“You look it,” I tell her, trying to hide my disdain with a smile. “Let’s go sit, enjoy our drinks. Light a few more candles.”
“Sounds wonderful,” she says. I hand her the tumbler of brandy and follow her into the family room.
I pull the matches out of my pocket and light the three candles on the coffee table, then take a seat next to my wife on the tan couch. It’s wonderful to be home, alone, sitting on our new luxurious, decorator-selected furniture. Here we are relaxing in the family room of our lake house, sharing an after-dinner drink after an expensive dinner out. We are a successful, enviable couple. I am handsome, Mia is holding up well—although you wouldn’t know it with the outfit she has on.
“Cheers,” I say. I hold up my glass of brandy, clink my crystal tumbler against hers. “To us.”
She takes a sniff and recoils at the smell of the strong alcohol. Her head snaps back as if she saw a ghost. I think the hand holding her glass is shaking, almost imperceptibly. Is it? I drink a sip of my own brandy, careful not to shudder, and smile. Sure, the stuff is strong but she is really overreacting.
“Oh, come on. I know you don’t love brandy, but it’s the only after-dinner drink we had in the cupboard. It’s a special night. Drink up, honey. It will help warm you up, and then I’ll finish the job,” I say with a wink, taking another sip.
She smiles feebly. “Okay, Paul, I’ll try it.” I watch closely as she puts the glass to her mouth.
There is a knock on the door. Mia lowers her drink, places the glass on the coffee table and looks at me with concern. This is odd. No one knocks on your door after ten o’clock at night, not in Lakeside. Not even in Columbus.
Mia’s eyes are wide as I stand up. “Stay here. I’ll get it,” I say. I am brave. I am the man. I make my way to the front door and turn on the front porch lights. Their glare reveals Buck. He has a lot of nerve.
I yank open the door. “I know your wife is dead and you may not remember this, but when a man has a date night with his wife it isn’t okay to come over. Not before. Not after. What part of this aren’t you getting?” I say. My hands are on my hips, and I know my words are cutting and mean. I know this, and I like it. He has crossed me one too many times. “What? Why do you think you can just show up here at all hours? Or is this about the strawberries? They’re fine. Been fine. Don’t need you, Mr. Green Thumb. So, good night.”
I slam the door in his face before he has a chance to respond. Hopefully, I made it clear he wasn’t welcome. He couldn’t take a hint, but now he has got it, surely.
I look out the half-moon window cut into the front door, expecting to see Buck’s back as he is walking away. But he is standing on the porch, looking back at me. He isn’t leaving, it appears.
“What the—” I say, about to yank the door open again. This time I’ll use a fist to get my point across. I like the idea. Mia appears next to me, grabs my hand and pulls the door open instead.
“Buck, so good to see you twice in one day,” she says. “Is something wrong?”
I’m seething, Mia is holding my fist, I want to punch Buck but they are talking on my porch.
“Yes, actually. There’s a burglar on the loose. The sheriff came by earlier, but you guys were out. Thought I’d come relay the message myself,” he says. What a Boy Scout he is.
“Wow, thanks for letting us know. Can you come in for a nightcap and tell us more?” Mia asks.
“I’d love to,” Buck says. He takes a step toward me. He has a lot of nerve. I turn to my wife. This is her fault, too. She needs to stop disrespecting me.
“Mia, this is our special night. The best night ever, for the two of us only,” I say. I yank my hand away from hers like a toddler about to have a tantrum at a crowded mall. I reach for Mia’s arm. I will pull her back inside away from Buck if I have to, but just as quickly she moves out of my reach.
“Yes, it is a special night, Paul. But Buck is looking out for our well-being. If there’s a security concern in the neighborhood, I want to know what to do about it and Buck has the information we need,” she says. She is calm, her face flushed, but her voice is firm. We are in a standoff on our front porch. Mia says, “Come in, please. Join us.”
No, that isn’t it, what you’re thinking. She didn’t mean join us for anything other than talking, an after-dinner drink. We aren’t swingers or “alternative lifestyle” or “it’s complicated” people. No, we’re above average normal people. Well, sexually I’m above average. I have a gift. One woman just isn’t enough to handle all I have to give, but I make each woman feel like she is. Does that make sense?
I need to focus.
My head is reeling, I’m losing control of my home, and I’m not certain what to do. My busy mind tries to come up with a response as Buck walks through the front door, cutting between Mia and me. I’m glaring at my wife, but she’s ignoring my stare. Mia follows Buck inside. I have no choice but to follow, too. I step inside my cottage, close the front door behind me, and wonder what I can do to get rid of this unwelcome guest.
“Drink?” Mia asks him, following him to the family room. I have no choice but to trail behind her.
“Sure, what are you having?” Buck asks. He’s wearing a LAKESIDE sweatshirt just like Mia’s. His is navy blue. He has washed denim jeans on and the kind of tennis shoes they call boat shoes back East. Very nautical, very annoying package.
“Paul fixed me a brandy, but I’m just not in the mood,” she says, pointing to the drink she didn’t touch sitting on the coffee table.
“That stuff tastes like lighter fluid,” Buck says. “How about a glass of wine? Red or white, I’m easy.”
“Sure,” Mia says. “Paul? Could you open some wine and pour Buck a glass? I’ll have one, too.”
What is happening? Now I am supposed to serve my wife and our unwanted neighbor wine. My hands become fists until I force them into my pockets and stretch a smile on my face. I stare at the two of them as they settle in around the coffee table.
10:30 p.m.
20
No doubt a shift has occurred in the room with Buck’s arrival, specifically between Mia and me, but I cannot put my finger on it. Yes, Mia has invited the man across the street into our house, into our romantic evening together once again. But it’s more than that. I know it is, but I cannot figure it out.
And she isn’t drinking the brandy.
I stride into the kitchen and reach above the refrigerator, extracting a bottle of passable pinot noir. I don’t care if it’s a cheap bottle, it’s for Buck. I unscrew the top—yes, it’s cheap—and pour a glass for Buck. Mia has a drink, one she will enjoy with me. The same as me. Mine.
I walk through the dining room and stop for a moment. My wife and Buck are talking together, their faces close, close enough to have kissed while I was in the kitchen. He is sitting in a chair, one of the ones across from the couch. She is in the other one. Both chairs are blue. Both are being used.