Seth Baumgartner's Love Manifesto by Eric Luper

She smiles, and I can tell her mind is someplace else. I’ve heard the story a hundred times, but I let her go on. “Your father was so proud when he talked the merchant down from six dollars a tile to four. It took so long to find other tiles that came close to matching. It’s not perfect, but it’s close enough.”
    It’s a nice story, but I can’t help but wonder who’s going to get the hand-painted tiles in the divorce. And then I wonder what Dad’s recent stress has to do with buying these tiles, something that happened twenty years ago.
    â€œHey, Mom,” I say. “Is getting married all it’s cracked up to be?”
    My question jars her from her waltz down memory lane. “What?” Her eyes leave the tiles and lock onto mine. “Why do you ask?”
    â€œI don’t know. I was just wondering. Everyone is brought up to believe getting married is the goal—getting married and having kids. But all the jokes—everything you see on television, all the sitcoms—are about how being married totally sucks.”
    â€œThat’s just television, sweetie.”
    â€œBut they wouldn’t make all those jokes if something about it wasn’t true. I’m sure you and Dad love each other and everything—”
    â€œOf course we love each other.”
    â€œI shouldn’t have brought it up,” I say.
    Mom straightens the coffeemaker so the rubber feet are perfectly aligned with the edge of the tiles. “Your father has got a lot on his plate right now.” Her eyes look through me. “He’s preoccupied. When he gets preoccupied, he takes it out on everyone around him. It’s just the way he is.”
    It’s not often my mother and I have a conversation like this, but somehow it feels like a door has swung open and I can say anything right now. I push again. “Do you likebeing married?”
    â€œOf course I do. If I wasn’t married, I’d never have had you.”
    â€œNo, I mean aside from me. If I wasn’t in the picture.”
    â€œBut you are in the picture.” She reaches across and touches my arm. “I can’t separate you from it.”
    â€œWell, suppose I’d be in the picture either way.”
    My mother pulls her arm back as if my suggesting life without my father burned her. Her elbow knocks into her glass, and it topples over. The glass lands heavy and shatters against the countertop. The Arnold Palmer cascades over the edge to the hardwood floor. The new, unnamed dog waddles over and begins lapping at it.
    I hop up. “I’ll get a towel.”
    My mother leaps from her stool. “No, I’ve got it.” She scoops up the dog and hands him to me. “Put him in his crate, would you? It’s in the laundry room. Then go on downstairs. Get to work on your podcasting. Make your mother proud.” She surveys the spill. “I’ve got this.”
    I feel the door of our conversation—the one that was wide-open just a second ago—closing. I grab the roll of paper towels sitting next to the sink. “No, let me help you.”
    My mom snatches the roll from me. “I’ve got it,” she says, this time more firmly. “I’m such a butterfingers.”
    â€œYou sure?”
    â€œI’m sure. Go on downstairs, baby. Please.”
    Slam.
    Door closed.
    Conversation over.
    I look at the dog curled up in my hand. His fat puppy belly is smooth and warm. I move forward again to help her but realize she doesn’t want me around.
    Sweat trickles in a single line down the small of my back. My mother says she can’t imagine her life without my father; I wonder if she’ll be saying the same thing six months from now when it’s just me, her, and this grunting, stumbling, pathetic dog.

EXCERPT FROM THE LOVE MANIFESTO
    Intro Music: “Area Codes” by Ludacris
    Hey there, I’d like to welcome you to the second episode of