This morning I got home to Fife in the house, and I was oddly surprised. I almost expected him to be in Perthshire continuing on with his strop of all strops. But there he was, putting on his running gear, about to start his daily routine.
I said I was just popping into change clothes and shower before going back into the office and he asked me to hang out a bit, and we’d ‘talk’ when he got back from his run. I was a bit miffed; if he was going to start an argument with me – aka ‘have a talk’ – I shouldn’t have to wait for him to finish exercising. So, I said ‘No, I can’t wait.’
He kicked his shoes off again and asked me to come and sit down. I just knew he was going to break-up with me. I wasn’t a good enough mum to his kids. He’s not over his wife. He’s frustrated that I never want to be around. I was too good in bed. Okay, just joking with that last one. But my mind was running, and I knew it was over.
Fife put on the kettle. That was it. This is a break up. As the water boiled he sat down and said, ‘I should have said that [Helen] was getting married, but I just didn’t want to talk about it. I swear it’s nothing more sinister than that.’
I guess I could see that. Fife loves to tell a story, and he’s right sociable when the topic of conversation isn’t anything too personal. Yeah, I guess he said he ‘loves’ me sooner than later, but it’s not like he talks about his parents death, or the fear of not selling the next book, or his divorce. He keeps all that type of stuff to himself. And that was why he was probably going to finish with me – he’s sick of me jumping to conclusions and making him talk about ‘stuff’.
He then said, ‘I’ve been a right prat and I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?’
What? He’s not right angry with me? I skipped out on him and his kids, I accused him of lying about his divorce, and I let his kid run away. And he’s not ready to dump me. I was quite relieved. And you know what’s weird? I was actually surprised that I was relieved. I know. That’s weird. But maybe it’s because the last three relationships were always on the cusp of some sort of dramatic break-up (I wanted Pete out of my house, I was never sure where HP and I stood, and Goatee was a twat), that I’m not used to just having a normal fight.
The kettle clicked and Fife made us each a cuppa. ‘So, can you forgive me?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. Sure. Of course,’ I said half confused.
Then he said, ‘But this is a two way street.’ Fuck, here it comes, I thought. ‘You’re with me, you’re with the kids. They take up a lot of time, they’re a handful, and [BigOne] doesn’t like you,’ he said. ‘But they’re just kids and I need you to try. Just try with them. I know you have your life outside us, and that’s cool, but…’
‘You need me to be around more,’ I finished his sentence.
My god. This was the most sensible make-up after a fight I’ve ever had. And we were both so angry, throwing things, crying, gnashing of teeth angry. But after a bit of time, here we were sitting down like civilized people talking it out.
Is this what it’s like to be in a mature relationship? Hm?
Then Fife suggested that we do ‘grown-up’ things this weekend. He was offered free passes to the Tempest at the Rep Theatre for tomorrow night, he was thinking we could do that, then to the cottage on Saturday because he’s been invited to an art opening in Pitlochry. And there would be no kids for any of it. Wow. All very adult.
The last several days have been weird. I know I’ve probably said this like a hundred times on this blog – my youth is coming to an end. And it always seems to feel like that’s the case. But last weekend was most likely be the last time the entire gang would ever be together, and now I’m having a normal adult discussion after a major fight. Wow, what’s happening to me?
Right. I’ve now got to get back to work. I’ve been in the office late trying to make up for the three days I took off. Paris is back inParis, and we spent a big portion of the day working on pushing the Italian rights of this book, and we’ve got another book that’s done well in the US and Brazil (of all places), and she wants to try and push the German rights for the book. So that’s the next project. Oh, and several of Loraine’s clients are getting a bit itchy. One client has finished his edits (unlike Fifeor that other problem author who refuses to do edits), and I’m looking over his changes before forwarding on to the publisher, but I’m not really feeling confident about it all. Not only because I’m not familiar with this author’s work, the publisher’s requests, or the project in general. So, yeah, a very long day, and I could use a relaxing night with a mature sexy boyfriend.