Dinner was pleasurable if not fulfilling. Morgan had gotten us a reservation at that new restaurant by Chef Enrique and much to his delight, we made it in time. It was a sweet gesture, sure, but I always found the dining experience at such restaurants a little wanting. The food was plated and garnished beautifully, but that was it. The servings were so small that I did in fact feel like I was eating garnishing. But I kept it to myself. Had we gone to that quaint rooftop restaurant I’d subtly hinted at the other day, we would at least be full. And Morgan would be … less drunk.
“I like the way you’re wearing your hair tonight,” he said, his speech slurred by the drink.
“Thanks, though I kinda always wear it this way,” I consciously touched my ponytail.
“Really? I thought you did it up special for tonight,” he replied. I felt guilty. In my rush, I’d forgotten to put on those lovely earrings he’d gotten me. He hadn’t noticed, but I felt embarrassed that he’d gone through so much effort for tonight, only for me to silently criticize him on his drunkenness and choice of restaurant. It was the job. I tried to convince myself. I’d have made more of an effort if that damned sales pitch wasn’t so important.
Strangely enough, all of this felt familiar. More so than the routines and habits of a contented couple. I felt I had been here before…done this before. I flagged a waiter and requested a glass of wine. The least I could do was humor my husband in his drunkenness. I promised myself I’d make it up to him tomorrow.
But the crux of the matter was that all of this was indeed getting all too common. We’d rushed into marriage, after a whirlwind romance of a few months. It was only after the wedding that I started realizing perhaps there were a few things we didn’t agree on. The fights became more frequent and both of us retreated into our careers. Ten years down the road and here we were. Tonight, was his umpteenth attempt at trying to mend things. I chastised myself for being selfish. He was just trying to make things work.
The truth, though I would never admit it to him, was that this relationship was breaking down because of me. Morgan was trying everything and in my stubbornness to avoid admission of fault, I kept pushing him away. I loved him though, dearly. And I wanted to make things better.
The waiter reappeared from the depths of the kitchen with a freshly poured glass of red wine. It clashed with my choice of main course (an act equivalent to murder in most fine restaurants), but what did I care? I just wanted to have some fun with my husband. We clinked our glasses together and downed a few drinks, reminiscing on our first months together.
“So…you come here often?” Morgan was using me for pickup line practice. I was honestly so tipsy it was actually amusing this time.
“No…” I playfully drew a circle around the rim of my glass. “Do you?” I blurted in my best blushing schoolgirl impression.
“No…” he replied. “God what am I supposed to say again? I’m so out of practice.” We both laughed, the innocent uninhibited laughter of two inebriated lovers pretending they didn’t have problems. “What’s say you and I get out of here?”
“Your place or mine?”
“Both,” he smirked.
Of course, by the time we got to the car the spontaneity ended. Morgan was so drunk I had to get the valet to help drag him into the passenger’s seat. Not being a terribly good driver myself, I steeled myself and got into the driver’s seat. I had trouble driving at night, and honestly quite a few of the dents on the car's body had my name on them. Inside I was seething. It was just like him to ruin a night like this.
“This is just like you, you know,” I said out of frustration, fully knowing Morgan couldn’t defend himself. “First you show me this…this idea of what we could be. This vision. You dangle it in front of me,” the words started pouring out in tandem with the tears squeezing their way down my cheeks. “And then you pull a stunt like this. Just like you.”
But all of this felt like deja vu. I shook the feeling off. If Morgan had pulled this stunt before I would’ve remembered it. I squinted to make out the road. It was dark, and the scarcity of streetlights certainly wasn’t doing me any favors. It had been raining too, and the street was adorned with little puddles reflecting the light of the countless stars in the sky.
“Where did it go wrong?” I sighed. “I know you’re trying. I’m trying too.” I looked at Morgan, his head annoyingly bouncing back and forth as a guttural snore escaped his lips, one of his more charming attributes. I reached out to turn his head towards me. “You agree, right? The rooftop restaurant was a better idea?” I asked, forcibly nodding his head. I knew that was the only agreement I’d get out of him about restaurant choices.
Suddenly a black blur streaked across the road. I slammed the brakes and spun the steering wheel to avoid hitting whatever it was. The tires screeched and the stench of burning rubber permeated the air. I suddenly remembered why all of this seemed so familiar.