“He just doesn’t listen to me.”
Lea wrote the sentence and looked at it for a moment.
Then she sent it.
happinoa® replied:
“What would Daniel have heard if he had really listened to you?”
Lea did not have to think for long.
“That this isn’t about that stupid Saturday.”
The “stupid Saturday” was Daniel’s mother’s birthday.
Seventy years old.
A big celebration. A restaurant. Almost forty guests.
Weeks ago, Daniel had promised his mother that of course they would both be there.
Lea had a professional course that same weekend.
It was not compulsory. Nobody was making her attend. But she had been looking forward to it for months.
When she told Daniel about it, all he had said was:
“Then you’ll just have to cancel. My mother only turns 70 once.”
As far as Daniel was concerned, that was all there was to say.
For Lea, that was exactly where the argument began.
“Why do you just decide that for me?”
“I’m not deciding anything. It’s my mother’s 70th birthday.”
“And that automatically decides what I do?”
“Lea, please. It’s a birthday.”
“Exactly.”
After that, the birthday had rather quickly turned into something that had very little to do with a birthday.
“So what should Daniel have heard?” happinoa® asked.
Lea wrote:
“That my things matter too.”
She waited.
Then added:
“Not more than his mother. They just matter.”
happinoa® replied:
“Then perhaps what affects you is not so much his expectation that you will come, but the matter-of-fact way your own plans disappeared in the process.”
Lea read the sentence twice.
“Yes.”
Then:
“Exactly that.”
She continued writing.
“If he had said, ‘My mother would be so happy if you were there. Could we see whether there’s any way to make it work?’ that would have been completely different.”
“Perhaps even with the same outcome?”
Lea paused.
“Perhaps.”
That surprised her.
“I could probably even take the course on another date.”
“Then this really isn’t only about what happens on Saturday.”
“No.”
Lea put her phone aside for a moment.
Then picked it up again.
“It’s about whether I count at all.”
Daniel saw things differently.
Very differently.
The next evening, he said:
“You make it sound as if I’m constantly deciding how you live your life.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s exactly how it sounds.”
“Because you don’t understand what this is about for me.”
Daniel gave a short laugh.
Not a friendly one.
“Of course. Once again, I don’t understand.”
Lea felt the answer rising in her immediately.
She did not say it.
The sentence from the previous evening was still there.
It’s about whether I count at all.
“Okay,” she said. “How do you understand it, then?”
Daniel looked at her suspiciously.
“What?”
“The argument.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Daniel leaned back.
“I think you’re turning something completely normal into a matter of principle.”
Lea wanted to object.
This time, she let him continue.
“My mother is turning 70. To me, it goes without saying that we go together. Just as I go with you to the important things in your family without question.”
“But that’s not what this is about at all.”
Daniel looked at her.
“It is for me.”
There they were again.
Two people.
One Saturday.
And apparently two entirely different conversations.
Later, Lea opened happinoa® again.
“I asked Daniel how he understands our argument.”
“And?”
“Completely differently.”
She told happinoa® about their conversation.
happinoa® replied:
“If I reflect Daniel’s perspective using only what you have just told me about him, his thought might be something like this: When something important happens, we naturally stand by one another as a couple and support each other’s families. And your hesitation may feel to him as though you are questioning that very understanding.”
Lea felt resistance.
“But I’m not questioning our relationship at all.”
“I’m not saying that you are. I’m trying to place his thought beside yours.”
Lea read on.
“Yours might be: Precisely because we are a couple, I want my own things to continue to have a place, and I don’t want decisions about them to be taken for granted.”
Lea replied:
“Yes.”
Then she looked at both sentences again.
She did not particularly like Daniel’s sentence.
But for the first time, it did not simply sound inconsiderate.
“I think that really is how he sees it.”
“What does that change for you?”
“I still think he’s wrong.”
happinoa® replied:
“You’re allowed to.”
Lea had to laugh.
“Thank you.”
On Thursday evening, they were sitting over dinner.
The birthday was now only two weeks away.
Daniel asked:
“Have you cancelled the course yet?”
Lea put down her fork.
“Not yet.”
Daniel rolled his eyes.
“Lea …”
“Wait.”
He was silent.
“I think I understand now why this upsets you so much.”
Daniel looked at her.
“I see.”
“To you, this birthday doesn’t simply mean that your mother is turning 70.”
“What does it mean, then?”
Lea searched for the right words.
“That we belong together at times like this. That we are there for one another when something is important. And that it doesn’t even occur to you to wonder whether you go to something like this. You simply go.”
At first, Daniel said nothing.
Then he nodded.
“Yes.”
Lea picked up her fork again.
“I still see it differently.”
Daniel’s expression changed immediately.
“Then we’re back where we started.”
“No.”
“What’s different now?”
Lea considered this.
“Perhaps that I no longer believe you don’t care about my course.”
Daniel looked at her.
“I do care.”
“But you still think I should cancel it.”
“Yes.”
“And I still think you can’t simply take that for granted.”
“Yes.”
They looked at each other.
Then they both had to laugh.
Not for long.
After all, the argument had not disappeared.
The next morning, a message arrived from Daniel.
Spoke to my mother. She’s asking whether we want to have breakfast with her on Sunday after the party if you come later on Saturday.
Lea read the message.
Then read it again.
She opened her calendar and checked when her course ended.
5.30 p.m.
The restaurant was just under an hour away.
She typed:
Could be there around 7.
Daniel replied:
Then you’ll miss my uncle’s speech.
Lea:
Now you’ve finally convinced me.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
We still don’t agree, though, do we?
Lea smiled.
No.
A moment later, Daniel’s reply arrived.
Good. At least now I know what about.