Expectations and Other Marital Landmines

Sensitive content: mental health issues, emotional abuse

Rebecca is a woman of precision, a connoisseur of order and predictability. Until now, her life has been built around routines to soothe her relentlessly busy mind. Every minute of her day is engineered to render her impervious to the whims and pointless distractions of others. Those who know her well are both impressed and frustrated by her adherence to routine.

Rebecca is in her antiseptically clean kitchen at precisely 5:10 am, having just poured her daily kale smoothie into her stainless-steel tumbler. She chides herself for forgetting to add collagen powder, knowing these careless oversights will likely increase in the coming weeks. Undeterred, she completes her morning routine: Pack lunch, check. Polish kitchen sink, check. Prepare Crock-Pot for tonight’s dinner, check. Collect gym bag, check. She feels a sense of triumph at 5:43am as she heads out the door and notices she is two minutes ahead of schedule.

At the gym, Rebecca completes her Tuesday upper body workout regimen, congratulating herself for not snapping at the woman monopolizing four different sets of free weights. Rebecca remembers to wave goodbye to the front desk staff, still reeling from an overheard comment “Would it freaking kill her to not be such a bitch, ever?” Her husband Rob likes to tease her that he is the only one who deserves her smile, this said in attempt to mollify her after he witnesses, time after time, unsuspecting victims who receive her ire when they tell his already gorgeous wife how much more attractive she would be if only she smiled.

Rebecca considers her task list for the day on her commute from the gym to her job at Parkfield Paradise. Her drive to work takes longer than usual and she notes with frustration that the city has not yet begun its snowplow service, despite three days of steady snowfall. She hates that she now finds herself fighting tears, weakened by intrusive thoughts threatening her resolve to erase the past twenty-four hours. She feels panic trying to insert itself; she stops its progression by her reluctant use of the breathing techniques advised by her phone’s meditation app.

Her self-control restored, Rebecca arrives ready for the tasks that await her at the town’s only “gentleman’s club.” The club’s owner, Jim, pays Rebecca well for her superb accounting skills. The two met over twenty years ago, soon after Rebecca earned her accounting certificate. Jim’s was her one and only job offer. Not one to tolerate the unknown, Rebecca thought it best to accept his offer rather than risk unemployment. She chose wisely, as Jim now owns several successful mainstream businesses, whose books she manages with ease. When he expanded his holdings into the “entertainment” industry, Jim convinced her to come to the club once a week to help with his books. To her surprise, she relishes this glimpse into this world that exists in complete juxtaposition to her orderly life.

Rebecca greets the regulars already at the bar before making her way into her tiny, makeshift office. She spends the next few hours painstakingly reconciling the books, the process complicated by the fact that Jim is steadfast in his refusal to use accounting software. Others before her became exasperated with his antiquated ways but Rebecca finds him inexplicably charming. She knows for certain that he finds her something beyond charming, as he has made his intentions clear: “Once you decide to leave your husband for a real man, I’ll be waiting.” She has no plans to take him up on his offer, but his proclamation feeds her sense of control. She likes having options.

Several hours later, Jim’s accounts are balanced and Rebecca heads downtown to meet her newly divorced best friend, Alexa. Friends since childhood, they’ve been meeting regularly for happy hours as long as either of them can remember. Despite her growing awareness that she and Alexa seem to have extraordinarily little in common, she takes pleasure in hearing about Alexa’s forays into the dating world. Her friend's misadventures are a stark contrast to Rebecca's stable marriage, leaving her smug in her belief that Rob remains unfailingly loyal to their union. Until she remembers the day that everything changed.

She puts this out of her mind, trying to follow her friend’s monologue. Eventually Alexa realizes she has once again dominated the conversation. She pauses to ask Rebecca, “So what’s new in your perfect little world?” There is unmasked disdain in her tone.

“You know. Rob is Rob. And you know how I am.” Her usual vague answer gets no response from Alexa, which is exactly what Rebecca intends. She finds herself feeling protective of any discussion related to her inner thoughts or shared life with Rob.

Rebecca came to understand years ago that Rob is a simple man. He desperately wants Rebecca to share his contentment in their life together, to offer him even the smallest glimpse that she doesn’t long for something more. He fails to comprehend that she merely wants a world where nothing changes.

Rebecca feels some guilt that Rob suppresses his spontaneous nature to adapt to her temperament. He has created a world outside their marriage, one that includes activities he craves but knows she finds tedious: frisbee golf, the pool league, mountain-biking, hiking. Rob was feeling optimistic one day when he bought two pickleball racquets, sure this latest interest would be tame enough to appeal to Rebecca. She didn’t immediately dismiss him but the racquets remain in their packaging, two years after their hopeful purchase.

Alexa returns to her one-sided conversation: “I wish I could be more like you. You don’t even have to try—men have always been after you. Of course you don’t have to try anyway, you’ve got Rob wrapped around your perfectly manicured little finger.”

Rebecca doesn’t correct her. She likes knowing others envy the illusion of her indestructible marriage. Her pride won’t allow her to reveal that Rob has been turning away from her these past few months.

“Well, I’ve got to get going. Things to do, you know.” Rebecca grabs her purse and gives her friend a perfunctory hug. She knows Alexa doesn’t mind her leaving; she will likely turn her attention to one of men at the bar she’s been not so covertly eyeing for the last hour. Rebecca considers staying a little longer, imagining the temptation of one last night of denial. She grudgingly leaves the restaurant, knowing she can’t prolong the inevitable.

Rebecca takes the scenic route home, reassured by the quiet serenity of the snow-covered roads. She feels freer somehow, as if the past twenty-four hours never happened. That moment is fleeting, though, as she begins to fear that her once predictable life has slipped beyond her control.

***

Rebecca hadn’t noticed when her tidy life first began to unravel. Rob was still Rob, and yet he wasn’t. Looking back, she now recognizes his silent acts of rebellion: only partially emptying the dishwasher, leaving his dirty socks on the floor next to his bed where he thought she couldn’t see them (even more egregious if he knew she could), not doing his agreed upon yard work each week.

Rebecca thought she had shown commendable patience when Rob was laid off from his company nearly a year ago. He had been callously released from his fifteen-year service as an electrician, left with a less than measly severance package. She knew what a blow this was to his ego and feared it would gut him. To her astonishment, he took the layoff in stride and dove wholeheartedly into his self-appointed role of house manager.

She made a valiant effort to suppress her ever-present inventory of the ways Rob’s lackadaisical methods threatened her domestic tranquility. She tried to ignore her growing fear that her immaculate sanctuary would fall into disarray. She knew this was illogical, remembering her meditation app’s advice to “not believe everything you think.”

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Rebecca shared these ruminations with her husband, not realizing the emasculating effect of her disclosure. Instead of becoming angry, Rob took note of her critique and promised to do better. Rebecca felt relieved, renewed in her belief that he understood her and didn’t judge her need for control. He knew who she was, and he loved her for it. Or, much more likely, despite it.

What Rob didn’t know was that Rebecca installed a home surveillance system when she became convinced their housesitter had rifled through their drawers while they were on their annual trip to Hawaii. He had laughed away her suspicion, wondering what anyone could possibly find in their unassailably organized house. “For God’s sake, we don’t even have a junk drawer!” After making this statement, Rob established a secret junk drawer in the garage, his singular act of rebellion which Rebecca uncovered days after its inception.

Rebecca chose not to disclose the surveillance system purchase to Rob; she feared he might find her paranoid and untrusting—which she so clearly was. The system included hidden motion sensing cameras, each with a built-in mic in nearly every room. Rather than seeing it as a violation of Rob’s privacy, she considered her purchase a way of feeling closer to him, a window into his world.

Rebecca’s voyeuristic view of Rob’s daily life ended abruptly on the day of her discovery. She was idly checking the security camera feed on her phone as she worked, noticing this habit had become a distraction that was nearing compulsion.

She focused on the feed and was startled to see strangers inside her house. She counted three women, each in a different room, yet Rob was nowhere in view.

Rebecca scrolled through each of the screens, eventually selecting the garage feed. She sat in utter confusion as she saw that Rob’s car was not inside. Why were strangers in the house, with Rob clearly not home? Were they being robbed? Had someone kidnapped Rob in his own car?

Rebecca scanned the rooms more closely, increasing the resolution to better discern the details. She could now see that one of the women was holding a long duster she employed to dust their enormous chandelier. The overpriced one she insisted on purchasing, despite knowing it would be nearly impossible to clean.

In the second room, she saw the rear end of a woman bent over, scrubbing the toilet.

The next room revealed a woman scouring Rebecca’s beloved soapstone farmhouse sink. With Comet, sure to instantly scratch the delicate finish.

The realization of what Rob had done set in. This guy, who could barely plan his next meal, had assembled a team of housecleaners to do the work he had told Rebecca was “the least I can do for my wonderful bride!” All these weeks, Rob had allowed her to believe he had been toiling away, lovingly caring for their home.

Part of her understood that her constant micromanaging was demoralizing; at the same time, how could Rob have reached the age of forty without knowing how to wipe a baseboard?

Rebecca was crushed, feeling shame for her endlessly controlling behavior. She knew there was only so much a man was willing to take but Rebecca would have never suspected him capable of such passive aggressive retaliation.

She held her emotions and returned to the camera feed, a reluctant spectator to this train wreck. Her eyes widened when Rob finally entered the frame. His back was to her as he spoke to one of the housecleaners. Rebecca couldn’t hear what he was saying but she saw the woman laugh in response to Rob’s animated gestures. She felt jealous when she realized Rob had stopped trying to make her laugh.

In that moment, Rebecca committed to changing her entire personality. She would remove the cameras and erase Rob’s temporary misstep from her memory. He would reprise, at least in her mind’s eye, his role as a devoted husband. Rebecca would express her heartfelt appreciation for his personal sacrifice toward her goal of domestic perfection. And then, she would experience a divine epiphany and offer to pay for housecleaners! Making her the heroine, swooping in to save the day as the altruistic wife who wants nothing more than her husband’s happiness.

Just as she was about to shut down the surveillance app, Rob turned toward the camera, facing her directly. She slid down her chair, fighting the disturbing feeling that he was staring right into her soul. Rebecca was almost lulled into thinking she had imagined the whole thing when Rob’s blank stare turned into one of his adorable shit-eating grins that never failed to melt her into submission. His smile widened as he offered her an unmistakable wave.

Rebecca’s heart plummeted. She couldn’t believe her guileless husband had detected her treachery and then, upped the ante. Right under her nose, now showing his cards. Still smiling, Rob picked up a bat that he aimed directly at the camera. With his free hand, he energetically gave her the finger, multiple times, his exuberance for his vulgar gesture increasing with each motion.

Something shifted inside Rebecca. The remorse for her part in Rob’s rebellion was replaced with the roar of a welcome rage. Only someone who knew Rebecca so well would possess the power to exact this level of revenge, so completely. She was astounded by the depth of Rob’s anger as the bat cracked the camera lens, leaving her in the dark. And yet, fully exposed.

***

Rebecca arrives home, tired from her happy hour meetup with Alexa. She is immediately at ease when she enters her house, greeted by a blend of lavender air freshener (which Rob repeatedly told her he was allergic to) and the savory aroma rising from the Crock-Pot. The lights are dim, the house quiet. Through the kitchen window, she sees the gentle fall of snow and admires its simple beauty. In this moment, everything is exactly as she likes it.

Rebecca lifts the Crock-Pot lid, inspecting her expertly seasoned beef stew. She fills a bowl and takes a seat at the kitchen island. She tries to summon her appetite as she is abruptly reminded that everything is not as she likes it. Rob is in his armchair in the living room, eyes focused straight ahead. He remains still, seeming unmoved by her arrival. She misses the way he used to greet her, jumping out of his chair to embrace her in one of his generous hugs.

Rob doesn’t get out of his chair this time. His vacant eyes appear to mock her, his limbs no longer capable of hugging her. Or anyone else. The presence of Rob's lifeless form is a threat to Rebecca's uncomplicated existence, reminding her that she has no other choice but to alert the authorities. This will soon become a situation she can no longer ignore.

She looks away, hoping to prolong this day of reprieve. She tries to eat her dinner, contemplating how she plans to extricate herself from the mess that has become her life.

Rebecca will miss Rob. She had loved him deeply, in her selfish and misguided way. And Rob, she was sure, had cherished her for as long as any sane person could. She indulges in a brief moment of fantasy, imagining how things might have remained if she had never installed the cameras. Always practical, Rebecca knows she must now accept that she is a woman without a husband. She knows her survival depends upon transforming herself into the kind of woman who surfs life’s waves rather than swims against them.

Rebecca looks across the room and sees the long-forgotten pickleball racquets. She remembers the earnest look on Rob’s face when he presented them to her, convinced he had finally found the right enticement to conjure a glimpse of her former, unencumbered self. She smiles ruefully as she recalls Rob’s attempt to hide his disappointment when she couldn’t mirror his enthusiasm. She regrets not trying harder to reinvent herself into someone who might be capable of surprising, rather than disappointing, her husband. But it is now too late and remorse, in Rebecca’s view, is a useless pursuit.

She squares her shoulders, preparing herself to face a life without Rob. Any inclination toward grief is outmatched by her need for order, even in her awareness that others will likely find her cold. Or worse, that her pragmatic attitude might arouse suspicion that her husband’s death was caused by anything other than a heart attack.

Rebecca is wondering why she has allowed the pickleball racquets to unattractively clutter her living room all these months when an impetuous thought enters her awareness. Before she can suppress her impulse, she picks up her phone and makes a call.

“Hey Jim, it’s Rebecca. Wanna play pickleball tomorrow? I think I’m ready for a real man.”