Page 8 of The Marriage Game

Jill was always an energizer bunny. The woman who could do it all.

Until the day she couldn’t any longer.

A wave of cold nausea sweeps over me at the mere memory of that time. It was absolutely terrifying to see her like that. But there were also other emotions that surfaced too. Shameful things I stuffed back down before they could create additional problems for our family. The fact that those feelings are still inside me, simmering away, is not a talking point I want to give much air time to.

“Well?” she prods. “What do you think? Can I be your campaign manager again?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Will youallowit?”

I flinch, knowing this is a direct attack of the way I handled things four years ago. Basically I insisted she step down from her role as my campaign manager. While I did think this was the best decision for her at the time, I wouldn’t have forced her hand on it if her mom hadn’t told me I should.“Jill has never been able to set limits on herself,”she told me.“We always had to do it for her. She won’t quit on her own—you’re going to have to make her. I think perfectionists often need someone to take the burden of not thinking they’re enough away from them.”

She told me that one week into Jill’s bed rest. As much as I respect my mother-in-law, the idea of forcing my wife to quita job she liked unsettled me. But by the end of the second week I was desperate. So I tested the waters, asking her what she would think of stepping down from her role for a while. She immediately balked at the idea—at least out loud. Her non-verbal cues told a different story. For the first time in weeks she sat up and there was a sheen of what I would swear was hope in her eyes.

So I pushed the point further, outlining all of my reasons and realizing as I did so that I truly did think she was doing too much. I’d only been doing her portion of the home/kid side of things for a couple of weeks and I already felt exhausted and overwhelmed. And I’d had help. Her parents and sisters. My parents. They’d all stepped up to help. Even my sister, who lives in Texas and therefore couldn’t help in person, sent door dash one night to cover dinner. Meanwhile, the only time Jill ordered out rather than cooking was if she was sick. Between work and the kids and the house and the volunteering she did for the church…anyone would’ve cracked.

It was too much. So then I heard myself doing as my mother-in-law had instructed. I told her if she didn’t step down I was going to have to fire her. Then, wanting both to soften the blow and to convey a truth I thought she needed to hear, I added that the kids and I wanted her around more, that weneededher around more. The firing bit was definitely a bluff on my part, but luckily she stepped down rather than calling me on it. And the craziest part was that the next day she got out of bed and went on as if the whole thing had never happened.

But of course now I find out she’s simply been holding onto that occurrence as a weapon to use against me. Considering she often hits me with weapons from her arsenal of long held grudges, I shouldn’t be so caught off-guard.

Then again, this whole night has caught me off-guard. Everything from being approached by that focus group to Jill’sinitial negative response to my announcement to her wanting to be my campaign manager again to coming home to find my wife in that dress…despite the iciness between us my eyes do a quick dip down over her body sheathed in a turquoise material that shows off her curves to perfection. I didn’t notice right away because I was so hyped up about my news and, well, she did have dish gloves on with it before. Sort of threw me. But now I drink in the sight of her like a parched man gulping water.

Dang. My wife is so beautiful. Even after all of these years the force of it still hits me. I’m not sure how I managed to land her, but I’m working my butt off to make sure I keep her.

I shake these thoughts away and force myself to focus on the conversation at hand.

“I just want to be sure you’re sure about this,” I say slowly, not rising to the bait she threw my way. I never did tell her that it was her mom’s suggestion that I make her quit. I didn’t think she’d approve of Diane’s insights on her perfectionist tendencies. At times like this, though, I wish I had told her. “Maybe you should take a day or two to think about it before committing,” I suggest.

Her eyes flash. “Kind of like how you took a day or two to think before committing to running for attorney general? Oh wait.” She taps her chin in mock thought. “No, you didn’t.”

I blink at her in surprise. “What was there to think about?” I ask. This whole conversation has taken place at almost whisper-volume, but it doesn’t feel strange. On the contrary, many of our conversations take place at this volume. When you’re a public figure you get used to speaking so no one else can overhear you. “This is the perfect answer to the whole ‘what am I going to do when my time in the senate is up?’”

“The perfect answer?” Her voice is oddly strangled. “I thought—” she starts, then stops, shaking her head once, a quick left,right movement I often see her perform. Usually when she’s holding her tongue.

“You thought what?” I press, but before she can answer Greg interrupts. Yikes. Totally forgot about him being here for a minute.

“Max, sorry to cut in, but a question just came in on the press release I wrote. How long have you worked for Stanton & Bernard again?”

How does he not know that? I repress a sigh. “Uh, been there 19 years,” I reply. I glance at Jill after I answer to find her lips pursed and her eyebrows raised.

“Seriously?” she hisses. “How does he not know that?Iwouldn’t have had to ask you that. In fact, I don’t think I ever bothered you with small, solvable things like that.”

She’s right. Jill was the picture of efficiency. Having her on my team made everything run more smoothly. I study her again, suddenly hit with a pang of longing for the way things used to be between us. Lately my grasp on our marriage seems to be slipping. Jill and I used to laugh together. We used to pray together. We used to talk for hours, snuggled up together in bed. My eyes drift across her features, then trail down her slender neck to the warm hollow space where it curves into her shoulder. Once upon a time I could make her sigh with just one soft kiss pressed to that very spot.

But now…the laughter is spaced out, the prayers have stopped, the talking largely centers around the kids, and most of her sighs are born of irritation or impatience.

Maybe working together again would bring us back to that place. Maybe she might even see me the way she used to: as a man capable of great things. When we were dating I heard her tell her sister that was one of the things she loved about me, and I’ve never been sure if I lived up to the hype.

I draw in a breath. “Okay, the job is yours if you want it.”

Jill’s mouth twists into a satisfied smile. “Perfect,” she says. She looks past me to Greg. “Now then, I’ve got to finish in here, so I’ll let you tell Greg.” She pats me on the arm then grabs her pink rubber gloves and slides them back on.

I want to ask her why she’s so dressed up to clean, but then I remember her words when we first walked in. She mentioned date night. Understanding dawns. It’s Friday. In the past that’s been date night, but we haven’t done that regularly in months. Surely she didn’t expect me to instinctively know that she wanted to bring back date night…unless…did she put it in our Google calendar and I missed it? It wouldn’t be the first time in recent months I’ve let that happen. I scramble anxiously around for my phone, locating it in my back pocket.

Crap. I turned notifications off during our meeting earlier and haven’t looked at my phone since. Now I see I missed multiple calls and texts from Jill. Sure enough, there’s one about date night. And wait—

“You were in a car accident?” I exclaim in concern.

Jill pauses from where she was stacking plates in an empty cupboard. “Wow, nice of you to finally read my text messages.”

“My phone was on silent,” I try to explain my silence, but the excuse clearly falls flat.

---