Love is Not Enough

Apparently I'll do anything for money.

Well, almost anything. I arranged to meet Dear Husband this afternoon to collect the rest of the money he owes me. We agreed to meet at Amoeba Records at 5 pm.

I was late. I saw him sitting on the sidewalk outside the record store as I barrelled down the sidewalk on my bicycle. He didn't see me. I started pumping the pedals even harder, and could actually hear the Wicked Witch of the West's theme song playing in my head as I zeroed in on my target.

He looked up just as I skidded up and stopped the bike an inch from his thigh. He rose to his feet and wrote me a check while I was still astride the bike. He surprised me by bringing up the fact that he's in therapy.

'The therapist says I have a lot of repressed anger,' DH said.

'Duh,' I offered helpfully.

Then I surprised me too by chatting with him a little bit. He said he's been writing about his feelings, but it makes him angry, which makes him want to drink whiskey and watch tv. I mentioned that pretty much everything makes him want to watch tv. He started to cry.

I got off the bike and put my arms around him. We stood that way for a long time, crying in each other's arms on Sunset Boulevard while the pedestrian traffic streamed past. On the other side of Amoeba's window, a long line of pierced and tattooed hipsters waiting to sell their CDs for pennies on the dollar turned to gawk.

'I miss you,' I whispered in his ear, surprising myself yet again.

'I miss you too,' DH said. 'I've always loved you. I'm sorry.'

I wish that was enough to make a relationship work. Love and longing and regrets and therapy. Crying into a shoulder that feels like it was custom-made to fit your face. But the three things I always told him I needed - trust, honesty, and loyalty - are still missing. I don't know how much therapy or jack daniels or televsion DH needs to get those things. And I can't wait around to find out.