“Right, well, enjoy your evening.” As I walk him to the door, I ask, “Any special ladies in your life, Buck?” It has been a year since his wife died, after all, and men have needs. I think that is a thing a guy would say to another guy.
Mia appears beside me. She must have overheard me because she says, “Really, Paul?”
Buck chuckles. “It’s okay, Mia,” he says. “I’m sure Paul just wishes me the best, don’t you, Paul?” Buck slaps me on the back, firmly. A brotherly pat, that’s what I’ll consider it. I slip my hand into my pocket, rubbing the matches between my fingers.
7:30 p.m.
12
We are still late for our reservation even though Mia moved it back. I knew we would be. It’s Friday night, and tourists like us have arrived at the lake. We are stuck in traffic. I take a deep breath. There is nothing I can do but try to relax. I’ve called the restaurant, and they will hold our table. It’s a special table, for a special night. I’m thankful for their understanding and will tip the host. I hope Mia brought cash.
“Let’s call Claudia and check on the boys,” I say. I know Mia is tense beside me, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. She probably is worried I am upset with her for our late arrival at the restaurant, but I will show her I’m fine. Calling the boys is a peace offering. I am a normal, loving husband and father.
“They aren’t home. They’re getting pizza,” she says.
“Well, Claudia can answer her cell phone at a pizza joint, can’t she?” I ask. Logical question, I think.
“Let’s not bother them during dinner,” Mia says. That’s odd. She is the person who has called Claudia at least four times since we left home this morning. “I mean, they’re getting pizza at the movies. There’s a new animated superhero movie out today. I told her to take them. I planned ahead and bought tickets for them online.”
The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. Is my wife lying to me? I wonder. This does not make sense, not at all. I refuse to believe that is the case. I know my wife. My wife loves me, and logically, I know I should trust her as much as she should trust me. We have two sons and a life together. She thought ahead and bought them all tickets to the movie. That is thoughtful, she is kind. I need to relax.
Love is such a complicated thing to us humans. We overanalyze, we fret, we try to understand it. It’s easier to understand if you think of us all as animals, with needs and desires. That’s what we are, all of us. Here, consider this: my wife loves me almost as much as Gretchen does. Gretchen benefits from the carefree Paul, the Paul without obligations. Mia, well, she gets a slightly less shiny version of the Paul who Gretchen sees, the version of me that Gretchen loves. Mia had that once, at the beginning of our relationship, but now she has two kids and, well, a history with me. The good and the bad. Hopefully, she still remembers the early, shiny years.
Ah, Gretchen. She’s the one I’ve been fighting the urge to call since we left home this morning. She’s the one who has called me a few times since we left. Sweet girl. I know she misses me. She tells me it’s our six-month anniversary this weekend. But it isn’t appropriate for me to talk to her on this day. I have rules. I don’t want you to think less of me because of Gretchen’s existence, so please don’t. Our relationship doesn’t harm anyone; it simply brings more joy to the world as a whole.
We are together almost every day now, and the fact I haven’t touched her or talked to her today stings. Don’t get me wrong, she isn’t above Mia in my mind, she’s distinct. Gretchen is fun, while Mia is family. Gretchen is youth and fucking—pardon, great sex. Mia is family dinners and strawberry patches and Scrabble. Am I explaining things well enough for you? They don’t have anything to do with each other, and they’ll never meet. I am the only overlap, the circle in the middle of the Venn diagram that depicts Gretchen’s circle on one side, Mia’s on the other. Their lives will never converge; they never will meet even though Gretchen lives in the next suburb over, a five-minute drive away. That is the way my world works. It is neat and orderly. Defined. I’m in control.
Nevertheless, Gretchen is angry that I’m away this weekend and have told her we will not speak on the phone. I am surprised she has called me since she knows the rules. She understands the way things are. I told her going in that I love my wife, and that I’d never leave her, although between you and me, there are no real absolutes in life, are there? Gretchen and I have something special, but not as special as what I have with Mia. I know this is confusing to you perhaps, but my relationship with my mistress doesn’t have anything to do with my relationship with my wife. They are wholly separate, but both valued. Tonight’s not the night for me to be thinking about Gretchen, but my mind is busy for some reason.
Yesterday, we ate lunch in bed, and Gretchen wore a navy silk nightgown that hugged her thin frame, accentuating her generous breasts. She’s a gorgeous brunette, in her late twenties, who works at a lingerie store at the mall called I See London. We met six months ago, when I went to the mall to kill time, maybe buy a gift for Mia. I had suddenly found myself with too much time on my hands during the day, and going shopping seemed as good a pursuit as any. I told myself if I saw anyone I would explain it was client research for a new account. I mean, only women go to malls in the daytime, everyone knows that. But I had a business reason.
I wandered into the store bursting with silk finery in all shades of the rainbow. As soon as I saw Gretchen, I felt that familiar attraction—the buzz, the electricity—and I knew she and I were meant to be. I started by asking her to help me pick a lingerie set. We moved on to a discussion of the quality of the silk—given my extensive travels to Asia, I wanted only the finest and I knew how to spot it, I told her.
Her eyes glistened the moment I mentioned travel, and I knew she was nibbling the bait.
“Let me take you to the high-end lingerie area,” Gretchen said, turning and tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder.
“I’ll follow you anywhere, my dear,” I said, adding my signature smile and wink.
It’s as if no one else was in the store, no one else was in the entire mall. Gretchen and I flirted for at least an hour, as she held up options for me to consider, as our fingertips lightly brushed over the silk goodies, as we talked about our shared love of jazz music (yes!), our shared dream of moving to the beach (why not?) and spending a New Year’s Eve in Paris (let’s do it). She was captivating, young, enthusiastic, and the attraction was intense, instant. I wasn’t looking, promise. I may have left my wedding ring in the car, but that was just an accident.
“So who is the lucky lady who will be wearing this?” she asked as she finished wrapping my purchase in a thick white gift paper, tying it with a red silk bow. She handed the package to me. Her fingers were blissfully unadorned, I had noticed early on.