She wants to S C R E A M at him, push him away; throw something, but instead she flinches at his touch because it’s poisonous ( he hasn’t touched her in so long, and there she is, pulling away ). Instead she gives a shaky half-laugh, half-sob because, OF COURSE, she’s crying. It’s as if she doesn’t know how else to react. On some level, she doesn’t.
Things had been so good once, hadn’t they? Weren’t they so happy?
It isn’t as if Mary hasn’t cried in front of Joseph before. She cried when he proposed, she cried at their wedding, she cried when every single one of their children were born (and when they weren’t), and every time they did this same old song and dance as if they were in their own personal hell. They were though, in their own personal hell; repeating the same mistakes over and over and being powerless to change it (not powerless, per se, but afraid? Maybe?).
She backs up a bit so he’s not so close, and avoids looking at him as she clears her vision up with the sides of her hands, sniffling back her tears. “You have one H E L L of a way to show it.” She’s no better, of course, spending most nights out, wasting away on a liquid diet with Robert of all people.
It’s funny. In an Alanis Morissette kind of way.
For what it’s worth, she misses him – them – too. The words are clogging her throat and she swallows them like a stubborn pill. Jaw clenched, she makes herself look up at him with puffy eyes and stained cheeks. This isn’t how she expected the night to go.
Her voice, for once, lacks its B I T E, “Can we even salvage this shipwreck, sailor?”
It hurts. It hurts to see the person he loves most cower from his touch, as though it runs the risk of being physically harmful to her very being. He’s sunk to the very lowest form of scum on God’s green Earth, heart heavy with the weight of his sins.
There’s something inside him. Something ROTTEN and UNHOLY.
He tries so hard to present himself as the perfect husband, but it’s not good enough. Behind closed doors, their life isn’t anywhere near as beautiful as it ought to be.
Joseph knows himself only too well. He’s too weak to carry on like they are now, and he feels unloved and lonely beyond belief, drifting through every day as though he’s a ghost in his own home. He hangs around until it all becomes TOO MUCH, at which point he retreats to his yacht to drink himself silly and contemplate whether this life is truly worth living, or until he finds someone else to fill that gap.
“Listen to me... I get it. I couldn’t be the man you needed me to be. I’m selfish,
ugly and deceitful. Our life isn’t exciting any more, and my relationship with God
is the antithesis of cool.”
Joseph just about manages to save face when confronted with her tears, and while he’s sure he feels his heart break, it doesn’t show. Instead, he keeps his cool and manages a long-suffering smile as he shrinks back instinctively, thinking himself a fool for trying to reach out to begin with. Her husband has always been the best at pretending, and this is no different.
Thus the cycle of misery begins anew. When will either of them learn?
“I don’t blame you one bit for not wanting to spend time with me, but I married
YOU, Mary. Not Robert. Not anyone else. I’d do ANYTHING to see you smile
again, like you used to.”
If she had any sense at all, she’d divorce her idiot husband and let it be done with, but she doesn’t. That says something, doesn’t it?
Mary deserves so much better than her current lot in life -- the very same life that he willingly drove her into. She needs someone who can sweep her off of her feet, take her on an adventure and treat her like she’s every bit as special and beautiful as she truly is. Their children don’t deserve to be passed around between them, as though their existence is an inconvenience or an afterthought.
His expression softens into something genuine at last, and he offers both hands toward her, choosing to open up at the risk of being rejected all over again.
“Please. Please just stop shutting me out; I can’t take this anymore. Your sailor
wants to come home.”
