, just like you always do.”
I knew there was some truth in what she said. “Okay, you’re right,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll admit that I was disappointed that you’d eaten before you got home —”
“Ya think?” she said, cutting me off. “And that’s the thing with you. Believe it or not, you’re not the only one with feelings around here. Did you ever stop to think about the pressure I’ve been under lately? So what do you do? Make things hard as soon as I walk in the door and even now, you can’t let it go.” She stood from the couch and kept talking as she started to leave the room. “I just wanted to watch my show and read my magazine and sit with you without fighting. That’s it. Was that too much to ask?”