Overcompensation

He comes home from work. I put my arms around his neck & we kiss. I get so carried away I don't notice that he's still standing at the door, holding his briefcase in one hand & the newspapers in the other hand. And that this can't be comfortable for him.

I don't notice any of that until we come up for air & he mildly asks if he can come in. I am instantly embarrassed. I feel clumsy, desperate etc....

I apologize, let him in & close the door. He goes into the bedroom to shower & change. I go into the kitchen to fix dinner.

As I take out the 6 pieces of steak I'd seasoned, marinaded & wrapped in foil overnight, we carry on a conversation about his day & my day, the AC filter needing cleaning, how hard it is to find parking etc.....People who accuse us of whispering at each other should come & watch us trying to hold these shouted conversations all the way across the apartment, over the noise of the shower in his case and all the clutter in the kitchen in mine.

I am trying to make up for the way I jumped him at the door by keeping a distance, to give him space. I mean the guy just came back from what looks like a long & gruelling day at work. Probably wanting nothing more in life than a shower & his dinner. What was I thinking?

He finishes his shower & comes into the kitchen in his boxers and like everyday offers to help me. Like everyday, I say no. So he just stands around talking to me.

I keep my eyes on the salad dressing, counting out the ingredients in my head as I add them to the mix. Kind of like counting sheep to fall asleep. Except in this case, I am keeping myself from looking at him or I'd never be able to maintain any distance.

The steaks are cooking on the grill behind me. I should check on them, turn them over. But he's behind me & I don't want to turn.

He asks me if we have any of last night's pasta sauce left over. We do. I take it out of the fridge and stick it in the microwave. I find a pot to boil some penne.

It doesn't bother me that he wants leftovers when I'm cooking fresh food. I know his appetite can handle it. He will eat everything.

He finally moves out of the kitchen to take a phone call & I get a chance to flip those steaks over. Luckily, they're not overcooked. I hate that.

He finishes his phone call & goes into the living room to watch TV. I don't see him again until the table is set and we sit down to eat.

We eat in silence. He has 4 pieces of steak plus the pasta & sauce. Doesn't touch the salad. I have 2 pieces of steak - they turned out better than I expected, considering - & all the salad.

I ask him if he feels like dessert. He says no. Me neither. Too full. So while he does the dishes & cleans up, I brew some coffee & fill up a thermos. We both tend to drink a lot of coffee.

I decide to have my own shower first though. When I come out, he's flopped on the couch infront of the TV, drinking coffee. I pour myself some coffee, debate joining him & decide that would be inconsistent with my new cool, hard-to-get demeanour so I go to bed with my laptop.

Eventually, he calls out, asks what I'm doing. I tell him I'm online. He says can you come here a minute please, that he's getting a sore throat. I want to ask why should I? Why doesn't HE come here? But no, the key word is cool not childish.

So I go over & stand infront of him. He says o23odi (sit). I sit, feeling about 6 years old. Or alternately, like an obedient puppy.

So now he wants to know what my problem is. He says the reception was great but then the temperature started dropping rapidly, that it was now below arctic and that he doesn't get it. He wants to know what he's done now.

What do I tell him? It's not you, it's me? Cliche time?

I don't. I apologize, plead a headache. He's instantly all concern. He knows that my headaches sometimes develop into these horrific migraines. And so I am left feeling guilty for worrying him.

So what do I do? I tell him the headache was much better & then I overcompensate for my earlier crankiness.

Now I am embarrassed about being all over him last night & this morning.

Sigh. Story of my life, no use fighting etc....I give up.