Love & All Things Broken

I'd spent yesterday relaxing at the beach and poolside. I read two books and did absolutely nothing else. It was calming. It was rejuvenating. It was mine. 

But time waits for no man.

I had that weird feeling in my stomach—the one you get before traveling. Sighing, I zipped up my suitcase with a quiet finality. The room was still, the way it always felt after a few days alone—bed mussed, quiet, a little too easy to leave behind. I'd wanted to make the bed out of habit, but caught myself—nope. I wiped down the counters—needing to hide the evidence of makeup dust and toothpaste so housekeeping didn't think a slop had been here. I tossed the half-used toiletries in the trash and arranged the wet towels in a pile.  

I wasn't sure if I felt rested. Maybe clearer. A little lighter. But I felt like I could almost nap at this point.

The flight home was in three hours. I'd checked in early, paid for my extra bag—annoyed as I thought back to the days when a checked bag was free—and ordered a Venti iced coffee that I pretty much guzzled. I'd probably regret that later when I had to get up and pee endlessly, but the need for coffee outweighed everything else in that moment. My phone was on Do Not Disturb, but I kept checking it anyway—like muscle memory. There were a few work emails, one from Delia asking if I was okay, and a string of messages from Kelly, who was basically narrating her day in voice memos like I was on speaker in her living room.

In the Uber on the way to the airport, I found myself looking back at Caden's last messages about my birthday. I felt like a lifetime had passed since I spoke with him. I sent him a short one saying, "I'll be home this afternoon." Sitting back, I downloaded my boarding pass, put my phone on airplane mode and locked it.

Going through airport security had to be the worst part of traveling. Luckily, I had Clear—but it seems like everyone else does these days too. Once I was finally at the gate, I took a breath. I found a seat near the window, plugged my phone into the outlet next to me and opened my Kindle. I couldn't seem to concentrate though. Nothing I did let me focus on the book—no matter hot and steamy it was. So, I sat back and closed my eyes. Meditating, praying, relaxing. Taking time to just ... be. I reflected on this past weekend. I'd had an amazing time—built memories that I never dreamed of. I met a group of women who I know I will see again. It was a unique and surprising birthday. I felt a small corner of emptiness hiding inside though. One I really didn't know how to explain. I breezed past it though, ignoring it feeling better than facing it.

The plane started boarding on time. I shoved my carry-on in the overhead and my purse under the seat. Buckled in, I smiled at the woman who slid in next to me. Gray hair, an indescribable shirt that was covered in animal print and flowers. She had a book in hand—definitely a bodice-ripper novel! She politely returned my smile and got herself situated.

As the plane filled up, an agreed silence between us settled in. I listened—not really though—to the flight attendant walk everyone through the safety measures. I contemplated that, in reality, I don't think I would actually know what the hell to do if evacuation were necessary—would I really know how to turn my seat into a flotation device? Where was that blow up thing again? I snickered to myself thinking if we go down, I'm not sure it would matter. Fuck that was morbid! I actually laughed out loud at my own thoughts then.

My seat companion looked at me a little strangely but still asked "Home or vacation?"

"Home," I said. "I mean—I'm returning from vacation—well, sort of. I was here for a solo birthday trip."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh? Well, happy birthday."

"Thanks." I paused. "It was a big one."

"Let me guess. Forty?"

I smiled. "Is it that obvious?"

"No. I just turned sixty-five, and I've started counting by fives. Forty was a good one. A weird one, but good." She smiled with an almost nostalgic look on her face. She seemed nice.

We made it through takeoff. About twenty minutes in, she tucked her book into the seat pocket and turned slightly toward me, nodding at my ring.

"Left the husband behind, did you? Or wife maybe? You never know these days so figure it could be either one!" she remarked.

I laughed. "Husband." Then I hesitated. "And yes, just me on this trip."

She nodded. Like that answered more than the question. "Been married long?"

"Six years now."

"Mmmmm. Yeah - coming up on that seven year itch. Supposedly it's when things get real and life can get in the way more. Crazy, but probably a little more true than not—I'm no scientist though. Just someone with a lot of experience with a husband who was stupid for probably the first ten to twelve years of our marriage and didn't really become wise until maybe the last ten years. We hit forty five just a couple months ago! I'm still amazed I let him live through it." She laughed at her own joke. I liked her so much that I found myself laughing along. There was something open and approachable about this lady. Unexplainable really.

"You sound like you've seen a few versions of marriage."

"Oh sure. You stay married for as long as I have, you learn that your marriage is something new every year. You grow, you change, kids come and grow, grandkids come and grow, change jobs, change homes—every change comes with almost an entirely different relationship. Though there is one thing that has absolutely never changed—my husband snores like a lawnmower. Years ago, I ordered these strips off of an infomercial, snuck them on him while he was sleeping! He stayed sleeping right through it and snored the whole time. I learned then that, sometimes you have to adapt. My next order was earplugs for myself. Slept like a baby ever since. Sure, he still leaves his socks everywhere—even right next to the hamper sometimes! But we still hold hands at the movies. Still share a bed every night. Still kiss goodbye and still laugh together. That has to count for something."

I genuinely smiled at her monologue. "I guess it does."

She looked at me for a beat, then said, "You look tired. You know, it's normal to feel tired in a marriage. Sometimes resentful. Sometimes angry. But what always got me through was communication—usually me forcing it. Men, at least men of my generation, aren't alway great at communication. So I learned to initiate with Randall. And he learned to give a little and actually talk." She sighed. "There were some tough years. But—you know—nothing's perfect. The question is, if it's real or not. And whether you can decide that trying again when you're sick of trying is worth it."

I didn't respond right away. Just nodded.

"Love changes," she added. "Doesn't mean it disappears. Just looks different than it did at twenty-five."

"I think I'm just... trying to figure out if mine's still in there."

She smiled again. This one softer. "Then you're already doing the work. Most people don't stop to ask the question—they just jump."

We talked a little more—her name was Barbara. Originally from Green Bay. Transplant to Providence, RI after she met her husband. We talked about our favorite books, her grown kids, her trip to visit her niece, my love all things Spring and Summer. She didn't press. Just offered bits of kindness like little morsels of thoughts.

By the time we landed, I felt... different. Certainly not fixed, not even better. Just different.

I turned my phone on and opened the messages.

There was a text from Caden.

Caden: Okay. I love you. Come home safe.

I know I had told him not to text while I was away, but I had to admit—while I was gone, there was this weird feeling of disappointment that he hadn't messaged more. Wrong of me, I know. But sometimes you feel what you feel and there isn't rhyme or reason to it. I missed him though I honestly hadn't thought I would.

I've really been considering everything—not just the purse. I think at some point I'd started to feel like, since he'd forgotten so many major things, that he was never there for anything. Something Barbara said made me think a little deeper. Sure he was always working late—sometimes I did too—but, except the last few nights before Miami, we always went to bed at night together. He always pulled me close while we slept. We still had an incredible sex life. We still kissed goodbye in the mornings and hello at night. We watched TV on Saturday nights, sometimes after a date night. Our marriage wasn't just one moment—it was made up of millions. He fucked up, yes, but I needed to really spend some time reflecting on everything, not just the big things.

I had all these mixed feelings rolling around in my head and in my gut. I know that things are wrong right now. He needs to change. We need to change.