“I’ve been reading about PFAS in carpet and I’m concerned our carpet is so old it would have them. These chemicals are really bad for us.”
He lets go of my hand as the easiness between us disappears. “You realise how much that will cost?”
“Yes, but I think we should add it into our budget. These chemicals can really impact fertility.”
“You’re already pregnant, so we don’t need to worry about that anymore.”
I stare at him, not loving the tone he’s taking with me. “I know, but… well, we don’t know the future, Winter.”
His eyes bore into mine. “We do know the future. And we also know our budget can’t stretch to new carpet.”
My tummy knots with anxiety. We do know the future. That’s his way of reminding me this is our last shot at having a baby. And while I agreed to it, I think I want to revisit that conversation. But that’s for another day. Right now, I just need him to understand replacing the carpet is important to me. “What I’m saying is I think we should sit down and go over the budget again. I’m willing to make whatever changes I have to for this to happen.”
“I’m not,” he says firmly, his voice growing louder, “because it’s not something we need.”
A text comes through on his phone and he allows it to draw his attention away from me.
“Fuck,” he mutters. Then looking back at me, he says, “I have to deal with this.”
Before I have a chance to reply, he pushes his chair back and leaves us.
“You okay?” Max says as I stare after my husband. When I don’t answer him, he says, “Birdie.”
I snap my gaze to Max, trying not to crumble in front of him. “What?” I heard his question, but I can’t get my thoughts in a straight line enough to answer it.
“Give him some time to process what you’ve said.”
>
“I don’t think time is what he needs. I think he’s already made his mind up.” I hear Winter yelling at whoever he called, which is unlike him. Either I’ve pissed him off or they have, and I’m pretty sure it was me.
“You know he often makes a decision on the spot but then changes it,” Max says.
I stand. “I love you for trying to help, but Winter has changed. With me, at least. He thinks I’m consumed by my need to rid our home of chemicals, to the point where he switches off when I try to bring it up with him. I just want him to listen and acknowledge the truth in what I’m saying.”
“He has mentioned it to me, and I don’t think it’s that he doesn’t believe what you’re saying.” His eyes soften. “I think he’s just honestly worried it’s become an obsession that’s taking over your mind and your life. I think it hurts him to watch you struggle.”
“It hurts me when he shuts down and refuses to listen.”
Max nods. “I can see that. Unfortunately that’s the thing about marriage; when you’re in the thick of it, you can’t always see clearly. I hope you’ll try to talk to him about this again and give him a chance to think it through.”
Tears threaten as I think about how right he is. I know I don’t always see things clearly, so I know it must be the same for Winter. “Thank you, Max. I’m sorry I’m ruining dinner, but I need a little timeout to get myself together.”
“Go. I’ll keep Matt occupied.”
I make my way into the bedroom and lock myself in the en suite. Sitting on the toilet, I let my tears fall. Some days I feel so alone it’s hard to breathe. Winter might be by my side in all of this, but over the years we’ve somehow disconnected. It’s been such a gradual process that I didn’t see it happening. We cling to our love, but it doesn’t always feel like we cling to each other. Sometimes I feel him slipping away so keenly the ache is like a knife piercing my heart.
“Birdie.” Winter knocks on the door. “I have to go out.”
I madly wipe my tears. “Okay.”
“I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“Okay.”
Silence for a beat. Then—“Open the door.”
“No, I’m not finished in here.”