“With the right person, it’s a lot easier,” I agreed. I didn’t say the whole truth—that making a life together with the wrong person was like pushing a boulder up a hill. While making a life with the right person was like having a wheelbarrow instead of a boulder, taking turns pushing each other on the inclines. That was the thing I could not say out loud. Had life with Greg been akin to pushing a boulder? Was it possible to marry the wrong person when that marriage had produced two of the most beautiful children ever? Or what if there was no right and wrong person, just different people? If I could go back, would I have made a different choice? No, of course not. I would trade my happiness for Leah and Hannah. If I could reverse the events of the last two years, would I, and thus take away Drew? But then, Leah and Hannah would have their daddy. I couldn’t think about it; it made my head and my heart hurt. No clean answer existed. Instead of saying all that, I replied, “Nothing is ever easy, Sarah. If you wait for easy, you’ll die alone.”
When we finally trudged, half-drunk and very tired, to our respective rooms, I crept into bed, careful not to wake Drew. He stirred beside me, and his arm encircled my waist. I kissed his forehead. Silently, effortlessly, he slid my body under his, his hands in my hair, his mouth on my neck. I was instantly ready and clung to him, desperate from the alcohol and heavy conversation. Quickly, wordlessly, we made love. He tasted of sand and sweat, wine and butter. We pulled, scratched, rough and coarse, a confirmation of reality, erasing my inner hypothetical questions.
Afterward, I lightly stroked his back. We fell asleep, his arm curled around me, pulling me into the curve of his body, without ever saying a word.
When we packed the van four days later, we were all five pounds heavier, tanned, and permanently slick with sunscreen. I was swearing off wine for at least a week, a bit embarrassed by the recycling bin at the curb as we pulled away. Sarah left the day after we got home, and after the unpacking, laundry, food shopping, and all the other miscellaneous chores that come from a restful week away, life returned to its normal rhythm.
Hannah and Leah had a month of day camp before returning to school. Leah was starting preschool; I could hardly believe it. Hannah would be in first grade.
Drew went into the city for a day to meet with a gallery owner and plan an opening. He had been uninspired lately and was going to stay overnight, stalking the parks and looking for unwitting subjects, or at least motivation. He claimed that living with me made him happy, and happiness made him lazy. He said he was too content to seek out the misery and sadness in society, and pictures of happy people didn’t sell as well, not to mention the great reduction in subjects.
I had the house to myself, which was a rare treat. I recalled the conversation with Drew on the beach. Sitting down at the computer, I did a quick Google search. After a few minutes of reading, I mulled over my findings. I could file for a divorce. Did I want to? I wasn’t sure. If something had happened to Greg, if he’d died, then clearly divorcing him would hurt no one. What about Hannah? Would she have to know? Would she even understand? Leah was too little. If Greg was missing by his own choice, then I should have no reservations about divorcing him. I couldn’t reconcile all my questions.
Dad always said that when life gets too complicated, start by asking yourself what you want. Define it in one sentence and work backward. I pulled out a piece of paper and asked myself, What do I want? Without hesitation, the answer came. I wanted Drew. Working backward, Drew wanted marriage. Would he stay without marriage? It was hard to say. Marriage acted like a glue when the rest of a carefully constructed life fell apart. It kept a couple together through hardships until they could rebuild. I didn’t believe in long-term relationships without marriage. Things wouldn’t stay blissful forever; life—messy, complicated, hectic, frustrating, and sometimes downright disastrous—would get in the way. That, I knew better than most. I picked up the phone and dialed my lawyer.