Chapter 21 #2
“Like I said, type A. And Doc did say to use what we needed and discard what wouldn’t apply seeing as how we’re already hitched.”
Courtney leaned over so she could also see the screen. “But we have a blueprint of sorts, which is helpful.”
“True, and guess it’s cheaper than going to counselin’.”
Courtney leaned back and tilted her head. “Is that something you’d want to do?”
I mindlessly scrolled through the pages and shrugged. “I don’t know. Like, yeah, we had fights, but I never thought we were
so messed up we needed therapy.”
Courtney stretched her arm along the back of the sofa, then gently started playing with strands of my hair. “Just sayin’,
I’m willing. And considering we both have parent issues, therapy might not be a bad idea.”
I looked back at her and nodded again. Turning back to the file, I laughed at the topic I’d stopped on: finances.
“What?”
I held up the computer so she could see.
“Not exactly a lighter option,” she said as she got up from the sofa.
I had a momentary worry that she was done and walking away, but she simply stretched, then strolled to the kitchen to finish
cleaning up our lunch dishes. I closed the lid then set the laptop back on the ottoman before shifting so I could watch her.
She hadn’t ended the conversation, but her choosing to clean up still felt like she was disengaged all the same.
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, waiting to see what she’d say to start.
But this topic was my pick. I glanced around our town house. Three stories, large kitchen, four bedrooms, three-and-a-half bathrooms. It was impressive.
Bright. And something I was proud to show off to my parents. Proof that I’d made it. Landed on my feet despite them thinking
the opposite would happen.
Yes, there weren’t a lot of us around, but that was partially why I’d wanted this area. We were good enough. Our money was
just as green. It was a petty status thing for me to prove to the naysayers. To my parents . . .
Either way, it was our home. And I loved it. Though she apparently hadn’t wanted it.
“Did you really not want to buy this place?”
Courtney briefly stopped her actions, then finished rinsing the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. She washed her
hands before finally turning to face me as she dried them. She took a deep inhale as she tossed the paper towel into the trash
then rested back against the countertop, crossing her arms. “I think we could have found something similar for half the price
closer to the city.”
I rolled my eyes, knowing that “city” was code for “arena.” “We looked. I didn’t like any of them.”
She laughed quietly. “I know, Sash, I know. You’ve never gone for the more economical choice.”
Her attention went to the dining room table. The large, eight-person, live-edge dining table I’d just had to have. Four thousand
dollars on a table because I refused any compromise she brought up to buy something similar. Something cheaper. It was a gorgeous
piece. A one-of-a-kind showstopper.
That’s how it went with us. I’d want something. She’d fight me on it, but then ultimately cave, except—“Why is the only thing
you refused to give in on is me travelin’ with you?”
“Because there has to be at least one battle I can win.”
“Is that how you see things with us? As battles to win or lose?” I liked getting my way, but for some reason hearing her say it like that . . . I don’t know, it bothered me.
Courtney pushed off the counter, heading to the fridge. “Not really. Well, maybe sometimes.”
I turned so that I fully faced her, gripping onto the back of the sofa. “Seriously?”
She opened the door and pulled out a bottle of water. “You want something?”
“Yeah, for my wife to tell me why she feels like dealin’ with me is a battle?”
Courtney arched a brow as she used her hip to close the door. “That is not what I said.”
The exasperation in her tone was a familiar sound. One I’d caused her to make plenty of times before. One I’d heard over the
course of the last couple of hours.
I fell back onto the cushions. No fighting. Stop being on the defensive. No more old habits. I glanced over at the table and then around the living room. Every piece of furniture was something I’d wanted . . . that
she’d caved on. Of all the things she could stand her ground on, she chose the one thing that left me behind.
“But why that battle?” I asked after she plopped down next to me.
“Because, baby, in the grand scheme of things it seemed like the least important. The games were short-term. A couple days.
Not a big deal.” She shrugged as she took a long drink from her bottle of water.
“Are you bullshittin’ me?”
“No.”
I shot up from the couch and started walking in circles. “You were willin’ to give me everythang but you.” I held up my hand
as Courtney started to protest. “I know that ain’t what you said, but it’s how I feel. It’s what I hear.”
“Sasha.”
I stopped pacing at the sound of my name, once again mixed with threads of exasperation. Covering my face with my hands, I
took in a few deep breaths. “I can’t be everything for you all the time.” The statement Courtney had made replayed in my head. One thing, one small “battle,” and yet I was still making it about me.
The one thing I couldn’t have.
And I could have easily bought my own ticket to go despite what she’d said since I had access to the credit cards. But I didn’t,
because why go somewhere I wasn’t wanted?
Courtney finished off her water then pushed off the couch after picking up her laptop. “You wanna travel to the away games?
Fine. Besides, with the way you tend to shop when I’m gone, I doubt I’m actually saving any money.”
The flatness of her tone froze something inside me more than the words. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Courtney headed back to the kitchen, taking the path where she wouldn’t walk past me. I could only stare at her retreating
back. I pushed and pushed. Took, and took. Tanisha was right: How much was I willing to compromise? I wanted Courtney to stay, but I kept giving her reasons to walk away.