Six Weeks After My Husband Retired, I Was Hiding in the Laundry Room

Six weeks after my husband retired, I was hiding from him in the laundry room with my coffee.

He hadn’t done anything terrible. I just wanted ten minutes without answering a question or explaining where I was going.

That morning, I took a basket of clean towels in with me so I’d have an excuse. They didn’t need washing.

I hadn’t been in there five minutes when my husband knocked.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Laundry,” I said.

There were towels in the dryer too, so I wasn’t completely making it up.

I’m 67. I’ve been retired for three years. David is 69, and he’d been retired for six weeks. Before that, he managed a warehouse. He knew everybody’s schedule, which truck was late, and who needed to leave early to get a sick child.

He used to complain about his phone going off all day. Now he’s checking it to see if anybody called. I didn’t notice that at first. I mostly noticed how many questions he had for me.

What were we doing? Were we going out? Did I want to drive to the hardware store? What was for lunch? Should we start on the closet? Why was I still reading if we’d already had breakfast?

None of these were terrible questions. Reading this back, I sound like I couldn’t stand him. I love the man. I just wasn’t used to having company every time I walked into another room.

The first week, I made his favorite meals. We went out for breakfast twice. I was happy for him. He’d worked hard, and I wanted him to enjoy not getting up before five.

By the third week, I couldn’t go to the mailbox without explaining where I was going.

I had a routine before he retired. Nothing impressive. A library group on Tuesdays. Groceries on Wednesday mornings, when the store was quiet. I called my sister while I folded clothes. Some afternoons, I didn’t do much at all.

I don’t think he realized I had things I liked doing during the day. To be fair, I hadn’t told him much about them. I’d say ‘not much’ when he asked what I’d been up to, because compared with his job it didn’t seem like much.

One Tuesday, he wanted us to drive out to look at used campers. We weren’t buying one. He just wanted to look.

“I’ve got the library,” I said.

“You can miss one week.”

So I missed it. He didn’t make me. I said okay and got my purse, then barely talked to him in the car. He asked what was wrong and I said nothing. Not my finest afternoon.

The next Tuesday, I told him I’d be leaving at ten.

He asked if he could come. I said it was my group, and afterward I was having lunch with two of the women.

“We could all have lunch,” he said.

“I’d like to go by myself.”

His face changed.

“You’re already sick of me.”

I put my keys down.

“I just want to go to my group, David. I don’t want to have to explain it every Tuesday.”

He sat down at the table and wouldn’t look at me for a minute. I thought he was still upset about lunch.

“I don’t have anybody to talk to all day except you,” he said. “And you keep trying to get away from me.”

I felt awful. Then I got defensive, because it wasn’t fair to say I kept trying to get away. Except I’d just hidden in the laundry room, so there was that.

I sat down for a few minutes. I told him I was sorry he felt lonely. I hadn’t realized he felt that way.

He said he missed work. Not the early mornings or the problems. He missed knowing what he was supposed to do when he got up.

He’d expected people to keep calling him with questions for a while. They had called twice the first week. Then they stopped. The new manager was doing fine.

“That’s a good thing,” he said. “I know it is.”

I remembered how often he’d checked his phone after he left. I’d thought he was pleased to be free of it.

I told him about my first months at home. How I’d made appointments I didn’t need because I wanted something on the calendar. How I’d almost gone back to work before I found a few things I enjoyed.

“You never told me that.”

“You were at work. When you got home, you were tired.”

I meant that as an explanation, but it sounded like I was blaming him for going to work. He said, ‘Well, I’m sorry I didn’t know.’ We both sat there annoyed for a bit. This was not one of those conversations where you say the right thing and suddenly understand each other.

Still, I wanted to go to lunch.

“I’m going today,” I said. “I’ll be home around two. We can talk some more then.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look happy.

I did go. I almost turned around at the end of our street, and then I thought about how resentful I’d been in the car the week before and kept driving.

I checked my phone twice during lunch. There was nothing wrong at home. One of the women asked how retirement was going. I started to say fine, then told her I was finding it harder than I expected. She said she and her husband had argued over grocery shopping for about six months. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear that.

When I got back, he’d made himself a sandwich. He’d also tightened the loose handle on the back door. I thanked him for fixing the handle. Then I asked why he’d used the last of the bread without putting it on the grocery list. So yes, he probably found me pretty irritating too.

That afternoon, we got a paper calendar out. He wanted to put everything into an app. I said paper would do for now.

I wrote in my library group. Lunch with my sister the following Friday. A hair appointment. He started suggesting other things I could move around.

I handed him the pen.

“Put your things in.”

He said he didn’t have any.

“What about that breakfast Frank mentioned? Didn’t you say you might go?”

I nearly made a list for him. I knew about a men’s breakfast at the community center. Our neighbor volunteered at a repair event. There were classes and clubs and a dozen things he could try.

Actually, I did send him two links that evening. Then I asked twice if he’d looked at them. He told me to quit checking up on him. He had a point. I didn’t want him managing my day, and there I was doing it to him.

He went to the breakfast and came home saying everybody already knew everybody. I nearly said he hadn’t given it a chance. For once I kept that to myself and asked if the food was any good. He said the eggs were cold, but the coffee was okay.

The next week, he went again. He’d met a man who used to work for one of their suppliers. They had enough to talk about to get through breakfast.

At home, we started taking turns with dinner. David said he’d grill. I said grilled meat still needed something beside it.

We argued about that more than I expected.

Then I caught myself standing beside him while he cut vegetables, telling him the pieces were too big. He put the knife down and asked if I wanted to do it.

I said I was only trying to help. He said he was only trying to make dinner. We had a stupid argument over carrots. I eventually went into the living room, and he finished without me. Dinner was fine.

We also picked one morning a week to do something together. Sometimes breakfast. Sometimes an errand we’d both been putting off. One week, we did go look at the campers.

We were out longer than I expected and stopped for lunch on the way home. I’d forgotten we could have a nice day together. For a few weeks it felt like all we did was irritate each other.

It’s been a few months now. David still has days when he doesn’t know what to do with himself. I still have days when I want him out of the house for no particular reason.

It’s better than those first six weeks. I still don’t always say things before I get snippy, though.

Last Tuesday, I was getting ready for the library when he asked what time I’d be back.

“Around two.”

“Okay. I’m helping Frank with the shelves in his garage. There should be soup left if you want lunch here.”

I told him I was eating with the women.

“Right,” he said. “You told me.”

I went to get my coat. The basket of towels was still on top of the dryer. I asked him to fold them before he left.

He folded them and put them in the wrong cupboard. I moved them, because honestly, I know where I want the towels. I didn’t make a thing of it. We’re still figuring out the rest. Yesterday he went out with Frank and I had the house to myself for three hours. I was glad to hear his car when he got back.

A fictional story inspired by everyday family situations.