Free The Color of Home: A Novel by Rich Marcello Page B

sure. Maybe work or children get in the way. Or maybe old patterns. There are few people who’ve figured out how to nourish love, or more important, who’ve figured out how to build their love. I can’t name a single couple. Can you?”
    “Slow down for a second. Where’s all this coming from?”
    “I don’t know.”
    The past couple of months had been harder. But ups and downs were normal in any relationship. And they had worked through the downs and ended up in a better place. At least he had thought so. What did she mean about old patterns? “We’ll be okay. I have faith that we’ll figure things out. It has something to do with being completely honest with each other, no matter what the topic or how much the truth hurts. We’ve been doing that, haven’t we?” he asked.
    “Mostly, but lasting fifty years is more complicated.” She stood up, walked over to the kitchen drawer, pulled out a pair of scissors, and returned to the table. Cutting the plastic placemat in front of her, she zigzagged along its width until it was cut in two. “I’ve got this idea about the two halves of a relationship. There’s the old cliché about how one person completes the other; two halves make a whole. I guess it’s popular because it contains some truth. We seemed whole this past year. I do feel like we fit together, which isn’t something I’ve experienced before.” She pushed the placemat back together.
    “Nice prop. We are whole.”
    “Or maybe we’re keeping each other company in a place we don’t belong.”
    Before Sassa, he often thought he was stuck in a place he didn’t belong. But that all changed with her. At least he thought it had. Was it possible that in the euphoria of finally getting unstuck, he hadn’t seen that she still was? “I’m not sure I’m following you.”
    “When people are young, few know who they are. The people you’re drawn to in your twenties are probably not the same people you’d be drawn to at, say, forty-five, once you’ve figured stuff out. In the first case, our case, two halves create a whole. But in the second case, two wholes come together.”
    “Do you want another placemat?”
    “Use your imagination.”
    “For you, fifty years is about being whole before you commit to another person?”
    “Yes.”
    “We’d all be alone for a long time if you’re right.”
    “I guess.”
    “Can’t we help each other get there? Isn’t ninety percent of the solution knowing that we need to get whole first?” What was bringing all of this on? Was she leaving him? He thrummed his fingers on his thighs. He had an empty feeling in his stomach and tried to fill it with multiple sips of coffee.
    “Maybe that’s a way forward, but together probably hurts too much. What will happen to us if you decide you need to explore another romantic relationship? What if I do?”
    “I won’t.”
    “I’m not sure either of us could witness that and handle the fallout.”
    “I couldn’t.” His heart started to race. He folded his arms across his chest. Deep breath. Deep breath. She was leaving.
    “What will happen if we need to explore careers in different parts of the world? How can you know what you like, or need, or love until you’ve crossed over a few lines and had to take a few steps backwards? The best way to figure out who you are is to experiment, and emotional experiments are best done alone.” Her eyes went wet.
    With change? With loss? He stood up, hulked over to the window, and peered out. On the street, men in suits and women in killer dresses and sneakers moved silently away from their homes. A garbage truck worked down the street, efficiently removing the trash. “So you want me to let go of the single best relationship I’ve ever had and trust that we’ll get back together someday? Did I get that right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is there someone else?”
    “No.”
    A wave of relief, but only for a second. His chest swelled to that place right before the spin out, right