***
I laid in bed for a long time after I hung up on Asher, staring at the ceiling and replaying our conversation over and over again in my mind. Each time I focused on how angry we’d both been, I groaned it frustration.
Why couldn’t we just communicate normally? Why did all our recent conversations have to end with an argument? And if they didn’t end with an argument, then they’d never even gotten started in the first place. Asher didn’t feel like Asher anymore. He felt closed off and rigid, and maybe in trying to reach him, I was pushing too hard and making him uncomfortable.
I rolled over on the bed and sighed. We had to find a way to talk to each other without turning into nagging old wives. On my part, I needed to learn when to stop pushing him. If he didn’t want to talk about so
