Chapter 22 #2
Picking up a bowl I’d worked on that didn’t come out perfectly, I said, “I don’t know about that. But this mistake might work for what you asked for. A place for our keys and stuff.”
“Mistake? Mike, that little groove makes it unique, one of a kind. People pay top dollar in Italy for something like this because they know it wasn’t made by a machine.”
“I didn’t think about it like that.” She was looking closely at some of my tools. The shed was small, so I squeezed behind her and reached around her to pick up the block plane.
“This one is what creates those curly shavings. It’s called a block plane. Here, I’ll show you.” I picked up a piece of cedar left over from the cutting board to use as an example.
“You get a good grip on the wood and push the plane over it slowly,” I said, demonstrating the movement. Ren seemed to be holding her breath. When I leaned over more, she had the same giddy look on her face when I’d dipped her at the wedding.
Thoroughly enjoying having that effect on my wife, I continued. With every stroke of the plane, I pulled her in closer, trying not to laugh at the way she kept clearing her throat. My chest was pressed against her back, and I couldn’t hold the laughter in any longer.
With a grunt, she elbowed me in the ribs, making me bark out a laugh.
“You, sir, are no gentleman,” she said, with an embarrassed smile, wiping her forehead.
“Never said I was one. See. You just keep making my point without me even trying, Spitfire.” I rubbed my ribs with a grimace.
Ren started fussing at me in Italian, her hands waving about as she spoke. One of these days, she was going to hurt herself with all that flailing about.
“Okay, fine,” she said, catching her breath from her outburst. “We’re even for the stir-fry comment. Come on, Max is going to think we forgot about him. I’ll cook tonight while you go get him.”
After a meal of delicious stir-fry, (thank you very much), which my wife seemed to enjoy, the three of us settled into the living room to watch a movie.
She refused to use the cutting board I’d made for her, saying she wanted to just look at it for a while in its unmarred state.
I preened as I watched her touch it lovingly.
Her words about my work had an impact, and I continued to roll the idea around in my mind of doing something more with it.
Max and Ren fell in love instantly, as I knew they would, and he was now curled up next to her feet, loving her attention as she scratched his coat.
“You still plan to call your boss soon?” I asked.
“Yes. No sense in putting it off. I’ll call this week.”
I twisted on the sofa to look at her. “Having any regrets?”
Several emotions passed quickly over her face before she faced me and shook her head. “No, I’m not. I have so many plans for our business, but right now I’m enjoying this rest. But I’m praying the work visa comes in sooner rather than later. I don’t think I can sit around for too long.”
I chose to ignore how she’d pivoted the conversation.
“I can see that. You don’t seem like you could. But we can work on some projects here at the house in the meantime. There are a few things I’d like to do.”
She smiled. “I’d love that. I’ll get my notebook ready. But for now, let’s finish watching Sabrina. I love this movie.”
“Tell me again. Is she in love with both brothers? That’s an interesting plot.”
“Just watch. It’ll make sense.”
We had been watching for about fifteen minutes when I grimaced. “Ah, isn’t Bogart like in his fifties in this movie? He looks like her dad.”
Ren shoved me with her shoulder. “No talking during the movie. And yeah, it is kind of weird.”
“Good thing I’m not in my fifties. I’m a much better catch than him,” I said, preening.
She side-eyed me. “I wouldn’t have married you if you were that old.”
“Rude.”
“But true.”
Her rule about not talking during the movie went out the window as we bantered through the whole thing.
She laughed hysterically, choking on her popcorn when I muted the movie and made up my own words as the actors spoke, most of which was pure nonsense.
I would do anything to hear her laugh so freely.
I’d gotten up and gone to get us something to drink when I saw the mail I’d brought in when I walked to get Max.
I set the bottles down and opened one from the hospital.
With Grammy’s permission, I’d gone to the administration office and had any bills her insurance didn’t cover come to me.
It had taken some persuasion, but she had given in when I convinced her to let me take care of it while she recovered.
As I read, I realized it was a copy of her discharge papers I’d asked for. The words ‘congestive heart failure’ glowed like neon and those feelings of anxiety returned. Once again, the fear of losing her returned as I remembered how helpless I’d felt when I’d gotten the call.
Grammy’s heart is going to give out soon. You have to brace yourself for that. You’re not going to be able to hide this depression from your wife much longer.
My heart raced, and my shirt suddenly felt too tight.
I’d learned from my own private research that certain things triggered depression or made it worse, and thoughts of losing my grandmother were a major one for me.
I was pulling my T-shirt away from my neck when I heard Ren walking toward me, and I panicked even more.
“Mike? Everything okay? You didn’t come back.” I kept my back to her, hoping to let this pass quickly so she wouldn’t see me like this.
Taking in a deep breath, I pushed the thoughts back and squeezed my hand into a fist to redirect my brain.
“Mike?” She was at my side in a moment, her hand on my back.
“Hey, sorry. Yeah, yeah. All good. I, um, was just reading this from the hospital and got distracted.” I stepped away from her, causing her hand to fall to her side.
“Are you sure? You look upset. Is there new information on Grammy?”
Pushing the stack of papers aside, I turned back toward the living room, and she followed. “No, nothing like that. Let’s get back to the movie. Looks like Bogart is going to win the girl,” I said with forced mirth.
She watched me for a few minutes when she sat next to me, but didn’t say anything.
While the credits rolled, I picked up our snacks and brought them to the kitchen, grateful that I could escape to my room. I hadn’t been able to take a full breath since earlier.
“Well, I’m beat. I think I’ll turn in a little early,” I said, trying not to make eye contact. When I turned to head toward my room, Ren grabbed my hand.
“Mike, are you angry, upset? Please talk to me,” she said. She searched my face, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
“No, Ren. I’m fine. Really.”
She walked in front of me, forcing me to look at her. “You’re anything but fine. I can see it in your eyes. Have I done something?”
Finally looking at her, I shook my head vehemently. “No. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Is this about Grammy?” When I shook my head, she asked, “Then is it about what we talked about the other day? About what you confessed to me? Mike, if that’s what’s bothering you, I promise it’s not an issue for me at all.
We agreed to take things slow, so we’re sleeping in separate rooms, but it’s not because of what you experienced all those years ago. ”
My chest was tight, and I shifted my body away from her as heat raced up my neck.
As if the depression wasn’t enough, my new wife also had to deal with the fact that she wouldn’t be my first. I needed to get into my room and away from her prying eyes.
I was about to feign a headache when she spoke again.
“I’m not letting this go. Not until you open up and tell me what’s wrong. Can you please sit down with me for a few minutes?” She didn’t wait for an answer and pulled me by the hand with her until I was seated. I couldn’t look at her so I stared at my feet.
“Mike, please talk to me.”
I ran my hands over my face roughly. “You don’t know all of it.”
Concern flashed in her eyes, but she didn’t move away. “Then tell me. Let me be a part of what you’re facing.”
Taking her hands in mine, I looked at her intently, composing myself for several minutes before speaking. She waited patiently as I opened my mouth and closed it, trying to get the words out. Finally, with a head shake, I spoke.
“It’s just. I’ve always been known as the life of the party. Mike’s the fun friend, the one always up for an adventure. He’s never sad, never in a bad mood. Ren, I’m the strong Christian the younger ones come to for advice at church.” My voice broke on the last sentence.
“But you can’t be happy all the time. Can’t be strong all the time, either. You’re human. You’re allowed to have a bad day.”
I closed my eyes tightly and ground out, “It’s more than just a bad day.
It’s days, weeks. I’ve been battling this for months.
If I’m honest with myself, I’ve probably felt this on and off for years.
I just learned how to mask it, push it down, ignore it, using humor to deflect how I’m really feeling. ”
She gently smoothed out the line between my eyebrows, forcing me to relax my face. I was sure I was grimacing. “Push what down, Mike?”
“The darkness. The depression,” I said roughly.
“Can you tell me about it?” she said, concern on her face as she held my hand again.
“It’s this feeling that comes over me like I can’t breathe. Like everything is closing in on me. I’ve looked it up, and anxiety is definitely a part of it, but this is much more.
“It’s like a dark cloud comes over me, and my thoughts are jumbled.
I feel hopeless, lost, confused. I start thinking about losing Grammy or my parents with them so far away.
Worried people will see how much I’m struggling.
To see this side of me. I can’t shake it anymore, and it’s getting worse.
” I looked down at my feet. “My failures are amplified, and I start feeling worthless.”