The Fight
Light filtered in through the mini blinds by the time the alarm zinged. Spring. Finally.
Ollie the cat jumped on the bed, slithering into a long puddle between us.
I rolled over and scratched its head, eyeing my husband in his startup process of stretching and blinking himself awake.
“You snored,” he said, not looking at me as he grabbed for his phone.
This. Of all the things he could start the day with: why this? The negativity. The critique.
I pursed my lips. We had been together for five years. Too long for the cute niceties of an early relationship. Who was I to expect the sweet nothings? The kisses on cheeks and running out for breakfasts. Yet I missed those. Wanted those. Some movie or book would show that “couple’s first night,” and my heart would go right back there.
As he scrolled, I laid back onto my back, folded my hands on my chest as I stared at the ceiling, letting my mind blanken. Took a deep breath in.
But did I also want the false tension of pretending I was not human, did not snore or burp or appear makeup-less? Those days were exhausting.
Plus, it was spring. I determined to rise out of the winter blues, the grey slump, the slush of not feeling like I could burst out of the door at any moment and such in the fresh, crisp air.
Rolling back over, I smiled.
“Good morning, my love!” I slid over to hug him.
“Good morning! I love you, too.”
