Silence
As much as I dread it, I know I have to go home that night. I know that when I get there, Kate will be there, too. We already agreed that she would pick up the kids on her way back into town, so I don’t even have that little chore as an excuse to delay the inevitable. There’s really nothing else I can do but go back to her. It’s stupid how much I dread it, I know, but I have no doubt there will be a fight when I get there.
With everything else going on in my life, I just don’t have the energy left to fight with my wife, too.
Because my mind is otherwise occupied, it hasn’t even occurred to me that Kate might be home earlier than she said to expect her. I’m hoping to have some time alone before I have to face her, but as soon as I pull in the driveway, I see that’s not going to be the case. That worries me. Since I’m in fact later than she expected me, I can already anticipate her questions and I don’t want to answer a single one of them.
The house is quiet when I walk in, so quiet that I wonder if only her car is here and not Kate herself. But I soon find her in the kitchen, surveying the instructions on the back of whatever it is she’s trying to cook for dinner. I’m not saying she’s a bad cook – I certainly have no room to insult anyone’s abilities in the kitchen – but I’m certainly not excited about coming home to yet another boxed pasta whatever.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Kate says without even looking up, her voice completely monotone. I can’t even tell how upset she is. She’s always been good at speaking in those kind of measured tones that don’t let on how she really feels. I hate it.
But more than I hate it, I don’t feel like contending with it. So I ignore her, walking right by the stove where she stands and getting myself a soda from the refrigerator. I don’t know what she wants from me – an argument or tacit agreement with whatever she says, but I know which one she’ll get if I let myself speak a word.
“You’re late coming home.”
“You’re early,” I reply. I’m not being argumentative; she really was earlier than I expected. Granted, I was late as well.
“I know work didn’t run late,” she says, stirring the pasta lazily. “Taylor was already at home when Nat and I pulled in. So don’t try to use that excuse.”
“I wasn’t going to – ” I begin, before deciding better of it. She’s already made up her mind about what I’m going to do, so it’s just easier to let her think what she thinks and avoid the fight.
So, with my soda in hand, I head to my “office,” which is really nothing fancier than a room with a computer desk, a keyboard and some basic recording equipment. I could never put together anything more than a crappy demo in it, but it helps when I need to be creative and can’t or don’t want to go to the studio. I don’t feel like working right now, which is a sign of just how bad my mood is, but I open up my laptop and check my email anyway, just to have something to do.
About twenty minutes have passed, and I’m still in no better mood, when Kate knocks lightly at the half-closed door. She doesn’t peek her head in, but I can still see her standing there. “Dinner’s ready.”
I give her a small nod and a murmured “okay,” but I’m in no hurry at all to leave the safety of my office. I know I can’t avoid dinner, though. The kids are perceptive, even though they’re young. I’m certain they know when there’s tension in the house, and I always try to alleviate that tension – or at least shove it way, way deep down – as much as I can, for their sake.
Kate is already dishing out dinner to the kids when I finally make my way to the table. She barely even glances up at me when I walk in, and I figure that’s a probably better greeting than I deserve. I fill my own plate, take my seat, and sit down to the quietest dinner this house has seen for a long time. Again, of all possible outcomes, I think this silence is for the best.
Once we’re all finished with our dinner, I retreat back to my office for the rest of the evening. I wait until I know Kate has tucked the kids into bed before I feel safe venturing back into the rest of the house. It makes me feel like such a coward, but it’s just a little conflict avoidance. Who could fault me for that? Until recently, I would have thought Kate would appreciate it, but there are times lately when I just don’t know anymore. I know she’s not just picking pointless fights; she thinks she has a point about Carrick, after all. But she is still picking fights, pointless or not.
She’s already in bed, reading some silly piece of chick lit like she and Natalie are always gushing over, when I walk by to take my shower. Once again, neither of us says a word. I know it’s only a matter of time, though, before one of us breaks the silence.
As I shower, my mind decides to remind me of all the reasons why I’m a horrible husband and why I should just put Kate out of her misery and end this for both of us. I’ve loved Taylor for so long that it hardly even seemed worthy of feeling guilty for. I wasn’t really cheating – at least, I hadn’t been. Now it’s not just this sickness in my brain; now it’s a real, tangible thing that’s happening.
And, if that wasn’t enough, there’s also Carrick and whatever the hell happened with him.
I’m not mad at him. I’m not even mad at myself for letting it happen. I am, however, confused as hell. This thing with Taylor was just such a given that I’ve never even doubted myself and my sexuality before. I was straight; I just had this unfortunate crush on my brother. It didn’t make sense, but it was me.
Coming in another guy’s hand – not to mention Taylor’s mouth – makes a guy kind of reconsider things, though.
I love Carrick. It’s as much as given and a fact of who I am as my crush on Taylor. But it’s not the same. Carrick’s my best friend. It took us all of thirty minutes from his arrival at Fools Banquet to just click and become this inseparable, song writing, pot smoking duo. The way I feel about him is so different from how I feel about Taylor or even Kate; it never occurred to me to doubt it or even consider what it means.
As I step out of the shower and into the foggy bathroom, I can’t help thinking that maybe I should consider it. I just really, really don’t want to, especially when my wife is waiting on the other side of the bathroom door.
I don’t even glance Kate’s way when I walk out of the bathroom in only my towel, and I don’t feel her eyes on me when I drop the towel and put on a pair of boxers. It’s not like I was expecting sex tonight, but at least the tiniest acknowledgment that I’m naked would be nice. I guess that sort of thing just gets routine after a while when you’re married, but it never has with us. All the time I spend on the road keeps things from getting very boring when I get back. I have been home for a while this time, though, and I suppose she’s too upset with me to even be in the mood for makeup sex.
She’s still got her head buried in that book when I climb underneath the covers, careful to keep a little distance between us until I can judge just how bad her mood is.
“You were with Carrick,” she states plainly, still not looking up at me.
“I was,” I admit.
“Were you going to tell me that?”
I shrug. “Seems you already knew. What’s the point?”
“The point is,” she begins, slamming her book shut and finally looking at me, “you said you wouldn’t hang out with him. Yet you did.”
“So I did.” I really, really don’t want to argue with her, but she’s making it really difficult to avoid. My blood is boiling now at the realization of just what she was asking me to give up – the one friendship I can really count on right now. And I won’t do it.
“Any particular reason why you decided to go against my wishes?”
“Because I disagreed with them. He’s my best friend, Kate, regardless of what you think of him,” I reply, keeping my voice as calm as I can, even though my mind is screaming at me. I can’t lose Carrick. I just can’t. I won’t let Kate take him away from me.
“So my opinion doesn’t matter?”
I groaned, burying my head in my hands. “I didn’t say that. But I don’t have to live and die by your opinions, Kate.”
“They should still matter,” she replies, her tone clipped in the way it always is just before she loses her cool and a calm conversation devolves into a fight.
“They should,” I reply, throwing the covers back and standing up. “But that doesn’t mean they have to change mine. And my opinion is that Carrick is the best friend I’ve ever had.”
It’s a low blow, and I really can’t find it in myself to care how much it hurts her. There was time when, aside from Taylor – and we all know how I feel about him – my best friend was Kate. She stood by me through the hardest time the band ever went through, and that pretty much sealed the deal on our relationship. But there are things she can’t know, that Carrick does. At least in that way, his friendship trumps what I have with Kate.
It’s fucked up, I know, but it is what it is.
“Where are you going?”
I tuck my pillow under my arm. “I’m going to sleep on the couch.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” she replies, those few words letting me know how much I’ve hurt her.
I know I’ll regret it all in the morning and offer an apology. It won’t be sincere, because I’ll still feel the same way, but I will regret letting her know. Right now, though, I can’t help feeling a tiny bit of victory, however fleeting, for standing up for myself.