Page 34 of The Marriage Game

There’s a slight possibility that I’m just in the market for a scapegoat and she’s conveniently available.

“Look what you did?” I cry, turning on her with a display of emotions I usually reserve for use only behind closed doors. Dorothy is unfazed, however; acting like this is all perfectly normal. Her unflappable expression seems to scream:Forgetabout the modern convenience that is owning a washer and dryer—let’s grab a clothesline and air our dirty laundry! Or at least yours, anyway. My own laundry is never dirty.

“What exactly did I do?” she asks.

“Hello,” I wave my hands like a crazy person, “you brought up our sex life. Who does that?”

“Again, I believe you were the one who brought up your sex life,” she replies calmly. “Not me.”

“Yeah, but only because you said there was a tub for two in the cabin and only one bed!” I whisper-screech. “And then you just had to keep pressing the point and now Max said he wants to have sex with me!”

She cocks her head at me, a quizzical expression on her lined face. “And that’s a bad thing because…”

I stare at her, flustered. Why is Max wanting to have sex with me a bad thing again? Oh right—“Because,” I explain with an impressive display of patience given the circumstances, “I’m tired and the kids are a lot and usually I have a headache. Not to mention, I’m old. He may think he wants to have sex with me but that’s only because I insist on keeping the lights off when we do. If we turned the lights on he’d see that I have stretch marks and a couple varicose veins and that without a proper bra in place these,” I gesture between my two breasts, searching for a word that provides some semblance of discretion while still getting across the concept of, well,breasts, “two friends of mind,” I say lamely, “are far less perky than they once were.” I stare down sadly at them for a minute. “Maybe friends wasn’t the right euphemism,” I mutter. “More like prime examples of the effects of the earth’s gravitational pull.”

“Oh dear,” Dorothy hums, though her lips twitch with suppressed amusement. “Yes, I myself am all too aware of the effects of both gravity and aging on a woman’s body.” She looksdown at her own twofriends. “Then again, Mick has never seemed to mind.”

Oh my unnecessary-information goodness!

“Anyway,” I attempt to breeze past the unsettling suggestion that a couple in their sixties apparently has a better sex life than we do, “the point is I think you’ve caused enough trouble for one day. I appreciate what you’re trying to do here with this upgrade or whatever, but it’s unnecessary. Max and I are fine. We’re just going through a small rough patch. That’s all. Sure, it’s been a rather long rough patch, but that’s okay. We’ll smooth it over—” my voice breaks unexpectedly and next thing I know Dorothy is hugging me as I sob into her shoulder.

Where did this unfortunate display of emotion come from? I don’t know, but I can’t make it stop. I’m getting snot all over her. It’s ugly.

“I’m sorry,” I try to say, but it comes out all blubbered and incoherent.

Somehow she understands me anyway. “No need to apologize. As I always tell my patients, admitting you have a problem is the first step. So you’ve already taken a step in the right direction.”

“Asmallproblem,” I correct automatically, clearing my throat and taking a huge sniff to try and get myself under control. Dorothy raises her eyebrows at me and there she goes sucking information out of me again with her suction eyes. “Fine,” I croak. “We have big problems, are you happy?”

“Not happy, no. Never happy about a couple having problems. But I am encouraged to hear you recognize the truth out loud.” She steps back and takes me by the shoulders. “Now don’t you worry, Jill, because we’re going to fix this. I’ve seen many couples far worse off than you. Why just last week I was at a retreat over in Texas and one of the women found out her husband was the one who ran over her beloved cat. Not on purpose, but still—he kept that secret from her for two years.It was quite a shock when it came out. Poor thing.” She shakes her head, temporarily lost in this memory. “But the two of them worked it out in the end. Just like you and Max will. And look at it this way, my dear,” she adds with an appraising smile, “if you were having a heart attack the best place to be would be a hospital, right? Well right now your marriage is having a heart attack which means you’re in exactly the right place. A couples’ retreat is to a struggling marriage as a hospital is to a heart attack.” Dorothy beams and pats me on the shoulder. “Now then, the three of us have much to do over the next few days, but for now I’ll leave you two to get settled in. There are some fun surprises awaiting you in there.” She steps away, but then turns back to say one last thing, “And for heaven’s sake, Jill. Next time leave the light on. You might be surprised by his reaction.”

With that last blush-inducing statement she disappears, leaving me with no choice but to go inside and face the music.

Even so, I feel an unexpected swell of gratitude toward the woman.

Chapter 13

Jill

Mygratitudediesquickly.Basically as soon as I walk into the bedroom of the cabin we’ve been relegated to and see Max staring uncertainly at our bed.

Or is it just his bed? Or my bed? Surely it can’t beourbed.

I blink at what must be a mistake. Or a practical joke.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Max offers, though there’s a note of resentment in his tone, like only years of having chivalry drilled into him made him say the words. Pretty sure that’s also the only reason he puts the toilet seat down.

“Uh, no,” I say quickly. “That’s not necessary. You’re much taller and broader than me—I should be the one to sleep on the couch.”

Max turns to face me. “Look, Jill, I might be upset with you but there’s still no way in heck that I’m letting my wife sleep on the couch while I take the bed.”

Something stirs inside me at his words. A tender warmth brought upon by his ferocious use of the words ‘my wife’. I haven’t heard him refer to me that way other than in aperfunctory matter-of-fact type of way—i.e. this is my wife, Jill—in a very long time.

“Well,” I hear myself say, “I suppose we could share the bed.”

Max eyes me dubiously. “You want to share that bed?”

“I don’t know.” I blush under his scrutiny. “Surely that would be better than one of us sleeping on the couch.”

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