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They sat there for a moment, his hand on her shoulder, and he felt a little awkward.
“I can’t help but notice that you didn’t move to touch me. That...raises questions for me.”
“It does?”
“Sure.” He wasn’t sure how to explain what he wanted to know. Or... How that made him feel. He definitely wasn’t used to talking about his feelings.
“What questions exactly does it raise?” she asked.
“You gave me permission to touch you, and I want to. I gave you the same permission, and you didn’t move. Why?”
He felt really uncomfortable asking that. Vulnerable. Vulnerability wasn’t something he was used to showing. But, he had a feeling that it was something that he was going to need to get morecomfortable with in order for him to establish a bond of trust between him and his wife.
“Maybe because I didn’t believe you.”
“Didn’t believe me?”
“That you really want me to. Or, maybe I wasn’t sure how.” She drew her brows down, like she wasn’t sure how to explain that.
“Are you able to tell me what you mean?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that you were just saying it felt good? And then, where should I touch you? On your arm? Your leg? I don’t know. That isn’t the kind of touching that I’m used to. It’s...”
He thought he understood. That she didn’t typically just touch a man for the sake of touching him. He looked away. Not moving his hand, but moving his attention for a moment, because he needed to think. Maybe he was reading it all wrong, but it seemed like to her, touching meant sex. To him...maybe, but it was more than that.
“I don’t talk too much about my parents. They died in a car accident, it was more than ten years ago now. But, even then I got to spend about three decades with them. They,” he grunted a little. “My sister said I look back through rose colored glasses because in my mind, my parents were perfect. I know they weren’t.”
“I’m never going to be perfect,” she said, and she sounded defensive. That wasn’t where he was going at all.
“I know. I was just... Trying to explain.”
“Okay?” she said.
Where to start? He wanted her to understand where he was going with the whole touching thing.
“I loved watching my parents. I mean, when I was a teenager, especially early teens like thirteen through fifteen, it was kind of gross. But as I got older, I loved seeing how they couldn’t pass each other without touching. Dad would stroke mom’s hair, or tuck it back behind her ear, or rub his finger down under her hairline around her neck. That always made her shiver, and I know that’s kind of a weird thing to notice about your mom, but she seemed to really like it. And he did it often. Not at night before they went tobed. It wasn’t about...sex. It was like if they were beside each other, he wanted to reach out and see that she was there, he just needed to touch her. Maybe it’s a little bit the way it is when you stroke your dog’s head. You know? Not that I’m comparing a husband and wife to animals. But, you know your dog really enjoys your touch. And when I looked at my parents, I knew they enjoyed each other’s touch. I’m sure in a sexual way, but it’s a little bit weird to think of my parents in that way. Just, they always held hands. Even after twelve children, my dad would kiss the top of my mom’s head, or hug her and thank her for a meal, just... Always touching.”
“Those must be really nice memories. My parents were always yelling at each other. Actually, my mom was always yelling at whatever man was living with her.”
“That’s sad. I don’t recall my parents ever fighting.”
“That’s impossible.”
“No. I’m serious. I can’t say they didn’t have disagreements. They argued about the heat. Mom liked it cold in the summer, and hot in the winter. My dad was the opposite. He thought people should be acclimated to the weather, and if it was hot outside, it shouldn’t be super cold in the house. Anyway, that is something they argued about. Mom would turn the heat up or down, and dad would do the opposite. They’d have big, long discussions using logical arguments as to why they were right. It was kind of funny to listen to them.” He remembered that while they discussed it, they were never mad at each other. They might have been very vocal in their opinions, but they had figured out how to disagree with each other without disliking each other.
“That almost seems like a daydream. A fairytale. I can’t imagine a marriage like that.”
“That’s how I want my marriage to be. I... I want to be able to talk to my wife, which I suppose is why I’m putting such an effort into it.”
“I appreciate it.”
“But I want us to be able to disagree without hating each other. Or... I guess my parents just always thought best about each other.”
“That’s a talent. I don’t know if I think the best of anyone all the time. Everyone has a bad side.”
“I know I do. I suppose you do too, but maybe... Maybe I’ll just try to put blinders on so I don’t see that side.”
“Isn’t that a little bit like sticking your head in the sand and not facing reality?”
