Empty Fortune Cookie

3 Apr

The next day after my chilly return from China, Ann and I talk. I tell her that after last night, as far as I’m concerned, our marriage is an economic partnership to get out of debt. Once out of debt we’ll be free to go our own ways. I tell her that asking me if I loved screenwriting more than her was strictly high school – like asking if I loved my car more than her. She says that I act like I can accept losing the house, losing everything. I tell her she’s right – to me the house doesn’t represent all that much, the town we live in doesn’t represent that much.  I’m willing to fight to keep the house for her sake.

We keep talking. Maybe there’s a resolve in me she hasn’t seen before – that she realizes I’ve drawn a line in the sand and that the thought of the marriage dissolving isn’t frightening to me. Whatever it is, she begins to tilt back towards me, saying she loves me and wants to work together, that she “doesn’t want to be in a partnership to get out of debt.”

The rest of the night is warm and loving.

But emotions in this house are like the weather in New England, where they’re fond of saying, “If you don’t like the weather, wait a few minutes – it’ll change.”



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