reminds me of fried rice. His face is wrinkle-free, but for laugh lines that only enhance his visage. And his physique, well, what can I say but that he’s a hell of a lot better at keeping up with himself than I am, that’s for sure. "Think about it! We don’t need your income. Our savings will keep us living comfortably forever, sweetie. You know that! What are we doing here anyhow? In this crazy city, with too many people and too much traffic and too many things to keep us away from, from, from us . Maybe we go off and live in Italy, just like we used to dream about." He scruffs my head in that friendly I-got-your-back kind of way.
If this were a sitcom or TV drama, right now I’d be cuing the harp music, throwing us back to umpteen earlier conversations in the same vein. The ones where William wants to blow this Popsicle stand and I just can’t seem to commit. I know it’s not necessarily fair of me to avoid this topic forever but this is my career , and you only get one shot at the big leagues.
I remember when William started grumbling about city life. It took me by surprise, because we both loved living in Manhattan. It’s the city that doesn’t sleep —how could you not love it here?
"Abbie, I have to tell you, my days are numbered with this type of living," he’d said. "I’m tired of the grind. I’m tired of having to navigate through hordes of people just to get from point A to point B. I’m tired of having to walk five blocks before being able to successfully hail a cab. I’m tired of going to a restaurant and being charged the price of tenderloin for a pimped-up hamburger."
"But sweetie, I have to be here. This is the food capital of the entire nation. New York is the chicken part of the turducken. Smack dab in the center of it all. Without the chicken, you wouldn’t have turducken. Without New York, you wouldn’t have food!"
Okay, so that might be a little histrionic. Of course there is food with or without New York. But maybe mere peasant food. Nothing trendy, experimental, downright heady in nature.
"What happened to that family we were going to have? What happened to ‘Oh, William, I was so lonely as a child, I hated being stuck in the middle of my warring parents. I want to have lots of kids, a loud, happy household!’ What happened to that ?"
I hated to have my words thrown back in my face. But those words were spoken long before I had gained such traction as a professional foodie. Back then, William and I both loved food for food’s sake. It was about simple goals. Simplistic goals. Goals that got surpassed by bigger goals. I can’t understand why William didn’t get that. Kids? That can wait. But the pinnacle of my career only comes around once. How could he begrudge me that?
"Earth to Abbie, come in Abbie," William has his hand over his mouth and is making crackling noises with his mouth to sound like the Space Shuttle commander talking to mission control.
I look over at him and realize that this isn’t a sitcom or a Lifetime movie or even an HBO special. This is really stressful is what this is.
"What?" I’m not even sure what tack my argument has to take at this point so I’m hoping for a refresher on whatever my husband last said to me.
"This is the cosmos, calling out to you. Giving you a wake-up call, Abbie Jennings. Wake up and smell the husband. I am over this all—" he spreads his arms out to encompass everything here that must represent his life. "I want something more . Something more than materialism. Something more than sitting home alone yet again while you go off to sample the abundance. Something more than lonely weekends with my dog and not my wife. It’s what I need , Abbie. And I hope you can find it in your heart to figure out how to share this with me."
With that William turns around, practically clicking his heels in his haste, and leaves the room. The medicine ball’s been thrown back at me, right in my gut. And I’ve got to decide what one does
If this were a sitcom or TV drama, right now I’d be cuing the harp music, throwing us back to umpteen earlier conversations in the same vein. The ones where William wants to blow this Popsicle stand and I just can’t seem to commit. I know it’s not necessarily fair of me to avoid this topic forever but this is my career , and you only get one shot at the big leagues.
I remember when William started grumbling about city life. It took me by surprise, because we both loved living in Manhattan. It’s the city that doesn’t sleep —how could you not love it here?
"Abbie, I have to tell you, my days are numbered with this type of living," he’d said. "I’m tired of the grind. I’m tired of having to navigate through hordes of people just to get from point A to point B. I’m tired of having to walk five blocks before being able to successfully hail a cab. I’m tired of going to a restaurant and being charged the price of tenderloin for a pimped-up hamburger."
"But sweetie, I have to be here. This is the food capital of the entire nation. New York is the chicken part of the turducken. Smack dab in the center of it all. Without the chicken, you wouldn’t have turducken. Without New York, you wouldn’t have food!"
Okay, so that might be a little histrionic. Of course there is food with or without New York. But maybe mere peasant food. Nothing trendy, experimental, downright heady in nature.
"What happened to that family we were going to have? What happened to ‘Oh, William, I was so lonely as a child, I hated being stuck in the middle of my warring parents. I want to have lots of kids, a loud, happy household!’ What happened to that ?"
I hated to have my words thrown back in my face. But those words were spoken long before I had gained such traction as a professional foodie. Back then, William and I both loved food for food’s sake. It was about simple goals. Simplistic goals. Goals that got surpassed by bigger goals. I can’t understand why William didn’t get that. Kids? That can wait. But the pinnacle of my career only comes around once. How could he begrudge me that?
"Earth to Abbie, come in Abbie," William has his hand over his mouth and is making crackling noises with his mouth to sound like the Space Shuttle commander talking to mission control.
I look over at him and realize that this isn’t a sitcom or a Lifetime movie or even an HBO special. This is really stressful is what this is.
"What?" I’m not even sure what tack my argument has to take at this point so I’m hoping for a refresher on whatever my husband last said to me.
"This is the cosmos, calling out to you. Giving you a wake-up call, Abbie Jennings. Wake up and smell the husband. I am over this all—" he spreads his arms out to encompass everything here that must represent his life. "I want something more . Something more than materialism. Something more than sitting home alone yet again while you go off to sample the abundance. Something more than lonely weekends with my dog and not my wife. It’s what I need , Abbie. And I hope you can find it in your heart to figure out how to share this with me."
With that William turns around, practically clicking his heels in his haste, and leaves the room. The medicine ball’s been thrown back at me, right in my gut. And I’ve got to decide what one does
Similar Books
