The Birthday Card

She received his birthday card.

Her tendency was to presume that he was just doing it to check it off his list. Because, to him a birthday card was just a requirement; it was a minimum requirement. And, he wouldn’t want to be called out for failing to provide the minimum. Because, he really didn’t care. He just felt obligated. That’s what she wanted to believe.

But then she realized that he would say, “I did it because I love you. Because your birthday is important to me. Because, you changed my life.” And then she would wonder why there wasn’t a brand-new car, or a brand-new house, or a brand-new whatever.

And he would probably say, “Is that what you need from me to know that I love you?”

And she would say, “You don’t love me. You say you love me but I know that you don’t.”

And he would get angry, and leave dejected, because he doesn’t care. Because, if he cared he’d stick it out and make her feel that he loved her.

And she’d worry that they were incompatible, because he couldn’t make her feel that way. And, in another year she’d get another birthday card from him, and worry the same things, and feel the same way, and he’d do the same thing over and over. Because, maybe, maybe he actually did love her.