When he finally emerges, he looks deep in thought.
“That sounded important,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Did something happen?”
Here’s your opening, Ben. Share your success with me.
“Just some work stuff.” He crosses behind me and opens the refrigerator, burying his head inside. As if something will have magically appeared since the last time he checked.
And once again, I get nothing.“Hiding in your room isn’t suspicious at all,” I say pointedly, trying to mask my hurt with a joke.
He comes up behind me, caging me against the counter with his arms and nuzzling my neck—and I soften, just like I always do. “Sounds like someone missed me.”
And that’s another thing. When he doesn’t want to answer aquestion, he’s evasive to the point of frustration, redirecting the conversation by making a joke or distracting me. He’ll barely debate me onanyissue, even those that have nothing to do with our jobs. He used to dish it out with no hesitation, no remorse, and no holds barred. Now he might lob a couple of easy volleys my way, then change the subject before I get too ramped up. This, of course, just makes me more determined to provoke him.
It comes to a head one night while we’re curled up on my couch. I’m flipping channels mindlessly while he’s reading some thick economics book that looks like my idea of personal hell. When I land on CNN, a panel of talking heads are discussing the tax bill—or perhaps more accurately, slamming and dismantling it point by point. I casually set the remote on the arm of the couch and train my eyes on the TV, like I’m riveted by the onscreen discussion. I know he won’t be able to help himself.
I’m so right.
“Do you mind?”
I feign innocence. “I’m sorry, is this bothering you?”
He lowers his book. “I can read at home, you know.”
“It’s not like they’re saying anything that isn’t true. The tax breaks do disproportionately favor the wealthy.”
I swallow down a fit of nervous giggles. I basically just lobbed a smoking grenade. My arms itch to duck and cover.
“You’re too smart to regurgitate superficial talking points like that. Educate yourself before trying to poke me.”
“Ihaveeducated myself. I’m dating you, aren’t I?”
He tilts me a look. “These tax breaks benefiteveryone. There’ll be more money in people’s paychecks, which means more disposable income, which just rallies the economy further.” He pulls my legs onto hislap and starts massaging my thigh. “Maybe you should read this book when I’m finished.”
I refuse to be sidetracked. “If that were true, shouldn’t those living under the median income get much larger breaks? And why make individual tax cuts temporary while the ones for corporations are permanent?”
He sighs and picks his book back up. “If you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask Marcus? Maybe you’ll listen to him.”
“I don’twantto ask Marcus! I want to hear whatyouhave to say. Since when are you afraid to argue with me?”
“Afraid?Please,” he scoffs.
“You’re avoiding any disagreement. Deny it.”
He pauses. “I prefer to leave work at work.”
“Says the person reading theworkbook.”
“It’spleasurereading.”
“So, what, you’re just never going to debate me again? That’s not how a real relationship would work between us and you know it.”
“Newsflash, we’re in a real relationship,” he says calmly, turning a page.
I kick my heel against the couch. “You know what I mean! You can’t walk on eggshells around me. You can’t be afraid to rock the boat.”
“When I’m confident we’re seaworthy, I’ll rock your boat all night long, darlin’. Now, why don’t you turn on one of your shows and scratch my neck?” he says, guiding my hand to the nape of his neck.
“Scratch your own neck,” I say irritably, yanking my hand back.
