Marco displays an uncharacteristic amount of patience by waiting until we’re back at the house and out of my parents’ earshot to lay into me about this latest debacle.
“You have to tell them, Kate,” he says. “Do you know how hard it was to keep my mouth shut back there? When they said the house was a wedding present, I wanted to punch a hole through the wall!”
I pull the barn door open and usher him inside. “I know, I know. They blindsided me, too, you know?”
“What happened to telling them everything? You promised.”
“But did you see how excited my parents were about the new house?” I sigh as I sit by the antique fireplace and start nibbling on a cuticle. “How could we tell them after that?”
“Kate, come on, you know this has gone too far.” Marco sits next to me. “Your parents just bought you a mansion. They’re convinced you’re getting married on Friday. The more time you wait, the more lies pile on, and the harder it’ll get to tell the truth.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I grab a fire poker and stab at the ashes, just to have something to do with my hands. “It just never seems to be the right time. What was I supposed to do, blurt out the truth in front of the real estate agent?”
“The wedding’s in four days. You’re running out of ‘the right time.’”
“I’ll tell them tomorrow.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“Well, I didn’t expect the house.”
“Always an excuse.”
“Not this time. Tomorrow we’ll tell them.”
Marco removes the fire poker from my hands and holds them in his. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
***
Marco’s mood doesn’t improve when I tell him I have to go to that stupid premarital counseling session with Chuck this afternoon. My boyfriend stays close to mute throughout lunch and excuses himself as soon as the meal is over. I can’t go after him without arousing too many suspicions, I can only watch him through the dining room window as he exits the barn in his sporty gear and goes for a jog in the freezing outdoors. No matter that we already ran this morning, exercise is how he copes with things.
Besides, he always feels better after a run. Endorphins, in thee I trust to save my relationship.
To get to church on time, Chuck and I have to leave before Marco is back. And at two-thirty on the dot, we walk into Pastor Grant’s office, ready for a two-hour lecture on how to make our relationship work through the highs and lows of married life. Maybe we should’ve taken this class a few years ago, back when our love story was still salvageable.
The pastor welcomes us with a warm smile. “Chuck, Kate, perfect timing.”
Instead of inviting us to sit on the chairs before his desk, the pastor gets up, picks up his jacket from the backrest of his chair, and beckons us out of the office. “Please come this way. I like to hold my premarital courses in a different room.”
We dutifully follow him down a long, narrow corridor until we reach the designated room. The space isn’t large, but it’s cozy. Carpeted floor, colorful pillows scattered all over, and a red chenille ball resting in the middle. No chairs, I notice.
“Please take off your shoes,” Pastor Grant asks us, doing the same.
We do as we’re told and follow him inside.
“Sit wherever you like. On a pillow, grab one to hold, whatever makes you comfortable.”
Chuck clears his throat. “Should we just sit on the floor?”
“Yes,” Pastor Grant confirms. “In my many years of counseling, I’ve found a less formal environment fosters more honest conversations.”
We all sit on the carpet, forming a small, three-person circle. Instinctively, I grab a big, fluffy pillow and place it over my crossed legs, hugging it to my chest.
“Very well.” Pastor Grant launches into a speech about what being married means, and how much hard work couples need to pour into a relationship to make it function. Blah blah blah. I try not to tune him out, but really, it’s not like this advice actually applies to us. I sneak a glance at Chuck; he looks like he’s about to fall asleep on the pillow tucked beside him.
After the introductory sermon is over, the pastor progresses to explain how the session will be structured. “Usually, I discuss various topics with my couples, like how well they know each other, or if they share the same views on starting a family.” He stares pointedly at my belly. “But I assume it’s safe to skip both with you. Instead, the principal topic I wanted to tackle today is conflict. How to avoid it, and when an argument inevitably occurs, how to deal with it constructively. These discussions can, from time to time, get heated, so the only rule I have is that we don’t talk over each other.”
Pastor Grant grabs the red chenille ball. “This”—he rotates the soft ball in his hand—“is the talking ball. Only the person holding it is allowed to speak. Everything clear so far?”
We nod.
“Very well. So, conflict. You’ve been together a long time; how do you cope with arguments? Kate, ladies first.”
He hands me the ball, putting me on the spot whether I like it or not.
I hold the ball on top of the pillow in my lap and ponder for a second. Chuck and I never fought much, mostly because he was too passive to argue. I try to remember a big fight or something, but I can’t. And since we’re not really here to discuss our non-existent relationship, I might as well chalk out whatever answer and be done with the discussion.
“We’re cool,” I say. “We never argue that much, anyway.”
I give the ball back to Pastor Grant.
“Okay,” he says, and turns to my fake fiancé. “Chuck, let’s hear from you. How do you handle conflict as a couple?”
Chuck takes the talking ball, and I expect him to follow my lead and confirm we’re awesome at handling conflict. Anything to make this counseling session end faster. Instead, staring down at the ball, he says, “Kate is very passive-aggressive, Pastor. Whenever something bothers her, she doesn’t outright say it. She gets sulky and makes all these subtle comments, expecting me to divine what she’s mad about. And when I don’t read her mind, she gets even madder on the inside, but quieter on the outside. If I ask her what’s wrong, she repeats ‘nothing’ a million times, and then a week, a month, a year later she explodes at me with all the stuff she’s been keeping bottled up.”
WHOA. WHOA. WHOA. Where did this Kate-is-the-passive-aggressive-queen nonsense come from?
“That’s not true,” I protest.
Pastor Grant raises a hand. “Kate, please, Chuck has the talking ball. Let him finish. Anything else you’d like to add, Chuck?”
“Yeah, she’s touchy. And if I point it out, she gets offended and even more passive-aggressive.”
Chuck hands the ball back, and Pastor Grant passes it to me. I snatch it from his hands, ready to mount my defense. “Nothing of what he said is true. I’m not passive-aggressive, and I can take constructive criticism like a mature adult.”
“Is that all you have to say, Kate?” Pastor Grant asks.
“Yes.”
“Because right now you look pretty offended. Are you sure nothing of what Chuck said is true?” Then, turning to that treacherous ijit, the pastor adds, “Chuck, can you give an example of an occasion on which Kate has been passive-aggressive or not forthcoming about something that upset her?”
Chuck stares at me, evidently waiting for the ball, so he can spew more falsehoods. I throw it at him, and he barely catches it. And I’m aware my actions are proving him right, but he made me furious. Where does he get off, throwing false accusations at me? Especially since we aren’t together anymore. What’s the point? Is he trying to humiliate me? Is this revenge for the breakup? Or is Chuck mad because Marco’s here, and he’s taking it out on me? This morning I thought he was being really mature about the situation; I didn’t expect such a low blow.
Chuck cradles the ball in his hands for a while before he talks. “Like… take the dishes. One evening, I didn’t do them right after dinner when it was my turn because of a special on TV I wanted to watch live.”
I remember that night. Chuck spent it slumped on the couch watching a two-hour documentary on Dungeons and Dragons.
“I left the dishes in the sink to deal with later. But she decided that meant I wasn’t going to clean up ever and started making weird comments about how we live in a world with supposed gender equality but the women are still expected to do most of the housework. Then she got up, did the dishes in my place, and went to bed fuming.”
“You know I hate waking up to a dirty kitchen,” I interrupt. “And you didn’t even say thank you I washed up in your place.” For once, Pastor Grant doesn’t reprimand me for having spoken without the precious talking ball.
“I forgot, Kate, okay? Because dishes are not that big of a deal for me. If I’d seen them in the sink, I would’ve loaded the dishwasher. End of story.”
“No, you would have forgotten about them and let them sit there rotting for days, just like you always do.”
“That’s not—!”
“Chuck,” Pastor Grant interrupts. “How do you know Kate was mad about the dishes, if Kate didn’t tell you that evening and you forgot the issue completely?”
“She threw it all back at me a few months ago when she bro—” Chuck hastily cuts himself off. “I mean, we had a huge argument a while back, and she complained about a lot of things I didn’t even know were an issue.”
“Like the dishes?”
“Among other things.”
“Such as?”
Chuck blushes from neck to ears. “Nothing important.”
“This is a safe space, Chuck. We can’t make any progress if you don’t speak honestly.”
Chuck shoots a panicked glance my way. I ignore him. He dug this hole; he can get himself out of it.
“Like, um…” Chuck stammers. “Well, she thought I was no longer interested in… uh… being intimate with her. And instead of confronting me, she pulled some absurd internet towel test on me that I didn’t even know was a thing.”
Oh. My. Gosh. He DID NOT just mention the towel test in front of a pastor!
“Maybe I wouldn’t have had to resort to a dumb test if you’d spent more than two minutes away from your PlayStation,” I retort.
“It’s always the PlayStation with you!” Chuck shouts. “Don’t you think I’d burn that damn thing to ashes, along with every video game I’ve ever owned, if I thought it would fix what happened?”
He’s panting, and his eyes are blazing with intensity, and… I stare back, utterly confused once again. Where did all this passion come from? And why didn’t he tell me all these things when we broke up, he barely put up a fight, I assumed he was okay with the decision. But now…
This premarital session is scrambling my already muddled feelings even more.
Pastor Grant blinks at us. “Could fix what, Chuck? What happened between you two?”
Chuck stares at the pastor in shock, as if suddenly realizing a third person is in the room.
“Nothing,” he says. “I just… never realized video games were such a thorn in her side. I wish she’d told me.”
“I didn’t think I had to,” I say. It was so obvious. To me, anyway. Did he really not get that?
“Kate.” Pastor Grant stares at me. “Do you think you could be more assertive in expressing what you want out of your relationship with Chuck?”
“I can try,” I say. “But Chuck could work on that, too,”
“Can you elaborate, Kate?”
While formally answering Pastor Grant’s question, I stare at Chuck. “He didn’t tell me any of these things when we had our big argument four months ago. If he had…”
I trail off.
Chuck’s eyes are still blazing with passion as he stares at me intently. “You’re saying it could have gone differently if I’d said something?”
“I don’t know, Chuck. Maybe?”
“Maybe,” he repeats, like he’s turning the word over and over in his head. Then he adds, “I should have said something.”
“Yeah, you should have.”
“This is substantial progress…” Pastor Grant says, but I don’t pay attention to whatever rambling sermon he launches into. I’m lost looking at Chuck, struggling to figure out what’s going through his head.
The way he talks, he sounds like someone who’d do anything to turn back time.
Why?
Is he still in love with me?
And why is that possibility making my head spin?