Almost Alone

Her -

Summer was over, and so were we.

The inventory I could mentally draw up, and that I actually debated putting down on paper but worried someone would find it and assume I’m the most cruel human to walk this earth, was this:

Twenty-nine years together from the day we first met.

Two girls we raised into their twenties.

One two-bedroom apartment that used to be big for us, when the girls were babies, tiny for us when they grew up and that now feels suffocatingly small for just the two of us, leaving us no room to hide from one another.

One car that carried so many backpacks for school, luggage for family trips, grocery bags, roller skates, and bikes.

One mini poodle that now seemed to be the only thing we could talk about as a common interest.

People always say that these are the things that really matter, that truly make for a life well lived – a family.

But you know what they say about someone like me, someone who doesn’t see it like a life well lived but perhaps a life wasted? They say: ungrateful. That’s always been my inner critic, calling me out whenever I thought of wanting more love, more emotion, more eye contact, more connection. Why would I need more? Wasn’t I aware that other husbands were abusive? Or cheating? Or drinking? Or lying? Why couldn’t I just be grateful?!

Our first summer together was actually in October. I always find that funny, like we altered the world and made it into something of our own. It was indeed fall, but he wanted to surprise me with a trip to the Seychelles. I don’t think I’d even been curious about the geographical location of the islands before he mentioned it to me. Looking up photos of that slice of heaven online, it felt as impossible as winning the lottery. That sort of thing didn’t happen to me.

It was surreal. I was fresh out of college, working an entry level job in advertising, and my boyfriend, fifteen years my senior, was planning an exotic trip for us. Needless to say that my parents raised their eyebrows and were deeply concerned about a man in his thirties taking their twenty-something-year-old daughter across the world. Yes, I was legally an adult but I still don’t know how they agreed to it.

It was the best time of my life. We had no worries, no bills, no invoices, no concerns. It was all about indulging in food, the ocean, the sunshine and each other. Hedonism at its finest. We couldn’t get enough of one another. I remember laughing so hard I almost peed my pants, one night after dinner, walking barefoot in the sand, back to our beach villa. He didn’t like me smoking, which was a relatively new habit I’d gotten into when trying to learn how to inhale properly because I wanted to try out weed. But even so, he recommended a specific brand of cigarettes he knew of from people he worked with. He liked when I had a smoke with our after-dinner drinks or while laying in bed together, after sex. Somehow we’d always had the same fantasies and smoking was a part of that world for us. A part of role playing.

In recent years, we've struggled. With him being away for work every other month, we got into this rhythm of being together or apart. Two different couples. We got to play house when he was at home – I relied more on his help. I needed him with the girls and house chores, excited to finally share the both physical and mental load. He mostly saw it as a vacation, time away from work, when he wouldn’t have to do much and was finally free to relax. When he had to leave again, we reverted to our second roles – I went back to being a single mom, doing all the cooking and cleaning, handling all the logistics of everyday life, while he went off to work and disconnected from us.

He always liked my name. Apparently it was his favourite. I took this with a healthy dose of skepticism at first but even years later, he stuck to that and said it was indeed true. I always had a fascination with the sea, deep waters, and him turning out to be a sailor was just ridiculous. It wasn’t a common line of work in my world. To top it all off, he saw a photo of my parents from a trip they took to Monaco in which they were gazing out at sea, towards a ship. He recognised the ship because apparently he had actually been on it when the photo was taken. Before we’d ever met. Even the biggest of non-believers in fate would start having doubts after all that, right?!

We had two major things that made us come together and stick to one another. We both enjoyed a similar sense of humour and a healthy dose of sexual appetite and curiosity. I mention both because for us, they always went hand in hand. I’m not sure if it’s a common occurrence for most, but we’ve enjoyed laughter in our most heated and intimate moments together. Trust me on this one – there is nothing more vulnerable than having belly laughs with your partner during sex.

We’ve never lost this side of us. Even through the years, through all the fights, through growing older. We’ve always come back to each other, in bed. Can we credit our lengthy marriage to kinks and laughs? I think so.

It was our tenth summer together. He slammed the door on his way out and I thought I’d never see him again. While he did return late in the night, he didn’t speak to me for weeks. I thought I’d never come out of this hell. I remember so vividly staring at myself in the mirror and actually getting scared after seeing my ribs poke out. I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me. I snapped a photo with my phone, wanting to make sure this was real, that it wasn’t a case of realistic bad dreams. I still look at it when I need a reminder that it was real. I had no idea what he was doing, what he was thinking of all this, except for when I’d hear him talk with his friends over the phone and he did not give anyone the impression anything was wrong. Ever. I could even guess when someone would ask about me, because he’d always reply with something generic like “yeah, she’s fine, you know... with the girls.” It made me question my sanity some days. Was this actually happening? If I would have run into anyone on the street, they would have all assumed we were our usual happy selves. Would anyone have assumed something was wrong just by looking at me? I wasn’t sure if I wanted people to know or not.

So many summers between that one and this one. I stopped counting the work trips somewhere in the middle. The girls are off vacationing with friends before going back to college, and our dog is the only sound our house makes anymore. He no longer has work trips. After almost thirty years of them, neither of us knows what to do with ourselves. I dreaded this day and now that it’s here, it’s so much worse than I imagined. I used to plan things in four-week increments. Four weeks with him, four by myself. What now? Am I just alone all the time now? He never liked holding my hand in public, but for half the time I had an excuse – he was away, he couldn’t hold my hand. Now, he always says no to everything. A walk, a movie, dinner with friends – he never wants to do anything with me. He’s always in the other room.

Him -

I’ve always been the provider. Before her and the girls, I provided for my mom and sister. I have never known any other way and I always enjoyed offering them all I could. When we started seeing each other years ago, we were madly in love. We still are, but we’re not kids anymore. Things settle down – that’s just how it goes.

We sometimes reminisce about when we first started dating. God, we did some crazy things back then. I remember whisking her away to the Seychelles islands a few months into our relationship. We had the time of our lives on that trip. All we did was swim, eat, fuck and talk. On repeat. I still dream of taking her there again.

Then we had the girls, we moved into our own place, made it a home. We started becoming a family. Once the girls got a bit bigger, we started taking trips again, all four of us. Some years we managed to add a city break for just us two as well. She always said she loved those, being alone with me and just doing things whenever and however we wanted to, without worrying about the girls all the time. I was fine either way, I loved it either way.

Now, I’m finally retired, I finally get to rest and do nothing. It’s a little weird, but it won’t take me long to get used to the idea of a permanent vacation. I’ll finally get to build those shelves for her, the ones she’s always wanted for those piles of books she’s stored in the girls’ bedroom. I just need to buy some supplies and I can start working on them. This is going to be so much fun, no rush, no dreading I’ll be called into work and have to leave the project on hold. We’ve earned this. The girls leaving was strange at first. But they’re fine. We did good. The house is quiet now. Well… except for the dog.

I think I’ll finally take her on that trip to the Seychelles. What was the resort’s name again?! She knows, she remembers all these things. Besides, she’s the one that takes care of the payments. I’ll just surprise her by telling her to pack a bag and then I’ll ask her to book it. Summer in October again, she’ll love it!