Relationship Suicide at a Sushi Restaurant

Joe and I witnessed a matrimonial mess over the summer while lunching at a popular sushi spot in Beachwood. As we sat down, we noticed that the couple at the next table had plans besides enjoying one another's company during their meal. 

The woman was immersed in a PG Wodehouse paperback while her husband (they both wore rings) brought his iPad to the table. For the duration of the meal, this couple never said one word. They interacted with the waitress but not with each other. There was no apparent animus, only indifference.

She remained buried in her book and occasionally laughed out loud at passages from Wodehouse. He had no interest in what was making her chuckle. When the food came, she managed to consume tempura while continuing to follow the adventures of Wodehouse’s fictional butler, Jeeves. 

Jeeves, you may recall, was a “gentleman’s gentleman.” These pitiful partners could have learned something about the art of gentility from her real dining companion, Wodehouse.

When it came time to leave, the dysfunctional duo departed in silence. There were no comments on the meal, no aperçus on Wodehouse—they just headed out the door.

All of this made me think of the Thornton Wilder play Our Town, which is currently in revival in New York. In Act Two, the Stage Manager tells the audience that “people were made to live two-by-two.” Doc Gibbs, on the morning of his son's wedding, reminds his emotionally overwrought wife that he was worried on their own wedding day that they would run out of things to talk about and have to eat meals in silence. 

That never happened in Grover's Corners, but it did happen in Beachwood.

According to my rough calculations, Joe and I have consumed at least 16,000 meals together during our nearly 23-year relationship. Yes, we are guilty of occasional iPhone transgressions—who isn’t? But the Beachwood embarrassment made me realize we have never given up—on conversation, shared laughter, or each other.