Serious Roommate Problems

By Paul Arata

Serious Roommate Problems is the story of a man’s desperate attempt to save his marriage by writing the story telling his wife how he first met and fell in love with her. Pete Dominico’s narrative set in Brooklyn in the early 1990’s offers a dive into the complex urban social issues young people face every day. It follows Pete Dominico’s journey moving into the black neighborhood of Fort Greene a couple of years after being mugged and stabbed by an African American crack addict in New Jersey. The story follows how Pete meets and falls in love with Holly while he is caught in the middle of a dispute between his two Jamaican roommates that gets crazier and more complicated every day. The story highlights how relationships blossom with the excitement of attraction and personal chemistry and illuminates the breakdown of relationships because of men and women’s wildly dissimilar perspectives on love and commitment both when they are single and when they are married. This is the first novel of a two-part series with the second part of Serious Roommate Problems following the relationship when they move to Portland Oregon and Pete must adjust to life with Holly’s colorful western family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664185487

Paul Arata

to be followed

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Copyright © 2021 by Paul Arata.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/13/2021

Xlibris

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This novel, Serious Roommate Problems, is dedicated to my son, Jacob Arata, who motivated me to finish this novel that I started twenty years ago when he was two years old. There were many times when I quit this writing project as life often gets in the way from completing your dreams, but Karen Parziale has always been there for me contributing her time and editing talents to make sure I finished this novel. There are several other people who contributed to the editing and content review of this novel including Caren Lissner, Alan Gerstle, Wendy Ganon, and Peter Bonastia. There are a number of other people who supported me in my efforts to complete this novel as well as the writing of the upcoming second portion of this series of Pete Dominico novels. I can’t thank them enough for helping me pursue my lifelong dream of being a published writer.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1     Flooded

Chapter 2     Living the Good Life

Chapter 3     Serious Roommate Problems

Chapter 4     The Joys of Fatherhood

Chapter 5     Cruising with the Boys

Chapter 6     A Big Favor

Chapter 7     Desperate Measures

Chapter 8     Some Dinner and Some Drinks

Chapter 9     Tenderness

Chapter 10   The Burn

Chapter 11   Catfights Deep in the Night

Chapter 12   Blood in the Kitchen

Chapter 13   My Savage Nightmares

Chapter 14   Black Sheep out in the Streets

Chapter 15   The Real Superfly Saves the Day

Chapter 16   Dealing with Conflict

Chapter 17   Now That’s Harassment

Chapter 18   Saying Farewell to Holly

Chapter 19   Our New Landlord

Chapter 20   The Mediation

Chapter 21   A Call from Oregon

CHAPTER 1

Flooded

Jesus Christ, how did I ever end up in this weird, little town? I mumbled to myself for at least the eighteenth time today, and it was not even five o’clock. Portland, Oregon, has to be the most maddening place in the entire fucking world. Everything was just too politically correct, and nobody ever said what was on their mind. Holly, my wife of four years, brought us from New Jersey to her beautiful rain-drenched hometown a year after we were married. But since then, nothing, and I mean nothing, was working out.

I parked my Dodge Intrepid halfway around the circle at the end of the cul-de-sac where my marriage counselor had his home office. It was on the only upscale street in blue-collar Cumberland—just outside Portland’s eastern city limits. I ran out of the car and took a few quick strides so as not to have the wrath of the counselor and Holly come down on me when I realized I had left the book in the back seat. It was called Why Marriages Succeed or Fail and was the counselor’s bible. I bet he had a shrine to it somewhere in his bedroom where he could worship the wisdom it contained. I grabbed the book and ran past the rose garden and down the short flight of steps by the side door.

I barged into the room a little too suddenly. My 6’2 220-pound former college running back frame startled the sensibilities of our diminutive, middle-aged marriage counselor for a second. No whining. No lectures about being late. But the room was uncomfortably quiet. Charles Honeywell, a former high school teacher from Southern California, was doing a bad job hiding a scowl on his fifty-five-year-old jowly face. Charles looked so small in his armchair. I wondered how anyone could take the guy seriously. He was leaning back in his leather chair looking silently at my wife. Holly had that bored, cynical expression on her face again, but I still felt seduced by her cute, round Irish face and her long light brown hair as she sat at the far end of the couch. She was wearing her tight jeans and a blouse open to the second button, which did a great job of accentuating her hourglass figure. Was that to make me beg for forgiveness, or was she trying to impress upon her co-workers that she was available? She didn’t say hello. She didn’t kiss me. She just blankly looked at me with her big, brown eyes and then glanced at her watch. I sat down across the couch from her. Alright, what’s going on with her, now?" I mumbled.

Honeywell looked up at me imperiously.

Well, now that you’re here, Pete, we might as well go right into where we left off last week and see if we can make any progress. I hope you had a chance to study the book and answer the questions from the exercise that I gave you.

Homework time. Like fourth grade. Honeywell gave us an assignment at the end of every chapter. Our answers to these questions were supposed to tell us why we were having problems. Talk about Psych 101. This was more like Psych 001.

I hated this book with a passion with its endless stream of questions that were meant to dissect one’s marriage so our issues would come to the surface. Only up until this point we never actually discussed how we were supposed to solve anything.

I looked at my answers from the end of chapter 4, entitled, Your Private Thoughts Become Cast in Stone. Holly avoided my glance. I tried to catch her eyes and managed to glance at her cleavage. She noticed my attention, and I quickly raised my gaze to her eyes. She didn’t make eye contact. Instead, she just looked at her copy of the book sitting in her lap. I tried to lighten up Holly with an exasperated look at my book, catching her glance at me and letting her know not to take this too seriously. It apparently didn’t work. She ignored me and burrowed her head in the book like she was studying for a final exam.

Oh Jesus, Holly had that scary look again, which meant she had answered the questions, and her answers were basically going to indicate that our relationship was doomed. So far all the weekly sessions over the last month had been a grand rehash of our problems without any suggestions for resolution. Little know-it-all prick Honeywell with his smug little grin. When was he ever going to recommend that Holly move back in with me so that we could actually try to work things out? This is all bullshit, I thought.

I glared down again at the answers I had scribbled down last night on the page in front of me and felt the familiar sense of dread bringing me back to the painful memories of flunking out of Princeton in my junior year.

So Pete, why don’t you read paragraph five out loud, and then we can go over your answers to the questions. There was that irritating false enthusiasm in his voice.

Do we really have to read them out loud? It feels like I’m back in junior high school. Don’t you feel that way, Holly?

Holly looked at me with that deer in the headlights look that she had adopted since about two months after having our baby and then turned her glance away.

This is important. I think you should read this section aloud before we go over the last set of questions for today. the counselor said.

I looked at Holly again and saw that she was just not responsive to any normal conversation, and I returned my gaze to the counselor, who had now gone into his college professor mode by leaning back into his leather desk chair.

Okay, I said, and began reading out loud, trying not to be too mundane and putting some kind of feeling into the words. How did things get so bad? Remember that if your inner script is dominated by thoughts that exacerbate your negative feelings rather than soothe, you are likely to be flooded in response to your spouse’s defensiveness, anger, stonewalling, etc. These negative feelings form a sort of feedback, creating symptoms of flooding like increased heart rate and flow of adrenaline, and the more your body feels flooded, the less you are able to soothe yourself and see the situation calmly. Instead, your thoughts and emotions contribute even more to the sense of being overwhelmed. Over time you become conditioned to look and react to negatives in your spouse and your marriage. This becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: the more you expect and search for negatives, the more likely you are to find them, and to highlight the significance in your mind.

Ain’t that the truth? I thought out loud. Holly looked at me.

Well, isn’t it? I said, correcting my grammar. Charles was giving me this austere look of disapproval as well. I was waiting for the counselor to come up with some profound statement that would at least indicate that Holly might be feeling this way, but he just continued to peer over his reading glasses with this profound look of displeasure.

Are you still taking your medication, Pete?

I stared back at him in disbelief. He looked at me like I was a juvenile delinquent in high school that he was about to send to the principal’s office. I guess I’m supposed to be the obedient little schoolboy in your presence. God, this is so useless, I thought.

The counselor had recommended that I take an antidepressant last month. Per his recommendation, I went to my gastroenterologist, and he gave me a prescription. I was seeing him for the little ulcers in my esophagus that were getting much worse lately. My doctor didn’t think the prescription was necessary but mentioned that the dosage prescribed would probably not affect me too much.

Yes, I am, I said, trying to resume my straightforward demeanor. And I wash them down with 100 proof vodka.

Silence. Holly just looked at me, blankly taking her queue from Charles. This guy has absolutely no sense of humor. And he doesn’t understand sarcasm. But then again, nobody in Portland does. Why does everything have to be so serious? What the fuck am I doing here in this godforsaken state? The counselor just gave me that same condescending look of displeasure before he plowed through with the exercise.

Do you want to continue, Holly? he said, trying to engage Holly.

Okay, Holly said with that same look of tired exasperation. She read the section subtitle, The Distance and Isolation Cascade. If flooding goes on abated, the results for a marriage are disastrous. Flooding is the driving force behind the final Distance and Isolation Cascade. This cascade is comprised of four stages that people seem to go through in withdrawing from a marriage.

Holly hesitated seeing if what she read got a reaction from me.

Holly, please continue, the counselor said in his best professor-like voice.

Holly looked down and started reading again, First Stage: You see Your Marital Problems As Severe. Most couples would admit that their union is far from perfect, but once you perceive your problems as virtually impossible to fix obstacles, you’ve turned a dangerous corner. Has your marriage reached this unfortunate point?

Holly’s eyes dropped when reading the final line. She once again kept her eyes down and wouldn’t engage when I looked in her direction.

Okay, let’s see how we did on these questions. Now in the last section, Pete, you answered just about all no’s, and Holly you answered mostly yeses.

Then Honeywell summarized how we did on the questionnaire. He paraphrased what the book scoring indicated, saying if you answered yes to more than five of these questions, you have a very negative view of your marital difficulties.

Most people who score at this level are either hostile/engaged, meaning that there’s a great deal of negativity, but you still interact, or hostile/detached, meaning the hostility has reached such huge proportions that you avoid each other as much as possible. Charles continued reading directly from the book.

Alright, I thought, now we’re finally getting somewhere.

Charles looked directly at Holly. As long as you see your problems as severe, you may be stymied in your attempts to resolve them.

No kidding! I thought. That’s why Holly was not moving back in with me. Alright, Charles, please explain to her that it was her attitude that was preventing us from making any progress.

Holly started to look down at the answers on her page, and I could see some tears on her cheeks.

What’s the matter, Holly? I asked her.

That’s how I feel all the time. This is exactly how you make me feel, and I can’t take it anymore.

What do you mean?

It means I’ve had it. This just confirms it. What are we trying for? It says it right here that if we’re feeling this way, then we’re in serious trouble.

Well, no kidding we’re in serious trouble I said. That’s why we’re seeing a freaking counselor.

But why should we see a counselor if it’s not worth fixing? I don’t want to argue. Do you understand me? I’m sick of always arguing over everything. I just want peace and quiet.

But how are we going to fix anything if you’re not willing to try to work things out? I said, almost happy to be getting some kind of reaction from Holly.

Work things out. You mean argue and fight.

It’s not always fighting. Why do you think that everything I say is a fight? I’m telling you; you don’t even know what arguing is. My parents, they fought like cats. Now that’s fighting, but somehow they worked things out.

Well, I don’t want to fight like cats. Do you get that?

Well, do you want to work things out?

Not with you.

But Holly.

I don’t want to argue.

But why don’t we just try something different? We can try some other way to hash things out, I said trying to take the conversation in another direction.

It’s too late. Like they say in this book, I don’t want to argue anymore. I’m flooded. Now, I’m leaving. Okay. Thank you for the session, doctor.

He’s not a doctor, Holly. He’s just a counselor. I said, looking at Charles to see if he was pissed off.

Pete, I don’t care what he is. I’ve had enough, all right! Holly started to get up off the couch and reached for her pocketbook.

Now, Holly, let’s set a time where we can work things out. I can see you’re flooded right now, the counselor said meekly trying to calm the situation.

I just don’t want to work things out! Do you understand?

But Holly.

Don’t But Holly me. Do you hear me, I’ve had it! Now I’m leaving! Holly started leaving the office. I’m just leaving, okay.

Holly, I said, trying to reach for her arm.

Do not touch me! Do you understand?

All right, I understand, but you’re not giving me a chance.

I don’t care. I’ve had enough! You never really loved me anyway! This has all been a big waste of time, she said angrily her tears becoming visible on her face.

What are you talking about? I love you. Don’t you know that?

No, I don’t. I don’t believe anything from you.

Well, I do. I’ve always loved you.

No, you haven’t. I’ve never been good enough or hot enough for you. That’s what you said to me.

That’s not what I said. And I got over that a long time ago. I love you now. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?

No, not anymore. Don’t you get that? I don’t want to argue! Holly said, breaking down crying again, and stepped to the door. Now I’m going, okay.

You’re leaving?

Yes, and I don’t want to come back to any more of this.

Holly, I got up and tried to grab her hand.

Don’t. I’m leaving. Holly ran out the door with tears coming from her eyes, angry at losing her self-control.

I followed her out the door and tried to touch her hand again. Holly, I was just—

Don’t touch me! Holly turned around, pushing away my hand ferociously. You never loved me! You never really loved me, and that’s all that matters!

Holly, what are you talking about? I love you. I’ve always loved you.

I don’t want to hear it.

I chased after her as she scampered away into the front of the house toward her car at the side of the road.

Holly, why are you going?

I just don’t want to try anymore. It just makes me miserable.

But just give me---

Let her go, the counselor said coldly. He was standing by the back door of the house, interrupting before I could finish. It’s too late.

It’s not too late! I said, turning around to address him. Holly took advantage of that moment of confusion to quickly get into her black Volkswagen Jetta.

I looked at Holly start up her car. At least it wasn’t before you had her keeping score adding up every fucking negative feeling she ever had about me.

Please do not curse in my office.

Fuck you, I said, watching Holly’s car leave the cul-de-sac with Holly not even looking back as she sped away.

I looked at my wife speed away down the street and realized that this turn of events might really be the end of our marriage.

Well, there’s nothing else we can do now, It’s a shame. So, you might as well be going as well, and we will try to figure things out later.

What an asshole, I thought. Yeah, you got what you wanted too.

Fine, I’ll leave. But your bippety-bop little marriage counseling by the numbers games just ruined any chance of us getting back together again. The only thing you’ve done is to convince her that our problems are too far gone. This is all your fucking fault!

Now, don’t blame this on me. This is the best I can do. I’m using the most effective techniques I’m aware of.

This is the best you can fucking do? Well, that’s what I get for a discount counselor. If I had any money I would have found a real fucking psychologist, not some wannabe like you.

That’s enough. You can just leave now if you can’t act civil.

Oh, fuck your civility. What good has it done?

You can just leave now, please. I’d say we’re done for today.

Yes, we’re done for good. Don’t you understand that? My fucking marriage is over. Done, kaput, and it’s all your fucking fault!

Please don’t curse any more out in the street so my neighbors can hear it. Now if you keep this up, I’ll call the police on you.

Go ahead, call the fucking cops. What are you going to say? Arrest this guy for cursing!

Now you can leave right now, or we’ll find out what --

What an incredible fucking weenie you are? What kind of psychologist doesn’t allow cursing? That’s right. You’re not even a fucking psychologist. You’re just an educator. And you probably sucked at that.

Alright, are you done? Just leave now.

Fine, I’ll leave already. But, you know, I’m going to try my own techniques to save my fucking marriage.

Really, and what would your techniques be?

I fumbled for a second and managed to spit out the words, Well, all this shit about compatibility is not what marriage is all about. It’s about love. Love and passion, you moron. I took a few steps over to my car. And I’m going to write to her.

Really, you can write? I would never have guessed it.

Yes, I do have a Princeton degree. Where did you get yours? By responding to an ad in the back of a magazine and sending in a hundred bucks. I looked at Charles as he stood there quiet for a couple seconds, and his professorial demeanor turned into a look of anger.

I stammered for a quick second, saying, I, well....

Charles looked at me again with a look of doubt and then arrogance in his eyes, dismissing me.

I took a deep breath, and it felt like I was back in the schoolyard facing down a bully.

I have this story about how we first met that I wrote in a class I took at NYU, and I’m going to give it to her so she can really see how I feel about her. It’s got to work better than this.

Well, good luck. the counselor said with a look of annoyance, I think we’re finished here.

Yeah, I’d say so. For all the fucking good it did me.

CHAPTER 2

Living the Good Life

I strode over to my green Dodge Intrepid, noticing the ugly dent in the rear panel behind the back wheel. It wasn’t fixed yet. I didn’t think it was at the top of my to-do list. I jumped into the car, turned the key, and sped around the circle of the cul-de-sac, whizzing past the counselor. I looked back to see him turning around anxiously, then I floored it down the street. The car was my home, the only constant in my life since everything else was spinning out of control.

Picking it up nearly to fifty after a couple blocks, I jammed on the brake. The inevitable Portland four-way stop was at the corner.

I never loved her. Can you believe that shit? I never fucking loved her? I smacked my hand against the horn to signal for an old guy in his pickup to go first. After all we’ve been through with the baby and everything else. What the fuck is this old geezer doing?

A white-haired man in a baseball cap, deep creases in his face, had driven his truck through the intersection and stopped halfway through the intersection. Instead of continuing, he waved for me to go instead.

You got here first, partner, would you please move your fat ass already? Yes, you. He was playing the Portland waiting game. He was determined to demonstrate how downright courteous and friendly he really was. Aww, shucks.

Portland was so annoying. Everybody so scared to take the initiative. Drive like grannies. You’d think this whole town was on ludes. The old man kept waving at me insisting I take my turn. Jesus, how the fuck did I get into this mess?

I thought about just flooring it around the corner to appease the old guy, when the same movie scene repeated itself in my mind.

You never really loved me. You never really loved me, and that’s all that really matters. Like some Old Testament god sealing my fate forever.

What did I do to deserve this? Holly’s angry voice came back saying, I’ve never been good enough or hot enough for you. That’s what you said.

What I really said was that I’ve had hotter. I remembered the conversation from several years ago while sitting in bed naked in our well furnished apartment in Jersey City reading this book illustrating fifty sex positions that Holly had purchased to spark our sex life. After three or four sessions following the diagrams of this book trying new and seemingly unnatural positions, she asked if I still found her attractive. Of course, I said, looking at her perfect full breasts and then catching her eyes while looking at her pretty face, I find you very sexy. You know that. Come on, I said, crawling across the bed and grabbing her below her arms, lifting her up off the bed and on top of me.

Pete! What are you doing?

I put her down, so her legs were straddled on top of me.

So, what are we doing, now?

Just try it on top. Women like you who like to be in control always cum when they’re on top.

So, you think I’m a control freak?

No, I just think that you like it better on top.

I do, but why can’t I come?

Let’s try it, okay.

I just don’t understand why you say every other woman you’ve ever been with comes but I just can’t.

Now come on, I don’t know about every woman I’ve been with. I just know about the ones who’ve told me they came.

So, all of these other women told you they came. And you believed them?

Yes, but it was pretty obvious that they did.

Really?

Yes, after some serious sex, they usually cum. Really Holly, why don’t you just try it on top?

Holly pushed off from her straddling position and walked away across the room.

Face it, you just don’t find me sexy anymore. You used to just about attack me when you came home from work. Now, you barely notice me.

Barely notice you. Really, Holly?

Well, that’s how I feel.

Well, this fucking book ain’t helping the situation.

Well, tell me, do you find me as sexy as those other girls who told you how awesome you were and came all over you?

Well, I looked at her and said, I don’t know. Maybe they seemed to enjoy it more than you do.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy it! she said, more than a little annoyed. I love having sex with you. I just can’t cum, you know, during the actual sex part, and I don’t know why. she said her face looking really distressed, but I was happy to see her climb back on the bed. There was an awkward silence and I just looked at her.

So, were they hotter than me in bed?

I didn’t say anything.

Well, were they? She said, her eyes pleading with me.

Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve had hotter. Holly started to cry.

But it doesn’t really matter to me. I jumped up across the bed and kissed her passionately. Let’s forget about the book and get to business. You still turn me on big time. You know that. You know I love you, don’t you? I grabbed her hand and pulled her close kissing her again.

Yes, but tell me again.

I held her arms outstretched above her head by the western motif cast iron headboard of our queen size bed and kissed her again. I love you lots.

Pete, what are you doing? Holly asked laughing while fighting against the grip of my hands.

I looked at her full breasts jiggling as she fought back as I grabbed her hands putting my fingers in between hers and continued to hold her tight.

Pete! Holly said giving me a mischievous look while wrapping her legs around me. I noticed my penis getting large again.

"So, how about this position? I asked.

Okay. she said laughing.

So, it was an honest response to her question about how I felt about our sex life. Yes, I have had hotter. She wasn’t happy about my response then, either, but I didn’t think that admitting that I’ve had hotter would come back to haunt me like this. The fact that she was really going to divorce me was really sinking in. The intense pain at the top of my head descended upon my shoulders and rested on my chest.

I heard a honk. It was the old man in the pickup truck, and he was still waiting, but it didn’t matter. I would stay here forever if I had to. My car would become a time machine, and I’d sit in it, watching the eons pass. Why not? Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing in my life was working. The earth could open up and swallow me, and no one would notice. I was so tired of having to be someplace and having to get there as fast as I could. It just did not fucking matter anymore.

The good old boy in the baseball cap honked again and then finally made his turn down the hill. You never really loved me, and that’s all that really matters. I swallowed hard trying to get rid of the vile taste in my mouth. There was no escape from the guilt that I felt for creating this train wreck out of what was a perfectly happy marriage. The image of the baby car seat in the rearview mirror brought me back. Yes, I did have something to do. I was still a dad after all. I had to pick up my son over at Holly’s parents’ apartment. I made the right hand turn down the hill toward downtown Cumberland. I looked at either side of the street. Just abandoned warehouses and factory buildings of a once thriving lumber town. Now, downtown Cumberland is a ghost town, the perfect environment for a ghost like me to live in. What happened to me? Jesus, how the hell did I get into this mess?

Yes, how did this whole mess get started? The memory of how I got that little dent in the back of the car a few months ago brought things back into focus. Back in Portland, did I smack the car into the concrete beam in the underground garage intentionally? Was that some sort of death wish? Some self-sabotage maneuver to make sure I wouldn’t get the job I had just interviewed for. Over the last month, I seemed to have developed a habit of seeing through obstacles in the road. It was as though they were invisible until the last possible moment when I would barely manage to avoid them. Twice I wasn’t so lucky. A day before that accident in the parking garage, I roared out of the long narrow driveway of our triplex apartment in reverse and smacked into the bumper of a neighbor’s truck. Not only that. I pulled the same maneuver on consecutive days.

So, back to that night when I got the dent. Holly had picked up Jason at the daycare, and we had a quiet dinner. I told her about the interview, and Holly listened to me as I described the job as being better than the place I’m working in now.

Well, that doesn’t take much. Pete, you just have to get out of there. All this pressure is killing you. Can’t you see that? You’re just a mess.

After dinner, Holly didn’t say much. She started the dishes after dinner, and I was giving my eighteen-month-old son his bath, but this time Jason just started to cry uncontrollably in the tub. I was feeling sorry for myself thinking about how I was going to explain to Holly about the latest episode down at the skittery start-up telecom company where I was trying to make a living, and my son decides he doesn’t like baths anymore.

That afternoon, my sales manager told me that I was on probation, and I had a month to get my sales back up to their ridiculous quota levels or I was toast. Promises of big fat commission checks for top performers during the interview process didn’t seem so alluring anymore. But I was so sure I would rise to the challenge and be one of their big moneymakers. Yeah, I was always chasing that big money sales dream.

Then there was the fact that I hadn’t told Holly about putting the dent in the car. It was getting way too much to handle. I tried making funny faces at Jason, but I couldn’t stop him from crying, so I just started crying myself, and the tears just didn’t stop right away. Holly came into the bathroom with a bewildered look. I decided to speak before she could.

Holly, I dented the car again on my way back from the job interview, I said through my tears, trying to pull myself together.

You dented the car again? What’s the matter with you, Pete? You know we just can’t fucking afford any more of these kinds of fucking problems!

I know that, I said, surprised to hear Holly cursing. I straightened myself up and pulled Jason out of the tub and into a towel.

You know that? Yeah, that solves everything. You KNOW that. Have you seen our bills lately? We’re not going to be able to pay for another dent. There’s no money! We can’t pay our credit card bills as it is. Do you understand that? We’re fucking broke!

Yeah, believe me, I’m not happy about it either?

I just can’t take it anymore! she said. I don’t know how we’re going to make it. You can’t lose this job and put us on unemployment again! Do you understand that?

Yeah, that’s loud and clear, Holly. I put Jason’s pacifier in his mouth and tried to bounce him so that he would stop his high-pitched howls. Holly pulled him out of my arms.

Let me take care of him. You’re just a mess tonight. Come on, Jay. Now there, calm down. Mommy’s here, she said, looking at me sharply.

Why couldn’t you just keep that last job? Everything was going great, and somehow you managed to get fired and screw up everything.

I didn’t get fired. I was their top fucking salesman. I got laid off.

Right, whatever, I still can’t believe you took this job working for this psycho bitch.

Psycho bitch? I looked at Holly a little startled at her using my expressions.

Well, isn’t that what you call her? You knew this was going to happen? You must have known it, but you took this job anyway. It’s always how you can make big money. You’re such a sucker for that pitch, and now you’ll just have to find another job with some fucking stability, or you can just forget it. Do you hear me? I’ve had it with this life!

Three weeks later, Holly was still in that same mode. It just never stopped.

She was screaming, I just can’t take it anymore! It was like her mantra.

You know the last time you were on unemployment, I had to almost empty my 401(k) to pay the credit card bills.

You did what? Why didn’t you tell me that?

Why didn’t you ask me how we got the bills paid?

Well shit, how much of your 401(k) did you use?

Almost $3,000.

Jesus, why didn’t you just ask your dad for a loan? He would have done it. Or I could have asked mine.

Because that’s how I was raised. You know they never gave me a cent for college.

The Marlboro Man never paid a cent for your college?

No, not a cent, and my mother stood by him.

Yeah, while he was spending all his money on booze!

It doesn’t matter. I had to pay for everything through student loans. He told me that’s what he had to do to pay for college? So, why would they give me money now?

Because you have a baby, that’s why. Why are you being so fucking proud? Why is it so hard for you to ask for some help?

Because I’m not like you. I don’t want to ask for help. Do you understand me?

Right, you know this is just a tough time. We’ll get over it. I’m calling my parents tomorrow. You know, we’ve already been through some hard times, and we got through them.

Holly was looking at me with this bitter scowl on her face that I wasn’t used to seeing. Well, didn’t we?

Yeah, and I thought the tough times were over. Why can’t you just buckle down and get a solid job? I’m telling you; I’ve had it with this sales life! You hear me? Do you fucking hear me? Holly started crying again.

Yeah, I hear you, and to tell you the truth, I’m really sick of it too. But I don’t know what you want me to do. I’m out there looking for a job while I’m still on their psycho probation program having to report to that bitch after work what I’m doing for every fucking second of the day. Why don’t you give me a break?

Then she got in my face like my mother used to do. I’ve given you a break before, and look at where I am. I can’t fucking take it anymore! I’ve had it. I want to get out of here so bad. I’m so fucking tired of this! I just want to get out of here!

She started to cry again, but when I got up out of the couch and moved in her direction to try to comfort her, she just turned away and went into the bedroom. For the last few weeks, she was barely letting me touch her anymore. I knew that she hated to cry, but this time I did not feel any sympathy for her. She was just freezing up inside.

Holly came back into the living room saying, I’m just so tired of this. It never ends. I’m just so tired of being with you.

Then leave if you’re so fucking tired of being with me! Just fucking leave, goddamn it! Nobody’s stopping you! I said, returning the steely gaze into her eyes. Holly wiped the tears off her face and headed straight for the bedroom. After five minutes, she came back in the living room with a packed-up suitcase and said she was going to her parents’ apartment.

Fine, if you’re so sick of me, just go! I didn’t feel like fighting it at the time. I figured she’d cool off and come back the next night. A couple weeks later, I got fired from the start-up telecom company I had worked at for less than two months. Holly never came back. After a week, she moved from her mother’s place to a room in a house owned by Steve, one of her drinking buddies from college who lived close by.

Oh, I’m just moving into Steve’s house. You know he lives just up the road a little bit from our apartment. I remembered the phone conversation with her saying it casually with that cute little lilt in her voice. You can just drop off Jason to me on Saturday afternoon for a few days, and then you can pick him up on Wednesday. Is that okay?

No, that’s not okay. I said, Why can’t we try to work things out in our apartment? You know I just want you back, Holly.

Holly was uncharacteristically silent, so I continued, I’m really sorry for what happened. Give me a chance. I’ll get a new job. Shit, I’ll even try to get something out of sales. I said.

Really, I’ve heard that before, Holly said with that annoying, arrogant, sarcastic tone in her voice that she had adopted lately.

I swear it. I will. Things will work out. Please, just give me a chance. I said again.

I just can’t take being around you now. Do you understand? I need some space.

I didn’t respond right away, and then I said, Then get some space. Fine. I was finding it hard to believe that I was having an impersonal phone conversation with the woman who I thought was my mate, my sworn companion through thick and thin. Whatever, I’ll be here with Jason whenever you want to come back.

So, is it okay if you drop him off over at Steve’s apartment on Saturday?

Sure, whatever, I said, thinking that maybe we could work things out then.

Okay. Can you drop him off around lunchtime, is that okay?

Fine, I’ll see you then. You know, I’m not going anywhere. You can always drop by over here if you want to talk.

Good, I’ll think about it. was all she said and hung up.

Steve was like a West Coast version of Seinfeld with a real job. You know, one of those funny, nerdy type of Jewish guys who was always making fun of himself and everything else around him. I thought he was a kick, but in Portland he was still a bit of an anomaly, and not everybody liked him.

Holly knew Steve from when she moved in with Jesse, her best friend from high school, into the sprawling off-campus house in Eugene that she shared with a bunch of other students who were attending the University of Oregon. Holly was taking a semester off to find herself after almost flunking out at Oregon State. I don’t really know if she almost flunked out at Oregon State, but I know she wasn’t willing to put up with living with her parents’ supervision anymore after taking a semester off. Holly had a history of running away after facing a little too much stress, and that’s how I met her on her next escape destination to be a nanny to a rich family in Brooklyn after Jesse graduated from the University of Oregon.

Since graduation, Steve had managed to make some pretty nice change as a mortgage broker in the booming Portland real estate market and had bought a little ranch house up the hill about a mile from our apartment in southwest Portland. Steve had his own cute little girlfriend he was crazy about, so I didn’t think he posed a threat to be worried about Holly finding some comfort in his company and making our marriage even more of a mess.

A couple days after that lovely phone conversation with Holly, I remembered going over to Steve’s little ranch house to hand over Jason to Holly.