Autocratic Love

It was helpful to pretend it was a democracy. I mean, that’s what modern love is all about, right? Egalitarian, open to new ideas? But, really, it was just all about Tina and not about Robert.

I mean, Robert was a pretty open-minded guy—he just hadn’t seen himself trying to “choo-choo train” gluten free Koala Krunchies into their toddler’s mouth as his wife spent tormented hours in her design studio. When he had supported an “equal” relationship, he was thinking they’d both spend time working and time off. At the very least, he had imagined eating Coco Puffs with his children.

But not much was put to a vote in their house—Tina had very firm ideas about what was the best option. You didn’t really refuse her, just slightly delayed her timetable.

Not that Robert hadn’t tried—it was just easier to think it was a democracy back in college, with Tina’s head in his lap, reading poetry to each other. Back then, she had her way, but he was all for it. It was like you’re in some self-exploring indie film that takes place in the 60s, when feminism was radical, the protagonists wore daisy crowns, and the film quality was pretty crappy, but cool in that avant guard way.

Sometimes Robert even wondered who even liked film quality like that—who liked looking at something crappy and reveling in it.

Maybe Tina did. To her, everything was lousy. Not that she didn’t have her Vietnamese adoptee, ranch house, and Robert always nodding in agreement.

To her, she was still missing out. By age 40, she hadn’t gotten to be the artist in France like she had always wanted, but was saddled with a doting husband and an Asian baby. She had waited her whole life for this and now she was missing it.

- A. F.