Day six and seven - Post-Disaster Fallout - Breaking Up #6

“Good morning.” I heard through the crack in the bedroom door. “Tea?” The disembodied voice enquired.
“Yes please.” I offered politely as I snatched my dressing gown and walked into the hallway. Husband was but a shadow flying into the kitchen as he went to sort out the dogs and cat and make our morning drinks.
I stood leaning on the kitchen door jamb thinking that this all felt very surreal, very normal in an abnormal kind of way.

After we got ‘close’ last night I returned to the guest room. I felt a little like a saucy girlfriend sneaking home before mother found out. It was my choice to go and I had left with a smile. This morning was just a bit odd though. A married couple doing what married couples do then sleeping in separate rooms. AH well. We were never ‘normal’ anyway.

As he rattled around getting things ready for work we spoke amicably of the days plans. I decided to return to my room and leave him too it. As I turned he came to me and asked, “Are you ok?”
“Yes, why?” I responded, although not entirely sure what OK was nowadays.
“Last night was real, wasn’t it? Passion I mean. Not just because…” He struggled to find the word he wanted but I knew.
“Last night was as good as the first and it may be the last. Some irony in that dontcha think?” I replied, then turned and went into the guest room, picking up my phone. I could see him looking at me, unsure. Good. Chase, my man, chase!

The morning departure was as normal as one could get. A hug goodbye, a peck on the cheek and another hug then he was away. Anyone from anywhere seeing that would never have known my world was spiralling.

The day came and went. Late in the day I got a call for him (having had several already) saying he needed to tell his other daughter but that she couldn’t get from work when he was off. That’s always been the difficulty of three people doing shift work. He had decided to phone her instead and would do so after work. He finished at 22.10. He got home at 23.20. The call must’ve taken 40 minutes. I’d been worried. As he walked in the door I examined his face intensely as I asked “How did it go? Are you alright?”
He was busy taking off shoes and coat, refusing to look at me. I insisted and he turned. Tears sparkled in those bug blue eyes. “She was lovely about it and said hopefully we can work it out and get back together properly soon.”
THAT was astounding. The two of us haven’t really ever got on but to know that she didn’t tell her father “You’ll be better off without.” or the equivalent was touching and appreciated. Later I got a text form her, saying the same. So, he wasn’t feeding me BS. I left him to himself the rest of the night.

Today, I was up first. He didn’t need to leave for work until 10.15 so I left him to rest and made drinks and toast for him. We needed to decide when he was actually going. I had already decided that the sooner the better. Obviously, there was NO WAY I wanted him to go, but he was set on it, so may as well get it over with and move to the next phase – whatever that may be.

I sat, tea in hand, and calmly discussed when he would go. Tomorrow, after we’d told his mum, was agreed. I calmly discussed the fact that I would iron his work clothes as usual and help him pack. I saw pain flash across his eyes before he could turn away.
GOOD. I was hurting. Why shouldn’t he?

He left for work as usual, but the hug was extra-long. I spent the day answering his calls and texts, packing his clothes and wondering if I was really doing the right thing. Would it be a case of absence making his heart want me more or out of sight out of mind?

Standing ironing the shirts of the man I love, knowing I was a fool, hoping this fool would win his heart back, I cried.

I’ve asked if he minds if I return to our bed, for our last night. Of course, I have no need to ask. It’s mine as much as his, but it’s all about the fancy footwork, the subtle moves … it’s all about the dance.