The Stories We Tell

I was walking toward the closet when I heard Bob speaking to someone. I peeked around the corner and saw him furtively whispering into the phone. It was surprising because it has been so long since he spoke on the phone or could even hear the person on the other end.

“No, I am coming. I will meet you in Phnom Pehn. I will get there. I can figure out how to get out without her knowing.  I miss you too.”

I realized he was speaking to his girlfriend, and I was the “her” he was escaping. My heart broke for a moment, but I could not blame him. I could have been more attentive, more loving. Better.

When I woke up I was sad and resigned. Why Phnom Pehn? He knows how much I love Asia, why would he choose my favorite continent to escape from me?  Where had I gone wrong? I shall try harder.  The sad feeling has stayed with me. It is my fault that my husband is cheating in my dreams.

Things have been a bit whirlwind around here for the past two months.  After the sister-in-law debacle, I closed down “The Inn.” My Irish self, coupled with my codependent pathology had me inviting folks in way too often for way too long.

At first it was a bit lonely and strange. I was used to running my version of a B&B. Growing up in the hospitality industry made me believe that I needed to be not only the hostess with the mostest, but also a short order cook, chauffeur, and raconteur.  I gave myself a Mobil 5-star rating, but the level of care was exhausting.  The pandemic helped me as there not as many booking requests and I felt safe saying “No” for the first time in my life.

In July a dear friend came for her first visit in 18 months. It was a two week stay and included a fun-filled six days in New Mexico. We had a fine time, but I noticed my energy levels were low as her departure date approached.  I figured I was out of training and just needed to get back to the guest services gym. Evidently, I sent that information out into the universe, and they sent me the jump in the deep end/Cross Fit version. The day she left; another friend arrived for a spontaneous three days of house hunting. Great fun but intense.  Then I agreed to be their property previewer.

This led to another visit in two weeks for another round of home viewing. A week off followed by four days of a friend on her way through to Mexico. Another week off and then double booking as a long-ago friend came to stay for a week to see some doctors and catch up with friends and the house hunter arrived the same day on their way through to New Mexico. The following week the house hunter returned for week seven of an intense, and fingers crossed productive, search.

In the course of all this, Bob had turned 92 and he had a couple of appointments, but mostly he was left alone or subjected to non-stop talking and people.  He is a sport and seems happy enough, but my co-dependent guilt has kicked in and I am once again left with the fog of “everything is my fault because everything is my responsibility.” He has been ignored (not true). He feels alone (not true). I have not done enough (so not true). So, it is not surprising that he has chosen Cambodia and I will help him pack. In my dreams.