This is how it went down. There's backstory to every step of this - reasons why people act the way they do - trust me, I'll get in to that later.
George had just come from a week long business trip overseas. We were scheduled to go to a dinner party hours after he got back in town. I rarely go to dinner parties and my life is really about keeping track of my Bed Bath and Beyond coupons. This was a fledgling invitation that rarely comes my way. I love good food, but I hadn't wanted to go in the first place. I thought George should hang out with Le Kid after being away. I thought George should snuggle with Le Kid and read him books. I thought George should watch Le Kid sleep, watch him breathe and whisper, "I missed you so much" into his sleeping ears. I thought George should at least pretend that he wanted to hang out with me. But the party was being held at a secretive downtown loft with a chef that was being written up all over the place. George didn't want to miss it. He was standing in front of his closet getting dressed while I curled up on the bed.
Me: I think I need to stay home tonight. I'm feeling pretty shitty. I have terrible cramps.
George: I'm a big boy. I guess I can handle myself at a dinner party.
Key facts:
A. This is the only time George has ever referred to himself as a "big boy."
B. I was serious, very serious about the cramps.
C. The dinner party was hosted by an old friend of MINE.
D. You feel me?
I rallied and went, the evening devolved including George's Tourette's inspired cathartic fit over a parking spot before going up to a beautifully laid table and fine wine. I sat next to George but managed to say nothing to him the whole evening. When we got home he slumped on the stairs and asked if I was even glad to see him. No. We got to yelling, we got to going over shit that had happened the last year, we got to breaking up in clear and simple language. George went to bed in the guest room I had gussied up for his mother's visits. I stayed in our bedroom crying, scared, freaked out, stunned. I had said we should break up before but I was too scared to act on it. Before, the words felt distant and oblique even as I said them. Four couples therapists later, I think it doesn't matter how scared I am, it's not like I have a choice. This time, it's really happening.
George had just come from a week long business trip overseas. We were scheduled to go to a dinner party hours after he got back in town. I rarely go to dinner parties and my life is really about keeping track of my Bed Bath and Beyond coupons. This was a fledgling invitation that rarely comes my way. I love good food, but I hadn't wanted to go in the first place. I thought George should hang out with Le Kid after being away. I thought George should snuggle with Le Kid and read him books. I thought George should watch Le Kid sleep, watch him breathe and whisper, "I missed you so much" into his sleeping ears. I thought George should at least pretend that he wanted to hang out with me. But the party was being held at a secretive downtown loft with a chef that was being written up all over the place. George didn't want to miss it. He was standing in front of his closet getting dressed while I curled up on the bed.
Me: I think I need to stay home tonight. I'm feeling pretty shitty. I have terrible cramps.
George: I'm a big boy. I guess I can handle myself at a dinner party.
Key facts:
A. This is the only time George has ever referred to himself as a "big boy."
B. I was serious, very serious about the cramps.
C. The dinner party was hosted by an old friend of MINE.
D. You feel me?
I rallied and went, the evening devolved including George's Tourette's inspired cathartic fit over a parking spot before going up to a beautifully laid table and fine wine. I sat next to George but managed to say nothing to him the whole evening. When we got home he slumped on the stairs and asked if I was even glad to see him. No. We got to yelling, we got to going over shit that had happened the last year, we got to breaking up in clear and simple language. George went to bed in the guest room I had gussied up for his mother's visits. I stayed in our bedroom crying, scared, freaked out, stunned. I had said we should break up before but I was too scared to act on it. Before, the words felt distant and oblique even as I said them. Four couples therapists later, I think it doesn't matter how scared I am, it's not like I have a choice. This time, it's really happening.
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