“I’m asking you to choose between two versions of our marriage. One where I’m a full partner whose needs have equal weight, and one where I’m managing around your family’s access to our space indefinitely and pretending it’s fine.”
I set my mug down.
“Those are the two options. I’d like to know which one you’re choosing.”
The silence that followed was longer than the first one.
Outside, a bus went past.
Someone’s dog barked twice and stopped.
Marcus looked at the table.
And I looked at Marcus.
And I felt, with a clarity that was almost peaceful, that I was about to find out something I had not known for certain until this moment.
He said, “I don’t think you’re being reasonable.”
There it was.
Not I hear you and I want to do better.
Not you’re right and I’ve been taking you for granted.
Not even a negotiation.
A counter offer.
An attempt to meet somewhere in the middle.
Just I don’t think you’re being reasonable.
Which was not a response to what I’d said.
It was a verdict on the person who had said it.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” he repeated.
“I needed to know where you stood,” I said. “Now I do.”
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