“When?” Amy blubbered.

“Probably never,” Andy said as he backed his car out of the driveway.

He drove aimlessly, up one street and down another just to kill time until his meeting with Jill at the Barb Wire. He’d been the one to choose the Barb Wire because no one paid attention to you in the back room. You were lucky to get waited on. If Jill pitched a fit, no one would care. He continued to drive, his thoughts going in all directions.

He hated fighting with Amy. He hated her know-it-all attitude in regard to him. Hated it when she belittled him in front of other people. Yet, he had allowed it, so it was his own fault. Amy liked to blame things on other people. She was sly and manipulative and always managed to get her way even if she had to lie to do so. He lost count of the number of times he’d gotten his ass whipped or was punished because Amy managed to convince their parents he’d done whatever it was they were blamed for. He really was a wuss.

The dashboard clock told him it was time to head for the Barb Wire.

Jill was already in the booth with a bottle of beer in front of her. There was one sitting next to his seat, too. She looked different. He frowned, trying to put his finger on what it was that was different about his wife. Maybe it was her face that was clean and shiny, devoid of makeup. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as though she’d been crying. She looked pretty with her ponytail, jeans, and striped shirt. She looked the way she’d looked the first time he met her. He sat down, his eyes wary.

Jill struggled to get past the first awkward moments. “I don’t want a divorce, Andy. I’d rather try seeing a marriage counselor first. Or, we could try and talk out our differences. I’m willing if you are.” She leaned across the table, looking miserable. “Andy, for every action, there is a reaction. Each of us reacted to the other and what we said and did. I’m willing to take my share of the blame, but you have to do the same thing. A lot of the things you said the other night were true, and a lot of other things were not true. What I’m trying to say here is we’re both at fault. Will you at least listen to what I have to say?”

“Go ahead, Jill, I’d like to hear what you have to say.” Like he was really going to listen and pay attention.

“Good. Our problem is your sister. No, no, let me finish. You harped and harped on the fact that on our honeymoon I called my mother five times a day. That’s true, I did. Because…Andy, your sister called five times a day. She called you to get up in the morning. She called you to say good night. She called you to ask you what you had for lunch. She called to ask if you got sunburned. I didn’t know what to do, so I called my mother. Your sister is the one who ruined our honeymoon, Andy. I waited for you to tell her to stop calling, but you just talked away, sharing our private business, laughing, and joking. Then you got ticked off at me when I called my mother, who, by the way, said your sister was suffering from separation anxiety. She told me to be patient. Am I right or am I wrong?”