“Forget about last night, okay?” I say. “Let’s chalk it up to a shanah rishonah mishap, something we’ll tell the grandkids about”
Here’s the thing no one tells you about marriage: It’s just as hard being right as it is being wrong. We come home from Fireside, and Mike apologizes until he’s blue in the face for leaving me hanging, and I eventually finish ranting about how I looked like a complete nebach, sitting alone at a table for two, and how he has to learn to manage his time better. Then the moping begins.
He keeps sighing and running his fingers through his chup, muttering words like “messed up big time” and “only me” ominously, until I’m ready to take all the blame on myself, just to get him to stop. There’s not a lot of talking in the Leiber household tonight, and I go to sleep grumpy and confused, wondering where my birthday celebration went.
But Friday morning dawns sunny and clear and I just feel happy. I stick a pod in the Keurig and spy the gift bags I’d left abandoned on the table. Of course the flowers are in a vase of water, because no matter how upset or tired Mike is, he would never leave flowers out to die.
Presents! I reach for the first and pull out a box. Oh, he remembered! It’s the new Scentify I wanted, the Miami scent. The next bag holds the double flower ring from Molly’s that I’m obsessed with. And in the third, a box of Belgian chocolates, because, hi, Belgian chocolates. I sit back, floored.
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