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Is your marriage in trouble?
Yes, it definitely was.
Was she being unfair? She couldn’t expect him to blow off a meeting because she wanted to talk. He had responsibilities to his partners and clients. And any conversation they had now would be tainted by the fact that he was stressed about being late for work.
“Let’s go out for dinner tonight.” If he wasn’t going to suggest it, then she would.
“Tonight?” He looked panicked. “I have drinks after work with the partners. Didn’t I mention it?”
“No.”
“How about tomorrow? We should celebrate.”
A warmth spread through her. He hadn’t forgotten. “Celebrate?”
“Beginning of the holidays, for you and the girls at least—” He flashed her a smile. “We could go to that Italian place. The twins would love that. And tomorrow works for me because it’s Saturday and I won’t be breathing garlic over everyone at work.”
“I wasn’t planning on inviting the girls.”
“Oh—you mean a romantic night. Great.” He grabbed a protein bar from the cupboard. “Any night except tonight.”
Any night except tonight.
Their anniversary.
The warm feelings withered and died.
She watched as Sean grabbed his gym bag from the laundry room and stuffed the nut bar into a pocket on the side.
“Sean—”
“You book somewhere. Anywhere you like. Looking forward to it.” He was out through the door, leaving before she could say, I feel it would be more romantic and special if you chose somewhere.
The front door slammed behind him and she flinched as if he’d trapped her finger in it.
Happy Anniversary, Liza.
She topped up her coffee. Was she wrong to expect romance? Did every relationship feel this way after two decades and two children? For their first anniversary they’d had a weekend in Paris. They’d done it on a shoestring, staying in a seedy hotel on the Left Bank and loving every minute. For their second they’d taken a picnic to the river and spread everything out on a blanket in the shade of a weeping willow.
It had been years since they’d done something special.
Eight signs that your marriage might be in trouble.
Why was it bothering her so much? And why eight signs? Why not seven or nine? Someone had probably sat at their desk throwing out ideas and eight sounded like a good number.
Caitlin came thundering down the stairs. “Have you seen my jeans?”
“It’s a school day. No
jeans.”
“Last day. We can wear what we like, remember?”
No, she hadn’t remembered. “Your jeans are in the wash. You’ll have to wear something else.”
“What?” Caitlin’s shriek brought her sister running to the top of the stairs.
“What’s wrong?”
