My husband and I are about as different as two people can be. His idea of a good time after slaughtering a few fish on our weekend fishing trip, is a plate full of bacon and eggs, while I’d prefer a bran muffin.

Now this isn’t a really big deal, except that most of the time he won’t tell me he’d prefer bacon and eggs. He’ll just go along with it, until he can’t. Then all hell breaks loose.

Sometimes I forget that just because we’ve got a few years of recovery under our belts, it doesn’t always mean everything’s going to be peachy keen.

Seems like every once in awhile we need a good argument to stir things up a little. Funny, when we argue, we can still get to the point where we both think it’s a good idea to seperate. We used to argue like this way back when. Only then, one, or both of us, would head to the bar and get rip roarin drunk.

Now, we just get quiet.

I imagine for a moment how it would be. Single. I’d have to go on a diet. Let’s face it, you get a little comfortable with the one you love and sometimes it shows. At least it does on me. On my waistline anyhow. Oh well, I think to myself, I was planning on losing a few pounds anyway.

Then I take it further. We’d have to sell the house. I couldn’t run the boat without him. Not really a problem though, because we’d have to sell the boat. And what about retirement?

We’d both have to work longer. Then there’s the kids. What do we say to them?

Another hour of quiet time has passed and I’m bursting at the seams.

My mind races as I imagine us down the road even further. See I’ve got a bucket list and one of the first things on it, is a little trip. It was supposed to be a trip for two. Only now there might just be one. Me, in a RV, trucking across Canada. Hmmn. I don’t really like driving all that much. I make a better passenger. Now what?

I wonder if he’s thinking about these things. Does the idea of being footloose and fancy free appeal to him?

I sneak a sideways glance in his direction hoping to see his eyes  teared up, or an expression conveying how sorry he is and how much he loves me.

His jaw is thrust out and squared. He’s still not talking. What does this mean?

Silence has never been my strongsuit. He’s good with it. Me, not so much.

I wonder if there’s anyway I can broach the subject without seeming like I care. I mean I do care, but I’m not quite ready to tell him this.

Another hour passes.

By now we’ve sold the house, told the kids and broke their hearts and I’m living in a patio home, with a cat. Not quite what I had in mind.

Hmmn.

Should I say something, or wait for him?

Maybe I could just say, kinda nonchalant like, I’m sorry. But no, I can’t say it. Besides, he knows the tone of voice he was using drives me nuts. But then, what’s my part?

Damned recovery. That’s the thing. It’s both of us. The truth is, if I want him to own his part, I have to own mine. Only this time, I really don’t know what mine is.

So I ask him.

Do you know what he says?

He says I don’t listen to him. Me, who gets paid to listen, isn’t listening. At least not to him. I want to correct him and tell him he’s wrong, but then he’d be right. I wouldn’t be listening. So instead I think about it.

You know what? He may have a point.

More time goes by, but it feels different now. Less tense. I sneak another sideways glance. His jaw is looser, the little twitch in his cheek has receded. I’ve lived with this man for almost 20 years. His cheek only twitches when he’s really hurt. The kind of hurt that would have me crying. But with him, he turns it inward, growing more and more quiet, until eventually he’s ready to talk about it.

I guess you really gotta love someone to experience that kind of hurt.

It’s not long after that he leans over and gives me a little kiss on the forehead. We don’t say anything. We don’t need to. We’re passed it. But just.

Sometimes words are highly overated.

We don’t go to bed angry and we didn’t get loaded. I suspect this is what they mean by ‘Two steps foreword, and one step back.’ Or maybe it’s just life.

I’m not sure. I can’t pretend to know what goes on behind the closed doors of other relationships. But I do know, I love and appreciate him more today, than I did yesterday. And without our arguement, I still might not be listening to him.

Now don’t get me wrong. I know there’ll be times when I’m not listening again, and sooner or later he’s going to use the tone of voice I despise, but for now?

I’m content.

And who knows? Maybe bacon and eggs were always meant to be accompanied – by a bran muffin.