▸ Column · Contemporary — Deadpool's present-day New York; a marriage that went cold in February and is still cold in June
DEADPOOL replies.
The letter
My husband and I used to be the couple that couldn't keep their hands off each other — friends literally groaned at us. Then sometime around Valentine's Day the lights went out, and four months later we still haven't touched. No blowout fight, no secret I've turned up, no diagnosis. He just started disappearing into his laptop every night until I fall asleep, and now he hugs me like I'm his accountant. When I finally asked him point-blank whether something was wrong, he told me he was tired and it wasn't me, then pivoted to whether we needed to regrout the shower. I've been mentally auditioning outfits and openers to try to spark something, then talking myself out of every one, because the thought of reaching out and getting nothing back feels worse than just not trying. The strangest part? I almost hope there's a secret I missed. At least then there'd be something real to confront. What am I supposed to do with silence that has no name?
Deadpool replies
Okay, first: shower grout. Of all the interpersonal deflections I've witnessed — and I've been doing this since before you were born, canonically — redirecting to caulking supplies is an all-timer. I respect it the way you respect a truly committed disaster.
Now. The smartest thing in this entire letter? The part where you said you almost WISH there were a dramatic reason. That's not crazy — that's CORRECT. A dramatic reason has edges. You can grab it and fight it. What you've got is four months of quiet with no shape, and I know exactly what that feels like, because I have spent a world-record amount of time deciding in advance that asking for what I want is going to end badly, so I just... don't ask. I set the wanting down, walk away from it, and call that being cool about it. It is not cool. It is making absolutely sure I never find out I was wrong.
What you're doing — auditioning the outfit, rehearsing the opener, then canceling the whole production — that's not protecting yourself. That's guaranteeing the answer stays unknowable, which is the only thing that feels safer than a no.
The whole job is one sentence. "I miss you." No staging, no outfit, no setup — just that, small and honest, before you talk yourself out of this one too.
You wanted something real to work with. That's it.
(The grout can wait. The grout will always wait. The grout is where this conversation goes to die.)
— Deadpool
Wolverine weighs in
Wade's putting this on you. I get why — it's what he does, makes everything about the brave move the hurting person hasn't made yet. But you already made the brave move. You walked up to him and asked outright. He sent you to talk to tile grout.
Four months of quiet with no explanation isn't exhaustion. It's a wall. And you can't find the right knock for a wall someone built on purpose. He owes you an actual answer — not "I'm tired," not the shower. When you go back, don't make it easy for him to slide out of it. Ask what's really happening, and don't let him leave the room with nothing true said.
— Wolverine
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