Slightly drunk, we hopped down the rocky embankment and stepped onto the deserted beach. The light from a full moon danced across the surface of the ocean like shattered glass.
I dragged my toe along the damp sand creating the outline of a wobbly heart. After three glasses of Pinot, it was the best I could do. I watched as a wave washed in and pulled it out to sea.
I unbuttoned my jean shorts and let them drop onto the wet sand. Without hesitating, I slipped my top over my head and tossed it at his feet.
“You coming in?”
In a last ditch effort to connect with my husband, I stood stark naked under the moonlight and pulled at his hand to follow me into the waves gently lapping at my feet.
Not willing to budge, I waded in alone. Growing up near the fresh water of the Great Lakes, it always surprised me how deeply connected I felt to salt water.
I swam out a little ways and could see the outline of JD’s body sitting on the shore watching me. I could tell he wanted me to come back.
We’d been married for just five months. It hit us both shortly after I arrived in Hawaii just how big of a mistake we’d made. He was much more cautious and calculated than I’d ever imagined. And I was much more feral and independent than he’d realized.
The adventure I thought our marriage would be was nothing more than him locking himself in his office with a 12 pack of Big Wave on the weekends while I worked my way through his irreplaceable collection of Italian wines to spite him.
It was a match made in hell.
I spent the majority of my days exploring every inch of the island while he was at work, temporarily avoiding the onset of anxiety caused by the sound of his Jeep pulling into the driveway every day at 11:45 for lunch.
Before we met, JD spent most of his childhood bouncing around Europe before settling down outside of Atlanta as a teen. By the age of thirteen he had more stamps in his passport than most see in a lifetime.
Two years after we met, he moved back to Europe and spent the next three years traveling through various countries on the weekends, spending time in places I had only dreamed of, and sending me postcards from every place he went. It was his sense of adventure and desire to travel that enticed me to entangle my life with his.
Being married to him was a different story altogether though. It was behind closed doors that I saw just how shut off from the world he actually was.
Moving to Hawaii as a newlywed sounded like the stuff dreams were made of. But soon the confines of island life, void of all my personal belongings, with a husband allergic to spontaneity began to feel like being trapped in a small cage.
And the truth is, I was a bad wife. For someone who’d dreamed their entire life of stepping into that role, I was really shitty at it.
I did all the things I thought I was supposed to do at first—learned new recipes, made beautiful fruit plates and charcuterie boards, folded my husbands shirts into neat 10x10 squares, organized the pantries, and kept all the important documents filed.
By the time I found myself skinning dipping naked under the moonlight I had lost my grip on sobriety, drank through his entire collection of rare wine, spent every cent from my husband on updating my wardrobe while tossing everything from his I didn’t like, stopped cooking, broke the majority of the dishes he’d purchased while living in Italy, and replaced my wedding rings with a gold cigar band so I didn’t look too married.
It was clear that someone like me didn’t know how to fit into a role like this. But through it all I was still arrogant enough to think JD wouldn’t leave.
Imagine my surprise when he did.
So long, Sue is a reader supported platform. Subscribing and sharing my work means the world to me. Thank you for being here.