I've been sitting here for the past hour wondering what I was doing with this kind of man. The food is getting cold, and the candlelight is burning out as we speak. Nothing about him was ever easy, and Michael has not been the easiest person to stay with. He was very candid with me when we first got together, telling me that he was a CIA agent, and that he would be going off to various missions without warning.
I thought for sure that I could live with that kind of loneliness, but over time I have begun to realize that being married to a spy isn't all that glamorous. He's rarely home, and any time that he makes plans, something always comes up that requires his undivided attention. This was one of those times, and he had given me his word that he would be home for our anniversary dinner, and this time he didn't even bother to call with an explanation.
When I was younger, I dreamed of marrying the handsome dark-haired stranger, and now that I was in that position, I didn't know if I wanted to stay there for very much longer. I was only 25 years old, and he was 15 years my senior, which gave me the possibility of capturing my youth once again. Could I really start over with somebody new, even when there was a small part of me that was willing to work things out with my husband?
As the clock ticked, it sounded so deafening that it was echoing in my ears, mocking me with each minute that passed by. This had to end, and one way or the other I was going to confront him about his behavior, and ask if he thought we could really repair what has been damaged in this so-called relationship. My mother warned me on her deathbed that I was making a grave error, and that I was blind to the truth of where his loyalties lie. She died thinking that I was stupid, and I suppose I was just being stubborn.
Not knowing how long I sat there in the dark waiting, I finally heard the engine of his black SUV pulling up into the driveway. It was followed by the slamming of a door, and the quick footsteps as he made his way up to the front door. I didn't even bother to get up, still sitting there in the dark of the dining room, waiting for the inevitable excuses to fall from his lips.
Out of breath, and holding what looked like convenience store flowers, he stood in the doorway with his frame blocking out the rest of the light. “I’m sorry, it was a last minute thing and I promise to make it up to you. You don't know how much you mean to me, and I hate that I have to always disappoint you.” He was saying everything that he had said before, and the words lost all meaning, and felt so old that it was beginning to sound funny. “Please, I know that I have said all of this before, but this time it will be different.” He said that before too, and this time I just couldn't take it anymore.
With a flourish of anger that overcame me in that moment, my hands gripped the tablecloth and pulled it off, sending the food and all the dining room dishes onto the floor crashing. I began to laugh, throwing my dark locks back over my shoulders. “You are so predictable, and I'm not sure this is working for me anymore. This is not me, and I feel like I am losing a part of myself by letting you manipulate me with false promises.” Don't get me wrong, I was deeply in love with him at one time, but even those times seemed so far away that I could barely see them anymore. Even our lovemaking had taken the toll, which was only getting physical on special occasions, and sometimes not even then.
“Oh man, I know that I have wronged you, and I don't know what you want to hear. You knew what you were getting into when we married, and I told you in no uncertain terms that I wouldn't be around all that often. I don't want to lose you, and maybe we should get away from all of this.” I thought for sure that he was suggesting that we take a break, which would lead to a separation and then ultimately a divorce. That one word stuck in my head,
I thought for sure that I could live with that kind of loneliness, but over time I have begun to realize that being married to a spy isn't all that glamorous. He's rarely home, and any time that he makes plans, something always comes up that requires his undivided attention. This was one of those times, and he had given me his word that he would be home for our anniversary dinner, and this time he didn't even bother to call with an explanation.
When I was younger, I dreamed of marrying the handsome dark-haired stranger, and now that I was in that position, I didn't know if I wanted to stay there for very much longer. I was only 25 years old, and he was 15 years my senior, which gave me the possibility of capturing my youth once again. Could I really start over with somebody new, even when there was a small part of me that was willing to work things out with my husband?
As the clock ticked, it sounded so deafening that it was echoing in my ears, mocking me with each minute that passed by. This had to end, and one way or the other I was going to confront him about his behavior, and ask if he thought we could really repair what has been damaged in this so-called relationship. My mother warned me on her deathbed that I was making a grave error, and that I was blind to the truth of where his loyalties lie. She died thinking that I was stupid, and I suppose I was just being stubborn.
Not knowing how long I sat there in the dark waiting, I finally heard the engine of his black SUV pulling up into the driveway. It was followed by the slamming of a door, and the quick footsteps as he made his way up to the front door. I didn't even bother to get up, still sitting there in the dark of the dining room, waiting for the inevitable excuses to fall from his lips.
Out of breath, and holding what looked like convenience store flowers, he stood in the doorway with his frame blocking out the rest of the light. “I’m sorry, it was a last minute thing and I promise to make it up to you. You don't know how much you mean to me, and I hate that I have to always disappoint you.” He was saying everything that he had said before, and the words lost all meaning, and felt so old that it was beginning to sound funny. “Please, I know that I have said all of this before, but this time it will be different.” He said that before too, and this time I just couldn't take it anymore.
With a flourish of anger that overcame me in that moment, my hands gripped the tablecloth and pulled it off, sending the food and all the dining room dishes onto the floor crashing. I began to laugh, throwing my dark locks back over my shoulders. “You are so predictable, and I'm not sure this is working for me anymore. This is not me, and I feel like I am losing a part of myself by letting you manipulate me with false promises.” Don't get me wrong, I was deeply in love with him at one time, but even those times seemed so far away that I could barely see them anymore. Even our lovemaking had taken the toll, which was only getting physical on special occasions, and sometimes not even then.
“Oh man, I know that I have wronged you, and I don't know what you want to hear. You knew what you were getting into when we married, and I told you in no uncertain terms that I wouldn't be around all that often. I don't want to lose you, and maybe we should get away from all of this.” I thought for sure that he was suggesting that we take a break, which would lead to a separation and then ultimately a divorce. That one word stuck in my head,
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