Wifey

by Judy Blume

  On a more personal note, thank you for the picture of Sandy and the children. They look just right for you. I wish you had included a picture of yourself, as well. Norman, if it matters at all, please know that I have never loved anyone the way I loved you. And please know that I will always love you and if ever things aren’t going well with you . . . I hope you know what I am trying to say.

  With all my love and gratitude,

  Bren

  The love of her life? Norman? God, had Brenda been the love of his life too? Had he married her the way she had married him? For safety . . . for comfort . . . for convenience. Were she and Norman really alike after all?

  December 16

  A CHRISTMAS WISH TO YOU AND YOURS

  A NEW YEAR FULL OF BRIGHTNESS

  Brenda Partington Yvelenski

  Andrew, Robin, and Yvette

  All of this was printed on a color photo, showing three beautiful children and Brenda herself, a chunky woman of about thirty-five with a pretty, round face, framed by long dark hair. Beneath the photo she had added,

  Thinking of you on this day . . . Remembering the holiday season we spent together. Was it really so long ago? It seems like yesterday to me.

  Love always,

  B

  January 5

  Dear Norman,

  I am going to be in New York on the 12th to shop for supplies for the restaurant. You can’t beat the wholesalers prices there. I hope I can see you then. I want so much to thank you in person. I’ll be at the H.J. Motor Lodge in mid-Manhattan. Please call me.

  My love and devotion,

  Bren

  Had he gone? January 12, they’d been back from Jamaica ten days. Norman was still tan, thanks to his new sunlamp, and he had no herpes on his lips. Jesus, if he’d gone . . . if he’d . . .

  January 18

  Dearest Norman,

  It was just wonderful seeing you again. You are every bit as attractive as you were way back when. I enjoyed our lunch so much. I only wish it could have been more. You know what I mean. Yes, I can understand your feelings about Sandy and I think it is admirable of you to choose to remain faithful to her. I certainly have no desire to break up your happy marriage. I guess I just wanted to renew our relationship on a “special occasions” basis. However, I will respect your wishes and will not contact you again except to let you know where to reach me. I am already on a crash diet and plan to lose 25 pounds before summer.

  Much love, always

  Brenda

  Admirable intentions. How like Norman. Maybe if he had let go this time, given in to his emotions just once, she could have told him about Shep. Maybe then he would have understood and they could have worked things out together.

  Sandy, you’re supposed to feel proud that he cares so much he wouldn’t you-know-what with another woman . . .

  Maybe, but I’d rather know he’s human . . .

  Sandy, I can’t believe this. Any other woman would get down on her knees and kiss the ground he walks on.

  So sue me . . .

  February 9

  Announcing the opening of Brenda’s Bistro

  Main Street

  Newburyport, Mass.

  Serving dinner from six to nine

  Reservations, please

  Brenda Partington Yvelenski, Owner/Chef

  (With a little help from her friends)

  And finally . . .

  May 10

  Dear Norman,

  I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to write. Business at the Bistro is excellent and we are looking forward to summer, our heaviest tourist season. Also, I have met a very nice man, Ken Sweeney, who has a house here. He is semi-retired, with business ties in Boston. He is slightly older (61) but we really enjoy each other’s company. I am enclosing a check in the amount of $2750. I plan to pay off your loan by November. Again, thanks so much for your help, your support, your confidence in me. I will never forget you.

  Affectionately,

  Bren

  How easy it should be to hate this overconfident, independent woman! How easy to hate this Brenda, who wanted to renew her relationship with Norman on a “special occasions” basis.

  Sandy, you sound jealous.

  I’m pissed, not jealous.

  You could have fooled me!

  Oh, yes, she wanted to hate Brenda Partington Yvelenski. But it wasn’t so easy after all. Brenda sounded too decent, too human, and more love poured out of her letters than Sandy and Norman had shared in twelve years of marriage. That hurt more than anything else. She had a sudden desire to call Brenda, to ask her what Norman had really been like way back then. Because she could see now that there must have been another Norman. A Norman who dreamed of becoming a biologist . . . of saving the world. A Norman who loved intensely. Could that Norman still be locked inside the Norman she knew, just as another Sandy was inside her, struggling to get out?

  Her Norman had opted for his parents’ way of life . . . was becoming his father just as she was following in Mona’s footsteps. Oh, God, do we all turn into our parents in the end?

  NORMAN WAS BANGING on the attic door again, calling, “Sandy, come down, come to bed.”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  “You can’t stay up there all night. Come down. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

  “Go away!”

  “Sandy, please . . .”

  “No!”

  Sandy turned out all but one of the attic lights and crawled into Bucky’s Snoopy sleeping bag. She slept fitfully, thinking about this man who was her husband. This man whom she hardly knew.

  26

  IN THE MORNING Norman was gone. To work? To his lawyer’s office? To Reno? She didn’t know. She checked his closet. All of his things were in order. She ran a hot tub, looking at herself in the mirror for the first time since last night’s main event. Her lip was swollen. She should have put ice on it then. Now it was too late. She sank into the tub, trying to soak away the pain.

  What was she supposed to do about her life?

  Where were the rules when you needed them?

  NORMAN CAME HOME from work carrying a pizza. A peace offering? “I didn’t think you’d want to cook tonight.”

  Absolutely right.

  “And I didn’t think you’d feel like going out either.”

  Right again.

  “I went to the doctor this afternoon. He had to massage my prostate to get a culture. You have no idea how uncomfortable it is for a male to have his prostate massaged.”

  Try having a baby some day.

  “He didn’t see any sign of gonorrhea but given the circumstances felt I should take the medication anyway . . . just in case . . . to be safe. I’ll turn on the oven.” He studied the knobs. “Which one—bake, broil, preheat, or time-bake?”

  She almost laughed. “Bake, three-fifty.”

  “You don’t look bad.”

  Thanks very much.

  He shoved the pizza into the oven, closed the door, and, still facing it, said, “I’ve thought it over carefully and I’ve decided to let you stay. There’s no point in messing up the kids’ lives. I assume that you’ve learned your lesson and that it won’t happen again.” He paused. “Say something, will you?”

  “I don’t know if I want to stay,” she said. “I don’t know what our lives will be like if I do.”

  “I don’t know either and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust you again . . .”

  She stood up. “Well, then . . .” She started to walk toward the door.

  “Sandy . . . wait . . . don’t go . . . please . . .” he said, turning away from the oven at last. “I need you . . . and I’m willing to try . . . I’ll make every effort to trust you . . . if you promise . . .”

 
How like Bucky he seemed now. How like a little boy. Did he really need her or was he just saying it?

  “And I’m willing to get a double bed for the new house.”

  “A double bed?” Now she could see how scared he really was. Scared that she’d actually leave him. For the first time in years she wanted to put her arms around him. To comfort him.

  “Yes. You’ve always wanted one, haven’t you?”

  “But Norm, you . . .”

  “I said I’m willing to try and I’m sorry if I hurt you last night.” He looked at the floor, not at her. “But you have to remember that you hurt me first.”

  Okay. She could understand that. Could try to, anyway. “You should have told me about Brenda. I read her letters last night.”

  “Reread them, you mean.”

  “No, I read them for the first time.”

  “But you said . . .”

  She shook her head. “I found the canceled check . . . that’s how I knew.”

  “What were you doing in the gun cabinet?”

  “Dusting.”

  “Come on, Sandy.”

  “All right . . . I was thinking about shooting myself.”

  “Because of the gonorrhea?”

  “Because of us . . . me, you . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Sandy, what would that have solved?”

  “For me, everything, but, as you can see, I decided against it.”

  He let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what you want from me, San. You once said love. Well, I love you. I love you the only way I know how. I’m sorry if it’s not enough for you.” His voice caught.

  She began to cry, softly. “Can we make it work? Can we, Norm?”

  “I don’t know. I think if you’ll be reasonable this time, we can. I think if you stop thinking, stop questioning everything, and just settle back and relax, we can. If you accept me the way I am, yes. Otherwise, I just don’t know, but I find the idea of divorce repulsive.”

  Divorce.

  “Tomorrow’s our anniversary. You don’t throw twelve years of your life away just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I think we should turn over a new leaf. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard this summer. Maybe I should have let you sit home alone day after day. I thought I was doing what was best for you. I’ve always tried to do what’s best for you.”

  That’s news to me.

  “So what do you say, San?” he asked, nuzzling her.

  “The pizza’s burning.”

  27

  HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!”

  Myra had arranged a family dinner at The Club to help them celebrate. Twelve years. Sandy looked around the table as they toasted her and Norman, thinking, What am I doing here?

  Myra sat opposite Sandy in faded bluejeans, a T-shirt, and a sleek new haircut, her San Francisco look. “And Sandy,” she’d said earlier, when they’d gone to the Ladies Room by themselves, “Gordy and I smoked our first grass out there. Everyone at the convention had it and it was great. I’m telling you, we’ve never enjoyed each other so much . . .”

  I know, Sandy wanted to say, I saw pictures.

  Gordon sat next to Myra. He looked slightly embarrassed. From the intimate details of her life, Sandy wondered, or his own?

  Connie sat next to Gordon, and Kate, next to her, each of them twenty-five pounds lighter, with an adorable new nose and acting vivacious, just like their mother. The wonders of plastic surgery!

  Mona, next to Sandy.

  Enid, next to Norm.

  Myra was saying, “And Gordy and I flew to Aspen on our way back from San Francisco and we bought a fabulous condominium and we’re all going to learn to ski next winter.”

  “Wonderful,” Norman said. “I’ve always wanted to ski.”

  Not you, Sandy thought. Them.

  “Let’s hope nobody breaks a leg,” Mona said.

  “Oh, Grandma, you always think the worst about everything!”

  “Somebody has to.”

  “And . . .” Myra went on, “that’s not all. We’re thinking of going into boating next summer. We’ve been looking at yachts all week. They’re so cute. Just like little houses, with three bedrooms and two baths and double ovens. What size are we looking at, Gordy, fifty feet?”

  “Something like that.”

  “We’re thinking about boating out to the Hamptons or up to the Cape . . . and did you hear that Gordy’s taking a partner next month so he won’t have to work so hard . . . and we’re going to have more time together . . .” She leaned over and kissed him. Gordon blushed. “And you’re all invited on our yacht next summer.”

  “Thank you, but I prefer land,” Enid said.

  “Yes, we hear you’re going to Florida,” Gordon said to her.

  “Maybe. My son thinks I should retire.” Enid gave Norman a martyred look. “But I don’t know.”

  “You’ve worked hard for a long time, Mom,” Norman said.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll love it there, Mrs. Pressman,” Myra said. “Gordy’s parents have been there for years and they’re very happy.”

  “It’s full of old people,” Enid said, “waiting to die.”

  “No, that’s not so at all,” Myra told her. “There are a lot of retired people but they’re not necessarily old.”

  “And who knows,” Mona said, “maybe you’ll meet a nice man.”

  “I don’t see you with one,” Enid shot back.

  “But I’m not in Florida,” Mona said, winking at Sandy, letting her know that she and Morris Minster were still going strong.

  Enid turned to Mona. “Never mind Florida . . . I suppose you hear they sold the house to a Realtor . . . practically gave it away . . . and the railing on the stairway alone is worth a small fortune . . . imported . . . I tell you, Mona . . . it’s one disappointment after the other . . .”

  “Be happy they’re well, that’s what counts.”

  Enid sighed. “Who’s to say? If I had it to do over again I would do it a lot differently, I’ll tell you that.”

  “So who wouldn’t?” Mona asked.

  Yes, Sandy thought. Who wouldn’t? I might be sharing my anniversary dinners with Shep, and Norman might be sharing his with Brenda, no matter what our parents had to say about it. No . . . wait . . . that’s unfair . . . I can’t go on blaming Mona forever . . . I’m the one who married Norman . . . nobody held a knife to my throat . . . stop thinking, Sandy . . . it hurts too much to think . . .

  “Sandy, you’re not touching your food,” Mona said.

  “Who can blame her?” Enid asked. “You should only try cutting this drek they call roast beef, and cold soup just like last time.”

  “What happened to your mouth, Aunt Sandy?” Kate said. “It looks swollen.”

  “Another herpes, San?” Myra asked.

  “No, it’s . . .” She had applied her makeup carefully, hoping that no one would notice.

  “We didn’t want you to know,” Norman said, “but Sandy had a little accident two days ago. She fell down the stairs.”

  Very good, Norman. Very imaginative.

  “Sandy, sweetheart!” Mona looked concerned.

  “I didn’t fall down the whole flight,” she told them, trying to laugh it off. “Just the bottom three. I tripped.”

  “You went to the doctor?” Mona asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes. Fine.” She caught Gordon looking at her, skeptically, and repeated, “I’m fine, really.”

  Enid offered an after-dinner toast. “May the next thirteen years be just as happy.”

  “Twelve,” Sandy said.

  “So be happy an extra year.”

  “HOW ABOUT A LITTLE SOM
ETHING for our anniversary, San?”

  “You already gave me a gold bracelet.”

  “But you haven’t given me anything yet.”

  “I didn’t know what to get.”

  “I’ll settle for a little something. Remember our wedding night, San?”

  “Very well.”

  “And our honeymoon?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “We were really hot stuff then, weren’t we?”

  “I guess.”

  He rolled on top of her. “Got your diaphragm in?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll get it for you.” He padded off to the bathroom and returned with the blue plastic case.

  “Norman, why didn’t you ever tell me you wanted to be a biologist?”

  “I was just a kid then. By the time I’d met you I’d changed my mind . . .”

  “I wish you’d told me anyway . . . about that and about Brenda . . .”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “You must have been very hurt when she ran off.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Sometimes you have to talk about things even if they do hurt.”

  “Look, there was no way I was going to marry Brenda.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she was too . . . too . . .”

  “Too what?”

  “Too different.”

  “Because she was a shiksa?”

  “She was a shiksa, she was a townie, and if you want to know the truth, I sent her the five thousand dollars because I’ve always felt guilty.”

  “She’s the one who ran off.”

  “And when she did I was relieved. I knew I’d never marry her.”

  “But you loved her.”

  “What’s love, anyway?”

  “It’s a feeling.”

  “I told you, I was a kid then. None of it matters now.”

  “What was it like when you saw her in New York?”

  “I didn’t sleep with her. You already know that.”