Our Marriage Is Becoming Fine Art

As the week went by, I started to have a reservation or two about what was going on in Pennsylvania. Lauren kept telling me how great it was to be with Lindsay, how great Carson was, how it was really good she had gone out there because of all she could do for Lindsay, how welcoming all of Lindsay’s friends were to her, how the RA had given her entry privileges, and on and on. On Friday, she shifted her base of operations to Grant and Katy’s house. She stayed overnight, then accompanied Katy to one of Grant’s practices.

Then messages flowed in about how Coach Bowers was so happy to see her and kids need these visits, and Grant and Katy were sad she wasn’t staying longer, and they sometimes feel that their apartment is too big for them and it feels much better when she is there. I thought Lauren would get on the road around noon and be home to watch the NCAA men’s wrestling finals at 7 pm. By 1:45 pm, I had heard nothing and was becoming convinced that she wasn’t coming home at all.

Alas, at 2 pm, after I sent a plaintive cry of Am I ever seeing you again?, she hit the road. Her arrival home ignited a joyous reunion. But not with me. Or even Graham. Don’t get me wrong—we were happy to see her. But someone else was the happiest.

Take a moment to reflect, readers. We had no dog for twenty-two years of marriage because of Lauren’s allergies and her distaste for animals (Dobby is hypoallergenic). It’s possible Dobby is the only thing that brought her home.

Saturday evening, I finally finished a short story I had been working on for a couple weeks. I posted it. Lauren read it Sunday morning. As we drove to Church, we discussed it.

“The part I liked best about it was stuff not in dialogue. Like the part about the guy who thinks he is smarter than the park guides and is trying to impress his kids but just annoys everyone. That’s so relatable.”

It’s so relatable to Lauren because that guy is me. She also wanted the mother to be on her phone more and text her friends about how the main character talks too much, which makes me rethink what Lauren is doing on her phone when we are on long car rides and I am talking.

At one point, I laughed and said, “This is truly fascinating. None of what you’re saying has anything to do with what I am after in the story. I’m not offended. It’s just really interesting.”

“I don’t know. There’s too much dialogue. And you like to teach in your stories. But I like the average relatable stuff.”

“I’m not teaching. I’m depicting. But all good.”

This was a big moment for us. Normally discussion of my serious writing leaves us both aggravated; I feel trivialized and misunderstood, and she feels I invalidate her opinion. Twenty-five years of marriage, and we have had so much growth this week alone!

While Lauren may not think my work is art at its finest, we do agree on some forms of art. Brayden kind of went ham with his depictions of Dobby and rendered all these. And here I tip my cap and surrender. These are art.

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