he stares back. The look on his face is troubled. Angry, even. And that makes me furious. “Why are
you
angry with
me
right now?”
He raises his hands, his car keys clanging together. “Because! If you’d just listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
We glare at each other, the silence almost suffocating, then he shakes his head, like I’m a disappointment. I watch him go without another word. The emotions inside me are roiling, jumbled, making no sense at all.
—
WE CELEBRATED OUR FIRST anniversary in the Bahamas, five days of lying in the sun with an endless supply of tropical drinks, the occasional dip in the ocean to cool off, where we’d soon be wrapped around each other, finding lips that tasted like rum and sea salt.
Our last night there, we were at a beach bar, a little place in the sand with a thatched roof and string lights and fruity drinks. We sat on weathered barstools, close enough that our legs were touching, that his hand could rest on my thigh, just a little too high. I remember listening to the crash of the waves, breathing in the salt air, feeling warm all over.
“So…,” I said, running a finger over the little umbrella in my drink, tossing over the question that had been on my mind all night, the one that had been slowly forming in my head for weeks, months. I tried to come up with the best way to lead up to it, and when I couldn’t, I just blurted it out. “When should we have a baby?”
He practically sputtered into his drink. Looked up at me, eyes wide, full of love, openness, excitement. Then something shifted, and they became more guarded. He looked away.
“Kids are a big step,” he said, and even through my rum-induced haze, I was confused. He loved kids. We’d always planned to have some. Two probably, maybe three.
“We’ve been married a year,” I said.
“We’re still young.”
I looked down at my drink, something pink, and stirred around the half-melted ice cubes with my straw. That wasn’t the response I’d expected. Not at all. “What’s going on?”
“I just think there’s no rush, you know. Maybe we wait a few years, focus on our careers.”
“Our careers?” Since when did he want us to focus on our careers?
“Yeah.” He was avoiding my eyes. “I mean, take yours.” He lowered his voice, leaned in closer, and this time he looked at me intently. “Africa. Is that really the part of the world you want to focus on?”
I looked away. I’d been perfectly happy with the African CI account. There was enough to keep me busy, to keep my days interesting. I felt like I was making a difference, albeit in a small way. And that’s all I really wanted. Africa wasn’t as high-profile as some of the other accounts, but that was fine with me. “Sure.”
“I mean, wouldn’t it be more interesting to work something like…Russia?”
I took a long sip of my drink through the straw. Sure, it’d be more interesting. More stress, too. Longer hours, for sure. And there were so many people working the account, how much impact would one person really have? “I guess.”
“And maybe better for your career? For promotions and all that?”
When had he ever cared about promotions? And why did he think I did? If money was my goal, I wouldn’t have chosen a career in government. The warm feeling inside me was starting to chill around the edges.
“I mean, it’s up to you, of course, sweetheart. It’s your job and all.” He shrugged. “I just think you’d be happier if you were doing something more…important. You know?”
The words stung. It was the first time I’d ever felt like my job wasn’t good enough for Matt. That
I
wasn’t good enough.
His expression softened, and he placed a hand over mine, gave me an earnest look. Apologetic, like he knew he’d hurt my feelings. “It’s just—well, that’s what the best analysts focus on, right? Russia?”
Where was this coming from? I was so confused. Sure, it was a competitive account, the
you
angry with
me
right now?”
He raises his hands, his car keys clanging together. “Because! If you’d just listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
We glare at each other, the silence almost suffocating, then he shakes his head, like I’m a disappointment. I watch him go without another word. The emotions inside me are roiling, jumbled, making no sense at all.
—
WE CELEBRATED OUR FIRST anniversary in the Bahamas, five days of lying in the sun with an endless supply of tropical drinks, the occasional dip in the ocean to cool off, where we’d soon be wrapped around each other, finding lips that tasted like rum and sea salt.
Our last night there, we were at a beach bar, a little place in the sand with a thatched roof and string lights and fruity drinks. We sat on weathered barstools, close enough that our legs were touching, that his hand could rest on my thigh, just a little too high. I remember listening to the crash of the waves, breathing in the salt air, feeling warm all over.
“So…,” I said, running a finger over the little umbrella in my drink, tossing over the question that had been on my mind all night, the one that had been slowly forming in my head for weeks, months. I tried to come up with the best way to lead up to it, and when I couldn’t, I just blurted it out. “When should we have a baby?”
He practically sputtered into his drink. Looked up at me, eyes wide, full of love, openness, excitement. Then something shifted, and they became more guarded. He looked away.
“Kids are a big step,” he said, and even through my rum-induced haze, I was confused. He loved kids. We’d always planned to have some. Two probably, maybe three.
“We’ve been married a year,” I said.
“We’re still young.”
I looked down at my drink, something pink, and stirred around the half-melted ice cubes with my straw. That wasn’t the response I’d expected. Not at all. “What’s going on?”
“I just think there’s no rush, you know. Maybe we wait a few years, focus on our careers.”
“Our careers?” Since when did he want us to focus on our careers?
“Yeah.” He was avoiding my eyes. “I mean, take yours.” He lowered his voice, leaned in closer, and this time he looked at me intently. “Africa. Is that really the part of the world you want to focus on?”
I looked away. I’d been perfectly happy with the African CI account. There was enough to keep me busy, to keep my days interesting. I felt like I was making a difference, albeit in a small way. And that’s all I really wanted. Africa wasn’t as high-profile as some of the other accounts, but that was fine with me. “Sure.”
“I mean, wouldn’t it be more interesting to work something like…Russia?”
I took a long sip of my drink through the straw. Sure, it’d be more interesting. More stress, too. Longer hours, for sure. And there were so many people working the account, how much impact would one person really have? “I guess.”
“And maybe better for your career? For promotions and all that?”
When had he ever cared about promotions? And why did he think I did? If money was my goal, I wouldn’t have chosen a career in government. The warm feeling inside me was starting to chill around the edges.
“I mean, it’s up to you, of course, sweetheart. It’s your job and all.” He shrugged. “I just think you’d be happier if you were doing something more…important. You know?”
The words stung. It was the first time I’d ever felt like my job wasn’t good enough for Matt. That
I
wasn’t good enough.
His expression softened, and he placed a hand over mine, gave me an earnest look. Apologetic, like he knew he’d hurt my feelings. “It’s just—well, that’s what the best analysts focus on, right? Russia?”
Where was this coming from? I was so confused. Sure, it was a competitive account, the
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