The Email In: trash
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Oct 27 2022.
I’ve been glaring at this laptop for close to thirty minutes now. We bought it at Arcade Park and Jameson and the attendant laughed heartily because I wanted it in pink. I stopped using it when I bought a new one, a prettier shade of pink that warms my soul. But before then, this particular one was my favourite, because it holds so many memories. It’s the one I sat up with late into the night, editing our sweet videos on couple goals, pranks and the things that drew us closer to each other. Jameson grew to like the pink but out of circumstance.
I heard the crash from the house as I prepared pilau that night. Jameson loves his pilau with a little bit of waru in it. He also likes having Pilau with Kachumbari, and bananas on the side. As is his nature, Jameson has this habit of obsessing over things for a while until it bores him to death. Pilau was his new favourite soon-to-be boring dish, and I just went with the flow, as always.
He was lying in a hospital, drenched in sweat and tears. He had somehow lost control of his car and hit a tree. The tree we always argue about whose traditional myths about it could be real when we drove home together. He was badly hurt and could barely support himself to walk or work for a pretty long time. We sat in silence at the hospital for the weeks that led up to his discharge. I had questions. Would we be able to be intimate ever again? Will Jameson ever get back on his feet? He was put in a wheelchair, then he would gradually transition to clutches and hopefully, back on his two feet. He was lucky to be alive. It was such a relief. The worry lines that crowded my face loosened and applying makeup became fun all over again.
We said our vows at the cathedral covered in blush pink flowers, bits of gold and pearls of white. He was holding clutches and my heart was bursting with love watching him cry as I walked down the aisle. I cried too. It was a surprise that he was finally off his wheelchair, there was progress. I didn’t cry next to my husband at night because he would immediately ask if he was being a burden. We got married eight months after the crash. Most of my friends asked me to postpone the wedding until Jameson got back to his two feet. But how else would I show him, unconditional love, if not marry him when he was going through the worst phase of his life? I thought it would be the greatest show of the love I had for him, so I didn’t listen to the naysayers, after all, the ring makes my nail sets pop even more.
The 50/50 rule
Things have been overwhelming me since Jameson’s accident. He had been working as a gym instructor and chances that he could be fit enough to resume his career were slim. I watched as depression ravished him and I thought asking him to financially support me would only escalate the situation. I’ve been shouldering all the financial needs of our home and it’s been draining. Jameson began working remotely for close to four months before he started leaving for work early in the morning. I thought things would get easier since he’d gotten back on his feet and was working a new job now, I’ve never really enquired about it. I guess I was too happy for him or for myself.
We had an agreement when we moved in together, we’d split the bills 50/50. But when he got into the accident, Jameson couldn’t be able to keep his end of the bargain, and I gladly took up the responsibility without a doubt. For close to two and a half years now, our 50/50 rule has been inactive. Not even after he got the new job.
The new job
He poured bottomless promises into my ears when I talked to him about the bills. He said that he was barely making enough to chip in the bills, but if I gave him more time, he would save up enough money to take me to the Maldives and care for me like the queen I was. He’s good with words. I bought it.
He is working at the Mall, a sales assistant job and he squeezes in time to hit the gym to try and regain his body and prowess back. I admire his determination. Marrying him feels like a better decision now than it was on our wedding day. I’ve made a point of telling all of my friends and family about the progress. Love healed him, much quicker than it is expected.
Our marriage was contested mostly by our close family members. His mother, Agnes, has this resting face that looks like a hissing snake. She thought that I would probably slice her son’s throat because he was in a wheelchair and he couldn’t provide for me anymore. I was offended by it because Agnes is a loud, opinionated woman and she irritates me.
Papa on the other hand thought that it was too much baggage. He agreed to bless our union only if he pays for my therapist. A man with no job, in a wheelchair and with a loud-mouthed mother was the perfect recipe for depression. To date, I believe Jameson knows when I’m faking it for him and it bothers me that he pretends not to see it because then we can’t talk about it.
Our sex life is in shambles, we try, but it’s like an extreme sport. I literally have to pleasure myself in his absence, so he doesn’t feel so bad about the situation. Our families might have been right.
He came home the other day unusually moody. It was our anniversary night and I had hoped that we’d go to the restaurant we met at like it was our tradition. We held on to it even when was in his wheelchair. Celebrating this night had its special way of re-igniting the sparks.
I was all dressed up, black lingerie underneath the silk red dress and a pair of golden heels. He rushed off to the shower and spent a whole lot of time there. Fifty-five minutes, but no one was counting anyways.
When he came out, his eyes barely met mine. “I’m not feeling really well. Could we order in? I will make it up to you” he said.
“Sure,” I replied. I was more invested in finding out what was going on with him and a public restaurant wouldn’t exactly enable that.
Jameson is such a terrible liar because his memory sucks. He can add salt to the food up to three times because he doesn’t remember if he already did. He didn’t remember his “I don’t really feel well” lie two days later in the midst of our conversations. Instead, he went about this girl he bumped into at the gym and they had become such good friends that she was super-invested in his business. He noticed the surprised, inquisitive look on my face and changed the topic right away. He didn’t brush his teeth while going to bed, and I knew he was hiding something. I know him like the back of my hand, in desperation to hide something, he always forgets things he normally can’t forget to do.
Snooping through his phone
Now, I know where we all stand with privacy, trust and accessing a partner’s phone without permission, but none of that matters at this point. Sadly, my little trip through his phone did me good, except for making me feel guilty for snooping. His phone was clear, with no traces of cheating or anything, but there was a smoking gun, even my chats with him had been deleted and, there were transaction messages of money paid to the hotel, two more other times. I put his phone back on his chest and cried myself to sleep. My gut feeling was right.
The Morning After
Jameson wakes up immediately I get out of bed and the first thing he does is reach for his phone. Nothing changed today, except, I reached for his laptop and opened it.
“Do you care to tell me what’s going on?”
“Huh! How did you find out?”
“Does it matter?”
“I feel like a bitch, you pay the bills, you take care of me, babe. You are like the man of the house.”
“But you have money to pay for hotels and shit?”
“She makes me feel like a man like I’m needed. Unlike you, I feel like a baby, being watched, even when we have sex, it’s like you are more concerned about me getting hurt than just pleasure…”
“What the hell Jameson!”
I wanted us to work, to try, because we have been through hell and back, but my ex-husband said he sees me as a fellow man. Because I held him down, provided for us, paid the bills and loved him. He said it was time to focus on himself, and he’d rather do it without me. Ironically Jameson has found Christ and is a saved man now. In the beginning, I blamed myself for suspecting him, finding that email and shoving it in his face, maybe, we’d still be married. But now I know I deserve better. A saved man that didn’t appreciate my love is not better for me.
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