“I said I’m not going!” He yelled
I stayed calm. “And I said I don’t care. You’re going.”
Rage filled his features and his gaze cast about, looking for something to throw. But I’d herded him into the sunroom on purpose. There was nothing in here for him to get his hands on. He wasn’t strong enough to pick up the heavy wicker furniture and he’d never touch the plants. They were his passion.
“I’m a grown man and you can’t tell me what to do!”
Ah. So it was going to be one of those arguments. “Yeah, you are and I can’t,” I agreed. “But this is different. Date night is sacred. We go out, we reconnect and make time for us. We have a deal.”
He opened his mouth but I cut him off before anymore anger could spill out. “You’re drifting. I can feel it. And I won’t let you. Not after six years. I love you.”
The magic words. He crumpled, and sat heavily on the edge of a nearby chaise. Slowly, I closed the distance between us and sat next to him. I didn’t say a word, just let him feel my bigger body and my warmth. Suddenly, he turned and launched himself into my arms. I gathered him in, and held him tightly, like I knew he liked.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice muffled by the skin of my neck.
“I know,” I whispered back. He didn’t handle disappointment well, and he’d been dealt a big one. He was prone to hysterics. I didn’t mind. I’d manage him if he needed me to.
He took a deep breath, and then pulled back so he could see my eyes. “I’m not really up to going out tonight. Instead, can we order from that Italian place we like and talk and then maybe watch a movie and go to bed?”
Sounded like a good compromise to me. I stood, and offered him my hand. “Sure.”
He took it and I pulled him up. When he started to tug me toward the door, I resisted. “You know, you could have just said that.”
His laugh was weak, by he rolled his eyes so I knew he was feeling better. “Yeah but then I wouldn’t be me.”
I grinned and followed him willingly. He was right. And that was fine. Because I loved him.