He confided in me, “I’m having a mid-life crisis. I think I’m going to leave my wife.”
I had worked a long day. It was my second happy hour destination. Even though I’d had several drinks, my eyes widened in surprise. The man sitting next to me at Ozumo had opened up after we’d been chatting for half an hour. He was Indian, 40, and had been married for 10 years. He had told his wife it wasn’t working. She had pleaded with him to stay. It was a year since they had had that talk. It still wasn’t working.
I felt it was my duty to set him straight. “I don’t know what else you’re looking for, but I know this for sure. You have been together for 10 years. No one knows you better than she does. No one will ever love you the way your wife loves you.” It’s the same mantra I myself repeat every night before I go to bed. I sob, “No one will ever love me the way Dave loved me.” I’m not ‘over Dave.’ I still love him, I’m still in love with him, and I was with the guy for eight months…not even a year.
When I come home at night buzzed, I think how Dave would reprimand lovingly, “You shouldn’t drink so much. I don’t want you to drink so much. Can you try?”
The guy from happy hour patted my back. “You’re a nice girl. You have good insights. My wife has the heart of Mother Teresa. She looks like an Indian Elizabeth Hurley. But once you fall out of love, that’s it.”
My heart sunk, but even then, I bounced back immediately. “Are your parents still married?” They were. “Why do you think your parents are still married?” He shrugged. “BECAUSE THEY MADE IT WORK!” I said it forcefully with conviction because I knew it to be absolutely true.
He added, “Maybe if we had kids, I wouldn’t even consider leaving. But we don’t.” My heart sunk even deeper. If I get married, do I need to have kids to ward off divorce? I was beside myself.
He was as well. “I hear what you’re saying, but once you fall out of love. That’s the end.”
He left. I sulked and grabbed for the bottle of beer.