He spun to face her, unable to grasp that they were really rehashing this same utterly ridiculous argument. But this was the first time she’d accused him of not trying. “I work my ass off for this family, and you think I’m not making an effort?”
“That’s the problem, Scott. You think taking care of the family and being my husband are the same thing and they’re not. You’re an amazing provider and the absolute best father, but you and I are like…coworkers who live together. That picture showed the Scott I want, but I don’t get anymore.”
The picture had been of some random people, probably meant to focus on the older woman holding a baby who was presumably her granddaughter, but Scott had been in the background, having lunch and laughing with a woman they’d known for years. And somehow, through the mysterious connections of Facebook, the photo had ended up crossing paths with one of Emily’s best friends.
It all went to shit from there.
“I’m not responsible for any conclusions random acquaintances jump to.” He looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds, as if he’d find the magic words to end this particular argument written up there before looking back at her. “I stopped in for some lunch. Liz was there and we had to talk about the music fundraiser for Dylan anyway. So we sat together because it would be ridiculous to yell our conversation to each other from separate tables. Whoever took the picture happened to catch me laughing, probably when we were talking about how bad the freshman clarinet player was.”
“So you’ve said.”
“And so I’m going to keep on saying because it’s the damn truth.”
“Why are you angry? I’m the one who was hurt by it.”
“You honestly don’t think I have a reason to be pissed off about the fact we’re talking about this again? How about the fact I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me, but you decided I was lying to you based on a photograph? And how about the fact you think I’m stupid enough to not only carry on with a woman from our town that we and all of our friends and family know, but in the restaurant where we have breakfast several times a month?”
“We’re not talking about you cheating. We’re talking about you not sharing your feelings with me.”
“I don’t know what you want from me, Emily. I did not have an affair. I’m not pouring out my emotions to other women. I don’t care what cell phone provider we use, or if there’s almond milk in the fridge.”
He grabbed the keys to his truck off the counter and walked to the door. There was no umbrella, not that it would do any good in that wind, but he snatched his coat off the hook.
“Scott, what are you doing? It’s pouring out there, and you can’t leave because of the trees.”
“I’m going to sit in my truck for a little while.” He used his foot to kick his boots away from the wall.
“You’d rather sit in your truck than talk to me? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when all you had to say before was fine.”
He flinched as he shoved his feet into his boots.
When you’d spent over twenty years with somebody, you learned every crack in their armor. Every soft spot. Every weakness. There was no verbal sparring anymore. No emotional paper cuts. Every harsh word said in anger was a direct blow, inflicting maximum damage.
“I’m sorry I didn’t react the way you wanted me to when I was totally stunned by you blindsiding me with a divorce. But I’m not going to stay in this cabin and listen to you accuse me of having an affair—physically or emotionally or any other way—so yes, I’d rather sit in my truck.”
It was juvenile and he knew it, but he couldn’t take another minute of them sitting here, hurting each other with the same words over and over.
* * *
“I don’t think you cheated on me with Liz,” Emily said quietly as Scott put his hand on the doorknob. She never had. “That’s not what really hurt, but it’s hard to explain why that picture broke something inside of me.”
He dropped his hand, turning back to face her. “I need you to try, because it not only hurt you, it hurt all of us, and I’d really like to know what it was.”
Emily knew she had to try, because Scott deserved to know, but she wasn’t sure she could find the words to explain the emotional impact that photo had on her. “You were relaxed. Laughing. Enjoying her company.”
He frowned, as she’d known he would. “We’ve known Liz for years, Em. She’s our friend, and you enjoy spending time with her, too.”
“It’s not just the picture,” she pushed on, frustration making her tone sharp. “It’s comparing that picture with what it would look like if somebody took a picture of us at breakfast. Basically ignoring each other, with you reading those free weekly papers or your phone, and me on my phone. We barely talk to each other, and you definitely don’t laugh like that. The way you look in that photo with Liz? It hurt so much that you wouldn’t look like that in a photo with me.”
When Scott’s expression turned to stone, Emily braced herself for him turning around and walking through the door. He’d probably say something cutting—well, now you don’t have to worry about it anymore—and that would be the end of the conversation. They’d orbit around each other in painful silence until one of them could leave.
Then he closed his eyes for a few seconds, his hand flexing into a fist twice before relaxing. A long exhale. When his eyes opened again, she could see the sorrow and exhaustion there. He hung his coat back on the hook and, after tossing his keys on the counter, sat down again.
“Liz doesn’t want anything from me, Em,” he said. “Sometimes I sit across that table from you and I want to talk, but I can’t come up with anything that won’t blow up into a fight. Talking about plans for the day will bring up all the crap I’m supposed to do around the house that I haven’t done yet. Talking about the kids will end up with us continuing the argument about Dylan taking a gap year. And I can’t come up with anything that won’t end up in one of those restaurant arguments with the low voices and the interruptions, and that don’t get resolved in any way—and then we stay mad the whole day—so I read the paper instead.”
The reflexive instinct to deny his words was strong, but the man was actually talking about his feelings, so she forced herself to be silent—to sit with what he’d said for a moment—and really take it in. Like Scott, she closed her eyes for a moment, and memories of restaurant arguments of the past ran through her mind like a painful highlight reel. The hissed words. The awkward, forced smiles at the server. The tense and silent ride home, where they’d go their separate ways for the day.
He wasn’t wrong.
