I made a face, because I was craving snake or something like it. Maybe shrimp. Shrimp and butter. Yum.
But ultimately I said, “Sure. Hand it over.”
Greg passed me the rectangle of rations. I opened the sealed plastic and absentmindedly munched on the contents while I sat cross-legged next to him. The route we’d opted to traverse on our way to Enugu was mostly unpaved, which was likely how we’d ended up with a hole in the radiator. But that also meant it was considerably less traveled. Several minutes would pass between any noise or indication of a solitary car in the distance.
The sonata of sunset insects, the darkening sky above dotted with emerging stars, and the wind rustling the tall stalks were our only companions.
Surrounded by peace and calm, I found myself having deep thoughts, and I gave voice to them abruptly, before spending too much time considering the subject matter. “Why do people get married, Greg?”
Greg’s attention lifted from his ration pack and settled on me, inspecting both me and my question, his handsome face betraying bewildered interest.
I sought to clarify. “You said once it made sense to partner off so burdens could be shared. But that’s not what I’m asking, because I don’t think shared burdens are why people get married. Shared burdens are a byproduct, not a cause.”
Greg munched on a square of foodstuff that resembled a Triscuit. “You’ll have to be more specific. Do you mean, why get married as in why make it official? Or do you mean, why get married as in why be monogamous and commit to spending the rest of your life with just one person?”
“The latter one. I don’t even understand the desire in myself.” I leaned back on my hands and studied the sky, leaving the rations in my lap. “I know, growing up, it was expected of me. Culturally, for the most part, girls are told their map of life includes partnering off, getting married, having kids.”
“Men are as well, you know. Our generation, at any rate. It was understood, part of growing up is getting married.”
“Exactly. That’s exactly it.” I turned my attention back to my husband. “Why is it a part of growing up? Why do we want it so badly? Why do parents want it for their children?”
“If you throw away all the first-world pundit-esque pretentious answers—like societal pressures, oppression of one sex or the other, a patriarchal construct meant to maintain order, etcetera—and assume the desire to partner is a real thing, then I think . . .” He trailed off, staring unseeingly at something in the distance.
I waited for him to continue, giving him time to compose his thoughts, and found myself enjoying the moment, and his profile. He still hadn’t shaved and looked a bit wild, his hair falling across his eyes. Over the course of the day he had pushed it off his forehead again and again—like he used to do when we were first married—and the simple movement had me feeling nostalgic.
I longed to run my fingers through it and twist the silky strands around my fingers. I hadn’t. Not yet. Things weren’t right between us. Yes, we’d made love, made use of each other’s bodies. But playing with his hair when I still carried a lump of discontent around in my stomach felt insincere.
“I think,” he finally continued, his voice soft and thoughtful, “there are fundamentally two kinds of people: those who need to be loved, and those who need to love. Now, not to say the desires are mutually exclusive, quite the opposite. I believe most people are a mix of the two, with one desire outweighing the other.”
“Some people need to nurture, some crave being nurtured.”
“Exactly. And marriage, exclusivity, monogamy—when done right—feeds both needs in a way nothing else comes close.”
I turned my attention back to the sky and marinated in his words, finding truth in my husband’s wisdom. It may have been an oversimplification of a complex issue, not taking into account the many special snowflake needs of each individual member of humanity, but it resonated with me.
Conversation and debate of any kind not related to our children, and universe of worries, were luxuries. I couldn’t remember the last time Greg and I had discussed anything other than the kids, the household, money, our friends, or our marriage.
I was about to ask him which of us was the nurturer and which of us needed nurturing, when he surprised me by asking, “Why did you marry me, Fiona?”
I didn’t think too hard about my answer. “Because I loved you. And because you showed up and demanded we get married without delay because the world was ending.”
I moved just my eyes to his face, found him smiling at the memory, or maybe at his youthful impulses. “I was frantic, I admit. I didn’t want to spend another day without you as my wife.”
“So you said at the time.” I laughed lightly, recalling how zealous he’d been, how impassioned. We’d been so young.
We’d been too young.
“That’s why you married me?”
I nodded once.