I'm Fine and Neither Are You(34)

I had to try hard not to glance around—the sink was loaded with day-old dishes and the counters weren’t much better. “Yes, and I really appreciate it. What I’m asking for is more of that on a regular basis. I feel . . .” I felt like he wasn’t pulling his weight. But as he had pointed out, too much honesty was a bad idea. “I would just like to come home to a little less mess every day. And have fewer tasks to do on the weekend.”

“I work all day, too, Penelope. I wish you wouldn’t act like I’m watching soap operas.”

I shook my head. “I was worried this would happen if we traded lists.”

“No one said this was going to be easy,” he said. “This is a tough conversation to have. But at least we’re having it, right?”

Our eyes met, and I wondered if he was also wondering whether things would have been different if Matt and Jenny had a conversation like this, too.

“About the kids, though,” he said. “Even though I spent all that time with them when they were little, they just don’t care about me as much as they care about you.”

I could see the hurt in his eyes. “Maybe you could schedule more of their activities and register them for camps and whatnot,” I supplied.

“But you’re . . .”

“The organized one?” I sounded defensive.

He nodded.

“I have to be,” I said. I softened my tone. “I’d be perfectly happy if you took over. And for the record, when Miles has peed himself in the middle of the night, I guarantee he doesn’t care whether it’s me or you who’s helping him into dry pajamas.”

He sighed. “Okay. I’ll try to help out more. But if I’m not doing enough, just tell me, all right? Because I know I’m going to forget something.”

“I can do that, if you promise not to get upset if I ask for more.”

“Deal.” He took a sip of his coffee. “So, what’s number three?”

“I, uh, was thinking . . . I . . .”

“Come on, Pen. Whatever it is couldn’t be worse than telling me I’m a slouch around the house.”

“I was hoping we could talk more, like we used to. I was hoping you could maybe, you know . . . stop acting like you’d rather be on your phone.”

Now he looked irritated. “What does that mean?”

“It means I want you to be more engaged. I want you to be present when you’re present.”

“The way you were present when I was telling you about the story I’m thinking of writing last night?” he said.

I could all but hear the crickets chirping. “Which one?”

“About how Bob Dylan’s ‘Blowin’ in the Wind’ inspired Sam Cooke to write ‘A Change Is Gonna Come.’”

My face burned. “Sorry. Obviously, I need to do some work on that, too. I still think we could be doing better in terms of conversation.”

“Is that it for your list?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Okay,” he said, looking relieved. “Can you email them to me?”

“You won’t remember three things?”

“I just want to have a concrete reminder in front of me.”

“Fine,” I said. “Your turn. You expect me to turn into a sex kitten. What else?”

“Uh-uh, Pen. You don’t get to pull that on me. You said we were supposed to be honest, and I agreed.”

“Because you want to make me feel better after Jenny’s death,” I said.

“Yes and no.” He rubbed his forehead, looking tired for the first time that morning. “I can’t argue with the idea of trying to make our marriage better. We’ve been bickering too much.”

My eyebrows shot up. Because I couldn’t remember the last time Sanjay had complained about our relationship, I had assumed I was alone in my frustration.

He continued, “And like I said the other night, what happened to Jenny made me realize how it could all be over in a second. We should be enjoying life more. The past few years were harder than they should have been. Maybe it’s stupid or overprivileged of me to think this, but even if we can’t enjoy life more than we already are, there’s got to be a way to make it less difficult.”

I sighed. “I suppose that’s true. And yeah, it wouldn’t hurt for us to have sex more often.”

He frowned. “Only if you’re into it, though. I want us to have sex, but not if you don’t want to.”

Great, so going through the motions wasn’t enough—I needed to resurrect my libido, too. How did one do that, exactly? Develop a porn habit? Stock up on the packs of horny goat weed they sold at the gas station? “I want to,” I said. “What else do you want me to change?”

“That’s it for now.”

“Pardon me? One thing?”

“No, not one thing. One thing at a time . You’ve already got a lot on your plate.”

“But we agreed to do this.”

Sanjay tilted his head, almost like he was confused. “Penny. Your best friend just died. Your workload is crushing. You’ve got two kids, neither of whom is particularly easy. Your dad barely calls, and your brother isn’t much better. And your bum of a husband isn’t bringing in any cash.”