I’m fuming. So upset that I am crying and sniffling back watery snot. Conchita, my Dominican and very hood alter-ego who pulls stunts like drunk texting, Facebook stalking and, well, just stalking, is trying to breakthrough. Revenge is her postre. She enjoys it so much she licks her fingers when done.
“Do you want to talk about it some more?” Boo asks.
“No, not now,” I reply solemnly. After a discussion about money, I have so much to say but don’t know where to begin.
We get home and I start cooking. I’m keeping myself busy; besides, I won’t starve myself or him. Although I can see how a cooking strike can make a point regarding the money issues Boo and I are working through. I am not “working” but taking care of Evan, cleaning and, yes, cooking is a job that I’m not getting paid for. He doesn’t necessarily see it that way. Maybe if I stop fulfilling my daily duties it’ll prove my point.
I shake my head. That’s not me talking, that’s Conchita again. So I focus on dinner and later, remove myself from the situation. I go to our bedroom and watch an episode of Lovesick, an awesome British comedy on Netflix about dating, love and sex (my forte). But I can’t concentrate. Too much on my mind. I have to unleash it but don’t want to cause World Word III at Casa Escudero. At least not without an exit strategy.
“I’ll write it down,” I say to myself. I’m a writer, writing is what I do and who I am. When I put pen to paper or finger to computer keypad, I release every bit of emotion that I’ve suppressed.
I go to my phone to text Boo, who is watching sports in the living room, how I feel. I start texting…then stop. Texting? Really? I can’t just go and say my peace? I have to be a coward and hide behind a keypad?
Yes, cowardice. That’s what it really means when couples argue over text. It’s like liquid courage; you can mouth off and speak your truth when drunk but when sober (in this case, you’re face to face) you don’t say shit.
I don’t want to be that person, that couple. When I was single I emphasized the importance of communication in relationships. I expressed my need to share my feelings with my partner – no matter what. So I throw my iPhone across the bed and pickup a notebook instead. I’m not writing Boo a letter, I’m jotting down 3 words to help guide our conversation.
I close my notepad feeling satisfied and decide to speak to Boo the next morning. I return to Lovesick, and in that moment I feel a like myself again.