Taking his time. As usual. I think it’s about time I see what’s taking so long. We’ve been seeing each other for five years now. Talk about taking his time. We’ve been living together for three years. I’ve got to be wasting my time.
Three years ago.
“What time is it? We’re going to be late!” I was going to be late to the third wedding I’d been to this year. It felt like the universe was trying to tell me something. Trevor and I have been living together for a year now, and he made an amazing wedding date. Women would bat their eyes at him and smile and wink at me. But then the questions would come. “When are you two finally going to get hitched?”, “Isn’t it about time he pops the question?”, “How long have you two bee together? Are you ever going to tie the knot?” I think I’ve heard every cliché expression for getting married that’s ever been invented, and each one is more annoying than the last.
“We’re not going to be late honey, just calm down. Why do you always get this way before we go to one of these things?” He said this with a smile, as he put his arm around my waist. Here we go, another half hour and we’ll be out the door.
I started the day today the same as I start everyday, these days at least, tired. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages. My job keeps me out late with overtime, and Trevor is constantly going out with the boys “to unwind.” We hardly see each other anymore. And now he is being slow as usual, while he makes me wait for him to get ready.
Two year ago.
I feel so relieved that things are finally slowing down for me at work. Even Trevor has noticed the change in my mood, and it’s affecting his too. Last week he brought home flowers, for “no reason.” If this new deal at work goes through we will finally have a chance to relax, maybe even take a long over due vacation.
“Sweetheart, you look amazing! Where are you taking us?” he gently tickles my arm and pulls me onto the couch.
“You know I want this to be a surprise! Don’t ruin it!” I’m smiling and letting him pull my hair back from my face, I know where this is going. “Now come one Trev, we can’t be late!” But I let him when he reaches for my zipper.
“Trevor, please! We can’t do this again, it’s the Morgan’s, we’re late to all of their events, they live all the way across town!” I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me from his chair, with a little smirk, as if the things I’m saying are absurd. He doesn’t even make a move to leave. He has never cared about being on time, being polite. I’ve started to really see through his charming demeanor and I realize just how selfish he is in his actions. I walk toward the door, he’ll have to stay home for this one after all there will be plenty more in the future.
One year ago.
The deal fell through, the budget cut Trevor’s funding, we’re living on microwave noodles. I’ve never been as strong as Trevor in a crisis. I crumble and break down.
“Darling, we will make it through this hard time, it’s getting hard for everyone, but we are strong together.”
Together. That’s a laugh. We haven’t been together in a week, and I’m starting to feel like the word “us” means two different things between Trevor and me. Trevor must have known what I was thinking because he took my hand and kissed it gently. It’s hard to resist when he knows just the things to calm me and make me succumb.
The party was a bore. Two year olds are not as fun when they don’t belong to you. When none of them belong to you. You can’t say “Oh, my Jimmy is playing to sweetly with your Vivian. We should set up a play date for next week, wouldn’t they be so sweet together when they grow up?” Or, “Tommy, don’t be mean to your brother or you can’t have any cake. Didn’t Mrs. Morgan make a beautiful cake for Julie’s birthday?” Instead I have to sit amongst the moms and listen to their sweet and horrid stories and pray that little Suzi doesn’t remember my purse again for being the only one with “grown up things” in it. It’s nice to be back home where it’s quite.
Six months ago.
We had a scare. Or more accurately, Trevor had a scare, and I had a completely different kind of scare. It turned out to be a defunked test and the doctor explained that a false positive could be pretty common. Trevor came home so relieved it was almost like old times again looking into his eyes. But my heart had been more hopeful. I had wanted to be pregnant. Surely that would be the way to get him to marry me, he wouldn’t have an excuse then, he would have to step up. But instead he made us a special pasta dinner with extra champagne.
“See dear, we don’t have to worry, have the whole bottle there’s nothing to stop you! We’re celebrating!” And he poured us each a glass, but we’d never finish those, he took mine from my hand and placed both on the coffee table. But my heart was no longer in it.
After finishing my dinner I went in to check on Trevor. He always got so lonely when I leave him for one of my parties. That’s why I made him a little spot so he could watch TV while I’m gone. I prop him up in his lazy chair; he always was a lazy boy, taking his time never thinking about what I want. But I take my time now. Combing his hair just the way I like it. Brushing his teeth with the toothpaste I prefer. His hair is starting to fall out; I’ll pick up a better shampoo at the store tomorrow. And his face is looking sunken now; I’ll have to remember to get a better night cream for him. But for now I just lift his cold hand and let my lips warm his fingers.
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