He pulls back. “Babe?”
Mindy and Joel left apparently, having moved on. Suddenly I need to also. “Gotta go.”
Tanner lets me, saying nothing. But his pretty eyes likely say everything. It’s been difficult to look into them lately for that very reason.
I peel off to the nearest restroom inside my ma and pa’s diner: Biggie’s Bites. Everyone on earth seems to be packed in this place even during the festival. I make my way through the crowd and noise, smiling and nodding at no one specific, hearing my name a few times, when suddenly I’m in the restroom and I press my back against the door, shutting it abruptly. The world becomes muffled and far away, and it’s just me and my thoughts—and this cone of green dotted ice cream slowly melting in my hand.
My next breath feels like the first one I’ve taken all day.
Full of misgivings.
Questions, doubts, heavy thoughts, and the echoes of my children’s laughter.
Is it my imagination, or are the kids fighting more often?
Are they picking up the tension off me and Tanner? Is it my fault?
Am I the bee?
I take a lick of the ice cream. Of course it tastes perfect. So perfect I could cry. Except I’m not gonna cry. What reason do I have to cry? I’m the happiest guy in all of Spruce, Texas. I’ve got two funny, adorable kids. A roof over my head with lovingin-laws who can’t get enough of me. An adoring husband I’m apparently mad at because he won’t let me leave him.
And do I really want to leave him?
Is Tanner even the problem?
Or is it me?
It wasn’t long ago the four of us were at Spruce Park, and I saw Trey, our town reverend, with his husband, their parents, and some out-of-town guests flying kites. We were on a picnic blanket finding shapes in the clouds. Tanner kept making the kids laugh, insisting every single cloud looked like a butt. I kept telling him to grow up, but when a cloud drifted by that, without a doubt, looked like two round, fluffy ass cheeks, I couldn’t help but crack up, and it quickly became all four of us doubled over in childish laughter.
Even then, I remember wondering:Why do I feel so far away?
And later that same day, when we all came home and put on a movie, I was cuddled in a blanket in the armchair, by myself, while Tanner sat with the kids on the floor in front of a bowl of popcorn they kept spilling kernels all around, and I totally phased out in the middle of the movie, watching them, thinking about the spots of butter or oil that might be getting on the floor that I’ll have to clean later when the three of them are done.
Feeling so far away from the ones I’m supposed to love.
Have I always been like this?
My phone buzzes in my pocket with such energy, I jerk out of my thoughts, blinking. It’s a text from Tanner asking me, and I quote, “if I’m blowing up one of the poor, innocent toilets in my ma and pa’s poor, innocent diner.”
Typical Tanner.
I close my eyes and take a breath. I can’t keep running off into bathrooms to hide, letting my minty ice cream melt, figuratively or literally. The way I see it, I have two choices here.I can fake it in front of the world, then be miserable at home while I resent my loving husband for fighting for us.
Or I can try.
Honestly try.
See if it really is just …me. If maybe I’m the one who needs to change. I’ve made a habit out of my irritation. A habit of looking for the things that are wrong. For seeing flaws and ignoring all of the juicy, messy, funny stuff that’srightwith us.
Embracing popcorn kernels on the floor.
Butt-shaped clouds.
Melting ice cream.
I text him back, telling him he looked really stupid with pie all over his face, and I hope the glob in his ear tasted waxy.
He responds back with a ridiculous, lip-biting selfie that looks like he’s trying not to fart.
This is my husband.
My goofball.
I love him.
A lot.
More than anything in the world.
And that’s why I’m gonna try this Tanner’s way, whether it destroys us or not.