It’s Sunday night, and hubby has returned from his failed fishing trip. The trip was rained out, but he hung with his buddy all day, and is in this great mood. It was just what he needed. Kat is in bed, and so we are. I’m sort of cuddled up next to him, and I’m half here, half gone. Some part of me wants to kiss him. The little girl is conflicted; if she kisses him, she really wants him to say no, and stop things, but she also doesn’t want him to leave, and she wants to know he is there and loves her. It’s confusing.
I ignore the little girl, and listen to his stories about his day. After a while, he looks at me. “You okay?”
I shrug. I want to say yes, of course I am okay, but something stops me. “I don’t know.” I feel tears welling up.
“What is it?” He’s concerned now. It’s his concerned voice that is coming out. Oh crap.
“Nothing. I just…I had a thing with Bea. And I would normally talk to Kay, but she is gone. I don’t know.”
“A thing?” He is confused. He doesn’t speak my language. He speaks the language of Miss Perfect, not the disjointed, jumbled, random mess that is the language of Alice.
“Ugh. I don’t know! A….not a fight. Just….she came back from vacation but wasn’t really here. And Kay is not speaking to me so I have no one to talk to!”
“You can talk to me.” His voice is gentle and kind and caring and I know he means it and he loves me.
I don’t respond. I just nod my head. And hubby lets it go. So, just like that we are back to discussing a movie or show to watch. We choose a show, and I go away. Fuzzy, floaty, safe. That warm blurry space that is so familiar to me.
I can’t stay there, though, so when a commercial comes on, I take a breath, focus on things around me. “I can’t talk to you. I talk….everytime……and then you are just shut down the next day. So I can’t. It’s no good.”
“I don’t mean to be! I’m just waiting for you to bring it up again.” He protests.
“It’s not even that…it’s…you just aren’t here. You don’t…I don’t know.” I can’t explain it. It’s some thing you feel. Not something easily put into words.
“Well, what does Kay do?”
“She’s just….she’s Kay.” I shrug. I can’t tell him what she does, or how she acts. He can’t just mimic that on the surface. It needs to be real. And that’s the problem, I realize. He can’t do much more than surface, and he can’t do abstract emotional stuff.
“I want to help. Tell me what to do.” He means it, I can feel that.
“It’s okay. I just…I want us to be able to talk, and be real with each other. But you know….it can’t…we won’t be able to do that until I’ve worked through some of my stuff, and you’ve worked through yours. If you want to help me, if you want to understand what it is I need, go to therapy.”
“Therapy? Okay. If you really think that’s it. Okay.” He says.
I nod. “I do. Therapy will help.”
“All right then,” he says, and unpauses the show. I guess our talk is over.