Page 22 of Marriage and the Midlife Crisis

With that resolve firmly in place and my guilt tucked away deep in my soul where it would hopefully never see the light of day, I put the car in gear and backed out, carefully maneuvering around Mel’s car. Noticing at the last second that her windows were frosted over, I parked and got out, grabbing the ice scraper from my trunk to clean them off so she didn’t have to.

Freezing my ass off for her was the least I could do in my quest to fix what I’d so nearly destroyed.

Chapter 7

Melanie

I trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen, feeling as if the weight of the world rested on my shoulders. The dull, niggling ache at my temples wasn’t helping matters.

After lying in bed seething over Ryan’s continued absence, then feigning sleep when he’d finally arrived home after one in the morning – I could be petty like that – I’d managed to drift off once he’d rolled back over to his side of the bed and gone to sleep. I’d slept fitfully though and felt like death warmed over this morning. I could only hope that a cup or three of coffee would perk me up.

I reached for a coffee mug, then poured myself a cup of the dark, rich brew. A piece of paper on the counter next to the coffee pot caught my eye. I hesitated, then decided I needed to fortify myself before reading whatever Ryan had written. I quickly stirred in sugar and a splash of my favorite coffee creamer into the mug, shoved the note into the pocket of my robe, then shuffled into the living room to curl up in my plush, cozy chair in the corner. I needed all of my creature comforts this morning before I faced the shitshow that today might become.

I blew on the coffee a few times then carefully took a sip, too impatient to wait for it to cool down. I almost groaned in relief, my taste buds coming to life with the burst of flavor from the coffee with the added notes of caramel and vanilla from the creamer. I breathed deeply, willing my body and mind to relax, and hoping that the jolt of caffeine would stave off my looming headache.

Minutes later, my coffee mug empty, I no longer had an excuse to ignore the note. So help me, if it was some bullshit reminder to pick up his dry cleaning, I was going to go feral on his ass when he got home.

I set the mug down and fished the crumpled paper out of my pocket, focusing my eyes on the familiar scrawl on the page.

I’m sorry about this weekend. I made dinner reservations

at Kirby’s for us tonight… We need to celebrate. Be ready by 6:30. Love you !

As apologies went, it was better than nothing, I supposed. At least he was acknowledging that he’d screwed up, and the restaurant – an upscale steakhouse downtown – was a rare, special occasion treat for us. A flicker of joy sparked inside me, fighting to break through the layers of anger, frustration, and hurt feelings that had simmered for the past three days. Maybe there was hope for us yet.

My cell phone rang, the sound slightly muffled since it was buried in my other pocket. I shifted enough to retrieve it, smiling ruefully as I saw Jen’s name on the screen. I knew her well enough to know she was dying to find out how things had gone once Ryan got home last night.

I barely greeted her before she started asking questions.

“So, what happened? Did he show up with roses and beg for forgiveness?”

I rolled my eyes and snorted. “Hardly. He crept in the door a little after one, then tried to feel me up while I pretended to be asleep. He gave up after a few minutes, then rolled over and went to sleep himself.”

“Ugh, what a jerk. I’m sorry, Mel. Did you guys talk at all this morning?”

“No,” I sighed. “His alarm went off at an ungodly hour, so I’m guessing he had to go in early to make up for ditching work on Friday. He did leave me a note, at least.”

I read it to her, and it was Jen’s turn to sigh.

“Well, at least you’ll get a belated birthday celebration. You’d better order an expensive bottle of wine, and a piece of that decadent chocolate cake they have for dessert,” she added snarkily.

I laughed as I assured her that I’d already thought of that. “This sort of derailed my plans to have a long, hard talk with him tonight, though. I guess I’ll see what he has to say for himself and then pivot from there. Am I stupid for hoping that forgetting my birthday will be enough to bring him to his senses?”

“No, it makes you human, and even if this isn’t a permanent wake-up call for him, at least he’s trying to make up for being a thoughtless jackass this weekend. It’s a start, and maybe that will be enough to calm your brother down, too. He’s still not happy that you wouldn’t let him call Ryan on Saturday. He wanted to rip him a new asshole for pulling such a boneheaded stunt.”

I smiled fondly. Mark and I used to butt heads growing up, but thankfully, as adults we’d forged a close bond that was made even stronger by my friendship with Jen.

“Tell Mark that he can stand down. I’m going to be the one to rip Ryan a new one, remember? I didn’t completely lose my lady balls. They may have been temporarily misplaced for a while, but I’ve found them again, and I won’t hesitate to use them if I need to after I hear his idea of an apology tonight,” I assured her with a slightly bitter-sounding chuckle, then told her about the research I’d done.

“I looked over the therapists on our insurance plan last night and found one I really think we would like. Her credentials are impressive, and from her bio on the website, she seems warm and genuine, whereas some of the others I looked at came off a little clinical and detached. She’s a licensed marriage and family therapist and is also certified in things like addiction recovery and anger management, but what really caught my attention is her certification in grief counseling.”

“Oh, she sounds like she’s exactly who you need.”

“I think so, too. I emailed her office to see if she has any availability soon, so hopefully someone responds this morning to let me know so that I can decide if I want to bring up the subject tonight after dinner.”

The conversation turned to what I was going to wear that night. Jen suggested something sexy to show Ryan what he’d been missing.

“I do have that red dress I bought for our anniversary three years ago,” I mused. It was made of some clingy material that molded to my butt like it had been tailor-made just for me. The scooped neckline accentuated my bust when paired with a push-up bra. The dress had the added benefit of some ruching along one side of the waist that made the fabric gather and drape to camouflage the slightly soft pouch along my midsection, eliminating the need to wrestle my lower half into a spandex torture device.