“How about drinks with my friend and his wife tonight?”
My husband called in the afternoon.
The couple we meet every few months wanted to see us.
I said yes right away.
Those evenings were always easy—light, familiar, and quietly fun.
We had dinner, shared a drink, and then moved to a live bar nearby.
Inside, the music was already playing.
We sat down.
The men were on the other side of the sofa, talking quietly.
We were on this side—talking about husbands, children, and everything in between.
A glass of Suntory highball in my hand.
Electric guitar filling the space.
“Do you fight with your husband, too?” she asked, frowning slightly.
“Of course,” I said.
“You don’t look like that. You seem so… calm,” she said, smiling.
“We argue too,” I said with a smile.
“But sometimes… it feels like he starts it.”
She nodded right away.
“The tone goes up. There’s a bit of irritation in the voice.”
I paused for a second.
“And then I react. I raise my voice too.”
“Of course,” she said quietly.
“Sometimes it builds up so much that I end up crying,” I said.
“And then he stops talking.”
I gave a small smile.
“And somehow, I’m the one who apologizes in the end.”
She was listening closely.
“So I tried something different,” I said.
“I stopped reacting right away. I didn’t raise my voice.”
I paused.
“I just said what I needed to say, briefly and calmly.”
I shrugged slightly.
“Funny thing is, when I stayed calm, his irritation became much more obvious.”
She stayed quiet for a moment.
Then she asked softly,
“What about meals?”
“Just do what you usually do,” I said.
“But try not to add too much emotion.”
I paused, then added with a smile,
“Once you get emotional, you lose.”
She listened carefully.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
We turned our heads toward the guitar.
The music filled the space.
A few days later, I noticed it again.
At the breakfast table.
“Do we have any yogurt?”
“Not right now.”
I left it at that.
A little later, he asked.
“Didn’t you send that yet?”
It was something he had asked me to do for him.
“I did. There’s just one left.”
His tone was a little sharp. I noticed it, but I didn’t follow it.
Maybe he didn’t sleep well.
Maybe it’s just one of those mornings.
