Chapter 10
"Hey," Daniel says.
As he stands, he lifts a palm toward the other sofa, gesturing for me to sit across from him.
I do, having already taken off my jacket.
I sit down on the sofa and look across the table at him as he settles into the recliner facing the large cream-colored sectional.
He sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped straight between them, and looks at me.
Then he looks past me, to the left, at the fireplace.
Outside, there are two large glass doors on either side of the hearth, looking out into the yard and the wilderness beyond.
It’s beautiful and peaceful out there. Whenever I feel sad or cluttered, I always look out those glass doors.
It’s one of the few things I actually like about this house.
You always have a different place to explore in this place, but when you're all alone, it just feels way too big, even with the two of us here.
But I know that if you love someone, you can make any space a home.
I just stare at him, waiting for him to say something. He licks his lips.
"Do you really want a divorce?" he asks, the words coming out very slowly.
"No," I say. "I love you. But I want you to be happy, and I want to be happy, too."
He frowns, looking confused. "Why aren't you happy, Melody?"
"Because I'm alone, Daniel. And I don’t mind being by myself but… I’m in a marriage, and it feels like even when you're physically here, you're not really here."
"You understand what I do at work, right?" he asks, getting that defensive edge.
"Yes, I understand that. Or maybe I don't," I throw back. "But then why did you get married if you didn't even wanna have a wife?"
"I want someone who's gonna understand and be there for me when I have to be busy, when I'm away for long periods of time," he says, leaning back slightly. "I didn't hide any of that from you."
"Oh, I don't understand," I scoff. "Other people take their wives with them. Why don't you ever take me with you on these trips?"
"Because I'm still gonna be leaving you in a hotel room for many hours at a time, Melody. It's no different. At least at home, you're comfortable."
"But I'm not comfortable!"
"Would you rather be uncomfortable in some strange place," he argues, raising his tone a bit, "instead of at home with your gerbils and your art?"
I shake my head in frustration. "The thing is, Danny, I see what you're going for, but at least when you came home from your meetings or whatever, I'd be right there at the hotel, and we could actually spend time together."
"Melody, you don't get it," he sighs, rubbing his temples before looking back up at me.
"When I get back to the hotel from those meetings, I don't just turn my brain off.
I have to keep working. There is a ridiculous amount of money and pressure riding on these deals, and if I drop the ball for even a second, it all goes to hell. "
He sits forward again, counting off on his fingers, his voice becoming intense and clipped when he's stressed out.
"Do you actually know what my day-to-day looks like?
What it's like out there? I spent the last 72 hours straight on a construction tarmac in Tokyo screaming at engineers because a shipping delay almost pushed our whole transit timeline back three months.
I'm running on three hours of sleep because my dad calls me at two in the morning raging about a contract that hasn't cleared yet, and then I have to immediately pull myself together, put on a suit, and go play nice with tech executives who hold all the cards for our software infrastructure. "
He drops his hands, shaking his head, looking completely drained.
"I am out there putting out fires constantly, Melody. Constantly. It is non-stop. I fly across the globe just to spend twelve hours locked in a room negotiating zoning permits and funding details with people who would love nothing more than to watch us fail. It is brutal, and it’s volatile.
All of this, this house, the security, everything we have, it only exists because I am constantly, aggressively on top of it.
If I take my eyes off the wheel for even a day, the whole thing collapses.
That’s the reality of what I’m dealing with every time I leave this house. "
Nodding my head, I give him a soft smile.
"You're completely right, Danny. And I understand," I say. "You have to always be on top of your business and work so that things don't crumble and turn into ash."
"Exactly," Daniel says.
"That's the same thing with your marriage."
After I say this, he just stares at me and smirks. Then he scoffs as if I'm being completely ridiculous. He wipes his face and gets up, and for a second I think he's gonna walk away, but he stops and just glares at me.
"I don't know what to tell you, Melody," he says. "I have priorities. Would you like us to sell all of this and go live in some nice little hut somewhere?"
"I didn't say all of that," I shoot back. "But we don't need a large, over five-thousand-square-foot house when we don't even have kids."
"You're the one who doesn't want kids."
"I didn't say I don't want kids! But do you honestly think you're ready for them? If you can't even handle our relationship, how are you gonna handle being there for your children?"
"My job is to provide for my children," he says flatly.
"No. Your job... yes. I mean—"
"Make up your mind, Melody," he cuts in.
"We were just saying when we were dating that men and women should know their roles, right?
And you even admitted that it would be nice for women who wanted that role to not be shamed into having it, and for men who want that role to not be shamed into having it. "
"Yes. But—"
"What did you think was going to happen?" he asks, crossing his arms. "Were you talking a big game to impress me or something, or did you actually mean that?"
"No! What I said was people often try to shame people for things that they inherently want to do," I tell him, my decibel rising.
"I'm not saying all women have to be stay-at-home wives and never do anything.
I don't think that's right. I mean, there's some people who want to do that.
But even when you stay at home, you still have to help out with the chores and stuff like that.
That's what I was saying. I didn't say that you're supposed to never ever talk to your wife again. "
"On what planet are you living?" he asks, exasperated. "Where I never spoke to you again?"
"Danny, when you're here, you act as though you don't want to be here. You don't see the way you look. Would you like me to record you and show you what your face looks like?"
"No, thank you. I do not consent to that," he says, completely sincere.
Both of us take a deep breath, trying to cool down.
"I just feel neglected," I whisper.
"Okay. Well, I can't sit home all day long playing teacup with you."
"I don't sit here playing teacup!"
"You know, maybe if you had some hobbies, you wouldn't feel so lonely," he says.
"I do have hobbies."
"Talking to your gerbils is a hobby?" he asks.
"I don't know," I say, some serious nastiness creeping into my attitude. "Is saying another woman's name while you're fucking your wife your hobby?"
His eyebrow raises, and he leans back a bit, his eyes slightly more open than they were before.
"Oh… kay. So I guess this conversation is over," he says, starting to get up.
"I'm sorry, but you haven't answered any of the questions I asked you."
"What's your question, Melody?" he says through his teeth. He stands there with his hands on his hips.
"Who is Rena?"
"I don't know," he says.
"You said her name."
"I don't know what I said. You're telling me what I said. I have no idea what I said," he insists, throwing his hands up. "All I remember is I was making love to you, and I was enjoying it, and I was gonna cum."
"And then you said Rena," I remind him, staring him down. "And I asked you what you said, and then you said, 'I miss you.' And that is not what you said before."
"Okay. You do know that, like, when people are in ecstasy, sometimes they may stutter or say random words. I've heard you do the same thing."
"So there's nobody named Rena?"
"No! There's nobody named Rena. I don't know who the fuck you're talking about," he says, getting angrier.
Maybe I really did misinterpret it.
"Okay. Well, when you're here, why do you feel like... I don't know, like you don't want to be?"
"That's what you're interpreting," he says.
"When I come home, I'm happy to see you, but I'm exhausted, and all I want is peace.
That's what I want. I want peace. Is there a way we can achieve that?
Because I don't want us being at each other's throats all the time.
I don't like you sad. You think I wanna come into this house every day or every week and see you sad and not know how to fix you? "
I just stare at him. That's all I can do. The truth is, I don't wanna be sad. I do want to be happy.
"Everything you've asked of me, I've given to you," he continues. "If you wanna go to the planetarium, I give that to you. If you wanna go to France or some random island, you get to go."
"You don't understand. I don't want you to just buy me off," I say, the tears threatening to spill again. "I want us to actually spend time together. Oh my god, is that such a wild concept for you? I get that you're busy—"
"No, you don't," he cuts me off. "You don't get that I'm busy. There might be down times where I'm not as busy, and we savor those moments. We could be savoring this moment right now while I'm home. Instead, we're fighting."
"You said that you wanted to talk!"
"Yes, because every time I have to work or I have to go on my business trips, you make a big deal about it."
"I make a big deal about it because you never invite me."