That Time My Accountant Outed My Husband

Six weeks come and go and I hate to admit it, but he is right. Almost nothing changes in terms of day to day life. That his absence is not as deeply felt as I expected is telling of his withdrawal long before he physically pulled up stumps. How long had he been inching away from us?

Desperate times call for desperate measures and I do the only sensible thing – I make the trek to a psychic to seek out some certainty. Towards the end of my reading he looks at me intently and asks, ‘Do you love him?’ The words catch in my throat for a split second before I answer, ‘Yes, of course.’ He exhales all the air out of his lungs, making a whistling sound. ‘That took a minute. Think about it some more, the answer might surprise you.’

Could it be that my lack of tenderness was more to do with the fact that I didn’t feel those feelings for my husband anymore, rather than that I couldn’t feel at all? The answer is a double-edged sword. No thank you Michael, I will not think about it some more. I am not willing to entertain the idea that it was I who fell out of love first.

As the Salem-esque hysteria begins to subside, I find that I stare at the indent where my ring used to be a little less each day and I can mostly ignore the empty space in the robe. Small steps. I still wear his t-shirt to bed and my wedding rings hang on a chain around my neck. I’m not even close to being ready to let go of how I expected life to be.

Feelings of abandonment, shame and fear continue to shunt me as if I were a ball in the Twilight Zone pinball machine. I want to make it through with my dignity intact and a scrap of love in my heart, but don’t know how to get from where I am to where I need to be.

I bounce between three bosom friends who affirm my rightness when I crave vindication and cheer me on with reminders that I am inherently good, despite what he has told me and what I have come to believe about myself. They are generous enough to listen to countless hours of doubts and confusion without trying to solve it. They are the three who were mine first and therefore I feel safe to be my angriest, unkind self with them. I roll over and show them my underbelly and it is such a relief, like letting the steam out of a pressure cooker. I owe it to them for giving me the strength to be gracious and understanding when all I want to be is furious and justified.

Here’s the thing though – regardless of how much therapy or talking I do, I cannot satisfy myself. I still want to know what exact straw broke the camel’s back because even with the shadows over our relationship, it is a shock that I am now living in our forever house on my own.

Case in point – not one month before the beginning of the end we had been on an overseas holiday. We had wined and dined and explored and laughed. Barely a cross word was said, on the trip or in our relationship. I would have called ours an easy relationship – there had always been a natural compatibility, a calmness, a common history, and shared goals. How did it go from hero to zero in four months?

I stride up the uneven footpath towards the accountant’s office as fast as I can in my six inch heels. I am late for my 2pm appointment.

‘Hi, sorry I’m late, there was a huge customer complaint.’

‘Not a problem Brooke, come through.’ He leads me into the boardroom and seats us both at the end of the substantial mahogany table.

‘Ok, so this year is going to be a little different for you. There will be some things to work out given that you still shared a number of properties for the majority of the financial year. Next year will be much more simple.’

This is hard. Having to face the realities of untwining our lives. There it is on paper, the Australian Tax Office screaming ‘DIVORCE’ at me.

My accountant is kind and sensible and I make it through dry-eyed, just. He gets up from the table and makes his way to the office to make a copy of my documents. At the door he turns back toward me, looking like he wants to say something more. (He and his family have been friends with my husband’s family for decades and it feels like I am visiting a friend, who also does my tax. Win win.) Perhaps this familiarity led to his next question.

‘Brooke, my wife and I have been talking a little about your separation.’ He begins tentatively.

Gulp. ‘Yes’.

‘And we wondered, well, I hope you don’t feel like I am talking out of school, but, we have wondered more than once whether perhaps, and bearing in mind we don’t know him like we once did but, it all seems very sudden and, well, have you considered that he might be gay?’

WTF. No. I have not wondered if my husband and the father of my two children is gay. Not seriously anyway.

I stare at him.

‘I’m sorry, I thought you might have already worked it out, and it’s just an idea anyway, of course we could be wrong, we don’t know him that well any more.’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ I reassure him, ‘it does make some sense, I mean we just had that holiday and had a good time. Maybe you are right.’ I push the chair back and stand up. I need to get out of there, the whooshing is back and his words are echoing in my ears.

I smile, say goodbye and step out into the world. It is exactly as I left it 40 minutes ago and yet everything is different now. I make a beeline for work, oblivious to anyone else on the footpath. Someone calls my name from across the road and I absently lift my hand to wave, a faint smile turning up the sides of my mouth.

I step into the bank and scope it out. I need to find my assistant. Now.

‘Have you seen Kate?’ I ask one of my staff.

‘I think she’s out the back’, she replies without looking up from the computer screen.

I tap in the code to the back office and call Kate’s name.

‘Over here.’ As I turn the corner in a calm panic I run right into her. ‘Hey. What’s up?’

‘Kate! Kate!’ I grab her by the arms. ‘Is he gay? My husband. Is he gay?’ My eyes are wide.

‘Umm, there’s a chance yeah. Actually, Russell is pretty sure.’ She reaches and rubs the side of my upper arm, ‘I’m sorry.’

I brush her hand away and head for the tellers. I need to find someone who will stop all of this nonsense.

Jesse is serving a customer. I stand behind her waiting, tapping my fingers on the counter. I didn’t know for 12 years but now I need to know right this very minute. She glances around and whispers, ‘everything ok?’ I shake my head. As soon as Betty has her $200 Jesse follows me to the back office.

‘Jesse, is my husband gay?’ As matter of fact as that.

‘I don’t know what to say here. I don’t wasn’t to crush my boss’s heart.’

‘Tell me. I need to know. It’s OK. I’m ok.’

‘Are you sure? Because you’re not really blinking.’ I nod. ‘Well now that you bring it up, we have been wondering for some time, especially after the Christmas party.’

SHIT!

Best of three.

I leave the room and head to Renae’s office. She is thankfully by herself. I perch on the end of the chair, my legs jostling up and down like I have ants in my pants.

‘Renae. Is there a chance that my husband might be gay?’

She just looks at me, gauging whether this is a moment to say ‘no your bottom doesn’t look big in that.’ I stop my legs moving and settle into the back of the chair, trying to appear normal, like this sort of thing happens every day.

‘Yes?’ She concedes in a hesitant tone, her shoulders shrugged and her eyebrows raised.

Bloody hell! What do I do now?