As we prepared for our wedding, Ethan casually remarked, “Well, we can always get divorced.” I nodded in agreement, as if we were simply discussing the option of returning an unsatisfactory dish at a restaurant. The proposal, a result of an ultimatum, was perhaps the most joyless in the history of engagements. Even the spouse of Anne Boleyn seemed more eager for her marriage than I was.
Ethan was undoubtedly a decent person. Here’s a glimpse into his character:
When my mother received a stage three colon cancer diagnosis, Ethan, despite being a cautious driver, rented a car and navigated through the Holland Tunnel, across 78, and down 81 to West Virginia. He picked up prescriptions, drove us to chemotherapy sessions, and treated us to meals from the local grocery store. My parents, at that time, were residing in a post office (a story for another time); he accepted this without complaint, even sitting on a stack of catalogs while sneaking bites of yams. Occasionally, a postal patron would catch sight of him through the mailboxes, and he’d wave his fork in greeting.
After my mother completed her toughest treatments, Ethan and I rented an RV and drove back to West Virginia, as there was no room for us in the post office. Friends joined us for a Memorial Day pig roast, which was not Ethan’s idea of a good time. As a New Yorker and a chronic insomniac, he’d rather dine on Thai food and catch films at the local cinema. The thought of pig roasts and RV camping was far from appealing to him.
When we attempted to return the RV late on Memorial Day, I carefully scrutinized the rental contract, noting the sewage tank valves needed to be left open. This seemed manageable since a kind trucker had helped us empty the tanks earlier that day.
However, Ethan twisted the valves and emitted a horrified cry. I peered out the window to witness something hitting the pavement. Something—was it?—but we had emptied the tanks, right? Unfortunately, the trucker had been in a hurry and had not completed the job. Now, a sizeable mess was spilling out, which had accumulated from nine people over a long weekend of festivities.
“The tanks are not empty,” Ethan muttered through gritted teeth as I looked on in disbelief. I wondered what the fees would be for leaving such a mess behind.
“Alright,” he said, retrieving a piece of cardboard from our trunk, attempting to scoop the mess into the nearby trees. This was an ill-fated choice—using cardboard as a shovel is akin to icing a cake; it simply does not work. Eventually, he donned plastic bags like gloves and began scooping it up, tossing it into the foliage.
When another RV rolled into the parking lot, Ethan raised his plastic-wrapped hands like a guilty party caught in the act. Thankfully, the newcomers either didn’t notice or didn’t care—they parked and left without a word.
Ethan never complained about the pig roast he didn’t want to attend, the long drive he despised, or the unfortunate incident that ensued.
Around this time, Lori Gottlieb published “Marry Him! The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough” in The Atlantic, urging women to lower their expectations in relationships to avoid being single. While I wasn’t directly influenced by her article, the pressure of being 33 and unmarried weighed heavily on me. Consequently, I committed to what was a perfectly fine relationship—he was kind, intelligent, and willing to deal with unpleasant situations—but it wasn’t ideal. He didn’t want marriage or kids and wasn’t prepared to compromise his precarious artistic lifestyle. Still, I reasoned that a good relationship was better than none at all and pushed for a proposal.
Our wedding ceremony was less enjoyable than the RV mishap. It took us five months to finalize a date to visit City Hall, where we stood before a clerk, feeling a mix of embarrassment and anger, as though I had somehow manipulated the situation to my advantage.
We married in May and spent a two-night honeymoon upstate, which was devoid of romance and excitement. We walked around a lake, observing birds. The memories of that time are vivid yet heavy, akin to the way one remembers details during a traumatic event.
Ethan wasn’t thrilled either; he hadn’t wanted to get married, and now he was stuck in a car with a disheartened wife. Returning to Brooklyn was a relief for both of us.
Statistics about the lack of eligible bachelors in the U.S.—91 men for every 100 women—only added to the anxiety. Comments following the articles echoed a sentiment that women shouldn’t expect men to be providers, often blaming women for their predicament. Discussions about settling, particularly for women in their 30s, were rife with pressure and criticism, coinciding with their peak career years.
The ultimatum I had issued was ultimately detrimental. While I might have felt victorious at first, it became clear that our relationship was on borrowed time. We should have had a calm conversation about our differing desires, but in the routine of our lives, that discussion never happened.
Over time, our home life mirrored the desolation of that car ride. We sat in silence, both engrossed in our screens, while I often found myself outside, smoking and listening to music. I would occasionally remind others we were “newlyweds,” juxtaposing their cheerful congratulations with my inner turmoil.
Two months after our wedding, we finally had the conversation we had avoided for too long. It was painful—filled with tears and frustration at our decisions. In just one day, Ethan moved back into his own apartment, which he had kept for six years.
Within weeks, it felt as if nothing had transpired. We applied for an annulment, and my spirits soared for the first time in years. The idea of dating again excited me. I bought new clothes and makeup, my only concern being that I was 33 and worried about not finding someone in time to start a family.
In October, I met a man named Jake at a party. He was charming, a musician and teacher. After a few dates, he quickly demonstrated his commitment to our future—bringing up marriage and children within a month. We married when I was 35, welcomed our first child at 36, and a second at 39. Jake brings joy to my daily life, proving that even mundane moments can be filled with laughter.
Navigating parenthood has proven more challenging than I anticipated, especially without family close by. It can sometimes feel like pushing a boulder uphill, but the journey is one I cherish.
Summary:
Six years ago, I settled for a relationship with Ethan, whom I deemed “good enough.” Despite his kindness and willingness to support me during difficult times, our marriage stemmed from an ultimatum rather than mutual desire. After an uncomfortable honeymoon and a series of realizations about our differing life goals, we parted ways. I found renewed excitement in dating and eventually met Jake, who shares my vision for the future. Parenthood has its challenges, but I embrace the journey with joy.
Keyphrase: Mr. Good Enough Relationship
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