Victoria’s Diary
January 5, 2017
I don’t even know where to begin with the crazy evening I had tonight.
The night started perfectly. We were at dinner and talking about what sort of wedding we wanted to have. Wedding planning is so fun! I feel like such a girly girl saying something like that, but it is! Adam wants to get married sooner rather than later. He’s really excited about the whole thing. It’s sweet. Carol always talks about how her boyfriend Jeff is terrified of commitment, but Adam is all in.
We agreed we wanted something small. I was nervous that Adam was going to want a huge, extravagant wedding, given the way he likes to throw around money, but he is on the same page as me about keeping it small and simple.
He reached across the candlelit table to take my hand. “I’d be okay with it just being the two of us. Maybe at a courthouse. Or Vegas, if you’d like that better.”
“There’s no family you want to invite?”
Adam winced and let go of my hand. On our third date, he admitted he wasn’t on speaking terms with his parents. That did strike me as a bit odd. My mother died from cancer when I was in middle school, and my father had a heart attack while I was in college. I was an only child, and neither of them had siblings, so that left me without much in the way of family.
I know it sounds stupid, but I always fantasized about marrying a man who had a huge family, so I could finally have that family experience. A mother and father-in-law to replace the mother and father I lost. A brother- in-law or sister-in-law to make up for the siblings I never had. But Adam can’t give me that. He told me he hasn’t spoken to his parents in nearly ten years. He also has a brother that he hates.
“I know you’re angry at them,” I said. “But it’s been a long time. Don’t you think… now that we’re starting a new life, it would be nice to try
to make amends?”
Adam picked up his wine glass and swished around the dark red liquid. “No. I don’t.”
“Well, why not?”
“You just don’t get it.”
“Maybe you can explain it to me.” And then I could explain to him
why he was being stubborn.
He wouldn’t look up from the wine glass. “They never supported me when I said I wanted to become a writer. They told me it was a waste of time. A waste of my life.”
I can understand that. Deciding to become a writer is a gutsy move, and to do it without the support of your family is even harder. “But they must see now how wrong they were!”
He lifted the wineglass and brought it to his lips. He tilted it back until he drained the whole thing. “You would think. But no. Also, they didn’t like my first book.”
“All in the Family?” I had read his first novel years ago, well before he was a part of my life. I tried to recall the plot. All I remembered was loving it—it was an unputdownable thriller. I remember thinking it was deliciously evil. But I was having trouble remembering exactly what happened. “What didn’t they like about it?”
“They thought some of the characters were based on them.” He shrugged. “They felt I had portrayed them unfairly.”
“Were the characters based on them?”
He shrugged again. “When you’re a writer, it’s hard not to draw on your own experiences. So… I suppose I did. To some extent.”
I made a mental note to get a copy of All in the Family and re-read it. Adam had a whole shelf of them in his bookcase in the living room. I could just borrow it. It certainly wouldn’t be a chore to reread. As you know, your father is a brilliant writer.
“Look, Vicky, I know you have this romantic idea about a big family, but my parents are terrible people.” Adam leaned back in his seat. “I’d prefer just to forget all about them. Anyway, we can make our own family. Right?”
My heart leaped in my chest. That was something I had never heard him say before. “What do you mean?” I asked carefully.
“I mean…” He grinned at me. “I was thinking we should start making some babies as soon as possible. What do you think?”
I couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot. Before I met Adam, I never thought about having children. It just seemed so far off the radar. But the second I met him, my first thought was that I wanted this man to be the father of my kids. After all, that’s why I’m writing this.
“I think I could be convinced,” I said coyly. He had definitely gotten me to forget all about his parents.
He winked at me as he filled his glass with more wine. “How many kids do you want?
I got a warm fuzzy feeling in my belly. All of a sudden, I couldn’t wait to get knocked up. “Three?”
His eyes lit up. “You read my mind. Two boys and a girl.”
I laughed. “I don’t know if we have too much control over the boy and girl part.”
“Fine. I won’t be mad if we have three boys.”
And we spent the rest of the meal fantasizing about our future children. It was so dorky yet really fun. We didn’t get too far with the wedding planning, but there’s no pressure there. We’re not going to get married for a little while. And it will be a small wedding, so we can plan it quickly.
Everything was great until we got home.
We couldn’t keep our hands off each other in the elevator. I thought for sure we were going to go straight to the bedroom to, um, go to bed for… sleep. But then Adam made a pitstop in the bathroom and that’s when everything went wrong.
Adam came out of the bathroom, clutching a tube of toothpaste. Correction: his tube of toothpaste. Even though I’ve been living with him for several months now, he has not abandoned his determination that our belongings need to be kept separate. The stuff on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator is still mine and the top shelf is his, and everything in the middle shelf needs to be labeled. He became furious at me last week when I used some of his milk to make cereal. But seriously, why do we need separate milk?
And yes, we also have separate toothpaste. I don’t know why we can’t share the same goddamn tube of toothpaste, but he was adamant about it,
and it seems silly to fight over something so trivial. Adam is a little OCD— it’s just something I need to get used to. It’s almost endearing.
But now he was gripping his toothpaste, labeled in that black marker I’ve come to hate. His face was bright red.
“Did you use my toothpaste?” he asked.
“I…” Okay. There was a chance I might have used his toothpaste this morning. I was feeling groggy and just grabbed the first tube I saw. I didn’t think it was that big a deal. “I don’t think so…”
“So who used it then?” He got closer to me and shook the tube of toothpaste in my face. “Did a burglar come in and use the toothpaste? Because somebody squeezed this tube right in the middle.”
Right. That’s the reason I can’t use his toothpaste. Because I squeeze from the middle instead of from the end. Which is morally wrong.
When I used his milk, I apologized right away. But this was getting ridiculous. After all, we’re going to have children together. And children sometimes squeeze from the middle of the toothpaste tube. Adam had to learn to mellow out. Just a little.
“I think it’s silly that we can’t share a tube of toothpaste,” I said. “It’s just toothpaste, Adam.”
His eyes darkened. “So in a nutshell, you’re not capable of respecting my things. Even though I’m letting you live in my apartment rent-free.”
“Rent-free? We’re engaged.”
“Well, you’re not paying the rent. So I would say you’re living here rent-free.” The toothpaste trembled in his hand. “You couldn’t afford to live here on your own.”
My cheeks burned because he was right. “Fine. I couldn’t afford to live here. But that doesn’t mean we can’t share toothpaste.”
Adam looked down at the tube of toothpaste. He threw it into the trash bin so hard, the sound made me jump. “I’m going to go buy a new tube of toothpaste,” he said.
And then he grabbed his coat and stormed out. He slammed the door so hard when he left that the entire apartment shook.
That was two hours ago. I’ve called him multiple times, and he’s not picking up the phone. I don’t know what the hell is going on. He’s really mad at me. Over toothpaste. We just had a gigantic, blowout fight over toothpaste.
But they say that’s what it’s like having long-term relationships. You fight over silly things. Like changing the toilet paper roll. Or leaving the toilet seat up. Obviously, bathroom-related grievances are common.
I’m crazy about Adam. And yes, the man has his eccentricities. If I want to marry him, I have to accept it. I wish I hadn’t said anything. I should’ve just apologized.
After all, nobody is perfect. Even Mr. Perfect.
