Page 88 of The Humiliated Wife
CHAPTER 36
Dean
"—andyou schedule your own damn dentist appointment," Dean was saying, stabbing his fork into his pasta with more force than necessary. "She's not your secretary."
Travis blinked, mid-chew. "I mean, she's better at that stuff?—"
"No." Dean's voice was sharp enough that both men looked up from their plates. "She's not better at it. You just never learned because someone else always did it for you."
They were sitting in some forgettable Italian place downtown—the kind with checkered tablecloths and breadsticks that came free with every meal. Dean knew he was a hypocrite, but the alternative was sitting alone in his apartment, so here he was.
Giving relationship advice to men who still had relationships.
"Look," Milo said carefully, "I get that you're going through something right now?—"
"I'm going through a divorce because I was a piece of shit husband," Dean interrupted. "And if you two don't want to endup where I am, you need to stop taking your girlfriends for granted."
Travis shifted uncomfortably. "Dude, it's not that serious. Marcy doesn't mind?—"
"Marcy minds." Dean's laugh was bitter. "Trust me. She minds. She's just not saying anything because she loves you and she's hoping you'll figure it out on your own."
He thought about Fiona's family video calls, the ones he'd half-listened to while scrolling his phone. How many times had Emma and Marcy vented about their boyfriends' helplessness while Dean sat there thinking it was funny instead of infuriating?
How many times had he thought of himself as the perfect husband? What a joke that turned out to be.
"When's the last time you did something thoughtful for Emma?" Dean asked Milo. "And I don't mean flowers after you fucked up. I mean just because you love her."
Milo frowned. "I don't know. Her birthday?"
"Jesus Christ." Dean rubbed his forehead. "That's not thoughtful, that's the bare minimum. I'm talking about paying attention to what she actually wants. What she actually needs."
"Like what?"
Dean thought about Fiona. About the lemon shortbread he'd brought home that one time, how her face had lit up like he'd brought her diamonds.
"Like picking up her favorite coffee without being asked. Like listening when she tells you about her day and actually caring about the answer."
Travis was looking at him like he'd grown a second head. "You're acting like relationships are some kind of job."
"They are a job." Dean's voice was getting louder, drawing looks from other tables. "The best job you'll ever have, if you don't fuck it up. And you’ll want to show up. Every single day."
The men looked unconvinced. Dean sighed.
"Emma packs your lunches sometimes, right?" he asked Milo.
"Yeah, when she's making hers?—"
"When's the last time you packed hers?"
Silence.
"Marcy picks up your dry cleaning when she's getting her own stuff done?"
Travis nodded slowly.
"When's the last time you did something—anything—to make her life easier instead of expecting her to make yours easier?"
More silence.
