Lacking Communication
The phone developed a chuckle as Keith walked by it for the twentieth time in the last hour. Laughing at his failed attempts to pick up and call. Just call. Call and see how she's doing. See if she needs anything sent to her or if the trip was going the way she expected it to go. Squeeze in a moment to ask about the weather. All Keith thought of for the past two months was to see when his wife was coming home.
What was he supposed to tell her? You being Foreign Correspondent for Cable News Network is putting a hinder on our relationship, and it would be best for me if you came home? If anything, that would make her come back only to grab her suitcase and pack the rest of her things.
Keith drew in a long, frustrated breath, taking a seat on the one rickety wooden stool in the kitchen and continued to stare at his phone, hallucinating that the screen had lit up. But, as always, it remained dark. Why hadn't she called him? Why hadn't she put any effort into her part to check up on him now and then, and see how he was coping without her?
Reciprocity seems to play a significant role in a marriage, but for Keith, it was the equivalent to being in a boxing cage, strapped and ready to fight with no opponent. In the end, he'd find himself defeated.
So, he waited and waited until the thought of waiting another second sent an exhausted guttural scream to ricochet around their mouse-sized one-bedroom apartment. He knew his wife would be awake. It was three-thirty in the afternoon in the Philippines compared to his two-thirty in the morning in blizzard-riddled New York. There would be no excuse for her not to pick up the phone, and yet, he still did not want to feel like a nuisance.
So, he waited again.
Like most nights, he rubbed his swollen red eyes and stood up to jog in place for a bit, shooing the sleepiness out of his system. This routine would work till about three, and by then his legs would cave in, forcing him to either get in bed or sit back on the stool until he passed out from lack of sleep. Unlike all those other nights, he sat back down and grabbed the phone in his hands. Before Keith's mind could register his actions, he pushed the call button and pressed the phone to his ear.
No answer.
Maybe she had her phone buried at the pits of her travel bag like most cases, but the need to speak to his wife drove Keith to call once more. The sound of her voice was the last thing he expected to hear after the fourth ring.
"Hey, babe! What's up," she asked.
"What do you mean, 'What's up'? I haven't heard from my wife in a fucking month," he spat, losing all of the composure he thought he would have when she answered the phone.
He knew when she took on this job there would be a strain on their marriage. She wasn't a communicative person. Keith knew if it were up to her, they would have given their vows and said 'I do' through text. Even after four years, it unsettled him to see nothing has changed.
There was a stagnant pause in the conversation on her end, but he could still hear the faint shuffling of movement in the background.
"I'm sorry, Keith," she exhaled.
He gripped the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger as his brows scrunched further and further together and headed into the room to sit down on their bed. Their new mattress held a nice bounce as it curved to his size, a surprise gift Keith bought for his wife when she came home.
The bitterness of his voice oozed out with no remorse, "I guess that's all you have to say?"
"Well, what else is there to say? I've been busy working. I thought you of all people would understand...," she stopped, hearing the piercing sound of his brash tone take over her words.
