“What did you say?” She must have misunderstood. The house was clean, she’d paid down some of his bills, and dinner was about to be served. What more could she be doing?
They’d been sitting, sipping whiskey, waiting for the timer to let them know that the lasagna would be ready. This moment before dinner was when they discussed the day, the schedule, projects and weekend plans.
“You’re difficult to live with.”
He repeated the words and there it was, that taste in the mouth she got whenever she was about to vomit.
She swallowed hard to keep from throwing up and proceeded to defend herself. She gave examples of how she wasn’t difficult. “See? I do this for you. I’ve done that for you. I try to keep my feelings to myself, for you. I know your job is hard and I try not to burden you with my stuff when you get home. I’m anything but difficult.”
He said, “It’s okay that you are difficult. I love you anyway. I know how to handle you.”
The taste in her mouth did not go away.
Her first thought was, maybe he’s right. She wondered if it was true that she was difficult. Could she be nicer? Could she be less of an inconvenience? Could she facilitate better without needing anything from him? Could she contort herself in a way that would make her invisible, or at least less difficult?
She thought back over instances, in other relationships, when her just being in the same room would elicit a heavy, irritated sigh from the other. She was no stranger to feeling like an inconvenience. She’d had to defend herself before, or at least she thought she had to.
The timer rang. She walked out of the room to pull the lasagna out of the oven and let the kids know that dinner would be ready soon. She tried to keep from crying. The last thing she wanted was food. As she set the table, the need to vomit was replaced with fear. How could she stay here? Where would she go? How could she have dragged her kids into this mess?
Should she stay? He did say he still loved her. Who else could possibly love her, if she was so difficult to live with.
She faked small talk during dinner. After dishes, the four of them watched a show that he selected. While she stared at the TV, her mind raced with what to do.
Later, in the dark, under the covers, shaking and trying to take a deep breath to steady her voice, she rolled over and said, “I need to tell you that it really hurt my feelings when you told me that I’m difficult to live with.”
He said, “Do we have to do this now? I have to be to work early. You know that.”
She rolled back to her side and tried to stay as quiet as humanly possible.
The next evening, he returned home to whiskey poured, and dinner in the oven. She tried to bring up the subject. He dismissed her, saying he’d had a long day.
Over the next week, she made several more attempts to get clarification from him. He would continue to dismiss her, or justify his words.
That taste in her mouth was there more than not. The fear prevented sleep. The more she tried to understand, the less she was able to breathe.
Within the month, she and the kids would pack their things and move.