showing anything?”
“Seriously, Grace. Do you think I would have been with you if there were any chance that I was going to give you a disease?” he asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“Don’t get annoyed with me, Darren,” I say angrily. “You have no right to get angry with me. I have every right in the world to ask you that. And you have no right, zero, to be anything but kind and patient with me as I try to figure this all out.” I’m mad. I start to cry. I walk into the bathroom to get a tissue. I decide on the whole box instead.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I know this is all going to get worked out on your terms. I know I deserve every ounce of anger you’re feeling toward me right now, Grace. And I know I deserve to feel frustrated that I have no control over what you decide. I just want you to know that I will do everything I can to show you that we belong together. I will be a better husband than I have ever been.”
“If I am everything to you, how could you have let this happen?” I ask, hoping that there’s an answer, although I know there can’t possibly be one.
“I ask myself that question every day. It’s so easy to blame it on alcohol, but it wasn’t like I was unconscious. I was there. I participated. I have actually been thinking that maybe I should go talk to someone and try to figure it out. Any excuse I can even try to think of sounds stupid and like a cop-out.”
“Was it something about me or our marriage that you weren’t happy with?” I don’t want to accept blame in this because I think that even if a marriage has problems, the answer is not straying, the answer is figuring it out, but I feel like I have to at least ask.
“No. Absolutely not,” Darren says fiercely. “I’ve been going over everything in my head, over and over, and there’s nothing about you or our marriage or our lives that was upsetting me. I know we’re not perfect, Gracie, but we’re pretty close.”
“I know we don’t have sex that often—”
“Stop,” Darren cuts me off. “You’re right. We don’t have sex as often as I’d like. But this has nothing to do with anything missing in our relationship.”
“I guess it explains why I feel like we’ve been disconnected over the past few months,” I say, and I suddenly realize I’m tired. Incredibly tired. And then, “Why didn’t you tell me right when it happened?”
“I just couldn’t. At first, I was trying to go through it in my mind. I kept trying to figure out why I did it. And I didn’t want to hurt you. I couldn’t imagine putting you through that pain. This pain,” he says, gesturing toward me and my spent tissues.
“Did you consider not telling me at all?”
“Yes. I did consider that it would be better for you if you didn’t know. But I just couldn’t lie to you anymore.”
“I’m tired, Darren. I need to go to sleep. And I need to think more. I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to figure this out, but I just don’t know whether I can ever trust you again. How could we ever be us again?” I was bone tired, but my words were sharp, my thoughts were clear.
“I don’t know how to convince you of that. And that scares the hell out of me. That I could have done something that will take you and the boys away from me. I guess, if it’s okay with you, I’d just like to ask you to give it some time and not make any quick decisions. Please give me a chance. I love you, Grace. I love you so much.” I know he is sincere, but when he tries to give me a hug, I recoil. I’m not ready to touch him yet. He apologizes.
I ask Darren to sleep in the guest room. I think of the popular marriage advice ‘ Don’t go to bed angry,’ and I decide the person who coined that phrase was probably never cheated on. I wonder if I will ever go to bed happy again.
chapter eight
The next day I decide to test out the widely held notion that yoga has the ability to center a person,
“Seriously, Grace. Do you think I would have been with you if there were any chance that I was going to give you a disease?” he asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“Don’t get annoyed with me, Darren,” I say angrily. “You have no right to get angry with me. I have every right in the world to ask you that. And you have no right, zero, to be anything but kind and patient with me as I try to figure this all out.” I’m mad. I start to cry. I walk into the bathroom to get a tissue. I decide on the whole box instead.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I know this is all going to get worked out on your terms. I know I deserve every ounce of anger you’re feeling toward me right now, Grace. And I know I deserve to feel frustrated that I have no control over what you decide. I just want you to know that I will do everything I can to show you that we belong together. I will be a better husband than I have ever been.”
“If I am everything to you, how could you have let this happen?” I ask, hoping that there’s an answer, although I know there can’t possibly be one.
“I ask myself that question every day. It’s so easy to blame it on alcohol, but it wasn’t like I was unconscious. I was there. I participated. I have actually been thinking that maybe I should go talk to someone and try to figure it out. Any excuse I can even try to think of sounds stupid and like a cop-out.”
“Was it something about me or our marriage that you weren’t happy with?” I don’t want to accept blame in this because I think that even if a marriage has problems, the answer is not straying, the answer is figuring it out, but I feel like I have to at least ask.
“No. Absolutely not,” Darren says fiercely. “I’ve been going over everything in my head, over and over, and there’s nothing about you or our marriage or our lives that was upsetting me. I know we’re not perfect, Gracie, but we’re pretty close.”
“I know we don’t have sex that often—”
“Stop,” Darren cuts me off. “You’re right. We don’t have sex as often as I’d like. But this has nothing to do with anything missing in our relationship.”
“I guess it explains why I feel like we’ve been disconnected over the past few months,” I say, and I suddenly realize I’m tired. Incredibly tired. And then, “Why didn’t you tell me right when it happened?”
“I just couldn’t. At first, I was trying to go through it in my mind. I kept trying to figure out why I did it. And I didn’t want to hurt you. I couldn’t imagine putting you through that pain. This pain,” he says, gesturing toward me and my spent tissues.
“Did you consider not telling me at all?”
“Yes. I did consider that it would be better for you if you didn’t know. But I just couldn’t lie to you anymore.”
“I’m tired, Darren. I need to go to sleep. And I need to think more. I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to figure this out, but I just don’t know whether I can ever trust you again. How could we ever be us again?” I was bone tired, but my words were sharp, my thoughts were clear.
“I don’t know how to convince you of that. And that scares the hell out of me. That I could have done something that will take you and the boys away from me. I guess, if it’s okay with you, I’d just like to ask you to give it some time and not make any quick decisions. Please give me a chance. I love you, Grace. I love you so much.” I know he is sincere, but when he tries to give me a hug, I recoil. I’m not ready to touch him yet. He apologizes.
I ask Darren to sleep in the guest room. I think of the popular marriage advice ‘ Don’t go to bed angry,’ and I decide the person who coined that phrase was probably never cheated on. I wonder if I will ever go to bed happy again.
chapter eight
The next day I decide to test out the widely held notion that yoga has the ability to center a person,
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