Settling of the dust.

I wonder what it's going to be like, once the dust settles… I've talked about buying you that ranch house, but let's be honest, babe, there's more to it than not having stairs to navigate when we're older… And I mean, both our houses are already so full of memories — will we want to make our memories in them? I guess I wouldn't be opposed, if it worked out that way… baby, I've been jealous of that pool of yours ever since I learned you had it. But that's still not what I mean…

I wonder… what will they think of it? All our friends… the ones we camp with, go out to drinks with, maybe even work with. I imagine a few of them will come around, but… Maybe it might take them some time…

I mean… For you… Oh, babe, I usually steer clear of saying stuff like this (and I don't plan to ever venture here again), but… I don't think it'll be a huge surprise to many of them. I mean, we all see how you're treated publicly… good, most of the time… not so good, a lot of the time. Your frustration has been visible… well, for as long as I've known you. I imagine he's liked, generally, but…

Well. I'm pretty sure all of us agree: you must have the patience of a saint. So it wouldn't be too surprising if that patience has gradually worn too thin…

But… what about me? How visible are the cracks? The scars? Do they understand why I might overreact a bit when some part of me, part of my history, is misrepresented? Do you? (I think you do… I think you always have… but that's just it, baby… you're perceptive, smart… and maybe, just maybe the draw has gone both ways right from the start…) Do they recognize the backhanded compliments for what they are? Do they know about how she would decline invitations on my behalf, telling y'all that I'm not a people person, leaving me to find out about whatever social thing it was later when someone posted about it on Facebook? I won't lie, I am slow to warm, but not that slow… Do they remember that time a few years ago when we were all of us out on a big giant walk, and I said something about doing things for my friends, and she said “They're your neighbors, not your friends.” Will they believe it when I tell them that she made the first cut, and then left the wound to fester — for years? Will they make the connections to see how those things, small as some of them may seem, are just the tip of the iceberg of how things are in my home?

Or will it just look to them like I've left a loving partner of two decades for a younger woman?

I dunno, babe. I really don't. I think it's gonna be a mess, one way or the other. Oh, worth it, don't get me wrong. Worth every bit of it.

But, I dunno. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, I guess. It's all we can really do.

Love you, sweet thing.

Yours.