Breakfast was taken in complete silence. Michelle barely looked at Kelly, much less spoke, and when she did look at her, her expression was sullen and argumentative. Kelly, who had slept more soundly than in months, wasn’t in the mood the broach the previous night’s argument and so let Michelle sulk. Michelle left for work early, without a kiss, and Kelly sat at the kitchen table contemplating what the fallout from her stand would truly be.
She and Michelle had never communicated well. Disagreements were most often settled with silence on Michelle’s part, the two avoiding one another until Kelly gave in and apologized for whatever it seemed she had done wrong. Those disagreements, however, were almost always minor; on the whole, they got along well. This argument had a different tenor to it, a palpable sense of unease that transcended their usual spats.
There had been one other time, almost seven years earlier, when Kelly felt a similar sense of dread about an argument. Michelle had just received a promotion, and in celebration they had gone to a fancy restaurant where Michelle proceeded to drink far too much. On the drive home, she had lost control of the car and gone through a fence, ending up on top of some little old man’s bean patch. Her panicked pleas had caused Kelly to tell the police she had been the one driving, and for some reason everyone believed the story of an errant dog.
Michelle had been very quiet for a couple of days after that, and Kelly had thought she was feeling guilty, but when she finally asked, Michelle had accused her of being the one to blame for not taking the keys in the first place. They had fought angrily for a long time, Kelly trying to defend herself and Michelle on the attack about things Kelly hadn’t even known – and didn’t agree with – were wrong. Michelle had finally stormed out and stayed gone for two days. During that time, Kelly went crazy with guilt, until finally when Michelle did return she broke down and apologized for everything in a long spewing mass of words that made her feel even worse about herself but seemed to calm Michelle down.
Thinking back, it had been that incident which seemed to signal an increase in Kelly’s own drinking. From then on, she had worried less about being the responsible one and more about forgetting her discomfort through wine. The strange thing was, the more she drank, the better she and Michelle got along. The realization was jarring; Kelly’s thoughts came back to the present and she considered what she could expect in the afternoon when Michelle returned from work. It would likely not be good.
It turned out she was partially correct. Michelle came home late, merely grunted when asked about dinner, and disappeared into the den where she stayed for the rest of the night. The silence continued, even when Kelly returned to the bedroom the next evening. Michelle merely looked at her with a frown, flipped over facing the wall, and went to sleep. Finally, knowing that Michelle was leaving for Atlanta the following morning, Kelly screwed up her nerve to break the ice.
“Michelle, we should talk,” she said after another interminable dinner. She’d had a bottle and a half of wine, and was desperate to put things right between them.
“Why? You were pretty clear.”
Kelly sighed. “I love you Michelle, I just … I’m not used to being alone with you yet.”
“Really? Seemed to me you were more interested in being alone with yourself.” Michelle leaned back in her chair, a habit Kelly hated, and crossed her arms. “Is there any reason for me to be here at all?”
“Not wanting sex one night doesn’t mean I want you to leave,” Kelly replied in exasperation. “Be reasonable.”
“Reasonable? You closed the door in my face. You wouldn’t even talk to me. I work my ass off to make this a home, and you don’t seem to appreciate it at all.”
“That’s not true,” Kelly protested. “I appreciate everything you do. But I feel like … like I’ve lost me somewhere along the way.”
Michelle sat the chair down forcefully. “I can’t imagine how. You have plenty of time for you. It’s not like I complain when the house isn’t clean or dinner isn’t ready when I get home. You’re the one that wanted to be a wife and mommy; don’t bitch now that you’re not fulfilled.”
Kelly bit her lip, feeling tears rising. “I’m not saying that. Not at all.”
“Then what are you saying? Because that’s what it sounds like.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m not happy with me, that’s all I know. I’m not happy with how my life is going. I’m sorry I took it out on you ….” It was a surrender she hadn’t intended, but once the words were out it was too late to take them back.
Michelle’s smile was tight and triumphant. “Apology accepted.”
And that was the end of it. Michelle got up from the table, poured Kelly the last of the wine, kissed her on the forehead and went off to pack for her trip, leaving Kelly wishing she could rewind the scene and start over, but not knowing how it could have turned out any differently.
Suddenly, all the frustration and pain welled up into one throbbing, piercing, visceral thing. Kelly downed her drink and stood. She took a 24-ounce tumbler from the drain rack and crossed to the fridge. The box of wine beckoned, promising relief from the emotions wrapping around her thoughts like vines, choking her will to go on. She drank deeply. Something had to stop the pain. She drank again. She knew no other way.
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