My Parents Are Still Married, and I Am In the Other Room

I had never envied my parents' marriage.

I am seven years old, and it is eleven p.m. at night.

I am crouching at the top of the stairwell and all I can hear are two people yelling at each other out of frustration, anger, but most importantly yet least recognizably, out of love.

Do people who love each other speak to each other like this?

I am fifteen years old, and I see my father heave a deep sigh at the kitchen sink while my mom is bickering with no one at the dining table.

There is an unspoken argument lingering between the two rooms.

The house is quiet but the tension is loud, yet love still seeps through the thick layer of apprehension that suffocates us.

I am twenty-one, and my mom is asking my father a question.

Though the ask is harmless and insignificant, her intonation is accusatory and has the air of someone who is upset.

My dad says nothing.

The conversation ends there but I know they are fighting.

Yet he still washes the dishes for her and when she sits back down at the kitchen table, there is a plate of apple slices waiting for her.

I have never envied my parents' marriage until you.

Despite their miscommunication and unexplainable dynamic,

I envy their steadfast love and that at the end of the day

They come home to each other and are still sharing the bed.

Sometimes,

No. Most days,

All I think about is how all I ever wanted was to cut fruit with you.

Isn't that what love is?

I don't think I know anymore.