A Wedding in December

She put her phone back in her bag. “You didn’t make a mess of it, Nick. Marriages end. It’s a fact of life.”

“It’s also a fact that there has to be a reason for them to end.” He drained his glass. “I’ve been wondering lately if things would have turned out differently if I’d done a different job.”

“Nick, that’s crazy. What else would you do?”

He shrugged. “Maybe a museum job, with better hours.”

“Museum jobs frequently come with hideous hours, and worse pay. And you love what you do.”

“But I was away so much I ended up living on the fringes of the family.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Even now, we’re at dinner, but you take calls from the girls. You’re like this inseparable trio and occasionally I join in.”

Their food arrived, but neither of them touched it.

He was looking at her and she was looking at him.

“Are you saying you felt shut out?” She felt a rush of frustration and something close to guilt. “I never complained about your job, Nick. I never complained when you were gone for weeks at a time, when you returned with half the dust of the desert in your bag. I understood it was what you needed to do. It was the life you wanted. But you can’t blame me for building a life that worked for me. A life that I wanted. You know what my upbringing was like. Sterile. Lonely. My parents were detached. I used to think they loved me, but didn’t know how to show it. Now I’m not even sure that’s true. I think maybe I prefer to think that because it’s easier to handle than the alternative. There was nothing cozy about our home. Nothing warm or welcoming. I wanted to build something different for our family. And I’m proud of what we created, and what we had for such a long time.”

“You created.” He picked up his fork. “You made our family what it was.”

His use of the past tense felt like a physical blow. “That’s not true. You were part of that family, too.”

“All I did was show up occasionally.”

“I don’t resent your work, Nick. I never did. You were following your passion, and I was following mine.”

“But yours was making our family work.”

“You make it sound self-sacrificing, but it wasn’t like that. I wanted to create the family environment I’d dreamed of having when I was growing up. I wanted warmth and love, good food, laughter. I did it for me.”

“I was selfish. I see that now.” He put his fork down. “I keep thinking of that time I was packing for that trip and Rosie had an asthma attack. Do you remember?”

She remembered. She could smile about it now, but at the time she hadn’t felt like laughing. “You asked me where your boots were.”

“And you told me where you’d put those boots if you knew where I’d left them.”

She blinked innocently. “I’m sure I would never have been so vulgar.”

“I deserved it. I deserved a lot worse than that. Our daughter couldn’t breathe and I was packing for my trip.” He ran his hand over his face. “It wasn’t that I didn’t care, or wasn’t worried.”

“I know that.” Had she known that? Had she occasionally felt exasperated and angry that his priorities seemed to be in the wrong place?

He let his hand drop. “You handled it with more skill and grace and calm than I ever could. You didn’t only calm Rosie when she couldn’t breathe, you calmed us all. You never panicked.”

“I panicked constantly. Inside I was a wreck.”

“I never saw that.”

“I didn’t dare let anyone see.”

“It made me feel inadequate.”

“I felt inadequate, too.”

“When?” he demanded. “When were you ever inadequate? Give me an example because I don’t remember a single time.”