The Babysitter

Popcorn

Rebbecca

We used to love one another. Maybe we still do but I'm not sure. Sometimes I wonder if the trade was worth the price? But it's a fools folly who dwells on sunken cost dilemma. However, I will allow a certain level of entertainment, but only so much as to refresh my memory.

One time we went to dinner on the waterfront. It was a mild Tacoma evening, the crisp air rode the tide as it paddled up the shore, then strained back into the sea. The leaves would be turning soon, from green to sharp yellow, then mustard brown, and then they would die and fall. It was my favorite season of the year.

We didn't have a lot of money then but enough for a good time. After all, when you're in love, it doesn't take much. We were sitting at a bar in this semi-upscale, middle of the road, middle-class fish and chowder shop. It was nice but I find the service in those places generally lack attention to detail. But I wasn't worried about that then.

It was a rather busy Friday night so we decided to sit at the bar and order drinks while we waited for a booth. We sat there for hours laughing. It was the easiest things I've ever done. I've never had a conversation that moved like water. It felt alive, guided by some innate intuition, it knew where it was going and all we had to do was follow. People took notice and you could feel their eyes pouring over you.

'Look at her hair, she missed that piece in the back.'

'She needs to blend better if she's trying to cover the troughs under her eyes.'

'He could do so much better.'

All the typical cattiness. But I was oblivious to all of it. There was no one else in that bar but Andrew and I. When the night was nearly over, the bartender broke from his professional routine and inquired as to who we were? We laughed about it later, not sure why he asked that. I like to think he was in awe of us. Like a super-fan on demo day where you get a meet-and-greet with the GOAT. Then he asked what we were doing the rest of the night and I told him I would be washing the sheets when we get home. I will never forget the look of wonderment and confusion on his face. It wasn't that he didn't believe me, but that he couldn't. Two people that got along like that must have been on their first or second date, not on their 4 year anniversary, but we were.

We get to the restaurant and are immediately seated. The service is impeccable here and we both already know what we are getting. We place our drink and food orders without opening the menu, then take turns discussing work issues. It's mechanical. After dinner, we walk to the movie theater which is the building over from us, well planned. This is where I get lost. I don't remember what happened but I said something that offended him. It wasn't even what I said but how I said it. That seems to be the cause of most our fights now, tone. We are both guilty of it but have grown indifferent to change. We just ignore each other now as we stand in line. I bought the tickets so he buys the drink and popcorn.

"Do you-" Andrew says and pauses. I can never tell if it's for dramatic effect or what but I hate the pause.

"What? Do I what?" I say it trying to mask my annoyance but I know he can hear it.

"Nevermind. I was just can ask if you want butter?" He says.

"Sure," I say it tongue in cheek.

"Fine," he says. He doesn't try to hide his irritation and I have no interest in fueling the fire, so I leave it alone.

The movie is fine from what I remember. I didn't pay much attention. We get back to the car when he stops me.

"Why do you do that?" Andrew says.

"Do what?" I say.

"You just did it again. You know I hate it when you answer questions with a question." He says.

"I don't want to fight," I say.

"Then why don't you just answer my question?" He says.

"If I had any remote idea of what you are talking about, maybe I could," I say.

"Why do you get so impatient with me when I'm talking?" He says.

"Are you talking about the pause?" I say.

"Another question." He says and stomps to the car. Of course another question. How am I supposed to know what you are talking about if I don't inquire? I follow him and climb in. I can already tell it's going to blow up.

"It's so goddamn upsetting. You do this everytime," his voice grows louder.

"Don't raise your voice at me," I say.

"Then just let me talk," he says, "you always smoother me, you never let me finish. I give you the respect of listening before I respond. Yeah, the pause. I was thinking about the pause and I realize that my father pauses when he talks too. It's a character thing. So why does it irritate you if it's just how I am?"

"I wanna know why it's not okay for me to answer a question with a question but it is okay for you to take a long pause because it's a character thing," I say.

"Those aren't the same things," he says.

"Of course they're not," I say. He slams the car into drive and rips out of the parking garage. The fight turns into one of those arguments about character flaws and isn't even about the popcorn or the butter or whatever it was, to begin with.

We drive home in silence and I hate it but I don't do anything to change it.

We get home and I immediately go upstairs to check on the kids. Samantha is there and we talk for a second. She comments on Andrew's hair and he smiles about it. He loves attention. I pass her into the kid's room and sit with each one of them for a minute. I kiss their foreheads and tuck the covers around them, pick up some laundry on the floor then leave. Andrew is shutting the front door. He turns around and sees me.

"Where is your shirt?" I say. He doesn't answer, instead walks to the kitchen. "Hello? I'm talking to you?

"What did you say?" He says from downstairs.

"Funny," I say.

"It's irritating, isn't it? Answering a question with a question." He smirks and walks away. I march downstairs and confront him. The whole thing explodes and we are full on, loudly talking over each other about whatever. It's not even a conversation anymore, just noise. Just a bunch of loud noise. I don't understand. I don't how it has gone so wrong. I walk away and he follows after me.

"Leave me alone," I say but he doesn't stop. I get into the bathroom and start my nightly routine but he is right behind me, still going at it. "You're still going and going and going. You are in attack mode and won't stop," I say.

"Sure, it's only okay for you to say when it's over, not me," he says. "Not like last night, when I asked you to stop talking and you couldn't silence your inner fucking voice. How convenient for you. This is what I'm talking about, you don't ever truly listen because that little voice in your head is always talking and the minute someone opens their mouth to speak, that voice in your head starts babbling away and you stop listening."

"Of course, of course, I'm the problem," I say. "It's my fault. I'm the problem."

"You are the problem," he says and walks out of the room.

I stare at my eyes in the mirror and wait for them tear but they don't. They're empty.

TO BE CONTINUED.