doesn’t answer. His brow is furrowed and he’s moving like he’s in a hurry for something. He walks to my old closet, shuffling through it impatiently. I sit completely still, trying to figure out what he’s doing in there.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to maintain my composure. I don’t want to do this with him today. I’m trying to not be a bitch but he’s really pushing it. He finds my suitcase and pulls it out.
“Get dressed; we’re leaving,” he says.
“What? No, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Look, I don’t have time for this shit. Get up and put your clothes on.”
“So that’s it. After everything last night, you wake up with a fucking stick up your ass, throwing out demands. Maybe you don’t get it, but I didn’t come here for an overnight trip.”
“You know what, Lauren? I’m tired of this bullshit. I may have really fucked up a business deal for Dex to come after you and hold your fucking hand. I want to go home and at least sleep in my own bed!” he snarls.
I throw my pillow at him. Jumping out of bed, I grab my robe from the floor and put it on.
“Here we go,” he laughs angrily.
“Why did you come after me? Why did you bring me this?” I thrust my hand in his face showcasing our ring.
“Yeah, I brought it to you. You’re my wife, why the hell do you keep taking it off?”
I’m taken aback by his question and it causes me to pause.
“Because I miss you, but I’m starting to feel like this is just something to pacify me!”
“But I’m here! That’s what I don’t get! How do you miss me?”
I take a deep breath. I know he’s not the only one to blame in this and decide to take on some of it. “I miss us,” I correct him lowering my tone. “What we used to have. How we used to be. What’s happened to us?” I walk toward him, my eyes pleading, and his brow softens, but he turns away from me.
“What are you saying?” His tone becomes defensive.
“I-I’m not, I’m not going back to Chicago with you,” I say sternly, but my head is down; I can’t look at him as I say it.
I love him, yes. I’m in love with him, no question about it; but it’s a problem when I’m questioning if I love him more than myself, and whether he loves me at all.
“You’re not coming home?” he asks as if he didn’t hear me.
“As of now Cal, we don’t have a home. I don’t think of where we live as a home,” I say angrily.
“Great, now we don’t have a home. I guess the penthouse I’ve worked my ass off to pay for is what, pretend?” he says sarcastically.
“You know what I mean, Cal!” I growl at him, and he laughs, shaking his head defensively.
“No I don’t know what you mean. I came here. I spent the night with you. I don’t want to be in fucking Saginaw the next few days I have off. Why are you making this into something it’s not?”
“Because! I don’t want you think this is just a temper tantrum. I’m serious, Cal. If I go back, I’ll be saying what you’re doing—what we’re both doing—is okay. I’ll be saying it is okay for you to leave me for weeks at a time. It’s okay for me to miss you so much that it’s painful. That I’m fine with not knowing what you’re feeling or thinking ninety percent of the time; I question whether you love me every day,” my voice is starting to crack.
His hardened expression softens and he walks toward me. “Why? Why do you do that?” He holds the back of his head in both hands and sighs, exasperated. “You know that I love you!” He gestures toward me angrily and starts to pace the room. “If you only knew what it took for me to be here with you!” he says aloud, but it seems as if he’s saying it to himself.
“Of course, you’re tearing yourself away from work. How difficult it is to be with your wife—because we’re desperate for the money, of course. I need the Louboutin’s, and you need those Rolexes and foreign cars!” I shout back through my tears, sitting on the
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to maintain my composure. I don’t want to do this with him today. I’m trying to not be a bitch but he’s really pushing it. He finds my suitcase and pulls it out.
“Get dressed; we’re leaving,” he says.
“What? No, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Look, I don’t have time for this shit. Get up and put your clothes on.”
“So that’s it. After everything last night, you wake up with a fucking stick up your ass, throwing out demands. Maybe you don’t get it, but I didn’t come here for an overnight trip.”
“You know what, Lauren? I’m tired of this bullshit. I may have really fucked up a business deal for Dex to come after you and hold your fucking hand. I want to go home and at least sleep in my own bed!” he snarls.
I throw my pillow at him. Jumping out of bed, I grab my robe from the floor and put it on.
“Here we go,” he laughs angrily.
“Why did you come after me? Why did you bring me this?” I thrust my hand in his face showcasing our ring.
“Yeah, I brought it to you. You’re my wife, why the hell do you keep taking it off?”
I’m taken aback by his question and it causes me to pause.
“Because I miss you, but I’m starting to feel like this is just something to pacify me!”
“But I’m here! That’s what I don’t get! How do you miss me?”
I take a deep breath. I know he’s not the only one to blame in this and decide to take on some of it. “I miss us,” I correct him lowering my tone. “What we used to have. How we used to be. What’s happened to us?” I walk toward him, my eyes pleading, and his brow softens, but he turns away from me.
“What are you saying?” His tone becomes defensive.
“I-I’m not, I’m not going back to Chicago with you,” I say sternly, but my head is down; I can’t look at him as I say it.
I love him, yes. I’m in love with him, no question about it; but it’s a problem when I’m questioning if I love him more than myself, and whether he loves me at all.
“You’re not coming home?” he asks as if he didn’t hear me.
“As of now Cal, we don’t have a home. I don’t think of where we live as a home,” I say angrily.
“Great, now we don’t have a home. I guess the penthouse I’ve worked my ass off to pay for is what, pretend?” he says sarcastically.
“You know what I mean, Cal!” I growl at him, and he laughs, shaking his head defensively.
“No I don’t know what you mean. I came here. I spent the night with you. I don’t want to be in fucking Saginaw the next few days I have off. Why are you making this into something it’s not?”
“Because! I don’t want you think this is just a temper tantrum. I’m serious, Cal. If I go back, I’ll be saying what you’re doing—what we’re both doing—is okay. I’ll be saying it is okay for you to leave me for weeks at a time. It’s okay for me to miss you so much that it’s painful. That I’m fine with not knowing what you’re feeling or thinking ninety percent of the time; I question whether you love me every day,” my voice is starting to crack.
His hardened expression softens and he walks toward me. “Why? Why do you do that?” He holds the back of his head in both hands and sighs, exasperated. “You know that I love you!” He gestures toward me angrily and starts to pace the room. “If you only knew what it took for me to be here with you!” he says aloud, but it seems as if he’s saying it to himself.
“Of course, you’re tearing yourself away from work. How difficult it is to be with your wife—because we’re desperate for the money, of course. I need the Louboutin’s, and you need those Rolexes and foreign cars!” I shout back through my tears, sitting on the
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