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“Hey, Emma,” Spinner calls from the kitchen downstairs as Emma tugs her tennis shoes on, about to head out of the loft for class.
“Yeah?” she responds, hopping on one foot. She’s going to be late for class (again) if she doesn’t leave in the next two minutes.
Spinner flips an egg onto a slice of toast and folds it into a half sandwich. “I made an appointment at my bank to get you added to my account,” he says. “So come home right after class so we won’t be late.”
Emma pauses for a moment, her heel caught on the back of her boot, standing on one foot. “What?” she asks, confused. They never talked about a joint account.
“The bank,” Spinner says, sticking a banana into Emma’s bag. “In all the rush of the new semester, we haven’t gotten around to getting you added onto my account.”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” Emma says, finally shoving her foot down, worrying for a second that the force will send her toes through the end of the boot. “When did you decide we needed a joint account?” She’s trying not to sound too annoyed, but her footsteps sound thunderous as she descends the stairs.
“We’re married,” Spinner says plainly, holding her bag out to her with one hand and the half egg sandwich with the other.
Emma takes the sandwich and shoves it into her mouth, then the bag and slings it over her shoulder. “I don’t want a joint account,” she mumbles around the food.
Spinner furrows his eyebrows in that way he always does. “Well, why not?”
“Seems like a recipe for disaster,” Emma answers, lowering the sandwich from her mouth and swallowing her first bite. “And it’s not very feminist.”
“Feminism scheminism,” Spinner replies, earning an eye roll from his wife. “You don’t have a job right now and need money to spend when you’re at school. I don’t think woman-power idology is more important than money.”
Ideology, Emma mentally corrects with a sigh.
Spinner pauses for a second, waiting to see if there is any follow up to Emma’s annoyed huff, before he continues. “Having your own debit card sounds more feminist than me giving you a cash allowance. Besides, I think if we’re going to be married, we should be on the same team with the finances.”
“I have my own bank account,” Emma replies, her tone sharp around the edges. “And I still have some money from my loan refund. And if things didn’t work out between us…”
Spinner pinches his nose. “I hate it when you say things like that. It’s like you’re determined our marriage is going to fail.”
Emma checks the clock on the stove. She’s going to be late. Again. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want to make conflict where there doesn’t need to be.”
“Whatever,” Spinner says. He picks up Emma’s helmet and plops it on her head, letting his thumb trace her jaw. “I’ll cancel the appointment.” His tender gesture doesn’t conceal his disappointment.
“Thank you,” Emma replies with as much sincerity as she can muster. “I’ve got to go.”
Spinner raises his hand in a lazy wave as Emma carts her bike into the hallway, ready to cycle to school as fast as she can without breaking a sweat.
Emma returns from school in the evening. With the bank appointment canceled, she decided to stay late in the library to get a head start on some research for her botany class paper. But Spinner is probably home from work by now, and even if she felt like she needed a bit of time away from the money argument that morning, she does miss him and is hungry for dinner.
When she enters the loft she sees Spinner behind the kitchen counter, unloading a brown grocery bag. She sets her bike helmet down to help him with his task.
She grabs a package of ground beef before she realizes what she’s touching, then drops it to the counter. “What is that?” she balks.
“I was planning to make tacos tonight,” Spinner replies, holding up a package of soft flour tortillas.
“Spin, I can’t eat that.” Emma folds her arms over her chest. “I’m a vegetarian.”
Spinner pulls his head back with confusion. “Um, over the summer, weren’t you ready to throw that all away for a cheeseburger.”
“That was just a moment of weakness,” Emma says, that acidic tone seeping back into the corners of her voice. “What am I supposed to eat?” She scans the groceries, looking for beans or anything that could make a complete meal.
“Sorry, Em,” Spinner says.
“Next time, pick up stuff for me to have some vegetarian tacos, huh?” She grabs one of the tortillas and the bag of shredded cheese. It’s not a meal, but it will take the edge off her hunger.
“Well, Ms. Tree-hugger, if you were on my bank account, you’d know that I don’t have enough money to be buying food for two different diets,” Spinner snaps. He’s standing behind his inconsiderate pile of meat with a dark glare. He’s not over their argument from that morning.
We’re back to this, Emma thinks, whirling around. “Figure it out.” She doesn’t want to hash this all out again. She’d rather eat cold cheese on a cheap tortilla than do that, so she marches up the stairs to eat her sad excuse of a supper in their bed.
That night, the loft reeks of taco meat, and Spinner has to dust shredded cheese off the sheets on his side of the mattress. They go to sleep without saying goodnight.
Spinner has a banana as well as a package of peanut butter crackers set on the edge of the counter in the morning, but he’s already up and out of the apartment by the time Emma wakes up and gets dressed. She grabs the snacks as she makes her way out the door, set to be on time for class for once.
She considers staying late on campus again, even bums a meal in the cafeteria off of another freshman who has dining credits, some girl from her Intro to Psychology course. She picks at some chick peas that she found on the salad bar. The vegetarian options here are just as lacking as at home, so she gives up and heads that way before night falls.
As she predicted, Spinner is already home. He’d had an early shift at The Dot, working the breakfast and lunch hours, so he’s been waiting a while already. She finds him lounging on their couch, watching one of those corny old horror movies on their small TV. He leans forward to turn it off. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” Emma replies, hanging her bike helmet on the hook by the door.
“So, I watched a few videos online about where meat comes from,” Spinner says. “Actually, I watched some about other animal products, too.”
Emma stops cold. When she told him to figure it out, this isn’t what she meant.
“I actually think we should go vegan,” he says, standing up and facing her. “I mean, the way that chickens are treated totally sucks. And the dairy cows too.”
“Really?” Emma asks, dropping her bag by her side.
“Yeah, I mean, I’ll eat the meat I already bought because that damage is already done, but I won’t buy any more.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “And I shouldn’t have bought groceries without consulting you in the first place, anyway. I was selfish.”
Emma feels a lump forming in her throat. It feels like tears might come, but not from relief. It’s guilt. Spinner spent his own money on the groceries for both of them. And now he is going to buy the kind of food that she preferred. Meanwhile, she isn’t even willing to put her name on his account. Spinner is trying to make the two of them into a family, but Emma is still acting like this marriage is an experiment. He wasn’t wrong when he accused her of expecting their relationship to fail. She wasn’t acting that way on purpose, but somewhere in her mind, she can’t register this as being actually real. But it is real. She’s married to Spinner Mason. And maybe she should start acting like it.
“Let’s go down to the bank tomorrow,” Emma says in an unexpected rush. “We should open a new account for both of us. I’ll keep my account and you keep yours–for spending money. But you’re right. We should have an account together.”
“Why this all of a sudden?” Spinner asks. “What about feminism and all that?”
“I can still be a feminist and have a joint checking account,” she says. “I’m sorry I was being stubborn, but you were right. We’re married now. We should be merging our lives together. I guess a part of me is still in denial.”
“Me too,” Spinner admits, wrapping his arms around her. “I guess that’s why I wanted the joint account so bad. I want to make this real.”
“It is real.” She rests her head on his shoulder. “I promise it is. And I’m going to try my best to act like it.”
She can feel his shoulders sag with a sigh. There must have been more tension settled there than she realized. Worrying about this marriage wasn’t so one-sided. Spinner has insecurities, too.
“Are you sure about being vegan, though? You’d have to give up ice cream,” she jokes.
“I might have to think it over a little more,” he replies with a laugh.