Page 35 of The Marriage Game

We blink at each other for a moment then in unison turn to stare at the bed. The very tiny double bed.

Yes,doublebed. A bed that in theory should fit two people, but in actual practice is like one of those puzzles where you try and fit ten shapes into a rectangle but end up giving up after half-an-hour because there’s not actually any way to do it.

There’s really no way Max and I can fit into this rectangle. Not without someone's limbs hanging off the perimeter—and that’s not allowed in the shape rectangle puzzle. Neither are overlapping pieces. At 6’2’’ Max is not exactly a small man. I’m no slouch either at 5’7’’. It will be impossible for the two of us to sleep together in that bed without touching. Meanwhile at home we sleep in a California king, separated by more than a foot of space.

This whole scenario has Dorothy and her supposed hatred of the one-bed trope written all over it.

My stomach growls, breaking the heavy silence. Since we missed the welcome reception neither of us have eaten dinner.

“Maybe we should get some food,” Max suggests diplomatically. “Perhaps when we get back the bed won’t look so small. It’s probably just the initial shock of it that has us questioning the size.”

“Maybe,” I say doubtfully. Before Max can answer we’re interrupted by a knock on the front door. We exchange a look then both head to the door. Nobody is there. Instead there’s a bag labeled with the ranch’s restaurant logo on it and a post-it that says,Since you missed the reception.

The reminder of how we missed the reception brings our fight to the forefront of my mind again. It must be the same for Max because he stiffens next to me. His ugly words about me being unable to handle one full-time job slam across my chest. My fight or flight instincts take over and with nowhere good to run I choose to lash out.

“Well isn’t that convenient,” I say dryly, “dinner delivered to our door. Usually I cook our family dinner, not that you’d know that since you’re hardly ever home for dinner these days. Perhaps that’s why you have such misplaced notions about what I can and cannot handle.”

I expect Max to respond in turn but he surprises me, hanging his head like a dog that’s been scolded. “Jill,” he begins, “I shouldn’t have said that about you only working part-time. I’m sorry.”

I study him. He looks so genuine that I know he means the apology. But it’s not enough. It can’t ever be enough. Not when I’m so clearly not enough for him. Not when his words grabbed hold of my deepest insecurities and gave them wings. Iamweak. Iaminsufficient and inadequate. I amnotenough. For him or for anyone.

A ghost of a whisper reminding me that God’s power is made perfect in my weakness flutters around in my mind trying fruitlessly to find a place to land among the lies—but they drown it out then swallow it up. Sometimes knowing something to be true doesn’t quite line up with actually believing it.

I don’t want to be someone who needs God’s power or grace. I want to be powerful all on my own.

But I’m so tired.

“Jill?” Max says my name softly, still waiting for my reply. I force myself to look at him.

“It’s fine, Max,” I say dully, all of the fight having gone out of me. Suddenly I just want to go to bed. Only I’m in Montanaat a flipping couples’ retreat and the only bed available is one that basically requires cuddling just to both fit. And I don’t want to cuddle Max right now. I’m too confused. Too vulnerable. I certainly don’t want to have to fend off any advances tonight or worse, do as Dorothy suggested and leave the lights on. I wish there was a way I could go back in time and accept his offer to sleep on the couch.

The dull ache in my stomach that always accompanies the first day or two of my period catches my attention, and I grab hold of the idea it brings with it.

“You know, I’m actually not feeling the greatest,” I tell Max. “Menstrual cramps,” I add with a grimace. “Would you mind if I just went and laid down?”

“Oh right. You’re on your period.” For a second Max looks almost disappointed, but then he flashes me a sympathetic smile. “Sure, go ahead. Do you need anything?”

I shake my head, then leave the room, being sure to place a convincing hand on my lower abdomen as I go. There, at least now he knows nothing is going to happen tonight. Lately my periods are quick—two, maybe three days tops—but I always use them as an excuse to get out of sex.

Well, not always. But always in recent years.

If he still wants to come and share the bed with me in a completely platonic way, that will be his choice.

I get ready for bed then stare up at the wood-beamed ceiling, wondering if Max will come in to join me or not. Hours later I finally fall into a fitful sleep.

When I wake up the next morning, I’m still all alone.

Chapter 14

Max

Iwakeupwitha crick in my neck and the imprint of my keyboard on my face. Right. I fell asleep on the couch working on the laptop I wasn’t going to bring, but then, in a last minute fit of panic, grabbed. Just in case of emergency. That’s what I told myself.

But after everything that happened yesterday I needed the comfort and familiarity of work. Something I know I’m good at. I may not be a good husband or a very present father, but at least I’m an excellent attorney/senator who provides quite well for my family, thank you very much.

Ellie’s face swims into my mind; her hopeful expression as I promised her a family trip. Liam’s texts about me running for attorney general come next; his dislike of the idea evident even without auditory cues. And then Jill.Usually I cook our family dinner, not that you’d know that since you’re hardly ever home for dinner these days.

Ouch. I rake a hand over my face, then massage the aching spot on my neck. I may not have a great response for the issueswith Ellie and Liam, but at least I know this last one is an exaggeration. Jill was speaking from a place of hurt, lashing out at me in response to what I’d said about her. I’m at home for dinner a lot.

---