But now, right now, we aren’t seeing eye to eye on anything. Not food, not the kids, not about her working outside the home. I know, you’re thinking, given most couple’s circumstances in general, and mine in particular—and you don’t even know the whole story—I should be grateful she wants to bring in some extra money to the household. Perhaps I’ll consider it. But not if it means she’ll be working with John. No way. Together, they each know too many pieces of me.
“I can’t congratulate you, Mia, because I forbid it,” I tell her now. In my lap, my hands are clenched into fists. I’m furious. I know what happens at workplaces. I’ve shredded my napkin and white bits sprinkle the ground around my feet like snowflakes.
Mia’s face cracks into a smile and then she begins to laugh. It is not a happy laugh. Our pink-striped waitress appears and refills our iced tea with a quick, sloppy pour from a plastic pitcher.
“Glad to see somebody is having a good time. What’s so funny?” the girl asks. She’s quite sure of herself. Millennials have no respect for private conversations. I’m about to swat away Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle when Mia says, “Him.”
Mia points her index finger at me. “My husband doesn’t want me to go back to work. I’m trying to convince him I’m bored all day, with our boys in school. But he doesn’t think women should work outside the home once they marry. He’s so old-fashioned that way. It’s charming, I suppose. I guess he wants me all to himself.” Mia winks at me, smiling. I don’t believe the smile is sincere, however.
Ghost of Teenage Future says, “That’s sort of awesome. I mean, I guess if you want to work he should let you. Everybody should be able to do what they want but it sounds like you have a pretty sweet deal. Me, personally, I’m marrying a rich guy, staying home and having babies.”
I’ve found an unlikely ally, one with a ring through her nose and black eyeliner soaring like bats from either eye. I guess you could say she has her own style. “Yes, my wife is living the dream, the perfect scenario, just like you will one day.” I nod at Mia, who is staring at me and shaking her head back and forth in a slow, measured no. “Can we have the check, please? And a to-go box for my last slice.”
“Sure,” says the waitress, hurrying away. I wonder if we now scare her more than she scared me.
“You’re one of a kind, Paul,” Mia says. She slides out of our booth with ease. I feel as if she is running away from me but that’s ridiculous. We arrived here together. She has nowhere to go. “I’ll meet you at the car. I need to make a call. To Claudia.”
“Tell her the money will be in the account in half an hour,” I say. Mia turns and walks to the exit, pushes with both hands and bangs her way out through the screen door. I watch her walk down the sidewalk until she disappears. I need to fix this tension, calm her down. My wife shouldn’t be running away from me, she should be standing by my side. I’m good at this, I remind myself. I’m typically calm and in control, hiding the fire deep inside. The past six months have been tough, and I’ve lost a bit of my power around the home—it seems apparent by this display, by the car ride conversation, too, that Mia isn’t pleased with me. But I’m not worried. I know Mia, my empathetic, sweet wife. And of course, I have my plan.
I briefly consider making a call, too. It would be nice to speak with someone kind and loving, someone still enamored with me. But I counsel myself against it.
There will be time later for that.
2:00 p.m.
7
I pay the bill and slide my last slice of bliss into the box for later. It’s so cheap here compared to prices in the city, and I tip the pink-haired girl generously. I see that she’s watching me, clearly attracted to an older, sophisticated and successful man. No doubt she’d like a father figure in her life. I smile and slip out of the booth. I need to focus. I need to find Mia.
I pull on my sunglasses as I step out into the sunshine and onto the busy sidewalk. Tourists are walking up and down this main shopping street, meandering three across like human roadblocks, mindlessly weaving and darting into the trinket stores and art shops. There should be a rule that adults cannot walk three abreast or even two across on crowded sidewalks. Everyone should walk single file, destination in their sights, briskly and with purpose. Unfortunately, humans are like sheep, most of the time. They need a shepherd or they are a milling-about mess.
Except children, I realize, as a gang of youngsters runs past me. They are purpose driven. Our kids are no different. They love this street. Down here they can buy candy and cheap new toys with quarters and, at the most, dollars. I see a couple of boys zip by on bicycles and think fondly of my sons. I miss them, just now. I picture their small hands waving goodbye as I dropped them at school this morning. So sweet, so trusting. I’ll be with them again soon. Right now I need to find my wife and I’m anxious to get to the cottage.
I spot Mia and relief washes over me. She is leaning against the side of the Ford Flex, staring at me while she talks on her phone. I wave but she does not. She ends her phone call as I close the distance between us. I pull her into my arms, careful not to get pizza grease from the box on her lovely blue sweater.
“Honey, let’s not fight anymore. Let’s think about this job thing, not just jump at the first offer. If, after you’ve given it some thought, after we’ve weighed the pros and cons together, you’re still interested in getting back into the advertising game, let’s send your résumé out and get a number of offers.” Problem solved. It’s what I do.
She looks up into my eyes; her lips part, but she doesn’t say a word. I release her and open the passenger door for her, and she slides into the car. I close the door behind her and walk to my side, chuckling at the memory of our first date, and the difference ten years can make.
“It’s almost strawberry time,” I say, changing the subject. “Almost time to see your little strawberry babies.”
“Yes, you’re right. I’m excited to see how they’re doing,” she says. She sounds genuine, happy. We’re back on track, I think. I push the button to roll down our windows, enjoying the breeze from the lake to my left. Between the lake and this street lies the heart of Lakeside, the main park with a putt-putt golf course, children’s playground, a performance gazebo and shuffleboard courts. Shuffleboard is serious business here. I hear the church bell clang twice. Two o’clock. This day is moving quickly.