Marriage Phase Two

My eyes opened. Well, half opened them. That was the deal these days. Another day pushing kids to get ready for school. Another day trying to get my head in the game before the starting siren.

It was then that I remembered. This wasn’t just any regular day. It was our wedding anniversary. Twenty years. I wish I could say that they were twenty blissful years filled with continuous joy and madly-in-love moments every day. Or do I wish that?

Of course, the rocky times, the wavering attempts to find balance and connection, were all fresh in my mind. In the down times they ate away at me, eroding my confidence and making me question everything about life. There were also, however, wonderful times – hilarious and beautiful, healing, and real. It seemed that one could not exist without the other. The duality of life was very real.

Kids and daily living also upped the ante on any issues that flowed through our marriage. Sometimes the challenges meandered, while other times they thundered, threatening to tip the boat. But they had always been there.

Frustration over quibbles, bubbling resentment over conflicts in values. Some small, some big, but all part of one giant tapestry that has been our partnership.

Twenty years felt like a milestone that morning, in part because we really weren’t always sure we were going to make it. The future wasn’t guaranteed, either. But every morning we got up, we laughed –a lot really, especially given the decades of challenges we’ve dragged ourselves through – while we oftentimes felt like throwing our hands in the air and bowing out.

So, yes, twenty years of marriage was a big deal for us, and there was only one way to look at it… that this was the beginning of a new phase, one that may feel a little gentler in the mornings, a little more fulfilling in the evenings, and a lot more contented during the moments between.

“Happy anniversary,” I said as I leaned over him, lips grazing that spiky cheek, the work-from-home pandemic stubble that was now part of his everyday look.

He didn’t open his eyes, but a smile broke across his strong face. “Happy anniversary,” was the reply. I scratched his head lightly with my fingernails and set about my day.

The little black book was sitting on my pillow when I returned later that morning. I had seen it before, many times. It was his journal, a little black diary that he wrote in regularly. I loved him for his dedication to that book.

It was only natural to wonder what he had been writing in that book for so many years, but I had never asked or tried to take a peek. Part of me wanted to believe that it was a benign little notebook, with snore-worthy lists of things to do the next day, but deep down I knew better. It had always been his outlet, one that I watched him write furiously in. Sometimes he had to pause to recalibrate as he was writing – when his thoughts were rushing quicker than his hand, or when something appeared to send a jolt through his emotional body.

Why had he put the book on my pillow? It must have been a mistake.

It was then that I saw the envelope peeking out from the cover. A card? Perhaps. It looked thicker, though, as if there was something else in it.

As I reached for it, I felt the movement. I felt it before I saw him sit on the edge of the bed, with a grin that spread to the corners of his eyes in a happy crinkle.

Pulling out the envelope, I read the title page in the little black book. Our Story. I felt the tears pricking behind my eyes as I looked into his.

“It’s the story of us,” he whispered. “The good, the bad, the average, and the awesome.”

I flung my arms around him, speechless, as he continued. “You’ll find most major stuff in there, and some little things. Kids, milestones, breakthroughs, challenges, brick walls, the breaking of some of those walls…” He winked at me. “We still have some walls to bust.”

“We do,” I managed to say, and winked back. “Hopefully we can smash them faster than we did the others. Thank you, sweetie. I can’t wait to read it. I love it. I love you.”

He motioned to the envelope with his eyes. “Open it.”

It was full of cash. Not just a little bit, but a massive bundle that almost prevented the envelope from sealing. My hands were shaking so much I decided to leave it in there – it would have fluttered all over the bed if I had I tried to hold it.

“Um, how much?”

“Twenty thousand dollars,” he said dramatically, aware that I was perhaps seconds from almost fainting. “One thousand dollars saved for every year we actually survived this shit.” Laughter erupted from both of us.

“What is it for?” I asked. I was pretty sure I knew the answer. We had talked about this for years.

“We’re going to get that caravan and start phase two of our journey. The extra fun one, where we say yes and do the things.” He stood up proudly and held out his hand, in offering. Taking that giant, safe hand was the best gift of all.

“Do the things! Sounds amazing,” I replied, standing on my toes to kiss him before putting my arms around his waist.

“Happy anni, baby,” he breathed into my ear. “Let's go shopping…”