“Sometimes, I’m not even sure you know I exist.”

“Have you forgotten last night? You left me completely on my own, and you know how I hate strange crowds. You get around your buddies and I’m a nobody. It’s like I don’t exist. It’s like I’m not important at all. Then that comment about women.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“I’m not going to have a marriage like your parents. Your mother took it all those years, but not me. I don’t want us to look like that in 30 years.”

“So why were you so late last Thursday night?”

“You could have at least called.”

“The whole evening?”

“Well, what kind of work were you doing? I thought the project was over? And you were so short with me when I asked about it.”

“As many times as it takes.”

“Please don’t call me honey. Not now.”

“I guess you think that will make up for everything.”

“Do you really mean it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve just been so distant.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m still here.”

“You just work all the time. You’re gone so much.”

“You sounded so upset.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Well, I’ve wanted to try that new place on Main.”

“Tonight?”

“Okay. If that’s what you want. I’ll wear it.”

“A misunderstanding? Are you kidding? Why do you make so little of it? You’re trying to minimize this whole thing again! Can’t you understand? Don’t you see how it affects me? How it makes me feel?”

“Okay.”

Hanging up the phone, she glanced out the window.

‘Hmmmmmm,’ she thought.

REX ALPHIN of Walters is a farmer, businessman, author, county supervisor and contributing columnist for The Tidewater News. His email address is rexalphin@aol.com.