Story Challenge: Lost in Translation

I think back to his proposal. I put myself in that moment, facing the Atlantic, making a sandcastle for the first time in fifteen years. I remember that half hour of solitude and nostalgia and crab shell decorations so vividly, and his older sister rushing up to me, telling me to get up, get up, we were all going for a sunset beach walk.

"All of us?"

"To celebrate the end of a successful family reunion!"

"I'm not even family," I protested, but she said we were practically sisters by now and started brushing off my sun dress. I was so bitter, the castle just sitting there unfinished, and slowly everyone showed up. He was overdressed so I knew something was going on and then of course he got down on one knee and I really hadn't made up my mind yet but then how could I say "no" or even "I don't know" in front of all those people, the ones he cared about so much? And then the ring was on my finger and he went into this big long speech about how we had the same mind and goals and sense of adventure and now here he was, the luckiest man on earth, with me standing in front of him surrounded by an Atlantic sunset. I just remember thinking that the sun sets in the west so wouldn't a Pacific sunset be better? But in his face in that moment was this huge desire to be accepted and I loved him very much. I did. It wasn't a bad choice, it just wasn't a particularly good one.

I don't really know how I missed it. We were both so driven in our careers and excited to make plans and we'd always known and loved that about each other. I think we both romanticized it: two ambitious twenty-somethings, going on weekend wine tours and each of us having an exciting work week, his meetings with executives and mine with leading researchers in the field, a perfectly balanced power couple. But I loved him! And not just the idea of him. Why would either of us marry for money? I'd always wanted to go to Cape Town and he took me there as a surprise, two years after our wedding. And it was a great trip, but he took so many pictures and I kept telling him to put the camera down and appreciate that pristine week away but he was so insistent on capturing memories. I just couldn't get it through to him that if he didn't put the thing away there'd be nothing interesting to remember anyhow. He sent some of the photos to his parents and sisters and friends and he made this neat album that we kept on our coffee table and they were great pictures but why did he need to show them to everyone? His family made fun of us, the crazy adventurers, and I never knew if it was out it was out of judgment or admiration. And then one day he came home with a bouquet of roses and a crystal vase and I had this horrible realization that we were becoming that spotless couple with the perfect lawn and successful careers who never do anything truly interesting.

Maybe I really was too idealistic. I finished my PhD in Civil Engineering and I interviewed for this job with a firm in Brussels. I brought it up one night at dinner and he said "Brussels?" like I'd just said Mogadishu or Colombo or something.

I remember saying "Honey it's Belgium, it's not a war zone. It would be a nice adventure! You studied in Paris during college, we could do it." His company had a branch there and everything, I'd taught myself French so I could work in Europe, planned it all out, but he was so alarmed. I got the job and I remember calling up the firm in Brussels on the last possible day, so upset, rejecting the offer because my husband thought the whole thing was just a phase. I was so frustrated—hadn't we shared that sense of adventure and ambition?

"You can be adventurous without moving halfway across the world, we can go there on a trip or something." But then I suggested Houston and Minneapolis and Vancouver and he rejected them all, and his excuses were so minor. "Houston's too polluted." "Minneapolis? It's below freezing six months out of the year there!" "Canadians are so liberal, we wouldn't be able to stand it." I wondered if he could even handle leaving his company, surviving with a different set of coworkers. "Can't you let a good thing rest? There are plenty of engineering firms right here." I found a job, but I didn't let it rest.

That spring he offered to go on a trip together to Brussels. It was really very sweet, but it wasn't Belgium I wanted. I said we could go anywhere on earth, but we were not bringing a camera. We planned for October and spent two wonderful weeks together in Sydney. Of course he bought postcards and gifts for friends back home, but outside of the tourist shops we were out. He was so happy, but then we'd do something exciting and he'd turn to me

grinning and say "Is this what you were looking for?"

"Is this what you were looking for?" I'd say.

He talked to everyone about the trip and when he saw that they were interested or even jealous his eyes would light up with excitement from doing something that had never been done, as if we were the only Americans who had ever gone to Sydney. A couple of weeks after we came back I suggested a weekend trip to Vermont to see the fall colors and the mountains before it got too cold. He laughed and said "Haven't you had your fix of adventure?"

I guess that was when I realized what a horrible mistake I had made.

Once when I was small, my father asked my brother and I if we wanted another sibling. We thought about it for a few minutes and then agreed: no, we weren't interested. Thanks, though. I guess he'd assumed that we would say yes because a few months later we learned that my mother was pregnant with a girl. When I asked my mother about it, she said "Well, would you rather have a sister or two divorced parents?" That was an easier choice, and I accepted the sister with open arms.

I don't know if my mother remembers that; I hope she doesn't. But in her shoes what would I have picked? Would I divorce my considerate, ambitious, loving husband if he wanted kids? Yes, we agreed before our marriage. His sisters are begging for nieces, but even he has stood that ground. I didn't want kids because I didn't want them to bog me down; he simply doesn't care for children. He got his side of the deal, but where am I? Do I divorce a good man because he believes adventure is just for "getting my fix?" Do I leave my otherwise-happy marriage because I am among the few who can aspire to something more than just happy? How will he tell his family—his adored, nosy, judgmental family—that I left him because he was too content, too stuck in the successful life they'd raised him to live? And if I met a former self, an idealistic twenty-year-old searching for adventure and romance, excitement and companionship, which would I tell her to pick? Surely you can't have both.