99 Strikes and I'm Out

On my ninety-ninth premarital test, my heart rate ran three beats too fast, and Christina Asbille ruled me unfit for marriage. She said, "If you can't even manage your emotions, how are you supposed to give me a stable marriage?" Her counselor, Dr. Wes Perry, took my place on the wedding simulation stage and calmly went through the confession of love, the embrace, and the exchange of rings. The room full of friends and family applauded, saying the two of them looked like a match made in heaven. As I watched her slide my wedding ring onto Wes's finger, I suddenly laughed. For seven years, I'd learned breathing techniques for her and given up arguing. Even getting angry meant writing three pages of emotion logs first. But there was something she didn't know. A truly stable person isn't someone who never hurts. It's someone who, when the pain reaches its limit, can still throw away an old love. So when she told me to practice for another three months, I handed her a breakup agreement. "Christina, the test is over. "I'm not taking any more tests." Chapter 1 "Your heart rate went three beats over. This wedding test is void." Christina Asbille raised a hand and switched off the projector. The wedding program covering the whole wall went dark in an instant. All that was left was the monitor stuck to my chest, its red light still blinking with every beat. The look she gave me was cold, as if she were looking at a report written in the wrong format. "Luke, I've told you countless times. The most important thing in a marriage is emotional stability. "Your breathing went off just now during the vows. "If a single vow can make you this nervous, are you going to fall apart the moment we run into a real conflict?" I looked down at the number on the screen. Eighty-six. Three beats more than the eighty-three she'd set as the limit. Those three beats had just failed me for the ninety-ninth time. Dr. Wes Perry sat beside us and gently explained on my behalf, "Christina, don't be so strict. Luke was probably just too excited about the wedding." Christina frowned. "Excitement is no excuse for losing control." The more he sounded like the good guy, the more I looked like the unreasonable patient. It had been that way for seven years. When I got jealous, my possessiveness was out of balance. When I felt wronged, I had a cognitive bias. When I went quiet, I had a tendency toward the silent treatment. Wes always had the most professional terms on hand to translate my hurt into my fault. And of course, Christina believed him. She said he was the youngest emotional management expert in the country and the most stable person she'd ever met. So I was made to learn from him. To speak slowly and evenly, the way he did. To just smile when I was misunderstood, the way he did. To keep my eyes free of even the faintest ripple whenever she came close, the way he did. But I wasn't Wes. I loved Christina. How could anyone love someone and never feel a ripple? When I didn't say anything, Christina held out the clipboard. "Write your own self-review. Cause of the loss of control, corrective plan, target for the next test." I didn't take it. Her brows drew down at once. "Luke." Right on cue, Wes stood up and, with a smile, took the ring box from beside my hand. "How about I demonstrate it once for Luke? Let him see how the wedding should go when someone is truly stable." Christina didn't refuse. She even let out a breath of relief. "All right." I'd saved two years of bonuses to buy that ring. Our initials were engraved on the inside of the band. Yet she let Wes pick it up and walk to the center of the wedding simulation stage. The projector lit up again. A pure white floral arch, vow prompts, the path for the embrace. I'd gone through seventeen revisions of this program with her. Every detail carried my hopes. But the man standing in the groom's spot now wasn't me. Wes looked at Christina, his voice as even as a classroom demonstration. "I promise to respect your ideals, understand your sense of order, and accept all of you." A smile reached Christina's eyes. It was faint, but it made my throat tighten. When it was time to exchange rings, Wes paused. "This isn't really appropriate, is it?" Christina said, "It's just a test." He lowered his head with a smile. "Then I'll do as you say." The moment the ring slid onto his ring finger, a few of the friends and relatives off to the side started whooping and clapping. "Now that's emotional stability." "Christina, you and Dr. Perry look perfect together." "Don't take it personally, Luke. Learn a thing or two from him." Christina didn't stop them. She just turned to look at me. "Did you see that clearly?" As I looked at her, she suddenly felt like a stranger. So it was true. A person really could wake up in a single moment. Not with a screaming fight. Not by slamming the door and walking out. Just by seeing your own ring on someone else's finger and hearing the person you'd loved for seven years say, "Once you've learned it, you'll qualify to get married next time." I laughed. Christina froze. "What are you laughing at?" I walked over, took the agreement I'd signed long ago out of my bag, and held it out in front of her. "Christina, the test is over." She glanced at the title, and her face changed. "An agreement to terminate our engagement?" I nodded. "I'm not taking any more tests." Chapter 2 Christina didn't take the agreement. The paper hung in midair. The people who'd been cheering a moment ago went silent too, as if someone had them by the throat. The only clear sound was Wes, head down, trying to pull off the ring. He tried twice and couldn't get it off. Christina stared at me. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Exactly what it says." "Luke, don't threaten me with a breakup." Her voice was very low. It was what she always did right before she lost her temper. I used to dread it more than anything. I was afraid she'd be disappointed, afraid of her cold face, afraid she'd say I wasn't mature enough. So every time we argued, I was the first to back down, even when I was the one who'd been wronged. I said, "It's not a threat. It's a notice." She snorted. "Your heart rate was out of control today. Any decision you make right now has no reference value. We'll talk once you've calmed down." I set the agreement on the table. "I'm perfectly calm." Christina looked at the monitor. At some point, the red light had stopped. My heart rate had dropped back to seventy-one. Even lower than Wes's during his demonstration. Her expression finally soured. Wes cleared his throat. "Luke, maybe the atmosphere just got to you. Major relationship decisions aren't advisable right after an emotional event." I looked at the ring on his hand. "Oh? So you do know this is a major relationship?" He froze. I walked up to him and held out my hand. "Give me back my ring." Wes looked troubled. "It's stuck." Christina frowned. "It's just a ring. Let him keep it for now." I looked at her. For seven years, she'd called every single thing I cared about a fuss over nothing. When I wanted to post photos of us together, she said adults didn't need social media to prove their feelings. But when Wes posted a picture of two coffee cups, she liked it and commented, praising his steady composition. When I was sick and wanted her to come to the hospital with me, she said she had to train my independence. When Wes caught a cold, she could cancel a meeting to make him chicken soup herself. On the anniversary of my father's death, I wanted her to go back to my hometown with me. She said grief couldn't be offloaded onto a partner and that I had to close my own emotional loop. Then she turned around and went with Wes to his mother's birthday party. It wasn't that she didn't understand what it meant to be there for someone. She just didn't want to give that to me. I pulled my hand back. "Fine. It's yours." Wes was taken aback. "Luke, that's not what I meant." "It's fine." I tore the monitor patch off my chest. The adhesive was stuck on so tight that it stung my skin as it came off. Christina instinctively took half a step forward, then stopped. "You're acting very impulsively right now." I put the monitor in her hand. "Then call it losing control. You've always wanted stability. Now you're free." With that, I turned and walked out. Christina called after me, "Luke, if you walk out that door today, the wedding gets postponed for at least six months." My steps faltered. In the past, that one line would've kept me up all night. Postponed six months. Then another six. That was how seven years had dragged by. I looked back at her. "No need to postpone it. Just cancel it." Her expression finally cracked. I didn't look back. Just as I reached the elevator, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Monica Dutton, the company director. Monica: [We need a lead for the overseas project. You said you'd think about it. Still want to go?] I pressed the elevator button. When the doors opened, Christina came running after me. She was still clutching the agreement, its corners crumpled in her grip. "Luke, how long are you going to keep this up?" I lowered my head and replied to Monica: [I'll go.] Christina saw the screen, and her face changed. "Where are you going?" The elevator doors began to close. I watched her reach out to block them. My voice came out so level that even I was surprised. "Somewhere I don't have to pass a test to be loved." Chapter 3 When I got home, the first thing I did was take down the emotion scorecard on the living room wall. That chart had been up for three years. Blue meant steady. Yellow meant fluctuating. Red meant out of control. Next to my name, it was almost all yellow and red. Christina said it wasn't punishment. It was visualized growth. Wes's name had only appeared a few times. And beside it, was blue every time. The note beside it read: Model Sample. I tore the chart down, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it in a garbage bag. Then I went to the bedroom to pack. Half the clothes in the closet had been picked out by Christina. Matching colors, simple cuts. She said it would reduce external stimuli and help me stay stable. I used to think it meant she cared about me. Only later did I realize she just hated it when my clothes made me stand out, because Wes always wore a white shirt. I stuffed every one of those clothes into the bag. My phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Christina had changed her tone and sent more than a dozen messages. Christina: [Come home first. Let's talk face-to-face.] Christina: [Today's test wasn't thorough enough. I can do a reassessment.] Christina: [Wes was just helping. Don't get the wrong idea.] Christina: [Luke, going dark without warning is high-risk behavior in an intimate relationship.] After I read the last one, I turned off my notifications. Just as I zipped my suitcase shut, the door lock clicked. Christina came in in a hurry. She was holding the ring. She must have finally gotten it off Wes's finger. "I brought it back for you." She set the ring on the table, as if offering me a way to back down. "What happened earlier ends here." I didn't take it. She saw the clothes in the garbage bag, and her brows knit together again. "Why are you throwing these out?" "I don't want them anymore." "I picked every one of these to suit your temperament." "I'm changing my temperament." That shut Christina up. Her eyes landed on the suitcase, and her tone dropped at once. "You're really going overseas?" I nodded. "I'm signing the contract tomorrow morning." "You didn't discuss it with me." "You didn't discuss it with me when you decided to put my ring on Wes's finger, either." She stared at me as if she'd just discovered for the first time that I could talk back. After a long moment, she softened her voice. "Luke, I admit I didn't handle today well. But you can't write off our seven years because of one failed test." I smiled. "One?" She didn't say anything. I opened a drawer and took out a thick stack of self-review notebooks. She'd made me write every one of them. The first time we fought, I wrote twelve pages. The second time I got jealous, I wrote eight. The third time, she was away on a business trip with Wes while I was home with a fever of 39 degrees Celsius, and I called her. She told me to first figure out whether this was physical suffering or psychological dependence. That night, I wrote until four in the morning. My handwriting was so crooked it was barely legible. I pushed the notebooks toward her. "Count them, Christina. Which page in here isn't me making excuses for your favoritism?" She opened one. Two lines in, her face went white. "Why did you keep these?" "I was going to use them on our wedding day to tell myself I'd finally made it through." The corner of my mouth twitched. "No use for them now." Christina closed the notebook, her voice hoarse. "I didn't know you were hurting this much." "I told you. You said that was negative expression, and that I had to sort it out before we communicated." She had nothing to say again. The room went quiet. The ring sat on the table, gleaming under the light. I used to love that little gleam. Now it just hurt my eyes. Suddenly, Christina picked up the ring and walked over to me. "Luke, let's go to the county clerk's office tomorrow and get our marriage license." I looked up. She spoke quickly, as if she'd finally made up her mind. "No more tests. The wedding doesn't have to follow the original plan, either. "Haven't you always wanted a result? I'm giving it to you now." A day ago, I probably would've felt like I'd won. But now, all I wanted to ask her was why she only ever offered something once I no longer wanted it. I took a step back. "It's too late." Her hand froze in midair. The doorbell rang right then. Christina hurried to answer it, like someone grabbing a lifeline. Wes stood outside. He was carrying a first aid kit, sweat still beading at his temples. "Christina, you left in such a rush. I was worried something had happened to you." Only after he'd finished speaking did he notice me. He put on that harmless smile again. "Oh, Luke, you're here too." Christina explained on reflex, "I just came back to talk to him." Wes nodded. "I know." He looked at the suitcase by my feet. "But Luke isn't in a state to negotiate right now. Would you like me to do a relationship crisis intervention for the two of you?" I looked at them standing in the doorway. One of them worrying. The other used to being worried over. For seven years, I hadn't even dared to ask a single question when she came home late from work. Because asking meant I was being controlling. Yet Wes could chase her all the way to our home in the middle of the night and simply say he was worried. I bent down and pulled up the handle of my suitcase. Christina panicked. "Where are you going?" I walked past them toward the door. Wes reached out to stop me. "Luke, leaving like this will only make Christina feel more insecure." I stopped. "Then she can write a self-review." Chapter 4 When the hotel front desk asked for ID, I realized I'd left my driver's license at home. My phone was down to seven percent. It was raining outside. I stood in a corner of the lobby and called a coworker to ask if I could crash at his place. The call didn't go through, but Christina's messages squeezed in first. Christina: [Where are you?] Christina: [Wes says you might be having an avoidant reaction.] Christina: [Luke, don't make me worry.] The word "worry" almost made me laugh. Her worry always followed strict rules. It had to be certified by Wes first before it could ever get passed down to me. I was about to turn off my phone when an unknown number called. When I picked up, it was building management. "Is this Mr. Ferland? A man by the name Wes Perry fell downstairs at your building. Ms. Asbille asked you to come back with the medicine. She said you know where the first aid kit is." I held the phone and said nothing for a long time. The person on the other end prompted me. "Mr. Ferland?" I asked, "Where's Christina?" "She's staying with Mr. Perry. She said she can't really step away." Rain pelted the hotel windows, thick and relentless. Suddenly, I remembered last winter. I'd had acute gastroenteritis. The pain was so bad that my cold sweat soaked through the pillow. Christina was out of town with Wes for one of his lectures. I had called her. Her reply was, "Use your breathing technique first. Don't blow physical discomfort up into a relationship demand." In the end, I took a cab to the hospital by myself. When I got home after the IV, the only thing she asked was why I hadn't filled out my emotion log for the day. And I had actually apologized. How pathetic. I hung up on building management and took a cab back to get my ID. When the elevator doors opened, Wes was sitting on a bench in the hallway. One of his pant legs was soaked. Christina was crouched in front of him, wiping the muddy water off his hands. The moment she saw me, she stood up. "Where's the first aid kit?" I said, "I came back to get something." Her face stiffened. "Wes sprained his ankle." "So?" "Luke, can you not sulk at a time like this?" Wes tugged at her sleeve. "Christina, forget it. I'm fine." He said he was fine, but his hand stayed pressed against his ankle. That only made Christina more anxious. "Don't push yourself." She turned to me. "Which shelf is the first aid kit on in the bedroom cabinet?" "Second shelf on the left." She rushed inside. Wes looked up at me, and the warmth in his eyes finally faded. "Luke, you can't win." I looked at him. He smiled. "Christina needs someone who can help her build order, not emotional dead weight like you. You held on for seven years, and she still trusts me more." One of the hallway lights was out. Half his face was lit, the other half in shadow. Now this looked like the real him. That professional, restrained skin he'd always worn had finally cracked. I asked, "You like her?" Wes didn't deny it. "I'm a better fit for her than you are." "Then take her." He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Exactly what it says." Christina came out with the first aid kit just in time to hear the last line. She stopped in her tracks. Wes immediately went back to looking wounded. "Christina, I think Luke misunderstood me." Christina didn't look at him. She stared at me. "What do you mean, take me?" I went inside to get my documents. She followed me in, her voice starting to shake. "Luke, what do you take me for?" I opened the drawer. Driver's license, passport, contract. They were all there. "The woman I once wanted to marry." Her eyes reddened. In seven years, it was the first time I'd seen her lose her composure in front of me. A rare sight. And a late one. "Once?" I put the documents in my bag. "Yes. Once." Suddenly, she grabbed my wrist. "I'm not breaking up. A unilateral decision doesn't count." I looked down at her hand. That hand had pushed me away so many times. When I wanted to hug her. When I wanted to hold her hand. When I asked if she could stop bringing Wes along on our dates. She said I had poor boundaries. Now she held on tight, her nails digging into my skin. I pried her fingers off one by one. "Christina, you're the one who taught me this. Adults respect boundaries." Wes called to her from the doorway. "Christina, I think my ankle's swelling up." Christina went stiff. She turned around on instinct. I dragged my suitcase out. By the time she came after me again, the elevator had already arrived. Just before the doors closed, I heard her ask in a hoarse voice, "Luke, do you really not want me anymore?" I pressed the button for the first floor. "I really don't."