February 14th , 2003

I was willing to try. Up until that night, I was willing to try. I would have gone to counseling, tried to work things out with him, given it my best efforts. And it would have succeeded - at least for a few years. But it all died for me that night.

Two weeks earlier - February 2nd - I had just gotten home from a dinner out with my mama-friends, when he confronted me, saying he knew about C & me. It was dark in the kitchen where we were sitting; there was a small stove light on, and some light from the spots in the back yard, but that was it. But I could see his face clearly. He looked squarely at me, with very little emotion showing.

My first thought upon hearing this was, "Duh... of course you did." My second thought was "You've got to be kidding me. You HAD to know." My third thought was, "Oh shit, you DIDN'T know." What I said was, "Oh." That night lasted forever, and most of the details have been lost in the weary mess that is my brain. I do recall saying that I would go to counseling with him, if that's what he wanted; that I would do whatever it took to fix this. In retrospect, there was no fixing it; leaving was the only solution. But of course I didn't know that then.

So for the next two weeks, we sat. We talked. We cried. We yelled. We tried to figure out what to do. I had been serious about seeing a counselor, but things in our house never moved quickly -- always so much analysis before doing ANYTHING - so no referrals were ever gotten, no appointments ever made.

Still, I was making an effort. I think he was, too. It was tense and painful, but I hadn't lost hope. And then came Valentine's Day.

It fell on a Friday that year. I knew that it was going to be low key. After all, this was the worst pain our relationship had ever seen, and even in good years, Valentine's Day was never a big deal (I tried to believe that, anyway). And we didn't have a lot of money, so even HAD things BEEN good between us, it still wouldn't have amounted to much. It's not like he ever thought to save up to surprise me, or anything. BUt that's another story. So yeah, I wasn't expecting much. I wanted to do SOMETHING, though - if only to mark the fact that it was also the anniversary of when we started dating. That Valentine's Day made it 14 years.

So I planned dinner for us: Coquilles St.Jacques, bread and salad. Wine. Something for dessert. I made sure that everything was done in advance, so that when he came home, I wasn't up to my elbows in breadcrumbs and vermouth. All I had to do was pop the dish in the oven. I also made sure there weren't a bunch of dishes for him to have to do afterward. I got the house cleaned. I had the kiddo in bed. It wasn't a romantic overture, although I did put candles on the table. I t was just that I wanted to show him I was making an effort.

Everything was ready by 6:3o or so, and I got the girl to bed right around 7, the time he usually got home by. Then I sat down to wait. The TV was off. The house was quiet. There was neither chaos, nor coldness. At 7:15, I poured myself a glass of wine. At 7:30, I thought, "OK, Friday night rush hour, busses get tied up. Not unusual. And maybe he stopped to get flowers."

He walked in right before 8. He put his coat and umbrella down, took off his shoes, and said "Sorry, the freeway was a mess." And that was it. Nothing else.

We ate. He made small talk. I think he made some comment about all the men in his building getting hosed by buying flowers from the expensive florist in his building's lobby. I felt smaller and smaller.

At some point he asked me what was wrong. So I told him. I felt like an ass for making the dinner, for putting out candles, for even trying. He told me I shouldn't, that the dinner was fine, and he appreciated it.

"Gee thanks," I said. "I go to the trouble of doing this, and you walk in late, no flowers, not even a card. I see I'm not worth the expensive flowers from the florist in your building, but for God's sake, there's a fucking grocery store across the street. "

He replied that he COULDN'T have gotten me any flowers because - get this - I told him not to use the debit card until the 15th - when his check was direct deposited. I just stared at him. He knew full fucking well that when the 1st and 15th fell on weekends, his checks were deposited on the friday before. And since he saw all those men getting hosed for flowers, he knew it that Friday was the 14th.

I asked him if he'd even thought using his credit card. He hadn't. But I knew that, already. I wasn't worth the thought. I wasn't worth planning ahead for.

After that night, I withdrew from him almost completely. We barely spoke a word to each other until the night, two weeks later, when I told him I didn't think there was any progress to be made.

Would flowers have saved my marriage? For a time. But it was inevitable, our break-up. What I needed, it never occurred to him to give - he was unable or unwilling to see outside himself that way. And I felt so guilty about what I needed that I couldn't just ask.

Fucked up, huh?