relationships are and you have unrealistic expectations. I used to like his certainty. Now Iâm not so sure.
âItâs not enough,â I say.
âWhat are you saying? You want to move out?â
âYes.â
âI donât believe you.â
Neither do I, after all this time. Itâs been quite an acceleration, from nought to splitting up in a few minutes. Iâve practically got hamster cheeks from the g-force. This could be why itâs taken us so long to get round to tying the knot. We knew itâd bring certain fuzzy things into sharper focus.
âIâll start looking for places to rent tomorrow.â
âIs this all itâs worth, after thirteen years?â he asks. âYou wonât do what I want for the wedding â see ya, bye?â
âItâs not really the wedding.â
âFunny how these problems hit you now, when youâre not getting your own way. Donât recall this â¦
introspection
when I was buying the ring.â
He has a point. Have I manufactured this row to give me a reason? Are my reasons good enough? I weaken. Perhaps Iâm going to wake up tomorrow and think this was all a mistake. Perhaps this dark, apocalyptic mood of terrible clarity will clear up like the rain thatâs still pelting down outside. Maybe we could go out for lunch tomorrow, scribble down the shared song choices on a napkin, start getting enthused again â¦
âOK ⦠if this is going to work, we have to change things. Stop getting at each other all the time. See a counsellor, or something.â
He can offer me next to nothing here, and I will stay. Thatâs how pathetic my resolve is.
Rhys frowns.
âIâm not sitting there while you tell some speccy wonk at Relate about what a bastard I am to you. Iâm not putting the wedding off. Either we do it, or forget it.â
âIâm talking about our future, whether we have one, and all you care about is what people will think if we cancel the wedding?â
âYouâre not the only one who can give ultimatums.â
âIs this a game?â
âIf youâre not sure after this long, you never will be. Thereâs nothing to talk about.â
âYour choice,â I say, shakily.
âNo,
your choice
,â he spits. âAs always. After all Iâve sacrificed for you â¦â
This sends me up into the air, the kind of anger where you levitate two feet off the ground as if you have rocket launchers on your heels.
âYou have not given anything up for me! You chose to move to Manchester! You act like I have this debt to you I can never repay and itâs bullshit! That band was going to split up anyway! Donât blame me because you DIDNâT MAKE IT.â
âYou are such a selfish, spoilt brat,â he bellows back, getting to his feet as well, because shouting from a seated position is never as effective. âYou want what you want, and you never think about what other people have to give up to make it happen. Youâre doing the same with this wedding. Youâre the worst kind of selfish because you think youâre not. And as for the band, how fucking dare you say you know how things wouldâve turned out. If I could go back and do things differentlyââ
âTell me about it!â I scream.
We both stand there, breathing heavily, a two-person Mexican standoff with words as weapons.
âFine. Right,â Rhys says, eventually. âIâm going back home for the weekend â I donât want to stay here and take this shit. Start looking for somewhere else to live.â
I drop back down on the sofa and sit with my hands in my lap. I listen to the sounds of him stomping around upstairs, filling an overnight bag. Tears run down my cheeks and into the neckline of my shirt, which had only just started to dry out. I hear Rhys in the kitchen and I realise heâs turning the light off underneath the