I spent most of the time lying on my back and obsessing over what had happened, going over each step in my mind. I was paralyzed. It felt like I should do something, but I didn’t know where to start. Should I look for a job? Contact Ellie to see if there was anything for me at DCLOVE? If Matt and I broke up, would I even stay in DC? My mind was an endless loop of questions, none of which I had the answers for.
Sunday night came and went with no word from Matt. I wondered if he was staying at his parents’ house, if he was back in DC, or if he’d gone somewhere random to think things through.
“I could be dead for all he knows,” I said to Colleen that night. “He hasn’t even bothered to text me. Someone could’ve kidnapped me or I could be in the hospital.”
“So call him,” Colleen said. “He’s your husband. You have a say in this, too. You deserve to know where he is.”
“How can he really not care enough to check in just once?” I asked. Anger flared in my chest. This was the longest we’d been out of contact since we first started dating all those years ago.
Colleen looked at me, then said again, slowly, “Call him.”
“I can’t,” I said.
She shook her head at me, frustrated. “You’re always letting things happen to you,” she said. “You just wait to react. Do something.”
I just looked at her, not knowing how to respond. She was right, of course. But I didn’t know how to change that about myself—didn’t know if it was even possible.
—
I couldn’t sleep that night, imagining Matt had gone to Sunday dinner at his parents’ house, that he was telling everyone what happened, turning them all against me, acting like he’d done nothing wrong. Would he do that? I didn’t think so, but at this point, nothing would surprise me. To leave me like this, to care so little that he wouldn’t call, or even bother to send a text—that I never could’ve imagined.
I began to think he was never going to bother coming home, that he was just going to Irish-good-bye out of our marriage. Which, on top of everything else, would be awkward to explain.
As I tossed and turned, I kept trying to picture my life without Matt. It felt impossible. If we split up, no one would ever call me Buzz again. And while there were so many more important things to worry about, it was that thought that made me the saddest.
—
But then the next morning, he texted: I’ll be home tomorrow night. We’ll talk then? The question mark made his text seem almost friendly, made me feel hopeful despite myself. I had a million things to say, but I just wrote, Sure. I’ll be here. And he answered, See you around 7.
—
The next night, I sat on the couch and waited. My heart jumped when I heard the lock, and I stood at the top of the stairs, watching Matt come in. He looked serious and tired. My heart was beating so fast that I thought I might pass out and considered for a minute if this would make him feel more sympathetic toward me.
“Hey,” he said, looking up at me.
“Hi,” I said. I didn’t know how to greet him and I could tell he felt the same. Even when we were mad at each other, we hugged and kissed hello—maybe out of habit, but also because we belonged to each other. Now I wasn’t sure that was still true.
He sat on one end of the couch and I sat on the other, my hands in my lap. My heart was still beating so hard that I could hear it and wondered if he could too. I waited for him to start talking, and finally he took a deep breath and said, “I’ve spent these past two weeks thinking about this, trying to figure out what we should do. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t angry. But I want us to get past this.”
“You do?” He wasn’t done talking, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking the question. I was sure he heard the relief in my voice.
He sounded solemn as he said, “I do. We’ve put too much into this to just throw it away. We made a commitment to each other. I think we can make this better. If you’re willing to.” It was such a Matt thing to say—to bring up commitment and work—that I almost smiled. He looked so serious sitting there, my thoughtful husband. It was an expression I recognized from so many times we’d talked about our future or world issues. I’d missed this version of Matt; it felt like forever since I’d seen him.
“I want that too,” I said. Our whole conversation felt so formal, like we were negotiating a contract instead of talking about our relationship. Matt looked like he was going to say something else, but I spoke first. “Matt, I want to try to explain. I’ve been going over everything again and again. And I’m sorry for what happened, for what I did. I will always be sorry about that. But I’ve also been thinking about us. About how bad things got.”
“I know,” Matt said.
“I don’t know what happened. I’ve tried to go back and figure out where it was that things started to feel off. You seemed so angry—at me, at the situation. At everything.”
“I was,” he said. He didn’t meet my eyes at first, like he was embarrassed.
“It felt like you didn’t even like me anymore,” I said, my voice wobbling.