E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 54
February 20, 2016
What tumors look like
Today I made the mistake of googling "what tumors look like." Let it be known--they are freakin' gross. If you want to call someone the worst name ever, call them Satan; and if you don't want to call them Satan, call them a tumor.
I've had cysts before--which is bad enough, but now knowing a tumor is inside of me....that makes me feel disgusting.
Last night I talked with one of my neighbors. She said, "Don't worry. They'll take it out, it'll be benign and you'll be fine. Tumors are common."
"Have you ever had a tumor?" I asked.
"Nope." She shook her head. "But if I were you, I wouldn't worry."
Well, she isn't me, not at all. Try BEING the one with a tumor, THEN tell me you wouldn't worry.
But I know she meant well. She's a doll, really. It got me thinking, though; maybe I am being a serious idiot. Maybe I'm worried over nothing, ya know, Elisa the dramatic chick with a tumor? The results could come back just fine after they remove this thing....
I've been strong for the kids. But after everyone is asleep, the last two nights I've cried. I'm just worry about if this is cancer. I mean, shit, there are people in my life who need me.
Anyway, these thoughts have all got to be natural, right?
I talked with one of my best friends last night. She's like pure Heaven, sweet and extraordinary. I swear she's ALWAYS been there for me, since we were teenagers and everything. She started crying on the phone. "I wish we lived closer," she said. "Right now...waiting for results and knowing you'll be having a surgery--it's scary."
"Don't cry," I said. And she probably didn't know it, but I was on the verge of tears too. "In ten years, people are going to wonder how the zombie virus started. I want you to tell them, it started in Elisa's right ovary."
"What?"
"That's right. Maybe I'm turning right now, from the inside out."
Laughter burst through her previously choked-up voice. "You're ridiculous."
"Oh my gosh," I gasped, "this could be a book!"
"Of course you'd think of that."
"Well, it COULD be awesome!"
Anyway, I'm sure my blood tests will be fine. And when they remove the tumor next Thursday, those lab tests will come back fine too. But like my buddy said, it's just scary waiting.
If anything, I'm thankful this whole situation has gotten me writing again.
Sincerely,
Elisa (The girl who thinks everything could make a good book. "Well, it COULD be awesome!")
I've had cysts before--which is bad enough, but now knowing a tumor is inside of me....that makes me feel disgusting.
Last night I talked with one of my neighbors. She said, "Don't worry. They'll take it out, it'll be benign and you'll be fine. Tumors are common."
"Have you ever had a tumor?" I asked.
"Nope." She shook her head. "But if I were you, I wouldn't worry."
Well, she isn't me, not at all. Try BEING the one with a tumor, THEN tell me you wouldn't worry.
But I know she meant well. She's a doll, really. It got me thinking, though; maybe I am being a serious idiot. Maybe I'm worried over nothing, ya know, Elisa the dramatic chick with a tumor? The results could come back just fine after they remove this thing....
I've been strong for the kids. But after everyone is asleep, the last two nights I've cried. I'm just worry about if this is cancer. I mean, shit, there are people in my life who need me.
Anyway, these thoughts have all got to be natural, right?
I talked with one of my best friends last night. She's like pure Heaven, sweet and extraordinary. I swear she's ALWAYS been there for me, since we were teenagers and everything. She started crying on the phone. "I wish we lived closer," she said. "Right now...waiting for results and knowing you'll be having a surgery--it's scary."
"Don't cry," I said. And she probably didn't know it, but I was on the verge of tears too. "In ten years, people are going to wonder how the zombie virus started. I want you to tell them, it started in Elisa's right ovary."
"What?"
"That's right. Maybe I'm turning right now, from the inside out."
Laughter burst through her previously choked-up voice. "You're ridiculous."
"Oh my gosh," I gasped, "this could be a book!"
"Of course you'd think of that."
"Well, it COULD be awesome!"
Anyway, I'm sure my blood tests will be fine. And when they remove the tumor next Thursday, those lab tests will come back fine too. But like my buddy said, it's just scary waiting.
If anything, I'm thankful this whole situation has gotten me writing again.
Sincerely,
Elisa (The girl who thinks everything could make a good book. "Well, it COULD be awesome!")
February 19, 2016
You're not my freakin' nanny....
Sometimes people suck.
So I decided to start writing on my blog again....
Late last night, someone who I hadn't hung out with in a few months sent me an email. It said:
"I'm very upset that you didn't tell me you might have a tumor before you posted it all over social media. I thought we were friends."
Dear Friend,
Not everything in MY life is about you. You are not my freakin' nanny.
Her email went on to say:
"Please know that this is simply a constructive criticism, but your voice in your latest post could use some work. You sounded like an uneducated Republican hick."
Once again, Dear "Friend,"
Thank you for taking this exact moment to edit my writing. My voice may sound uneducated, but that's far better than sounding like a pompous b*tch.
*stepping off of my soapbox now*
I saw the gyno today. He confirmed that I have an ovarian tumor--still the size of an orange.
He didn't realize I'd already looked over the results with a friend of mine who knows medicine and krap. He tried softening the blow. "I don't know how you feel about surgery," he said, "but I don't feel like a tumor this size will ever go away."
Ya think? I remained quiet, listening.
"I can try to save your right ovary, but I might not be able to. It's your choice. Just know that I could get in there and have to take it anyway. And even if I do save it, more tumors could grow."
So...that was some psychological shit. I don't think there's any way you can save an ovary with a tumor that's grown INSIDE of it, and is now the size of Kansas! But he was giving ME the choice, which actually did feel a little empowering.
I played his game. "I always hated the right ovary anyway. Go ahead and take it out. God gave me two, and using both of them seems greedy."
He stared at me and simply blinked before saying, "I also need to tell you you're young"--cool, I hadn't heard that in years--"and I'd be surprised if you have cancer at this age. But this IS a tumor, so we should do a blood test before the surgery. After the surgery we'll send the tumor to the lab to be tested as well."
I had my blood drawn a few minutes later by a saint of a woman who's practically a magician at drawing blood. She talked so much I hardly even felt the needle.
By the time I left, they had me all scheduled for surgery; it'll be a couple of days after they get the blood test results back. They're going to remove my zombie ovary and the connecting tube.
Waiting for that test is driving me crazy. If waiting doesn't kill me, who knows what will.
Sincerely,
A kinda spicy Elisa
P.S. I mean it. I really hated that ovary anyway.
So I decided to start writing on my blog again....
Late last night, someone who I hadn't hung out with in a few months sent me an email. It said:
"I'm very upset that you didn't tell me you might have a tumor before you posted it all over social media. I thought we were friends."
Dear Friend,
Not everything in MY life is about you. You are not my freakin' nanny.
Her email went on to say:
"Please know that this is simply a constructive criticism, but your voice in your latest post could use some work. You sounded like an uneducated Republican hick."
Once again, Dear "Friend,"
Thank you for taking this exact moment to edit my writing. My voice may sound uneducated, but that's far better than sounding like a pompous b*tch.
*stepping off of my soapbox now*
I saw the gyno today. He confirmed that I have an ovarian tumor--still the size of an orange.
He didn't realize I'd already looked over the results with a friend of mine who knows medicine and krap. He tried softening the blow. "I don't know how you feel about surgery," he said, "but I don't feel like a tumor this size will ever go away."
Ya think? I remained quiet, listening.
"I can try to save your right ovary, but I might not be able to. It's your choice. Just know that I could get in there and have to take it anyway. And even if I do save it, more tumors could grow."
So...that was some psychological shit. I don't think there's any way you can save an ovary with a tumor that's grown INSIDE of it, and is now the size of Kansas! But he was giving ME the choice, which actually did feel a little empowering.
I played his game. "I always hated the right ovary anyway. Go ahead and take it out. God gave me two, and using both of them seems greedy."
He stared at me and simply blinked before saying, "I also need to tell you you're young"--cool, I hadn't heard that in years--"and I'd be surprised if you have cancer at this age. But this IS a tumor, so we should do a blood test before the surgery. After the surgery we'll send the tumor to the lab to be tested as well."
I had my blood drawn a few minutes later by a saint of a woman who's practically a magician at drawing blood. She talked so much I hardly even felt the needle.
By the time I left, they had me all scheduled for surgery; it'll be a couple of days after they get the blood test results back. They're going to remove my zombie ovary and the connecting tube.
Waiting for that test is driving me crazy. If waiting doesn't kill me, who knows what will.
Sincerely,
A kinda spicy Elisa
P.S. I mean it. I really hated that ovary anyway.
February 18, 2016
I have an ovarian tumor
That moment when you're soooo tired, you feel like you're gonna melt into a pool of slush on the floor...
I thought I was doing better, until my two oldest daughters, Ruby and Sky, got super upset with each other. Then my two youngest, Trey and Indy started battling each other--Spartacus-style. At least they get my mind off of things....
Today a friend of mine from the medical industry helped me looked at the results from my ER visit.
"I think these comments from the doctor speak volumes," she said.
She'd referred to his his final comments at the bottom of the print-out: "Highly concerning mass." "Patient to seek immediate assistance from gynecologist."
Do you get gynos? Who would even want to be one? That would flip my krap--ya know, being around naked people especially when they are chicks, or worse WHEN they're pregnant... I don't know. More power to them, but I think seeing naked people all day is gross.
So I'm seeing a gyno tomorrow. I looked him up online. I guess he's been interviewed on TV and krap. But that doesn't mean anything. I mean, hell, I'VE been interviewed on TV. They'll let anyone on TV these days ;) (HERE is my 5 mins. of fame.) My brother says everyone gets fifteen minutes of fame in their lifetime--I guess I finally used up five of mine.
Anyway, this gyno was interviewed on TV--and he got way more than fifteen minutes! It was a very Dr.-Phil-looking set. Good thing the gyno didn't appear to be the one telling HIS problems--about how he wished he was a podiatrist or something. What's worse, feet or chick parts? I seriously don't know.
So since my appointment isn't until tomorrow, I've been practically dying from anxiousness. But I did learn a few important things today after talking with my medical friend and really reading through my report. I don't have a cyst. I was hurting to death on Sunday because a cyst burst. Thing thing on my ovary that's still there--this orange-sized thing, well, it's solid. And instead of it growing ON my ovary, it's inside of it. My ovary has now transformed into a zombie-thing, on steroids.
Can I just say I'm scared? This means surgery for sure. But...on the bright side, I needed a vacation?
Dear God,
When I prayed for a break, I had something else in mind. Can my next vaca please be for fun? Oh, and I'd like for you to save my chick parts. But if you can't, that's cool. I just don't wanna feel like less of a woman. Is getting an ovary removed, like getting a ball removed if you're a dude? If that's true, what would a hysterectomy be like for a guy? Oh krap.... But maybe getting a hysterectomy means I can finally have an attitude--with a hormone-related excuse--my husband would think I'm EXTRA special if that happens to him. BAM! What. A. Deal.
Amen.
Sincerely,
A droopy-tired, Elisa
I thought I was doing better, until my two oldest daughters, Ruby and Sky, got super upset with each other. Then my two youngest, Trey and Indy started battling each other--Spartacus-style. At least they get my mind off of things....
Today a friend of mine from the medical industry helped me looked at the results from my ER visit.
"I think these comments from the doctor speak volumes," she said.
She'd referred to his his final comments at the bottom of the print-out: "Highly concerning mass." "Patient to seek immediate assistance from gynecologist."
Do you get gynos? Who would even want to be one? That would flip my krap--ya know, being around naked people especially when they are chicks, or worse WHEN they're pregnant... I don't know. More power to them, but I think seeing naked people all day is gross.
So I'm seeing a gyno tomorrow. I looked him up online. I guess he's been interviewed on TV and krap. But that doesn't mean anything. I mean, hell, I'VE been interviewed on TV. They'll let anyone on TV these days ;) (HERE is my 5 mins. of fame.) My brother says everyone gets fifteen minutes of fame in their lifetime--I guess I finally used up five of mine.
Anyway, this gyno was interviewed on TV--and he got way more than fifteen minutes! It was a very Dr.-Phil-looking set. Good thing the gyno didn't appear to be the one telling HIS problems--about how he wished he was a podiatrist or something. What's worse, feet or chick parts? I seriously don't know.
So since my appointment isn't until tomorrow, I've been practically dying from anxiousness. But I did learn a few important things today after talking with my medical friend and really reading through my report. I don't have a cyst. I was hurting to death on Sunday because a cyst burst. Thing thing on my ovary that's still there--this orange-sized thing, well, it's solid. And instead of it growing ON my ovary, it's inside of it. My ovary has now transformed into a zombie-thing, on steroids.
Can I just say I'm scared? This means surgery for sure. But...on the bright side, I needed a vacation?
Dear God,
When I prayed for a break, I had something else in mind. Can my next vaca please be for fun? Oh, and I'd like for you to save my chick parts. But if you can't, that's cool. I just don't wanna feel like less of a woman. Is getting an ovary removed, like getting a ball removed if you're a dude? If that's true, what would a hysterectomy be like for a guy? Oh krap.... But maybe getting a hysterectomy means I can finally have an attitude--with a hormone-related excuse--my husband would think I'm EXTRA special if that happens to him. BAM! What. A. Deal.
Amen.
Sincerely,
A droopy-tired, Elisa
February 17, 2016
I got hit by a bus....
Do you ever feel like you're walking down the road of life, completely enjoying yourself, when
suddenly you get hit by a bus
?! Well, that's how I feel right now.... But let me give you some background first. Mmmmm, k!
Maybe God doesn't give us what we can handle. Maybe He gives us what we need to grow. Well right now, I'm freakin' sick of growing.
I don't mean to complain, not really. My life is pretty amazing. I have four wonderful, albeit wild, kids. Five months ago I married the perfect man for me. He's given up having his own bio kids to help me raise mine--how selfless can someone be? He'll drop everything for those kids--to fix their krap (yes with a "k"). Mike makes sure they don't have ANYTHING to cry about. My fourteen-year-old even started calling him "dad," and if that doesn't tell you something, you're an idiot--and you need to be admitted. But anyway....
My husband loves those kids, and I guess he also likes me a little, too. Last week we were sitting in bed when he started gushing about how Valentine's Day was coming. Apparently he got me a big gift. That flipped me out. "Valentine's Day IS NOT a big deal to me," I said.
"Well, it's more important to me than a birthday," he replied.
I should've known I was screwed then. I mean, this was our first V-Day together as a married couple.... I wanted it to be special for him. So I decided to wake up early that morning to do something nice for him. But the second I woke up, I knew something was wrong.
This crazy-bad pain seared through my stomach. (And V-Day wasn't the first time this happened.) I'd actually gone to a few doctors, telling them my stomach hurt; but they all treated me like I was nuts. So, I dealt with the pain--honestly thinking, for the last several months, that it might be in my head. Or maybe it could be massively random cramps, ya know, God's punishment for Eve's dumbass eating that forbidden apple and everything.
So, on V-Day my poor, candy-heart lovin' man took me to the ER, and after a few hours, we waited for ultrasound results.
As we sat there, he read some of my own writing to me: a story based on how we met. (You can find that HERE .) It's some of the sappiest krap ever, but I freakin' love it--'cause Mike is all gravy. I treasured falling in love with that man: The first time we really talked. The first time I dared to kiss him. How we got stuck in a damn avalanche and he didn't try to kill me or nothin'. It's great being with someone who likes that I'm alive.
Back to my point.... I'm up super late because on V-Day, my ultrasound showed a growth on my right ovary . I'm so done with this shit--at least, thank God, I'm not really crazy.
I guess the growth is the size of an orange.
I love oranges, don't get me wrong, just not when one's on my chick part.
Have you ever had a doctor look you in the face and tell you that you might have cancer? I bet you have--it's practically in their damn job description--you know, being the bearer of bad freakin' news.
Anyway, I wasn't an inmate at the ER long. They released me for being freakin' adorable.
As I type this, it's February 16th. I'm up because my stomach feels like there's an alien in it. Everywhere I roll. It. Hurts. I'm feeling so damn bad for myself; I just want to cry, but I cried enough earlier.
Ruby, my fourteen-year-old, thought she was helping by showing me youtube videos of ovarian surgeries. So if cancer doesn't kill me, those videos might. But I'm getting ahead of myself; this might not be cancer. Even though I have nine out of ten freakin' signs of having ovarian cancer--like my mother-in-law said, "I don't need to bother trouble until it's time."
I'm going to the OB in two days and we'll find out what kind of an orange this is.... That's what.
This is Elisa. The chick who got hit by a bus of life...again.
My personal goal? When my son died...I never stopped loving God. When my dad had cancer...I never stopped loving God. When my first marriage failed...I stilled loved God.
GOAL: Never stop loving God--'cause Job (from the Bible) had it right!
Sincerely,
A recently traumatized Elisa
BAM!
P.S. This blog is no longer taking comments at this time. I'm currently dealing with a lot right now and don't have time to respond or take in any more advice. You're welcome to read this if you like, but it's just my online journal right now, simply a way to help me cope.
Wishing you all the best on your own journeys!
Maybe God doesn't give us what we can handle. Maybe He gives us what we need to grow. Well right now, I'm freakin' sick of growing.
I don't mean to complain, not really. My life is pretty amazing. I have four wonderful, albeit wild, kids. Five months ago I married the perfect man for me. He's given up having his own bio kids to help me raise mine--how selfless can someone be? He'll drop everything for those kids--to fix their krap (yes with a "k"). Mike makes sure they don't have ANYTHING to cry about. My fourteen-year-old even started calling him "dad," and if that doesn't tell you something, you're an idiot--and you need to be admitted. But anyway....
My husband loves those kids, and I guess he also likes me a little, too. Last week we were sitting in bed when he started gushing about how Valentine's Day was coming. Apparently he got me a big gift. That flipped me out. "Valentine's Day IS NOT a big deal to me," I said.
"Well, it's more important to me than a birthday," he replied.
I should've known I was screwed then. I mean, this was our first V-Day together as a married couple.... I wanted it to be special for him. So I decided to wake up early that morning to do something nice for him. But the second I woke up, I knew something was wrong.
This crazy-bad pain seared through my stomach. (And V-Day wasn't the first time this happened.) I'd actually gone to a few doctors, telling them my stomach hurt; but they all treated me like I was nuts. So, I dealt with the pain--honestly thinking, for the last several months, that it might be in my head. Or maybe it could be massively random cramps, ya know, God's punishment for Eve's dumbass eating that forbidden apple and everything.
So, on V-Day my poor, candy-heart lovin' man took me to the ER, and after a few hours, we waited for ultrasound results.
As we sat there, he read some of my own writing to me: a story based on how we met. (You can find that HERE .) It's some of the sappiest krap ever, but I freakin' love it--'cause Mike is all gravy. I treasured falling in love with that man: The first time we really talked. The first time I dared to kiss him. How we got stuck in a damn avalanche and he didn't try to kill me or nothin'. It's great being with someone who likes that I'm alive.
Back to my point.... I'm up super late because on V-Day, my ultrasound showed a growth on my right ovary . I'm so done with this shit--at least, thank God, I'm not really crazy.
I guess the growth is the size of an orange.
I love oranges, don't get me wrong, just not when one's on my chick part.
Have you ever had a doctor look you in the face and tell you that you might have cancer? I bet you have--it's practically in their damn job description--you know, being the bearer of bad freakin' news.
Anyway, I wasn't an inmate at the ER long. They released me for being freakin' adorable.
As I type this, it's February 16th. I'm up because my stomach feels like there's an alien in it. Everywhere I roll. It. Hurts. I'm feeling so damn bad for myself; I just want to cry, but I cried enough earlier.
Ruby, my fourteen-year-old, thought she was helping by showing me youtube videos of ovarian surgeries. So if cancer doesn't kill me, those videos might. But I'm getting ahead of myself; this might not be cancer. Even though I have nine out of ten freakin' signs of having ovarian cancer--like my mother-in-law said, "I don't need to bother trouble until it's time."
I'm going to the OB in two days and we'll find out what kind of an orange this is.... That's what.
This is Elisa. The chick who got hit by a bus of life...again.
My personal goal? When my son died...I never stopped loving God. When my dad had cancer...I never stopped loving God. When my first marriage failed...I stilled loved God.
GOAL: Never stop loving God--'cause Job (from the Bible) had it right!
Sincerely,
A recently traumatized Elisa
BAM!
P.S. This blog is no longer taking comments at this time. I'm currently dealing with a lot right now and don't have time to respond or take in any more advice. You're welcome to read this if you like, but it's just my online journal right now, simply a way to help me cope.
Wishing you all the best on your own journeys!
September 7, 2015
A Reoccurring Dream
THIRTY-EIGHT
A REOCCURRING DREAM
To read this story from the beginning, please go HERE
This is a work of fiction based on a true story....
A week before the wedding, I snuggled next to Mark, falling asleep in my dream-man’s arms, and I found myself once again in the same dream I'd had several times before....
The landlord limped, leading me, my four children, and Mark, up the cracked steps of a rickety mansion. "Isn't it beautifully aged?" the landlord croaked, showing us room upon room. The wallpaper I’d remembered from previous dreams, had been peeling, but these walls had been freshly painted. The furniture pieces were still antiques, but looked as if reupholstered.
“Are you renting this place?” I asked the landlord.
“Well, it’s not just for rent anymore,” the man said. “You can buy it now.”
Mark held me closely. “I think I’ll buy it. It’s a pretty amazing house.”
So we bought the house.
Mark, the children, and I had grand parties there, with friends, family, and various acquaintances. No one ever commented on how different it looked from the last time I’d had this dream—apparently it was my secret alone. But still, I remembered what had been in that house—just behind the couch in the living room. As everyone sat in the front room, I'd always crawl with nerves: Hoping no one knew my secret. Desperately laughing at ill-humored jokes. Coaxing noxious words from previously dying conversations. Wishing anything would keep their minds from what lay hiding behind the couch.
And when everything was quiet. When my treasured guests had finally left. When Mark rested soundly in our gorgeous Victorian bed, and my children were fast asleep in their rooms, that's when I crept down the carpeted stairs, round the bend, to the couch where moments before, everyone had sat, enjoying life.
I grew so eager to move the velvety couch, no amount of weight could stop my ambition. I shoved with all of my might, then after little reward I kept pushing. After all, this was no ordinary house. This was no ordinary dream. And what the couch had always concealed was far more than one would expect. There had always been, inches above the floor a gaping hole! It had led completely through the wall, muddy with jagged roots spiraling down, down—hiding all of the terrible secrets of my life.
The couch finally slid and I prepared to see the hole, but it wasn’t there anymore! It had been patched up completely. I banged on the wall. Hit it as hard as I could, but the sheetrock wouldn’t bust. My secret place—albeit yucky and forlorn—had simply been barricaded away forever.
I sat, thinking that I could never go back to that terrible place. And for some strange reason, I missed it. Not as someone who misses a dear friend, but as a victim, who is struggling, still coming to terms with a healthier life.
I touched the baby-blue painted wall, wondering who could have blocked me from revisiting my nightmares….
The next morning, as Mark and my children ate breakfast in the dream, I turned to Mark and asked, “What do you plan on doing today?”
“More painting,” he said. And he pointed to a paint can in the corner of the room. I knew from the label, it was the exact same color as the wall behind the couch....
CLICK HERE to read more or this story.
September 3, 2015
The Schmuck's Wife
If you want to read this story from the very beginning, please CLICK THIS.
Based on a true story THIRTY-SEVENThe Schmuck's Wife Facing the past isn't always what we might expect. As I drove to breakfast one brisk morning, I thought of the last several months, and couldn't help feeling reflective. Mark and I had been busy making arrangements for our upcoming wedding. The kids were so happy and beginning to really excel in school again. And the only contact I'd had regarding The Schmuck wasn't from him, but actually from his wife. She'd sent me a very compelling letter, saying she'd like to meet because she wanted closure. "What do you think?" I'd asked my counselor the previous week. She studied me and then nodded, telling me that I might need closure as well. We'd agreed to meet at a charming breakfast place near both of our homes, but being super nervous I had arrived about twenty minutes. I shakily took out my phone and called to talk to my mom as I waited. "What do you think you're doing?" my mom asked. "You could end up dead!" "Mom! That's a bit dramatic. I'm here because we both need closure. She's almost divorced from The Schmuck--for real this time. And plus, she doesn't sound like the person The Schmuck described so long ago." "Gina. You scare me. Just be careful, okay?" "All right," I promised. I hung up the phone and paced in the front of the restaurant. Then I stopped and looked around. Oh shit, what if she was already there? What if I looked stupid pacing and pacing. I instantly went into the breakfast joint and asked the first waitress I found, "Have you seen a cute blonde come in here, looking for someone?" The waitress shook her head. "Nope. Take a seat though, and come on up when your whole party is here." So I sat there, being eaten away by my thoughts. I wondered what she'd be like. The Schmuck had told me dozens of stories about her--thinking about those made me want to get up and leave. I was honestly considering it when my phone rang so randomly that I jumped. "Mark?" "Hey, babe. You made it to the diner?" "Yes," I said, stepping outside again. "Your mom called me." He laughed. "She's worried too. Just be safe like we talked about. I think this is pretty brave what you're doing. I know you're hoping this will help her. I hope it'll help you too. You know that what happened wasn't either of your faults. You didn't know they were still together. She didn't know he was cheating. It's his problem. I just hope this will help you realize this isn't you. And not all men are like that. I'm trying to show you every day." "You really have," I said. And as I contemplated his words, a gorgeous blonde drove up. I knew The Schmuck's wife had arrived. She had this certain air about her, like a classic beauty who is timeless, sweet and kind. Watching her walk toward me, I gasped. Her platinum hair bounced and she wore perfect designer clothes. This woman was a head-turner. Why had "The Schmuck" cheated when he'd had someone as beautiful as her! After she walked up, I shook her hand, maybe a bit too hard--out of awkwardness. Then we went into the restaurant. The waiter brought me my coffee and I was pretty freakin' thankful for a distraction. The Schmuck's wife and I sat across from each other, two sides of a coin that I'd never imagined flipping. "I didn't ever think I'd be the other woman," I finally said. "It wasn't my favorite." She nodded and took a sip of her water. "I just wanted to come here and hear your side of the story. I know there's good in everyone. And I'm not one to hold grudges." I took a big swig of coffee, honestly wishing it was Vodka. Then I tugged at my shirt's collar. Why in the hell had I worn such warm clothes--it was pretty hot in that place. Yet I looked super-modest. "Well, we met when my ex-husband and I were still married," I began. "Things were going bad with my ex, real bad. I knew I needed out. And I couldn't talk to anyone. I was scared--terrified really. The timing of it was crazy because we'd hired The Schmuck to frame our basement, and a week after he started the job, my husband and I got separated." "I've never heard this side of the story. Why did you two separate?" she asked. "There were so many reasons that I shouldn't get into. But The Schmuck came into this because my ex thought I was having an affair with him. He wouldn't let up, said I'd been dating him for months even though I'd known him a week! So right after we separated, I called The Schmuck and asked him to go to the mountains with me. He told me he was getting divorced. That the two of you were friends, but had been separated for a long time. Long story short, I kissed him in the mountains--told him I was in a real bad place. Then the next day I went and filed for a divorce." She nodded. "He said that you seduced him. That he couldn't say no. That you were always wearing short shorts and tank tops. But seeing you now--I know he was lying." Yeah, cause I looked more modest than a nun! My eyes widened as I tried nodding sweetly. Thank God I'd worn pants and a long shirt. He had lied about the seducing part, but he had not lied about my redneck clothes. "Listen," I said. "I'm gonna be honest about this. You are gorgeous! Even prettier up-close in person. I'm so glad you're getting away from The Schmuck. I know I've made mistakes. And I'm the queen of messing shit up, but I know one thing: I never would have kissed him or even started dating him if I would've known that you two were still together. And honestly I wish I wouldn't have kissed one until after I was legally divorced." "I didn't understand then. But I get it now. Divorce is hard." She took another sip of her water and started looking at her menu. "Has he contacted you within the last several months?" I had to be honest. "Yes, he was saying that since you're getting divorced he wanted to give it another shot with me." She bit her lip. "He's been trying to get back together with me the whole time too. And come to find out, he's had a girlfriend this whole time." I don't know why, but it hit me so hard. I laughed and laughed. Then as she stared at me, a smile slid onto her own face and she began laughing as well. It got funnier and funnier because it was either laugh or cry. And our waiter finally came over. "You guys know what want yet?" "Can you give us a few more minutes?" The Schmuck's wife asked. "No worries," he said. "My best friend came into town last week and we were the exact same way--too busy talking to look at the menu. After the waiter left, turned back to The Schmuck's wife. "Another girl in the mix. He's something else." "Yeah. Lately, the more that I learn about him, the happier I am that I'm getting away now," she said. There was suddenly so much emotion in her voice. I met her eyes and I could've cried. I wanted her to know how bad I felt about the whole damn thing. That I'd never wanted to hurt her or her kids. That I'd never wanted to be the side show, everything short of the real thing. And also how bad I felt that I'd kissed him in the first place, because I was trying to find a crutch to help me out of my own shit. And as we looked at each other something strange happened to me--I felt genuinely happy for a person I'd really disliked months before. In the previous year, I'd been jealous, seeing pictures of how beautiful she was. I'd felt like less of a person because she must've had something I didn't. But as I stared at her, I didn't give a damn if she was prettier, or nicer, or sweeter--or anything. I was happy for her. She'd survived a terrible situation, just like I had with my own divorce. All of the jealousy and anger instantly fell away. And I sat with confidence because I suddenly had to tell her something. "This wasn't either of our faults." I borrowed Mark's words. "I didn't know you were still together. You didn't know he was cheating. This is his problem." She nodded, "Yeah. We're strong and we'll both be better off because of what we've gone through." "Agreed," I said. And when we left that restaurant I felt like a terrible burden had fallen from my shoulders. I called Mark. "Come to find out the whole time I thought I'd been struggling with getting over The Schmuck, really I'd been trying to forgive myself, for being part of something that had hurt a wife and family the way that it had." "I'm so glad you met with her. What was she like anyway?" "Actually pretty freakin' awesome--nothing like he'd described her to be." "Figures," Mark said. "You feel better?" "Yeah." "Hey, you wanna go someplace with me? All this closure got me thinking." "Sure!" And when I got there, Mark asked for me to jump in his truck because he wanted to head into the mountains. "You remember how we broke up and buried that time capsule, saying we'd catch up someday, dig it up and read it together?" I nodded. "Well, you meeting with The Schmuck's wife, made me think of everything we've been through. I want to go dig up the time capsule and read it together today." "Wait! Let's dig it up today, but not open it until our honeymoon!" So it only took two holes until Mark found the mason jar time-capsule. He wiped the dirt off of it and I couldn't help hugging him hard. I remembered the letter I'd written to him and I could hardly wait for him to read it on our honeymoon. I also wondered what he'd written on his letter to me. "Life is funny," Mark said as we walked back down the mountain. "You never know what new things will happen." "Yeah, like how The Schmuck's wife ended up being so sweet. Or how you and I thought we'd break up last year, and now we're getting married in a month!" Mark put his slightly dirty arm around my shoulder and walked near me on the path. "Can I tell you a secret? I never thought we'd break up. I knew I'd keep trying to win your heart, even if it took forever." "You're full of it." "Honestly! You know I'm so in love with you and have been for a long time." As we continued walking I thought of all of our memories together: my security job, the avalanche, the kayaking adventure, camping with the kids.... "Mark, when did you know that you loved me? Was it when I kissed you?" "Even before that. I wanted to be with you so bad. I just didn't know it would be this good." "I didn't either." I took the time capsule from him and grinned at it. "What a ride this has been." "And this is just the beginning." He held me closer as I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed in the fresh mountain air.
Based on a true story THIRTY-SEVENThe Schmuck's Wife Facing the past isn't always what we might expect. As I drove to breakfast one brisk morning, I thought of the last several months, and couldn't help feeling reflective. Mark and I had been busy making arrangements for our upcoming wedding. The kids were so happy and beginning to really excel in school again. And the only contact I'd had regarding The Schmuck wasn't from him, but actually from his wife. She'd sent me a very compelling letter, saying she'd like to meet because she wanted closure. "What do you think?" I'd asked my counselor the previous week. She studied me and then nodded, telling me that I might need closure as well. We'd agreed to meet at a charming breakfast place near both of our homes, but being super nervous I had arrived about twenty minutes. I shakily took out my phone and called to talk to my mom as I waited. "What do you think you're doing?" my mom asked. "You could end up dead!" "Mom! That's a bit dramatic. I'm here because we both need closure. She's almost divorced from The Schmuck--for real this time. And plus, she doesn't sound like the person The Schmuck described so long ago." "Gina. You scare me. Just be careful, okay?" "All right," I promised. I hung up the phone and paced in the front of the restaurant. Then I stopped and looked around. Oh shit, what if she was already there? What if I looked stupid pacing and pacing. I instantly went into the breakfast joint and asked the first waitress I found, "Have you seen a cute blonde come in here, looking for someone?" The waitress shook her head. "Nope. Take a seat though, and come on up when your whole party is here." So I sat there, being eaten away by my thoughts. I wondered what she'd be like. The Schmuck had told me dozens of stories about her--thinking about those made me want to get up and leave. I was honestly considering it when my phone rang so randomly that I jumped. "Mark?" "Hey, babe. You made it to the diner?" "Yes," I said, stepping outside again. "Your mom called me." He laughed. "She's worried too. Just be safe like we talked about. I think this is pretty brave what you're doing. I know you're hoping this will help her. I hope it'll help you too. You know that what happened wasn't either of your faults. You didn't know they were still together. She didn't know he was cheating. It's his problem. I just hope this will help you realize this isn't you. And not all men are like that. I'm trying to show you every day." "You really have," I said. And as I contemplated his words, a gorgeous blonde drove up. I knew The Schmuck's wife had arrived. She had this certain air about her, like a classic beauty who is timeless, sweet and kind. Watching her walk toward me, I gasped. Her platinum hair bounced and she wore perfect designer clothes. This woman was a head-turner. Why had "The Schmuck" cheated when he'd had someone as beautiful as her! After she walked up, I shook her hand, maybe a bit too hard--out of awkwardness. Then we went into the restaurant. The waiter brought me my coffee and I was pretty freakin' thankful for a distraction. The Schmuck's wife and I sat across from each other, two sides of a coin that I'd never imagined flipping. "I didn't ever think I'd be the other woman," I finally said. "It wasn't my favorite." She nodded and took a sip of her water. "I just wanted to come here and hear your side of the story. I know there's good in everyone. And I'm not one to hold grudges." I took a big swig of coffee, honestly wishing it was Vodka. Then I tugged at my shirt's collar. Why in the hell had I worn such warm clothes--it was pretty hot in that place. Yet I looked super-modest. "Well, we met when my ex-husband and I were still married," I began. "Things were going bad with my ex, real bad. I knew I needed out. And I couldn't talk to anyone. I was scared--terrified really. The timing of it was crazy because we'd hired The Schmuck to frame our basement, and a week after he started the job, my husband and I got separated." "I've never heard this side of the story. Why did you two separate?" she asked. "There were so many reasons that I shouldn't get into. But The Schmuck came into this because my ex thought I was having an affair with him. He wouldn't let up, said I'd been dating him for months even though I'd known him a week! So right after we separated, I called The Schmuck and asked him to go to the mountains with me. He told me he was getting divorced. That the two of you were friends, but had been separated for a long time. Long story short, I kissed him in the mountains--told him I was in a real bad place. Then the next day I went and filed for a divorce." She nodded. "He said that you seduced him. That he couldn't say no. That you were always wearing short shorts and tank tops. But seeing you now--I know he was lying." Yeah, cause I looked more modest than a nun! My eyes widened as I tried nodding sweetly. Thank God I'd worn pants and a long shirt. He had lied about the seducing part, but he had not lied about my redneck clothes. "Listen," I said. "I'm gonna be honest about this. You are gorgeous! Even prettier up-close in person. I'm so glad you're getting away from The Schmuck. I know I've made mistakes. And I'm the queen of messing shit up, but I know one thing: I never would have kissed him or even started dating him if I would've known that you two were still together. And honestly I wish I wouldn't have kissed one until after I was legally divorced." "I didn't understand then. But I get it now. Divorce is hard." She took another sip of her water and started looking at her menu. "Has he contacted you within the last several months?" I had to be honest. "Yes, he was saying that since you're getting divorced he wanted to give it another shot with me." She bit her lip. "He's been trying to get back together with me the whole time too. And come to find out, he's had a girlfriend this whole time." I don't know why, but it hit me so hard. I laughed and laughed. Then as she stared at me, a smile slid onto her own face and she began laughing as well. It got funnier and funnier because it was either laugh or cry. And our waiter finally came over. "You guys know what want yet?" "Can you give us a few more minutes?" The Schmuck's wife asked. "No worries," he said. "My best friend came into town last week and we were the exact same way--too busy talking to look at the menu. After the waiter left, turned back to The Schmuck's wife. "Another girl in the mix. He's something else." "Yeah. Lately, the more that I learn about him, the happier I am that I'm getting away now," she said. There was suddenly so much emotion in her voice. I met her eyes and I could've cried. I wanted her to know how bad I felt about the whole damn thing. That I'd never wanted to hurt her or her kids. That I'd never wanted to be the side show, everything short of the real thing. And also how bad I felt that I'd kissed him in the first place, because I was trying to find a crutch to help me out of my own shit. And as we looked at each other something strange happened to me--I felt genuinely happy for a person I'd really disliked months before. In the previous year, I'd been jealous, seeing pictures of how beautiful she was. I'd felt like less of a person because she must've had something I didn't. But as I stared at her, I didn't give a damn if she was prettier, or nicer, or sweeter--or anything. I was happy for her. She'd survived a terrible situation, just like I had with my own divorce. All of the jealousy and anger instantly fell away. And I sat with confidence because I suddenly had to tell her something. "This wasn't either of our faults." I borrowed Mark's words. "I didn't know you were still together. You didn't know he was cheating. This is his problem." She nodded, "Yeah. We're strong and we'll both be better off because of what we've gone through." "Agreed," I said. And when we left that restaurant I felt like a terrible burden had fallen from my shoulders. I called Mark. "Come to find out the whole time I thought I'd been struggling with getting over The Schmuck, really I'd been trying to forgive myself, for being part of something that had hurt a wife and family the way that it had." "I'm so glad you met with her. What was she like anyway?" "Actually pretty freakin' awesome--nothing like he'd described her to be." "Figures," Mark said. "You feel better?" "Yeah." "Hey, you wanna go someplace with me? All this closure got me thinking." "Sure!" And when I got there, Mark asked for me to jump in his truck because he wanted to head into the mountains. "You remember how we broke up and buried that time capsule, saying we'd catch up someday, dig it up and read it together?" I nodded. "Well, you meeting with The Schmuck's wife, made me think of everything we've been through. I want to go dig up the time capsule and read it together today." "Wait! Let's dig it up today, but not open it until our honeymoon!" So it only took two holes until Mark found the mason jar time-capsule. He wiped the dirt off of it and I couldn't help hugging him hard. I remembered the letter I'd written to him and I could hardly wait for him to read it on our honeymoon. I also wondered what he'd written on his letter to me. "Life is funny," Mark said as we walked back down the mountain. "You never know what new things will happen." "Yeah, like how The Schmuck's wife ended up being so sweet. Or how you and I thought we'd break up last year, and now we're getting married in a month!" Mark put his slightly dirty arm around my shoulder and walked near me on the path. "Can I tell you a secret? I never thought we'd break up. I knew I'd keep trying to win your heart, even if it took forever." "You're full of it." "Honestly! You know I'm so in love with you and have been for a long time." As we continued walking I thought of all of our memories together: my security job, the avalanche, the kayaking adventure, camping with the kids.... "Mark, when did you know that you loved me? Was it when I kissed you?" "Even before that. I wanted to be with you so bad. I just didn't know it would be this good." "I didn't either." I took the time capsule from him and grinned at it. "What a ride this has been." "And this is just the beginning." He held me closer as I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed in the fresh mountain air.
September 2, 2015
A Surprising Proposition
If you want to read this story from the very beginning, please CLICK THIS.
Based on a true story
THIRTY- SIX
A Surprising Proposition
Months passed and Mark, the kids, and I had begun to feel like a real family. Things went exceptionally well, until one day in mid-December....
I headed out the door and Mark nervously asked me where I'd be and how long I'd be gone. "I need to run some errands and make some copies of paperwork for my boss. I'll probably be back around 2. Why?" I asked.
"Ummm. No reason." He fidgeted suspiciously, maybe even looking guilty--of something.
After finishing my errands, I rushed home, wondering what I would find. There sat Mark, grinning over some leftovers from a restaurant.
"Oh! You went out to eat?" I asked.
"Yeah. And it's none of your business who I went with." I think it was meant to be a joke, but it wasn't funny. My eyes studied him, and how he appeared obviously amused about something, dreamily peering out my front window.
What the Hell? I wanted to scream, Are you cheating on me? But after months of counseling--and being the good woman that I occasionally am--I donned a little-bit-too-happy face. "Neat!"
His eyebrows furrowed and he studied my reaction. "Do you know where I was?"
I cleared my throat, "I have an idea."
"Huh," he said, then began staring out that freakin' window again like it was the Virgin Maryor something.
He seemed so twitter pated. Maybe he HAD been out with someone else!
As the next few minutes passed, I tried very hard not to let my mind go wild with assumptions, when Mark suddenly said, "You'll go see the Christmas lights with me?"
"Ummm...Sure. Let me go change. I'll be right back." And I put on the freakin' cutest red outfit ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET. If he was seeing someone else, I'd show him! Make him want me and then say if he wanted t be with me--it'd just be me, or he could: Take. A. Hike.
I'd worked myself up so much, by the time I came down those stairs, I knew I looked pretty, with big red lips and perfectly smoky eyes--and enough base to last through an atomic bomb. My boobs were pushed so high, they practically hit my chin.
I smiled snidely as Mark's jaw dropped. "Holy shit, you look... good." Hopefully better than the "Betty Bimbo" he'd been out with earlier. "Where did you get that..."
"Outfit?" I batted my recently acquired fake eyelashes. "I've had this thing forever." If forever meant two days....
Although I might have looked pretty, I didn't act it. I was pretty...irate.
We drove in silence, then after about thirty minutes, Mark parked and dragged me to a huge park lined with people, trees, and a Christmas village. Twinkling red, green, blue, purple and white lights dangled from every tree.
I wanted to stay quiet, and elusively mad. But instead I couldn't help getting lost in the beauty around. Snow drifted onto my face, dusting my fake eyelashes. I giggled, spinning, looking up at the majestic twinkling lights.
Mark held my hand. "Come on, baby!" he said, "Look at all of these lit-up houses."
We walked past dozens of houses, each "home" stood about twelve feet squared, displaying various scenes of families at Christmas. And seeing each tiny Christmas house, I couldn't help looking up at Mark and smiling.
He held me, nestling his chest into my back and holding his hands in the front of my waist.
"I love you," he whispered, holding me so tight that I never wanted him to let me go.
"I love you too," I whispered back. He had started leading me to a clearing in the middle of the houses and copses of trees when I couldn't stay quiet any longer, "Mark. Where were you today? I don't want to be a nag, or seem accusatory... But it's bugging me. Can you please tell me who you were with? Is she pretty?"
He looked like he'd swallowed a frog. "Well... I wouldn't put it that way--at all. You really want to know?"
"Yes!"
"I'll tell you later."
I groaned. Then a shiver went up my spine and I shook from cold.
"Your hands are turning blue, Gina! Why don't you put them in your pockets and warm them up."
He said it really weird, like he needed me to put my hands in my pockets more than he needed oxygen. "Ummm.... I'm okay."
He frowned, his face framed in front of lime green lights that twinkled just above his head.
This whole conversation reminded me of another time I'd been out in the cold with Mark. He'd slipped hand warmers into my pockets, in case my hands were cold.
My breath suddenly caught, and no more misty clouds came from my frozen lips. Oh my gosh, I thought. Mark had probably slipped something into my pockets! More hand warmers
"Seriously, why don't you warm up your hands?" he persisted.
"I'm really okay!"
I saw the longing in his eyes and bit my lip. "Gina..."
Stilling biting my lip, I slowly slipped my hands into my pockets and felt two hand warmers. As my hands fumbled I pockets, I realized one of the hand warmers had something tied to it. My eyes closed and I shook myself. I felt like I was dreaming because there was A RING tied to one of the hand warmers.
My hands shakily withdrew from my pockets and I looked at the ring laying in my palm.
Not from the monetary worth, or visible value therein the diamonds sparkled more than any of the lights above us.
"Gina," Mark said, kneeling down in the snow, in the middle of all those lights and Christmas houses. He didn't seem to care who saw him, or what they thought. He just stared up into my eyes, more serious than I'd ever seen him.
"I went to lunch with your dad today."
I gasped even more stunned.
"I wanted to ask him a question...."
Silence--for once in my freakin' life I had no response.
Mark on the other hand, had no problem talking. His low voice, was so clear, so perfect, as his every word made my world shine for him and him alone. "I know it won't always be easy," he said. "Life can be uncertain and hard. But I wouldn't want anyone else by my side, through the good and bad, the thick and thin. My life is so different with you and your kids in it. I love all of you so much. And I can't think of anything that I want more than the chance to try to make you the happiest woman, for the rest of your life."
I refused to tear up. And I tried so hard, that I forgot to say anything. A bunch of people around, who had heard the whole spiel, leaned forward almost as anxious as Mark. One woman squealed, "John, why didn't YOU propose like that?"
I laughed at her words, as I continued peering into Mark's eyes.
"So?" he asked, slowly standing up, all of the color draining from his face.
"Of course!" I whispered, then threw my arms around his neck and squeezed him tight.
As we walked back to his truck that night, the lights seemed to twinkle even more. Children's laughter rang clearer than normal. And my heart heat with such a peace.
"What did my dad say?" I asked. "When you asked him for my hand in marriage?" I could just imagine Mark asking my father--who happens to be an awesome--albeit very intimidating--old-school construction worker.
"Your dad said he'd leave it up to you, but that he couldn't imagine you finding a better man."
"I can't either," I said, then looked down at my ring. I loved the ring so much, not because it was more than anyone had ever spent on me, or because it was absolutely breath-taking--I loved it because that little ring meant I'd get to spend the rest of my life with Mark.
"Thank you," I whispered and kissed him on the cheek.
Based on a true story
THIRTY- SIX
A Surprising Proposition
Months passed and Mark, the kids, and I had begun to feel like a real family. Things went exceptionally well, until one day in mid-December....
I headed out the door and Mark nervously asked me where I'd be and how long I'd be gone. "I need to run some errands and make some copies of paperwork for my boss. I'll probably be back around 2. Why?" I asked.
"Ummm. No reason." He fidgeted suspiciously, maybe even looking guilty--of something.
After finishing my errands, I rushed home, wondering what I would find. There sat Mark, grinning over some leftovers from a restaurant. "Oh! You went out to eat?" I asked.
"Yeah. And it's none of your business who I went with." I think it was meant to be a joke, but it wasn't funny. My eyes studied him, and how he appeared obviously amused about something, dreamily peering out my front window.
What the Hell? I wanted to scream, Are you cheating on me? But after months of counseling--and being the good woman that I occasionally am--I donned a little-bit-too-happy face. "Neat!"
His eyebrows furrowed and he studied my reaction. "Do you know where I was?"
I cleared my throat, "I have an idea."
"Huh," he said, then began staring out that freakin' window again like it was the Virgin Maryor something.
He seemed so twitter pated. Maybe he HAD been out with someone else!
As the next few minutes passed, I tried very hard not to let my mind go wild with assumptions, when Mark suddenly said, "You'll go see the Christmas lights with me?"
"Ummm...Sure. Let me go change. I'll be right back." And I put on the freakin' cutest red outfit ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET. If he was seeing someone else, I'd show him! Make him want me and then say if he wanted t be with me--it'd just be me, or he could: Take. A. Hike.
I'd worked myself up so much, by the time I came down those stairs, I knew I looked pretty, with big red lips and perfectly smoky eyes--and enough base to last through an atomic bomb. My boobs were pushed so high, they practically hit my chin.
I smiled snidely as Mark's jaw dropped. "Holy shit, you look... good." Hopefully better than the "Betty Bimbo" he'd been out with earlier. "Where did you get that..."
"Outfit?" I batted my recently acquired fake eyelashes. "I've had this thing forever." If forever meant two days....
Although I might have looked pretty, I didn't act it. I was pretty...irate.
We drove in silence, then after about thirty minutes, Mark parked and dragged me to a huge park lined with people, trees, and a Christmas village. Twinkling red, green, blue, purple and white lights dangled from every tree.
I wanted to stay quiet, and elusively mad. But instead I couldn't help getting lost in the beauty around. Snow drifted onto my face, dusting my fake eyelashes. I giggled, spinning, looking up at the majestic twinkling lights.
Mark held my hand. "Come on, baby!" he said, "Look at all of these lit-up houses."
We walked past dozens of houses, each "home" stood about twelve feet squared, displaying various scenes of families at Christmas. And seeing each tiny Christmas house, I couldn't help looking up at Mark and smiling.
He held me, nestling his chest into my back and holding his hands in the front of my waist.
"I love you," he whispered, holding me so tight that I never wanted him to let me go.
"I love you too," I whispered back. He had started leading me to a clearing in the middle of the houses and copses of trees when I couldn't stay quiet any longer, "Mark. Where were you today? I don't want to be a nag, or seem accusatory... But it's bugging me. Can you please tell me who you were with? Is she pretty?"
He looked like he'd swallowed a frog. "Well... I wouldn't put it that way--at all. You really want to know?"
"Yes!"
"I'll tell you later."
I groaned. Then a shiver went up my spine and I shook from cold.
"Your hands are turning blue, Gina! Why don't you put them in your pockets and warm them up."
He said it really weird, like he needed me to put my hands in my pockets more than he needed oxygen. "Ummm.... I'm okay."
He frowned, his face framed in front of lime green lights that twinkled just above his head.
This whole conversation reminded me of another time I'd been out in the cold with Mark. He'd slipped hand warmers into my pockets, in case my hands were cold.
My breath suddenly caught, and no more misty clouds came from my frozen lips. Oh my gosh, I thought. Mark had probably slipped something into my pockets! More hand warmers
"Seriously, why don't you warm up your hands?" he persisted.
"I'm really okay!"
I saw the longing in his eyes and bit my lip. "Gina..."
Stilling biting my lip, I slowly slipped my hands into my pockets and felt two hand warmers. As my hands fumbled I pockets, I realized one of the hand warmers had something tied to it. My eyes closed and I shook myself. I felt like I was dreaming because there was A RING tied to one of the hand warmers.
My hands shakily withdrew from my pockets and I looked at the ring laying in my palm.
Not from the monetary worth, or visible value therein the diamonds sparkled more than any of the lights above us.
"Gina," Mark said, kneeling down in the snow, in the middle of all those lights and Christmas houses. He didn't seem to care who saw him, or what they thought. He just stared up into my eyes, more serious than I'd ever seen him.
"I went to lunch with your dad today."
I gasped even more stunned.
"I wanted to ask him a question...."
Silence--for once in my freakin' life I had no response.
Mark on the other hand, had no problem talking. His low voice, was so clear, so perfect, as his every word made my world shine for him and him alone. "I know it won't always be easy," he said. "Life can be uncertain and hard. But I wouldn't want anyone else by my side, through the good and bad, the thick and thin. My life is so different with you and your kids in it. I love all of you so much. And I can't think of anything that I want more than the chance to try to make you the happiest woman, for the rest of your life."
I refused to tear up. And I tried so hard, that I forgot to say anything. A bunch of people around, who had heard the whole spiel, leaned forward almost as anxious as Mark. One woman squealed, "John, why didn't YOU propose like that?"
I laughed at her words, as I continued peering into Mark's eyes.
"So?" he asked, slowly standing up, all of the color draining from his face.
"Of course!" I whispered, then threw my arms around his neck and squeezed him tight.
As we walked back to his truck that night, the lights seemed to twinkle even more. Children's laughter rang clearer than normal. And my heart heat with such a peace.
"What did my dad say?" I asked. "When you asked him for my hand in marriage?" I could just imagine Mark asking my father--who happens to be an awesome--albeit very intimidating--old-school construction worker.
"Your dad said he'd leave it up to you, but that he couldn't imagine you finding a better man."
"I can't either," I said, then looked down at my ring. I loved the ring so much, not because it was more than anyone had ever spent on me, or because it was absolutely breath-taking--I loved it because that little ring meant I'd get to spend the rest of my life with Mark.
"Thank you," I whispered and kissed him on the cheek.
August 28, 2015
A VERY Straight-forward Counselor
If you want to read this story from the very beginning, please CLICK THIS.
Based on a true story THIRTY-FIVECOUNSELOR The Counselor we ended up seeing was a gorgeous red-headed woman. I instantly liked her--because she seemed sassy. "All I ask, is that you'll be honest with me, yourselves, and each other," she said point-blank. Mark and I both nodded.
"Well then let's start." She sifted through mounds of papers before sitting down in a rocking chair that looked older than time. I peered around her room as she set some of the paper on her lap and took a sip of coffee. There was a mishmash of interesting objects and books all around. On one wall hung a humongous dream catcher. Another wall had a colorfully spattered picture hanging a bit crooked. I really wondered what type of woman this was--when she broke through my thoughts. "So you want to have a healthy relationship?" she asked. "Then I need to know how you fight--and don't tell me you don't fight, because you should know how someone fights before you marry them!" She turned to Mark first, who was obviously taken off-guard. "Well..." he paused. "Honestly, Gina can be really loud." "She yells," the counselor clarified--it was not a question. "Yes, she...yells." "And how is Mark when he's angry?" she asked me. "He pouts." I liked how direct she was--this was a game I knew how to play.. "The biggest problem with marriage is discovering how we resolve conflicts." She crossed her legs and her bright, pleated skirt swayed. I flushed when she said "marriage"--didn't she know we weren't even engaged! "So tell me about a fight you've had." She turned to me, her eyes piercing. A sigh left my lips as my thoughts bounced around, trying to remember a perfect example. I decided to pick a time from a few weeks prior, when neither Mark or I had handled a situation well. "I had hung out with my friends a few days before, and Mark wanted to hang out with his friends later that weekend too. I think it's important for us to have time apart as well as time together. But later I found out there'd been a beautiful girl at the party--one I'd thought Mark had a crush on before he met me. He brought some people over to my house to meet me before going back to the party and when I saw her.... I didn't handle it well." "Mmmhmmm," Mark said, putting his hand to his forehead. We both knew where this story went. "They were about to head back over to his place, but before they could leave, I pulled Mark to my front door and said 'The two of you make a great couple!' Then I slammed the door in his face." "That wasn't the best. How did you respond?" the counselor asked Mark. "I knocked on the door and when Gina opened it, I said, 'I don't like her like that. Out of the two of us, at least I'm not the one who's dated a million people! I should be more concerned about this type of thing than you are!" The counselor cleared her throat. "So, at least the two of you are honest. What do you think about the ways you both reacted?" "I should have thought first before I reacted," Mark said. "Me too," I said. "I need to learn to communicate better instead of just accusing people." "And why did you say that to him, about the girl you'd seen him with?" the counselor asked. "I guess I'm really insecure. I've been cheated on before. I should have told him that instead of accusing him. But I was scared." "But you have to trust him at some point. Fear can push people away." She took another sip of coffee. "And Mark, I know it's hard stepping back when someone is being so accusatory, but if Gina does this again, can you try to gently say something like, 'Where is this coming from? Let's talk about it?'" He nodded. "It might be hard in the moment, but I'll try." She studied both of us momentarily. "When the two of you learn to communicate and resolve these issues, I have a feeling you could be great together. Mark, you seem to bring a peace to Gina. And Gina, you bring excitement into Mark's life." We looked at each other and smiled because it really rang true. As we left the counseling session, we promised each other that we'd try to communicate better. "Relationships aren't always easy," I said. "But I'm willing to work to be with you. Sorry I can fly off the handle." "So can I," he said. "We'll get better at this. You'll see." We held hands, and instead of going straight to his truck, we walked down the block to a little Japanese restaurant and continued to talk about what both of us had learned that day.
Based on a true story THIRTY-FIVECOUNSELOR The Counselor we ended up seeing was a gorgeous red-headed woman. I instantly liked her--because she seemed sassy. "All I ask, is that you'll be honest with me, yourselves, and each other," she said point-blank. Mark and I both nodded.
"Well then let's start." She sifted through mounds of papers before sitting down in a rocking chair that looked older than time. I peered around her room as she set some of the paper on her lap and took a sip of coffee. There was a mishmash of interesting objects and books all around. On one wall hung a humongous dream catcher. Another wall had a colorfully spattered picture hanging a bit crooked. I really wondered what type of woman this was--when she broke through my thoughts. "So you want to have a healthy relationship?" she asked. "Then I need to know how you fight--and don't tell me you don't fight, because you should know how someone fights before you marry them!" She turned to Mark first, who was obviously taken off-guard. "Well..." he paused. "Honestly, Gina can be really loud." "She yells," the counselor clarified--it was not a question. "Yes, she...yells." "And how is Mark when he's angry?" she asked me. "He pouts." I liked how direct she was--this was a game I knew how to play.. "The biggest problem with marriage is discovering how we resolve conflicts." She crossed her legs and her bright, pleated skirt swayed. I flushed when she said "marriage"--didn't she know we weren't even engaged! "So tell me about a fight you've had." She turned to me, her eyes piercing. A sigh left my lips as my thoughts bounced around, trying to remember a perfect example. I decided to pick a time from a few weeks prior, when neither Mark or I had handled a situation well. "I had hung out with my friends a few days before, and Mark wanted to hang out with his friends later that weekend too. I think it's important for us to have time apart as well as time together. But later I found out there'd been a beautiful girl at the party--one I'd thought Mark had a crush on before he met me. He brought some people over to my house to meet me before going back to the party and when I saw her.... I didn't handle it well." "Mmmhmmm," Mark said, putting his hand to his forehead. We both knew where this story went. "They were about to head back over to his place, but before they could leave, I pulled Mark to my front door and said 'The two of you make a great couple!' Then I slammed the door in his face." "That wasn't the best. How did you respond?" the counselor asked Mark. "I knocked on the door and when Gina opened it, I said, 'I don't like her like that. Out of the two of us, at least I'm not the one who's dated a million people! I should be more concerned about this type of thing than you are!" The counselor cleared her throat. "So, at least the two of you are honest. What do you think about the ways you both reacted?" "I should have thought first before I reacted," Mark said. "Me too," I said. "I need to learn to communicate better instead of just accusing people." "And why did you say that to him, about the girl you'd seen him with?" the counselor asked. "I guess I'm really insecure. I've been cheated on before. I should have told him that instead of accusing him. But I was scared." "But you have to trust him at some point. Fear can push people away." She took another sip of coffee. "And Mark, I know it's hard stepping back when someone is being so accusatory, but if Gina does this again, can you try to gently say something like, 'Where is this coming from? Let's talk about it?'" He nodded. "It might be hard in the moment, but I'll try." She studied both of us momentarily. "When the two of you learn to communicate and resolve these issues, I have a feeling you could be great together. Mark, you seem to bring a peace to Gina. And Gina, you bring excitement into Mark's life." We looked at each other and smiled because it really rang true. As we left the counseling session, we promised each other that we'd try to communicate better. "Relationships aren't always easy," I said. "But I'm willing to work to be with you. Sorry I can fly off the handle." "So can I," he said. "We'll get better at this. You'll see." We held hands, and instead of going straight to his truck, we walked down the block to a little Japanese restaurant and continued to talk about what both of us had learned that day.
August 24, 2015
Was He Cute? YES! Was She?
THIRTY-FOUR
IT'S TIME TO SEE A COUNSELOR
If you want to read this story from the very beginning, please CLICK THIS.
Based on a true story Mark and I decided that each of the kids needed some extra attention so we started bringing them out alone with us. It was my son's turn and we'd brought him to the Lego store because they had a deal going where kids could build their very own Lego people....
"Okay, what about this Lego body?" my son asked Mark. "Or this head? He could be an astronaut. Or a ninja!" "Or you could make a cop...with an cowboy face!" Mark replied, showing us a really odd-looking face he'd found in the pile. And even after we walked out of the store, the two of them went on and on about the Lego people my son had built. Excited, strutting toward the big glass doors leading from the mall, my boy said, "Wait, Mama. Take a picture of me and Daddy! You go on the other side of the doors. I have an idea!" My boy said it so fast, he hadn't even realized he'd said "Daddy," but the word wasn't lost on Mark. He'd stopped walking, kind of blinked a few times, then tenderly reached down and patted my son on his back. "What's your idea?" he asked, his voice sounding reflective. Watching those two smiling at each other, I wondered how much both of them needed each other--how they'd already impacted one another's lives.
"All right," I said, clearing my throat on the other side of the glass doors, "you still want your picture taken?"
That's when my boy shoved his face up against the glass and said in a mumbled way, "Come on, Mark!" I didn't take a picture for a second and when I finally held my phone up, Mark's face was pressed against the glass smashing his cheek and nose into a blob of flesh just like my son's. I took some pictures, and my son started laughing so hard. His laughter was darling, completely contagious. I began giggling. The Mark laughed, still pressed against the glass an shaking with pure happiness. I thought it was the best moment ever, utterly cute. And of course that's when my phone vibrated in my hand--a message from The Schmuck flashed on the screen.
It's strange, but he was my boomerang. No matter how any times I sent him away, he always swooped back in.
Every time I have a hard time I think of you.
The text said.
I miss you, Gina. I really am getting divorced now.
It's terrible.
We can really make it work now.
I want to be with you.
Mark had pulled away from the glass and noticed that something was wrong.
"What?" he asked, sprinting toward me with my son,
"It's the Schmuck." I handed my phone to Mark and let him see the message.
"Why won't this guy leave you alone?" he asked.
"I don't know," I said. "We said our goodbyes. I don't know why he keeps trying. I wish you could tell him we're dating now--that he needs to have more respect."
"You mean that?" Mark asked.
"Yes, actually. I do. Text him back if you want." And I insisted that he keep holding my phone.
Moments later, the three of us sat in my car: my boy playing Lego revolution, me driving a little bit too fast, and Mark...texting The Schmuck.
I bit my lip as I drove, a little worried about what they might be saying to each other. But I trusted Mark; he'd take care of this, somehow.
My house was about forty-five minutes from the Lego store, but that seemed like forever. After about twenty minutes Mark set my phone down. "Did you think The Schmuck was really handsome?" he finally asked.
I didn't know what to say. What WAS the right answer? I decided honesty was best. "He was handsome." I took my eyes off of the road and glanced at Mark ,who looked vey sad. "WAS, but then after I knew who he really was, he didn't look very handsome anymore." I went on, trying to rectify the situation. "He wasn't the person I'd expected he would be--that changed the way I'd seen him--I started noticing things I'd ignored before."
This seemed to pacify him, until a few more miles sped by. I wanted to know what he was thinking and I also wanted to know what he'd said to my ex.
But his silence slowly killed me, like a bad addiction. When I was upset, I was honest and in-your-face. How could he remain so quiet?
"You have everything," I finally said. "You're handsome and a good guy." He didn't respond.
We'd arrived at my house and my son ran inside excited to see his sisters--and probably get away from Mark the Mute.
I checked my mail while Mark stood staring at the mountains like they held the meaning of life. "Are you okay?" I asked, flipping through letters.
"I'm just a little upset," he said. "The Schmuck seems like a dick."
"Yeah...What gave you that idea." I said it sarcastically.
He didn't laugh though and instead responded with, "It sucks that you dated him."
What was that supposed to mean? "Well, it sucks that you dated people too." I smiled, but said the words in a rude tone. He glared at me. Oh it was on! "Like that one girl you dated years ago. I saw her picture on Facebook--you thought she was gorgeous!"
"Yep." He nodded, that man of few freakin' words.
"What? You said she was gorgeous? At least I was nice with my answer."
"You thought that was nice?" he balked.
Not even caring what he'd just said, my thoughts went back to the "hot chick" he'd dated. "Her picture on facebook was cute, even if she does have a huge jawline." I shut my mouth, wishing the words had never come out.
"Big jawline, huh! I never noticed that."
"Heck yes you did! Doesn't everyone?" What in the hell was wrong with me? I wanted to stop--at least some part of me wanted to. But I couldn't even quit while I was ahead.
He didn't respond for a moment, just turned paler and paler.
"You know what?" I put my hands on my hips and stepped back toward my front door. Then I stuck my hand out behind me and felt around for the handle. "You and...JAWS, you'd make a great couple!"
I stepped inside, then slammed the door in Mark's face.
It didn't feel great. There was no victory, no satisfaction. I realized momentarily that we were both being incredibly stupid. And after about a minute, I opened the door to see Mark still standing there, appearing a bit confused.
I couldn't think of anything witty to say, and I didn't feel like apologizing, so I just blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. "Do you want to go to counseling?" I asked.
"Yes!" he nodded, and we booked the appointment the following day.
IT'S TIME TO SEE A COUNSELOR
If you want to read this story from the very beginning, please CLICK THIS.
Based on a true story Mark and I decided that each of the kids needed some extra attention so we started bringing them out alone with us. It was my son's turn and we'd brought him to the Lego store because they had a deal going where kids could build their very own Lego people....
"Okay, what about this Lego body?" my son asked Mark. "Or this head? He could be an astronaut. Or a ninja!" "Or you could make a cop...with an cowboy face!" Mark replied, showing us a really odd-looking face he'd found in the pile. And even after we walked out of the store, the two of them went on and on about the Lego people my son had built. Excited, strutting toward the big glass doors leading from the mall, my boy said, "Wait, Mama. Take a picture of me and Daddy! You go on the other side of the doors. I have an idea!" My boy said it so fast, he hadn't even realized he'd said "Daddy," but the word wasn't lost on Mark. He'd stopped walking, kind of blinked a few times, then tenderly reached down and patted my son on his back. "What's your idea?" he asked, his voice sounding reflective. Watching those two smiling at each other, I wondered how much both of them needed each other--how they'd already impacted one another's lives.
"All right," I said, clearing my throat on the other side of the glass doors, "you still want your picture taken?"
That's when my boy shoved his face up against the glass and said in a mumbled way, "Come on, Mark!" I didn't take a picture for a second and when I finally held my phone up, Mark's face was pressed against the glass smashing his cheek and nose into a blob of flesh just like my son's. I took some pictures, and my son started laughing so hard. His laughter was darling, completely contagious. I began giggling. The Mark laughed, still pressed against the glass an shaking with pure happiness. I thought it was the best moment ever, utterly cute. And of course that's when my phone vibrated in my hand--a message from The Schmuck flashed on the screen.
It's strange, but he was my boomerang. No matter how any times I sent him away, he always swooped back in.
Every time I have a hard time I think of you.
The text said.
I miss you, Gina. I really am getting divorced now.
It's terrible.
We can really make it work now.
I want to be with you.
Mark had pulled away from the glass and noticed that something was wrong.
"What?" he asked, sprinting toward me with my son,
"It's the Schmuck." I handed my phone to Mark and let him see the message.
"Why won't this guy leave you alone?" he asked.
"I don't know," I said. "We said our goodbyes. I don't know why he keeps trying. I wish you could tell him we're dating now--that he needs to have more respect."
"You mean that?" Mark asked.
"Yes, actually. I do. Text him back if you want." And I insisted that he keep holding my phone.
Moments later, the three of us sat in my car: my boy playing Lego revolution, me driving a little bit too fast, and Mark...texting The Schmuck.
I bit my lip as I drove, a little worried about what they might be saying to each other. But I trusted Mark; he'd take care of this, somehow.
My house was about forty-five minutes from the Lego store, but that seemed like forever. After about twenty minutes Mark set my phone down. "Did you think The Schmuck was really handsome?" he finally asked.
I didn't know what to say. What WAS the right answer? I decided honesty was best. "He was handsome." I took my eyes off of the road and glanced at Mark ,who looked vey sad. "WAS, but then after I knew who he really was, he didn't look very handsome anymore." I went on, trying to rectify the situation. "He wasn't the person I'd expected he would be--that changed the way I'd seen him--I started noticing things I'd ignored before."
This seemed to pacify him, until a few more miles sped by. I wanted to know what he was thinking and I also wanted to know what he'd said to my ex.
But his silence slowly killed me, like a bad addiction. When I was upset, I was honest and in-your-face. How could he remain so quiet?
"You have everything," I finally said. "You're handsome and a good guy." He didn't respond.
We'd arrived at my house and my son ran inside excited to see his sisters--and probably get away from Mark the Mute.
I checked my mail while Mark stood staring at the mountains like they held the meaning of life. "Are you okay?" I asked, flipping through letters.
"I'm just a little upset," he said. "The Schmuck seems like a dick."
"Yeah...What gave you that idea." I said it sarcastically.
He didn't laugh though and instead responded with, "It sucks that you dated him."
What was that supposed to mean? "Well, it sucks that you dated people too." I smiled, but said the words in a rude tone. He glared at me. Oh it was on! "Like that one girl you dated years ago. I saw her picture on Facebook--you thought she was gorgeous!"
"Yep." He nodded, that man of few freakin' words.
"What? You said she was gorgeous? At least I was nice with my answer."
"You thought that was nice?" he balked.
Not even caring what he'd just said, my thoughts went back to the "hot chick" he'd dated. "Her picture on facebook was cute, even if she does have a huge jawline." I shut my mouth, wishing the words had never come out.
"Big jawline, huh! I never noticed that."
"Heck yes you did! Doesn't everyone?" What in the hell was wrong with me? I wanted to stop--at least some part of me wanted to. But I couldn't even quit while I was ahead.
He didn't respond for a moment, just turned paler and paler.
"You know what?" I put my hands on my hips and stepped back toward my front door. Then I stuck my hand out behind me and felt around for the handle. "You and...JAWS, you'd make a great couple!"
I stepped inside, then slammed the door in Mark's face.
It didn't feel great. There was no victory, no satisfaction. I realized momentarily that we were both being incredibly stupid. And after about a minute, I opened the door to see Mark still standing there, appearing a bit confused.
I couldn't think of anything witty to say, and I didn't feel like apologizing, so I just blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. "Do you want to go to counseling?" I asked.
"Yes!" he nodded, and we booked the appointment the following day.
August 20, 2015
Have you ever had a stupid fight with your spouse?
If you want to read this story from the very beginning, please CLICK THIS.
Based on a true story
That weekend, Mark brought his doberman to the house. She was absolutely sleek and very well behaved. I knew someday we'd be close, but I shied away, not great with dogs. The kids instantly loved her, petting her, not giving her a moment alone. My children--and the dog--were so tired at the end of the night that they practically put themselves to bed.
"You two better get going," I told Mark after a while, motioning to him and his dog, who was dead-asleep in the corner of the front room.
"I just made you and me coffee though," he said.
We walked into the kitchen and I had to laugh because even though he didn't live there sometimes it sure felt like he did.
I went to grab a mug from my cupboard, when Mark sidled up behind me and started tracing my arms with his hands. I exhaled, hardly able to think.
"I don't want to leave any more," he said. "This feels like home. I come here every day after work and spend every chance I can get with you and the kids. I do homework with the kids. I cook with you. I mow the lawn. You guys are everything to me--you're my family."
"You really love those kids, don't you?"
He nodded. "They're pretty amazing."
I threw my arms around his neck, then tip-toed so I could hold him closer. We stood in my kitchen, for the longest time, me slightly crying as I hugged him, and him wrapping his arms so tightly around me, I hoped he'd never let go.
You know, life can be so strange--when I'd gotten divorced and later found out the Schmuck was married, I'd never thought I'd find a love like this. It baffled me how Mark could love us so much, selflessly making sure our needs were met, being a father-figure to the children, and the man I so desperately needed.
I wiped my tears and kissed him on the cheek. "I would like to snuggle with you tonight. I miss you when you aren't here--I feel like you should stay tonight too."
So we walked up the stairs, hand-in-hand, to my bedroom, and that's when the dog woke up....
I really don't have a problem with dogs, unless they're sniffing my butt, barking, pooping, farting, or barfing. Really, other than all of those things, dogs are all right. And I really liked Mark's dog until her face was practically glued to my crotch as I walked up the stairs. I wiggled away, trying to seem all right, but freaking out inside. Didn't he notice I was getting molested? Instead of saving me, Mark laughed--like his dog was hilarious.
"Oh, how...cute!" I lied, side stepping up the stairs. I thought once we got to the bedroom we could leave his dog outside, but Mark invited her into MY ROOM before I even got to go in!
I was fine with Mark staying the night--until he invited his dog to sleep by us.
I cleared my throat. "You want her to sleep where, honey?" My voice went up an octave, sounding like a pre-teen boy during puberty.
Mark rolled close to me and started kissing me. I wasn't in the mood, but I tried. Then his dog was licking my neck! I swatted her away, trying not to cringe.
Seriously, getting licked on the neck while I was kissing Mark--that was sick. I instantly remember something my aunt once told me: "If a man asks another woman into the bedroom, she better be a "dog!"
I never knew exactly what she meant by that, but either way, this felt like a night gone very wrong
After a couple of minutes--dog free--I slowly opened my eyes while still kissing Mark and saw his dog glaring at me from the other side of the bed.
"Okay!" I pulled away. "I'm a bit creeped out!"
"Gina! I've accepted your kids. You can't accept my dog?"
I wanted to, but wasn't this fast! It was her first time over and now she was in my bedroom--alone with us--AND she stared at me like she wanted blood.
"Yes, you've accepted my kids--and that means the world to me--but at least THEY don't sniff your butt!"
Mark was livid. I was livid. His doberman looked back and forth at us, panting--happily!
"Fine, you want to stay the night in here with your dog? Great!"
"Gina, you're being ridiculous!"
"I told you I'm not great with dogs, that you'd have to ease me into this. Now she's in my room?"
He went to touch my arm. "Don't touch me!" I said, then I went out of my own room, and slammed the door so loud I was shocked it didn't wake up the kids.
Mark didn't come out for a while. So I paced back and forth thinking, I could have communicated that better.... He was finally going to stay the night.... Why can't I just accept the dog? But I was taught that dogs don't even sleep in your bedroom, let alone your bed.
I paced and paced. That's when Mark came out.
"I'm putting her outside," he said.
"Why don't you two just leave? Maybe we can try this again another time."
His eyebrows raised, and he looked genuinely heartbroken. "I really want to stay," he said, then without waiting for a reply, he put his dog outside, and gave her a treat.
I folded my arms and waited for him in the TV room. I somehow knew that I'd been wrong, that I could have handled the situation better, but I couldn't quite figure out why I was so mad.
After coming back inside alone, Mark remained quiet, waiting for me to say something.
"What?" I asked.
"Why are you so upset?" he queried. "I know you said before you don't like to have animals in your bedroom. I didn't think it was this big of a deal though."
That's when I exploded. "I told you I wasn't okay with something, and you did it anyway." And suddenly my anger made sense. "The men I've dated never listened to me. If I said I didn't want to do something, they didn't care--somehow we'd end up doing it anyway. Their hobbies became my hobbies. Their dreams had to become mine. I couldn't be myself, or say what I wanted! I always had to be nice. Did I want Chinese? No, but I had to eat it and hardly ever got a chance to choose the restaurant. Could I use conditioner, no because one guy I dated didn't like it! Could I wear makeup? No, because I looked too pretty and other people checked me out. Could I get new clothes? No, they cost too much." I paused then fearfully said, "You might be just like them."
"You can't really think--"
"You might be!" I interrupted.
I expected him to yell at me, act like others had in the past. Instead, he calmly folded his arms. "Are you done yet?" he asked.
I wanted him to yell, be angry. I wanted to feel something other than this uncertainty and fear. If he yelled, then we could have it all out for each other and make up--it would be fiery--and somehow it would feel like love had in the past....
"Why aren't you angry?" I shouted.
"Maybe I am. But I'm not going to yell back. I'm not like that. And I'm definitely not like those other guys you've dated."
I was sobbing now, so lost in memory. "They knew how to get their way. With money. With time. With...sex." I cried so hard. He tried holding me, but I pushed him away and leaned against the wall. "And you!" I could barely see him through the tears. "I never have to be someone else with you. You listen when I say 'no.' Mark, you never push me. You respect what I say. But you didn't tonight. I've been through some hard things. I need to be with someone who respects my choices. And maybe you can't do that! I know this seems like something small, but that's how it starts. Next thing you know, I'm stuck in some shitty situation again, the shell of who I really am, a mirror of whoever I'm with. I don't want to be a damn mirror anymore. I want to be myself."
"I'm so sorry," he said, slumping down. "I understand what you're saying. I'll get my dog and go. I promise you, though, if you tell me something is a big deal to you, I'll respect what you're saying."
He went to the back door, but I stopped him. "I'm so sorry, too! It's hard for me to understand where all of this is coming from. Maybe I need counseling. I just hope this makes sense." I took a big breath. "You...meant what you said; you're not like those other guys?"
"I just want you to be yourself."
My body suddenly felt so exhausted. My arms reached out for him, and he held me close, stroking my hair. Then he gingerly picked me up and carried me to bed.
"You're tired, baby," he said. "You need some rest."
"Will you please stay?" I pleaded. "I'm sorry I got so upset. I could have expressed myself a lot better."
"I'll stay," he nodded, "but if it's okay, I'd like to stay up and drink another cup of coffee and write. Can I use your computer?"
"Sure," I whispered. And I couldn't believe how tired I was.
The next morning I woke up really early. Even though we'd fought, it was the best feeling in the world to wake up to feel Mark's arms around me. I gently moved from his arms, then tip-toed down the stairs to the back door and let Mark's dog inside. She seemed so happy to see me that I let her follow me into the kitchen.
I started making Mark and my kids breakfast. Mark's dog rested next to me, looking so cute that I had to give her some bacon. After each child woke up and hugged me--and the sausage sizzled in the pan--I realized my computer was open to a Word document that had my name on it.
Spatula still in my hand, I went over to the computer and read the words as my kids pet the dog and chattered happily.
Yes, we both make mistakes. But, Gina, no matter what, I want to be old with you, feeling young 'cause we're together. Love can carry us through all of this. It doesn't age. Its back doesn't go out it doesn't get arthritis, it doesn't need a motor. It doesn't lose its hearing or become forgetful. It is what keeps on when the years get late and our hair is grey. Its what can heal and get both of us through anything. I'll work as hard as I can to be here for you. I want to be old with you yes, but I want to feel young with you forever.
That's why I have faith, 'cause I've grown into the man I am now and I know what I want and need and I choose where I'm meant to be. That's with you.
"Are you okay, Mama?" my baby boy asked because I'd been covering my mouth with my free hand. as I read
"Yes." I nodded to him and grease dripped from my spatula. "I just feel like a jerk," I said, then looking up, I spied Mark walking down the stairs.
My three youngest kids squealed before running to Mark and hugging him. "You stayed! You stayed!"
Mark's dog ran up too, wagging her tail.
"I knew he'd stay," my little boy said. "That's why he brought us an awesome dog!"
"I'm so excited," my middle daughter smiled, hugging him again, making it so he could hardly walk down the stairs.
"You let the dog in, huh?" Mark's eyes widened.
My oldest daughter had remained by me. At this point, she whispered, watching her siblings, "It's weird, Mom, but sometimes I think we need Mark even more than you do." I wondered what she meant, but I didn't have time to ask because she went over and hugged him too. "Parent teacher conferences are tonight. You promised you'd go!"
"Wouldn't miss it for anything. All that homework we've done, you better have good grades." He smiled down at her, obviously proud. And I found myself again, stunned by that man.
