I stared at him.
“When did you learn that?”
“Last week.”
For one second, I nearly laughed.
“Adrian.”
“I know.”
“Fifteen years later and you’re doing the same thing.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You have.”
“You knew for a week and said nothing.”
He nodded.
“You’re right.”
“What happens if you lose this job?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
“Then say that.”
He looked at me.
“I’m scared.”
Simple.
Almost embarrassingly simple.
I waited.
He continued.
“I’m fifty now.”
“I don’t want to start interviewing again.”
“I don’t want to sit in another library sending resumes.”
“I don’t want to feel like that twenty-something man again.”
“I’m afraid if work changes, our retirement plans change.”
“I’m afraid you’ll think I should have seen it coming.”
I sat beside him at the transit stop.
“I might worry.”
“I know.”
“I might even get upset.”
“I know.”
“But you don’t get to protect our marriage by removing me from reality.”
He nodded.
“That is not protection.”
“No.”
“It’s control.”
That word hurt him.
Good.
It needed to.
We stopped at a diner before going home.
Neither of us wanted to sit in our living room surrounded by avocado socks and emotional devastation.
Halfway through dinner, Adrian’s phone buzzed.
He glanced at the notification.
Then immediately placed the phone facedown.
I watched.
Old reflex.
Hide the problem.
Manage it alone.
He saw my expression.
“It’s from work.”
“Okay.”
“About the restructuring.”
I waited.
He picked up the phone.
Opened the email.
Then handed it to me.
No final decision.
Leadership review scheduled Monday.
Several teams potentially affected.
Nothing certain.
Adrian looked at me.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“What if they cut me?”
“Then we deal with it.”
“What if I’m unemployed for months?”
“Then you’re unemployed for months.”
“What if—”
“Adrian.”
He stopped.
“You do not have to turn every bad possibility into a secret.”
He breathed out.
“I’m trying.”
“Try out loud.”
That made him smile.
A real one.
Small.
Tired.
But real.
When we returned home, the mystery-box mess was still everywhere.
The dentist mug.
Charging cables.
Socks.
That enormous T-shirt.
The empty old package.
Adrian placed the shoes on the coffee table.
We sat beside them.
I asked:
“Do you know what bothers me most?”
“That I lied.”
“No.”
“That you decided what version of reality I was allowed to live in.”
