I Liked My Life(12)

We met at a coffee shop in Boston. Maddy was head down in a book. Later I learned that was the rule, not the exception—if Maddy wasn’t working she was reading. There was a fly buzzing around her head that sounded like it was attached to a bullhorn. I could hear it from the line ten feet away. There was no indication Maddy had a plan or even that the noise bothered her, but when the fly dared to land on her book she slammed the pages together, victorious. There was quiet applause from surrounding tables. She looked up, startled to realize people had been watching. “I hate that sound,” she mumbled to no one, flicking the fly off the page with a napkin.

After paying for my coffee, I approached the table. “I don’t want to disturb your reading, but do you mind if I sit here?”

“You can,” she answered, immediately turning her eyes back to her book, “but there are plenty of open tables, so I don’t know why you would.”

I am not a pathetic puppy-dog guy, but I was intrigued enough to sit unwelcomed and slowly drink my coffee. Maddy was beautiful in a classic Hollywood sort of way: pale but not ghostly, thin but not skinny. Her blonde hair was organized, not hard with hair spray as was common at that time, but instead pulled up softly on the sides. Her lips were defined and shining in solid red.

She paid absolutely no attention to me. A half hour had passed when I got up to leave. “I’m not usually so rude,” she said, her eyes still dedicated to the book.

“Just my lucky day then?”

Maddy snorted, a real pig snort, then covered her nose with her hand and snorted again. “I don’t believe in luck,” she said playfully. “Well, I believe in bad luck, but I don’t believe in waiting around for good luck.” It was like having a conversation with an inspirational poster.

“Does that mean I shouldn’t leave?”

She shook her head. “No, you probably should. I can’t put this damn book down. It’s that good.” She thought a second before adding, “Plus, the last guy I dated was a complete disappointment.” I ignored her advice and sat back down. I was hooked.

We had a tumultuous courtship. One of us always cared more than the other. Sometimes she returned my messages, other times not, then it’d flip and she’d call every day. That was when I pulled back, canceling plans or not answering the phone. I was afraid of marriage. My parents never seemed at all pleased by the arrangement. The hitched guys at my office tried to talk me into proposing, but their arguments weren’t persuasive. One guy likened getting married to going from a lawn mower to a landscaper. I still lived in an apartment, so the analogy eluded me. Looking back, I think he was getting at how women execute an entire life plan whereas men mostly consider their next meal.

Eventually we got to the point where it was time to get married or move on, and I couldn’t imagine moving on. With Maddy, I was at peace. When she fell asleep first, which she usually did, I’d stay awake to sync our breaths. Sometimes it was easy, a steady pace in and out, but sometimes she went from short to long to nothing for seconds at a time and I’d have to focus to follow her cue. It was my way of handing over control without letting her know. I’m textbook Type A; it was the best I could do.

I packed a small picnic we never ate and took her to a rocky beach on the South Shore. She loved the sound of water hitting rocks. Simple music, she called it. I think she must’ve known what was about to happen because she acted uncharacteristically aloof and spoke in tired clichés. “Well, what a perfect day for this. There’s barely a cloud in the sky. I’m surprised more people aren’t—”

I interrupted with the question that changed our lives. “Madeline, will you please marry me?”

She tucked her hair neatly behind her ears, nodded, and said, “This won’t change anything really, right? Except I get to wear a beautiful diamond ring?”

The only distinction between her words and a joke is that we didn’t realize it was funny. We were na?ve enough to believe that marriage wouldn’t change things that much. But it changed everything. We loved harder, and in the beginning, we fought harder. We both contrived every concession into a lifetime concession. You couldn’t simply share your dessert without inadvertently agreeing to only eat half until death. Now I look back and think, would that be so bad? I’d gladly eat half of every dessert and make a million more sacrifices for one more day with my wife. What I can’t get over is this: she didn’t feel the same way.

So our marriage wasn’t perfect. Whose marriage is perfect?

I pull out her journal and flip to the next page, dated June 16, 2013. The day Eve turned fifteen. I’m thankful for the reminder of her impending birthday until the words sink in.

How DARE he miss it. How can someone so bright not be capable of prioritizing something so obvious? “I know it’s shitty, Maddy,” he said. That’s it—shitty. No, you incredibly shortsighted ass, shitty is when you go on vacation and get the runs. It’s something bad that happens that you have no control over.

My heart dropped when the phone rang at six-thirty. Eve rushed to pick it up and, with a smile on her face, asked how far out he was. The limo was already out front.

He didn’t have the guts to tell her. The phone was passed to me.

Eve wanted to cancel. I recited my speech about practicing love, compassion, and forgiveness, inwardly thinking how great it’d be if I didn’t have to practice quite so often on my husband. We went and made the best of it. I assume Lindsey will look back on the night as awkward and Eve will look back on it as miserable or, to use her teenage terminology, a fail.