Two by Two(16)

Why, then, did I feel so unsettled?





Maybe it was because Vivian never called or texted me back, nor was she home when London and I returned.

What had been odd gradually grew concerning, but I didn't text or call,  because I knew that I wouldn't be able to hide my annoyance, which would  no doubt put an end to the evening before it started. Instead, I  marinated the steak and placed it in the fridge before starting to dice  the cucumbers and tomatoes for the salad. London, meanwhile, pulled the  husks from the corncobs. Thrilled to help make dinner for Date Night,  she diligently picked away at the silken threads then would hold the  corn up for me to examine before setting it aside and starting on the  next. I prepared the macaroni and cheese, peeled and sliced a pear,  added turkey to her plate and sat with London while she ate. With still  no word from Vivian, I put on a movie for London and sat with her until I  finally heard the SUV pull into the drive.

London was already out the front door as soon as my wife stepped out of  the SUV and I watched Vivian scoop her up and give her a kiss. She  kissed me as well and asked if I could bring the bags inside. Figuring  it was groceries, I opened the back hatch after Vivian and London had  vanished inside and saw a mountain of bags from Neiman Marcus and half a  dozen shoe boxes with Italian names.

No wonder she hadn't called or answered. Vivian had been busy.

Like the week before, it took multiple trips to unload all the items  she'd purchased and by the time I finished, Vivian was sitting beside  London on the couch, London leaning into her.

Vivian smiled at me before mouthing that she wanted a few more minutes  with London. I nodded, reminding myself again not to show the slightest  hint of irritation. In the kitchen, I poured two glasses of wine and  brought one of them to Vivian before returning to the back porch where I  fired up the grill. Knowing it would take a few minutes to heat up, I  went back inside and sipped at the wine while taking stock of the dining  room table where I'd heaped her things. In time, Vivian kissed London  on her head then slid away. She beckoned me to meet her near the  goodies. She leaned in for a quick kiss as I approached.

"London said she had a fun day with you."

"I'm glad," I said. "I'm guessing you had a pretty full day, too."

"I did. After I finished with my research, I raced from one store to the  next. By the end, all I really wanted to do was come home and relax."         

     



 

"Are you hungry? I picked you up some fresh tuna and I've already got the grill going."

"Really? Tonight?"

"Why not?"

"Because I've already eaten." Vivian must have seen my expression and  her tone acquired an edge of defensiveness. "I didn't know you were  planning to make dinner tonight. All I knew was that I hadn't eaten  breakfast or lunch, and I was so hungry that my hands began to shake. I  ended up stopping at a café on the way out of the mall. You should have  let me know and I would have just grabbed a snack."

"I called and texted, but you never responded."

"My phone was in my purse and I didn't hear it. I didn't see your texts or that you'd called until I was almost home."

"You could have called me."

"I just told you that I was rushing around all day."

"To the point you couldn't even check your phone?"

"Don't make it sound like I was trying to ruin your night on purpose,"  she said with a sigh. "You can still grill the steak. I'm sure London is  hungry."

"She already ate," I said, thinking that what I really wanted was for my  wife to have missed talking to me as much as I'd missed talking to her.

"Oh," she said. "Do you want to see what I bought?"

"Yeah, okay," I said.

"Would you mind getting me another half a glass of wine first? I want to organize my things before I show you."

I nodded, wandering back to the kitchen in a daze, still trying to sort  through what had just happened. She had to assume we'd have dinner, so  why had she stopped to eat? And why hadn't she checked her phone? How  was it that my wife could feel no need to check in on her family? I  refilled her glass, returning to the dining room wanting to ask more  questions, but by then, Vivian had various outfits either spread on the  table or draped over the back of the chairs.

"Thanks, hon," she said, reaching for the glass. She kissed me again and  set her glass aside without taking a sip. "I bought a navy blue suit,  too. It's gorgeous, but it was a little big in the hips, so I'm having  it altered," she began, then proceeded to present one outfit after  another. As she did, I caught sight of one of the receipts from the bags  and felt my heart skip a beat. The total, on that one receipt, was more  than half the mortgage.

"Are you okay?" she asked when she was finished. "You seem like you're upset."

"I'm just wondering why you didn't call me."

"I already told you. I was busy."

"I know, but … "

"But what?" she asked, her eyes flashing. "It's not like you called and texted every minute when you were at work either."

"You were shopping."

"For work," she said, the anger in her voice now plain. "Do you think I  wanted to stay up half the night and then race around all afternoon? But  you didn't give me much of a choice, did you? I have to work because  you quit your job. And don't pretend I didn't see you inspecting those  receipts, so before you get on that high horse again, maybe you should  remind yourself that your little adventure has cost a lot more than I  spent today, so maybe you should look in the mirror."

"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?"