by Sutton, Jacy
Feeling tranquil, but nothing more, she lay on her back and turned to the camera, arms above her head, which made her look defenseless, exposed. A thick red-hued lock of hair curled in front of her eye and she stared directly at Mike, with her just-acquired bedroom eyes. Click. That was the shot. She knew it instantly. That was the picture she would look at in later years, feeling the ripeness of her body, still supple and strong.
Mike knew, too. He slipped the camera band off his neck and set it down on the dresser. “You’re a little exhibitionist, aren’t you?”
“I guess I am. Do you like it?” she asked coquettishly.
He nodded yes, but his eyes said something else. His eyes were assuredly uncertain.
“Come here, Mike,” she said. She’d had her photo shoot; she would give him what he wanted, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A FEW WEEKS after her first appointment, Olivia was surprised to find herself back in the purposefully unobtrusive offices of Dr. Jones, even though she had driven herself there. But coming back for a second visit felt like a decision rather than happenstance. Olivia sank into the muted beige couch, and her shoulders and chest went slack.
Even as Dr. Jones greeted Olivia, her eyes never quite disengaged from her notebook. Without preamble, she began. “The last time you were here, we discussed your marriage, specifically in regard to your sexual relationship.”
Olivia began to nod, but the therapist still intently studied her notes, so the action was wasted. Olivia decided she’d best conserve her energy, which had dwindled considerably since entering the room.
“How are things between you two?”
“About the same.”
“How is communication?” Dr. Jones asked, finally looking up, but not quite catching Olivia’s eye.
“Sparse?” Olivia said, as though it were a question.
“What do you two talk about?”
“Day-to-day things. One of us usually has a meeting, or Daniel has sports or a school event. We spend a lot of time comparing schedules.”
“What beyond the specifics of the day?”
“We talked about the difference between RV trailers recently.”
“Did you enjoy that conversation?”
“Not in the least.”
Dr. Jones jotted a note, making Olivia think of a harried receptionist. “Go on,” she said, when she’d finished.
“I don’t know,” Olivia said, uselessly. But even as she said it, she scolded herself. She had made this appointment with Dr. Jones. In fact, she was paying Dr. Jones quite a bit of money for the privilege of sitting on this drab couch. Diving in, she went on. “The other morning I was complaining about winter. I hate snow. I hate cold. When I got to work, Mike had emailed me. He’d sent a link to a page of travel bargains, and he’d written simply, ‘Let’s go.’
“I was thrilled. I can’t remember the last time I felt so.…” Olivia paused. “Connected to him. All day, I kept looking online, thinking about where we’d go. Which hotel. I looked at swimsuits. I thought about a bikini. I was in this Disney movie frame of mind, like queue the bluebirds, you know?”
Dr. Jones gave no hint of recognition.
“The bluebirds. In Cinderella. They’re always joyously fluttering around.”
“Ah,” Dr. Jones said, offering nothing further.
“But at dinner that night, Mike had rethought everything. He wasn’t sure he could take time off in the spring because he had lots of trips planned for fall. And he’d taken another look at our budget.”
“How did you react to that?”
“I told him I was disappointed.”
“And his response?”
“He said, ‘You always make me feel like such a bad person.’”
Dr. Jones sat silently. No nods. No comments.
Olivia went on. “He says that a lot. So I don’t usually complain about much. There’s no point. We never resolve anything.”
“How did the conversation end?”
“The way it typically does. He just sort of wandered off.”
“What did you do then?” The doctor suddenly looked directly at Olivia. After the distance Olivia had felt during the first part of their conversation, the doctor’s stare felt almost intrusive.
“What I do every night. Sat on the couch. Opened the computer. Worked on my book a little. Poked around Facebook. If I chat with someone, I feel less lonely.”
“Who do you chat with?” Dr. Jones asked, emphasizing the word chat as though it wasn’t an organic part of the sentence.
“Friends.”
The doctor glanced to the right of Olivia’s head, and the women sat silently for a moment.
“A man named Jake,” Olivia half whispered.
Although she didn’t glance up, Dr. Jones eyes widened. Olivia wondered if she’d finally found something to hold the therapist’s attention.
“Tell me about him,” the doctor said.
Olivia didn’t know where to begin. Did she start with several weeks ago? “I met Jake in October,” she said. “October 1990.”
“An old friend?”
“Yes and no. I just met him once, at my cousin’s wedding. He was her neighbor, and best friends with the bride’s younger brother.” Olivia set her hands in her lap. “We all sat at the same table for dinner. And he was—” She stopped to remember. “—funny. Flirtatious. Handsome. I asked him to dance, but he turned me down and offered to get me a drink instead.” Olivia crossed her arms below her chest.
“And how did you reconnect?”
“Online. On Facebook.” Olivia scooched her hands underneath her thighs, drying her sweaty palms on the bottom of the pant legs. “We’re both friends with that cousin who got married, and we commented on the same post.”
“And you’ve become closer now?” The question seemed to have a sincere curiosity, no longer the impartiality or slight tone of boredom.
“Yes.” Simply speaking out loud about Jake gave Olivia a pleasant bubble of satisfaction. “He started chatting with me. At first we just talked about work and things. But it got to be kind of regular. Sometimes I hang around waiting for him to log on.”
Olivia’s hands were lost again. They fluttered like birds searching for the right spot to land. “He was charming and attentive, and I found it.…” She stopped. She tried out words in her head first, dismissing them all. Not simply fun. Not just amusing. Not merely enjoyable. “Exhilarating,” she said finally.
“You speak with him often?”
“Yes. Most nights.”
“What do you talk about now?”
“Sometimes about day-to-day happenings. Our kids. Our jobs.” Olivia noticed Dr. Jones did not write any of this down. She sat with her pen poised, eyes straight ahead, locked on Olivia.
“Sometimes it’s more intimate. One night he reminded me I’d told my cousin I’d wanted to go out with him. It must have been six months after the wedding. Nothing ever came of it. But Jake asked me about it, and I recalled it then. I remembered that I’d wanted to go on a date with him.”
“Go on,” the doctor said.
“We chatted about what it might have been like. There were a couple scenarios we discussed. A summer evening walk around a lake. As he described it, I could just imagine the night. The warm air. A quiet breeze. The weightlessness of being young. And then he said, ‘I would have kissed you.’ And my knees went weak at the thought.”
Dr. Jones’s eyes unveiled and her lip curved delicately. The word wistful popped into Olivia’s head.
“It’s just so different from everyday life, you know? Jake never asks me to pick up the dry cleaning.” And he always makes me come, she thought to herself about their imagined lovemaking.
“Why don’t you try this for the next week. I want you to allow yourself to fantasize about Jake.”
It hadn’t occurred to Olivia to try to stop herself.
“Once you’ve allowed those feelings to awaken, have your husband join you.”
Olivia
lifted an open palm to her face and rubbed exhaustedly at her eye, thinking at least with Barbie, this same damn advice came with a battery-operated hot pink accessory. She glanced up at the clock. “Dr. Jones, I think we ran a bit over. I need to get back to work.”
“Yes,” the therapist agreed, the warmth draining instantly.
As Olivia gathered her coat and purse and walked toward the door, the doctor called out, “Don’t forget to make another appointment. I’ll open something up and we can meet next week.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
OLIVIA ALWAYS FELT the winter holiday season truly began on the day of Marti’s annual cookie exchange. Every year, Olivia baked sugar cookies with Red Hots. She told the other women it reminded her of baking with her grandma, but actually it was the easiest recipe she could find, thanks to the refrigerated dough. She always promised herself next year she’d take on more of a challenge, but this year, again, as the other ladies shared peppermint meringues and white chocolate cherry shortbread, Olivia handed around her meager offering and gladly collected their grander submissions.
“Good haul,” she said to Nancy, as she loaded the final, festive Rubbermaid container into a grocery bag.
“I think the batches are getting bigger,” Nancy said. “I’ll have to bring some to Dave’s folks when we go at New Year’s. The girls and I could never eat all these.”
Olivia walked to the sink, grabbed a towel and began drying some plates sitting in the rack. “Are you and the girls doing anything tonight?”
“The girls are. Liza’s Christmas shopping with a friend, and Jackie’s bowling with her youth group.”
“Great!” Marti said, overhearing as she walked back into the kitchen. “I thought the rest of those ladies would never leave.” She smiled wickedly and held up a bottle of tequila. “Mexican hot chocolate! Olivia, grab three mugs from the cupboard.”
“Yum,” Olivia said, following her marching orders.
“Oh, Marti, I can’t stay,” Nancy said. “I’m beat. I was going to go home and put my feet up.”
“I have couches. And I have footrests. And,” she said, grabbing the three mugs as Olivia handed them to her, “I have hot cocoa filled with booze.”
Soon Marti had the mugs nearly overflowing. She handed Olivia one that read Ho Ho Ho. Nancy’s said Nice. Marti kept Naughty for herself.
The women wandered into the living room. There was a warm light from the teardrop chandelier and a huge picture window that overlooked the snow-covered backyard, where a few streaky traces of sunset remained.
“Okay,” Nancy began, sitting down on the velvety, truffle-colored recliner. “One drink.”
The room looked as though a photo stylist from Modern Living had purchased then arranged all the contents. Designer throw pillows were tossed just so on the couches, and objects d’art placed strategically around the room with enough frequency it was clear money had been invested, and a uniqueness that let guests know they hadn’t come from Pier 1.
Olivia happily sat on the loveseat closest to the fireplace and sipped the sweet liquid. Her belly warmed instantly. She much preferred happy hour in Marti’s pretty living room to another quiet night at home. “This is wonderful. I’ve never tasted this before.”
“Gary and I drank these at this secluded little resort just north of Zihuatanejo one spring when the weather was a bit cool in Mexico. We’d just popped down there for a long weekend.”
Olivia gave Nancy a wide-eyed glance. Marti was easier to take with alcohol. Nancy had evidently warmed to the idea of staying because, as the non-designated driver, she quickly finished her first mug, then went into the kitchen and poured herself a generous refill.
By the time Nancy had begun sipping her third, shoes had been discarded onto the thick beige carpet, the fireplace had been restocked so it burned brilliantly, and Nancy was being coerced for details about her new boyfriend.
“Tell us about Brad,” Olivia said, nursing an Earl Grey tea, having switched to something that would allow her to drive home safely.
“Brad?” Nancy said. “Gus’s dad? I’m not dating Brad.”
“You’re not?”
“No. I’m dating Evan. I was dating Evan,” she said, more quietly. “I met him on Match last month.”
“Brad. Evan. Who cares? Just tell us about the sex,” Marti said. She sat so low in the sumptuous chair Olivia could just see her chin poking out between her bountiful breasts.
“It’s just so different than it was with Dave,” Nancy said, almost to herself. Then louder, “Dave was always so gentle, and Evan…well he’s so much bigger.”
“Oh good,” Marti hooted. “Starting right in with anatomy!”
“I meant taller, Marti,” Nancy admonished, but she was laughing. Olivia loved seeing her happy after all the months during Dave’s illness, when Nancy’s world had shrunk to worry and gloom.
“When Evan kissed me, he held me in this vise grip. It was amazingly sexy. But sometimes, I found myself trying to remember what it felt like to kiss Dave. Then, of course, I immediately tried to forget what it felt like to kiss Dave.”
Nancy drifted for a moment. Olivia saw that wistful look in her eyes. She guessed Nancy was picturing Dave in his twenties, the way he was when they all had just met. When he had those slim hips and narrow waist.
“We’ve covered kissing,” Marti said, peering into her now-empty mug and rising gracelessly from the chair. “What happened when you got naked?”
Olivia laughed, but Nancy looked serious. She stared down at her drink and took an unflatteringly large gulp. Then she looked back up at Marti. “What do you want to hear? Do you want me to tell you how erotic it was to have a man watch me undress? And not just Dave, who always liked my body. But truly, after twenty years, how closely do you look?
“Evan’s gorgeous,” Nancy continued. “He’s tanned. Muscled. He has this sexy, hairless chest, as though he were in a boy band. But he’s also so taken with himself. As we stood there, kissing, I opened my eyes and saw he was looking at the bedroom mirror. I think he was appraising his own physique. Not mine.”
Marti glanced at Olivia with an expression that reminded her of Mike’s when she’d started to strip. Olivia looked away.
“Then he contrived some small tasks around the room that needed attention, moving a Kleenex box, pulling his wallet out of his crumpled jeans and setting it on the bedside stand. He was parading around the room like a peacock.”
“Trying to attract a hen?” Olivia offered.
“Well the hen was standing there. Buck naked. Waiting. I actually had to remind him what we’d come into the room for.”
Marti wanted specifics. “How did you do that?”
“I said, ‘Come here and kiss me.’”
“Then?” Marti sat back down in the chair, evidently having decided to postpone a refill, so as not to miss the story.
“Oh God, it was good. He was so fast and forceful. I never got there so quickly before. But—” Nancy tilted her mug upside down to drain every single drop. Then she shook her head a little. “Evan didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” Marti asked, sitting upright now and scooching to the edge of the chair.
“Didn’t come.”
“Right away?” Olivia asked.
“Not at all,” Nancy said. “We tried some different things. Some other positions. But…nada.”
Marti, uncharacteristically, did not have a single thing to say.
“By this point I’d lost that post-orgasm high and I’m just counting the minutes till I can fall asleep. Then Evan whispers in my ear, ‘Now that we’re nearly halfway done,’ and my eyes popped open. They must have looked like saucers. I had no idea at first if he was joking, but I started to chuckle. Then I thought about it and I laughed. Really laughed. Then I did that attractive snorting thing. Finally, I just curled into a fetal ball, roaring hysterically. And then—” Nancy stopped briefly. “I fell out of the bed.
“Evan climbed out, too. And he sat next to me
on the floor. He put his arm around my back, and we just sat there laughing. It was kind of tender, actually. But when I stood up to get back into bed, Evan took my hand and gave me this megawatt grin and said, in the friendliest way possible, ‘Maybe you should go home.’”
“What?”
“Yep. He wasn’t angry. Or, even embarrassed, really. He was just done.”
“He asked you to leave?” Marti said, astounded.
“Mmm hmm. It was midnight, and I didn’t want to beg to stay there. So I told him I felt nervous driving that late, and he said, ‘Well the good thing is, it’s before bar time, so the drunks aren’t out yet.’”
“Wow. Chivalrous.”
“Yes, he basically shooed me to the door. As he put on his boxers, he said, ‘Now when you drive in your garage, close the door behind you before you get out.’ And then he handed me my bra.”
“Oh. My.”
“I dressed as he walked me to the door.”
“Did that knight come with his own white stallion?” Olivia asked, trying to make Nancy laugh.
“Absolutely.” Nancy drew the word out. “When I got to the car, something was scratching me and I realized the little rhinestones on my T-shirt were inside out, rubbing against my skin.”
Olivia groaned as delicately as possible. “Was there a good night kiss?”
“He sort of slung his arm around my waist, kind of propelling me out of the house. And then at the car, he leaned in and gave me a chaste peck, like I was his maiden aunt. When I was ready to leave, he motioned to me to roll down the window. Then he said, ‘Text me when you’re safe at home,’ and gave a big wave good-bye.”
“Well, that was…something,” Olivia offered lamely.
“I guess. If he would have texted back. The next morning he wrote, ‘Sorry. Fell asleep. Want to come over? I’d love one of your killer omelets.’”
“Did you write ‘fuck you’ or were you more polite?” Marti asked.
