The Right Approach

I woke with a start to breath on my face and jolted awake, finding the face of my girlfriend hovering above me.

“Jeez Becca, you scared me half to death,” I chuckled and leaned up to kiss her, but she glared and pushed me back down with a hand to my chest.

“What the hell did you do last night?” she growled, standing over me.

“What are you talking about?” I nervously shifted up into a seated position, then looked down, horrified. A large wet spot had spread over the light blue comforter, and i could feel it on the sheets under my butt too. “What happened??” I demanded.

“You tell me Jeremy. You’re 25 years old and wetting the bed? Seriously?” She turned and stomped out of the room.

I got out of bed hastily and saw that my boxers were equally wet. I spotted my water bottle on the floor and grabbed it, chasing after her.

“I didn’t Becca!! Look, I must have spilled my water bottle on myself in the night, look, it’s half empty!”

She turned back, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder and eyeing the bottle I swirled before her incredulously. “Half a bottle of water did not get the bed that wet. God, I live with a preschool bedwetter.” She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door, leaving me standing there at a loss for words.

It had to have been the water bottle. I couldn’t have… no. No.

“Wash the damn sheets!” She shouted through the bathroom door.

I nodded numbly and wandered back into the bedroom, looking from the wet bed to my boxers, shaking my head. I changed into new boxers, throwing the old ones into the hamper, then harvesting the bedding and throwing it in after. “Needs a wash anyway,” I grumbled, pulling on some sweats and a tshirt. I hoisted the hamper up and headed out the door, noticing the bathroom door was still locked fast as I passed. I sighed and went to the elevators, squeezing myself in with the family from down the hall. As we dropped down to the basement for the laundry room I felt as if their eyes were all on me and my hamper, wondering why my face was so red.

I practically ran from the elevator as soon as the doors slid open, and threw my load into the washer. I paced uneasily while it ran, trying to distract myself. By the time the dryer dinged I had convinced myself that it had to be the water bottle, I almost could even remember spilling it in the middle of the night, and being too tired to clean it up, wanting to wait til morning.

“Becca?” I called as I slid back into the apartment, fresh bedding folded in my arms. I set it down in the bedroom and started to make the bed. Did she have work today? It was Saturday, really rare that she would be called in, and she would have left a note…

I passed the day with idle tasks and chores, leaving a couple messages on Becca’s cell but getting no response. I was just starting dinner (more annoyed than worried, she often did this when she was upset), when she bustled through the door, carrying an armload of shopping bags.

“Stress shopping?” I asked with an eyebrow cocked. Also not an uncommon outlet. She nodded brusquely and disappeared into the bedroom, depositing her things and coming back to surprise me with a strong hug.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you this morning, I realize now that I was taking the wrong approach.” She said as I hugged her back.

“And the right approach is…?” I asked, stepping back to tend to the food cooking on the stove.

“You’ll see!” She smiled and kissed my cheek.

I pressed her further all evening, but she wouldn’t budge, not until we settled in to go to bed on the newly washed sheets.