calm down or get over it. I don't expect you to understand what I've been going through, but I had hoped you would show more concern. More love." She reached up to smooth back her cheeks, and then smiled bitterly at him. "But we've got money, we've paid off our debts, we can leave. Before I get any worse. Before things get any worse between us."
This wasn't the attack he had expected. He had been prepared for recriminations, to soothe her anger and ignore her jibes. This openness, this vulnerability, was different. It reached back to a kind of communication they hadn't shared in months.
Michelle leaned forward. "I mean, look at us. It's like I finally opened my eyes this past week and saw how bad things have become. Now that you're working nights I never see you anymore. Thomas, quit your job, let's sell the apartment, move to Boston, or anywhere--get a place with a garden, something, but let's get out of here before we lose our marriage altogether."
His heart was hammering in his chest. "Just like that? Do you know how large my performance bonus is shaping up to be this year?" He sounded like a tool even in his own ears, but he couldn't stop. "Do you honestly expect me to walk away from that after how much I've worked to earn it?"
"Yes, Thomas, just like that. I don't care about your bonuses, your promotions, I mean, come on. I just can't stand being here anymore. I haven't taken the subway in months, I'm cabbing it everywhere, I don't even want to go out at night. You know how hard this is for me. Why are you acting like this?"
"I'm not acting, I really am surprised. I mean, I know I can't understand how hard this is for you, but you have no appreciation for how I've killed myself to get where I am." His voice sounded flat, unconvincing. He was talking faster than he could think. As if he were reading from a script he was barely familiar with. "I mean, do you think it was easy to get this close to this promotion you hate so much?" He reached desperately for anger, found it. "And what will we do in Boston? Go help people? Get a garden? Volunteer at shelters, and, what, save the world? Those weren't plans, Michelle. Those are naïve daydreams, escapist fantasies. I mean, get real. Am I the only one who's interested in keeping our lives grounded here?"
The shock and anger on her face was clear, and it registered in him like a splash of cold water, quelling his sudden anger, turning it into resentment. It wasn't fair, wasn't fair that she could act so innocent and hurt and force him to be the responsible one. "Look, Michelle, think." He stared down at the table top, gathering his words. "You can volunteer from here. If you want to quit your job at the firm and do pro bono work, then I can support you while you do it. You should get a therapist, work through these issues, not run away from them. They're not going to disappear if we move to Boston. Face them, here where we have a home, where I can support us if you decide to take some time off. I'm not saying you can't change your situation. I'm just saying that it doesn't make sense for me to throw everything I've been working on these past few years down the drain."
"I don't. Fucking. See you. Anymore," she said. Each word was carefully articulated and stabbed at him. "During the week I see you perhaps for half an hour in the morning before I go to work. I'm asleep by the time you get in. You work weekends. You're exhausted. And when we're together? You can't even seem to look me in the eyes." She was trembling with pent up emotion, "You call this a marriage?"
He looked past her. A flash of her face, beaten and bruised, the doctor talking to him, the world spinning. He forced it away. Spoke woodenly, "We will be all right if we just calm down. We just need to get through this tough phase. I'll work less when I'm promoted."
She stared at him, shook her head, eyes burning with frustration. "I keep saying this but you don't listen. I don't want this life, Thomas. I can't
This wasn't the attack he had expected. He had been prepared for recriminations, to soothe her anger and ignore her jibes. This openness, this vulnerability, was different. It reached back to a kind of communication they hadn't shared in months.
Michelle leaned forward. "I mean, look at us. It's like I finally opened my eyes this past week and saw how bad things have become. Now that you're working nights I never see you anymore. Thomas, quit your job, let's sell the apartment, move to Boston, or anywhere--get a place with a garden, something, but let's get out of here before we lose our marriage altogether."
His heart was hammering in his chest. "Just like that? Do you know how large my performance bonus is shaping up to be this year?" He sounded like a tool even in his own ears, but he couldn't stop. "Do you honestly expect me to walk away from that after how much I've worked to earn it?"
"Yes, Thomas, just like that. I don't care about your bonuses, your promotions, I mean, come on. I just can't stand being here anymore. I haven't taken the subway in months, I'm cabbing it everywhere, I don't even want to go out at night. You know how hard this is for me. Why are you acting like this?"
"I'm not acting, I really am surprised. I mean, I know I can't understand how hard this is for you, but you have no appreciation for how I've killed myself to get where I am." His voice sounded flat, unconvincing. He was talking faster than he could think. As if he were reading from a script he was barely familiar with. "I mean, do you think it was easy to get this close to this promotion you hate so much?" He reached desperately for anger, found it. "And what will we do in Boston? Go help people? Get a garden? Volunteer at shelters, and, what, save the world? Those weren't plans, Michelle. Those are naïve daydreams, escapist fantasies. I mean, get real. Am I the only one who's interested in keeping our lives grounded here?"
The shock and anger on her face was clear, and it registered in him like a splash of cold water, quelling his sudden anger, turning it into resentment. It wasn't fair, wasn't fair that she could act so innocent and hurt and force him to be the responsible one. "Look, Michelle, think." He stared down at the table top, gathering his words. "You can volunteer from here. If you want to quit your job at the firm and do pro bono work, then I can support you while you do it. You should get a therapist, work through these issues, not run away from them. They're not going to disappear if we move to Boston. Face them, here where we have a home, where I can support us if you decide to take some time off. I'm not saying you can't change your situation. I'm just saying that it doesn't make sense for me to throw everything I've been working on these past few years down the drain."
"I don't. Fucking. See you. Anymore," she said. Each word was carefully articulated and stabbed at him. "During the week I see you perhaps for half an hour in the morning before I go to work. I'm asleep by the time you get in. You work weekends. You're exhausted. And when we're together? You can't even seem to look me in the eyes." She was trembling with pent up emotion, "You call this a marriage?"
He looked past her. A flash of her face, beaten and bruised, the doctor talking to him, the world spinning. He forced it away. Spoke woodenly, "We will be all right if we just calm down. We just need to get through this tough phase. I'll work less when I'm promoted."
She stared at him, shook her head, eyes burning with frustration. "I keep saying this but you don't listen. I don't want this life, Thomas. I can't
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