When they’d argued over his tipping the take out waitress, he knew that something was amiss. They hardly ever fought, and when they did it was always over something substantial, and the end results were, frankly, political. They’d agree to disagree and a compromise would be met.
But this? This was completely irrational. He was paying for dinner, he could tip whatever he wanted. Or, at least that’s what he thought.
Driving toward their apartment, after the firestorm part of the fight had died down, he spoke up.
“Wasn’t about the tip, was it?”
“No,” was her curt reply.
“It’s just, I don’t know, this place. All the flaws. We want to have a family, right?” She folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “But this city is so messed up, how are we supposed to support a place like that?”
“It’s where we grew up,” he said, earnestly. “And I think both came out okay.”
“I, I guess, maybe. But that doesn’t mean that things are the same anymore.”
“There’s not a place that’ll get better if people give up on it.” He put his hand on her leg. “And I’d rather try than give up.”
I believe that nothing good in life is ever easy. And if you can carve out a good life in Memphis, it is also not easy. But, if you do it, it the most exceptional kind of life.