by Aidèe Jaimes
Jess just didn’t seem like the type to cheat and try to hide it. Never in a million years would I have thought her capable.
“How did he take it?”
She shrugs. “Well, sort of like you. There was a lot of screaming and crying and anger.”
Maybe I should be talking to him, I think, he sounds like he would know more of what I’m feeling.
“So how did you get through it?”
She sighs and looks heavenward. “Ay, ay, ay! It wasn’t easy. It took a long time, a lot of begging. I didn’t want to lose him; I mean I loved him for Christ’s sake. After about four months we had a huge fight. There was some name calling, mostly ‘slut’ is what I remember. I loved him, Cris, but it was really wearing on me, too. It was getting so old and tiresome and I just wanted it to end. Every day I felt more and more like a piece of garbage, more because of how low I had to put myself to grovel, than by what I had done in the first place.
“So one day I said, ‘Why don’t you go fuck someone else and then we can be even!’”
My mouth pops open. “You didn’t!”
“I did. Took a receipt I found balled up in my purse and wrote ‘Excused’ on it and handed it to him. He was pretty shocked.”
“What did he do?” I was on edge listening to her story, my sorrow completely forgotten.
“He did it. Not a week later he found someone and he did it.”
Oh my god! “What did you do? You had to excuse him, I guess?”
“Yeah. It hurt and I was so angry. I guess I never expected him to actually do it. He told me it wasn’t good, that he wished he hadn’t done it. Wishing it away didn’t make a difference, though. So now we were even and we were both just as hurt. It seemed like forever before we could have sex without resentment. But I had given him that ticket and had promised that if he forgave me, I would forgive him that one time, too.”
We don’t talk about it anymore, concentrating on the children, or pretending to at least. In reality, I can see Jess grinding her teeth as she relives those days, and I get lost in my own thoughts, too.
Mia sits on my lap and cuddles into me, her blue eyes heavy. I play with her curls as I think of everything that Jess has just admitted to.
Jess picks up a very tired looking Caleb and starts gathering her stuff. I walk them to the door and just as she steps out I stop her. “So what you’re saying is that I should sleep with someone else?”
“What? No!” She steps back in and closes the door a little, though there isn’t anyone within hearing range. “What I am saying is that this is hard on the two of you and if you want to stay with him, then you need to figure out something that works for you and do it. Or you’ll lose each other.”
She leaves me with that thought. I don’t want to lose Owen, but is there anything that will fix this?
If I slept with another man would I forgive him then? Would he forgive me?
Would I forgive myself?
The sour flavor of vodka and goldfish mingle in my mouth even as my eyes struggle against the dry grit that is holding them shut. My stomach roils and my head has a very distinct case of a nail being driven into it, right between the eyes.
I manage to get one eye open and the first thing I see are the culprits on my nightstand. Why, oh why, did I do this to myself? I remember a day when I could drink six or seven of those and was absolutely fine the next morning. Now, I can hardly get through one Bay Breeze and I’m already hung over. I think last night I may have finished off the vodka.
I swallow back the nausea as I roll onto my back. This is awful!
The sun is out, its light filtering through the curtains. Mia will be up soon. Bemoaning my lack of good sense, I turn onto my other side in hopes of finding relief for my poor head.
Owen is facing me, his hair a tussled mess. His long lashes fanned across his cheeks give him an air of innocence that is lost while he is awake. Did we do it last night and I was just too drunk to remember? That would be a shame because he looks so delicious. The thought makes me smile despite everything and I reach out to him, wanting to touch his sleep warmed skin.
And then he speaks. “So you want to fuck another man.”
My hand stops just before my fingers make contact with his forearm. The Earth stops spinning and my stomach drops along with my blood pressure as my sluggish brain struggles to move. Realization of my actions the night before, stupid words, too truthful of my feelings and thoughts, is an ugly thing that I must face now.
My heart beats erratically, as if it doesn’t know whether to race and give me the power to flee, or stop and end me right then and there.
“I…I…” Words escape me. This isn’t how the conversation was supposed to go, if it even happened at all! Apparently, my primal brain decided to go for it last night while the rest of it was out of commission.
His eyes open, deep dark green, and cold. Though he remains where he is, it’s not hard to see that he’s angry. And tired. But in an instant, the fury drains from him and he sits up, rubbing his eyes and face.
“I was awake all night thinking about what you said.”
“What did I say?” I remember, unfortunately, but I need confirmation.
Owen looks at me with a disgusted smirk. “When I came in after my meeting and you were sitting in bed with your drink and your goldfish. You were obviously wasted. I sat beside you and took your glass and took a sip. It was straight vodka.”
Gross! As he is telling me the story the images begin to truly form in my mind, and then I remember it so clearly, the drunken haze gone. I think I’m going to hurl, and it’s not because of the alcohol. God, I feel sick!
Jess’ words had swirled in my head yesterday. All night and all morning as I laid there listening to Owen get ready for work. And after he left I stayed there still, thinking. I’d gone through my day with that constantly in the back of my mind.
Owen had the chance to experience another woman. He lay between her legs, ran fingers over skin different than mine, tasted her lips. Felt her sex.
Instead of growing angrier as I always do, I grew curious. What would it be like to be with another man? I don’t think it’s an unnatural question for anyone who is in a relationship, though many of us squelch the forbidden thought. But is it still so forbidden for someone in my place? Is the question still so taboo when the vows of loyalty and fidelity have already been broken?
We have been together fifteen years. The memory of all other men has mostly faded away, because I never needed to remember. Yesterday I tried. The faces, the scents, the touches. It was all gone. I am not sure if I’d even recognize any guy I’d slept with that long ago if I saw them right in front of me.
Owen and I had had a small argument the night before. He’d wanted to fuck, I wanted him to sleep somewhere far away from me. We ended up compromising. He got to sleep in our bed as long as he didn’t try anything.
It didn’t matter. I could hear him breathing and was so completely aware of all his movements that he might as well have been all over me. So, that got me to thinking even more about a solution. Jess’ solution.
Kevin sleeping with another woman may have been rough for Jess, but as far as I can tell it saved their marriage. Would it do the same for us? It’s hard to tell. Though I must admit, the thought of it excites me, and not a small bit. There’s something about the mere thought of being with someone who isn’t my spouse. The appeal of the forbidden. Is that what Owen felt, too?
The day had progressed slowly, the one thought endlessly churning in my mind.
I want to do this. No, I don’t. Keep your mouth shut, woman, you’ll kill an already wounded marriage!
In the end, my better judgment won and I’d decided against it. Besides, it was very unlikely it would go over well with Owen. It wouldn’t with me if the tables were turned.
We just had to figure things out, to get over this bump in our marriage. People do this every day, forgive, forget. Life goes on. I mean, I see old couples together all the time.
They look happy, still in love and holding hands. Yet you know they have stories to tell, hurdles they’ve had to deal with in their marriage. No one is perfect. If they can do it, so can we.
Decision made, I’d gone to work on dinner, making shrimp and pasta carbonara with white wine. I also made a pizza for the after party, as we always get hungry after sex. And we were going to have a lot of that, I determined. It’s time to take back my life!
So, I plucked and preened and waxed and perfumed. I couldn’t dress in a nighty since he would be home at six and Mia would still be up, but Owen isn’t into that anyway, saying he’s just going to take it off, so it’s not worth it.
At seven, he sent me a text.
-Running late.
-How late?
He didn’t reply. At eight, I called. He didn’t answer, instead sending me another text fifteen minutes later.
-Took Ray out for a drink. Pretty loud in here. Will call on my way. Shouldn’t be too late.
Without responding I set the phone down on the kitchen counter. It took all my strength to walk away from it and not throw it against the wall. The fact that it’s pretty new helped.
“Where’s Daddy?” Mia asked when I carried her upstairs to her bath.
“He’s probably out fucking Cassandra,” I wanted to say. What I really said was, “Your daddy will be home when you wake up tomorrow,” and, “Daddy loves you very much,” when I put her down for the night.
The moment she was out, I headed to the fridge for some self-medication.
I can’t say for sure the moment I became aware that he was in the room with me, slushed as I was. What I do recall was the feeling of peace and calm as he sat beside me and took the glass from my hands.
“Looks like you’ve been having fun,” he said.
“Looks like you been havin’ fun, too. And I think her name is Cassandraaaaaaaa.” Her name came out in a sort of song, and I laughed, not sarcastically, but truly amused at myself.
Owen wasn’t. “What are you talking about?”
“Is okay, I can fix this. I have the sholuuushun!” More laughter.
“Fix what? Solution? What are you saying?”
Smiling at him as my head slid down to the pillow and my lids grew heavy over my eyes, I half whispered, “Is okay, all I need is fuck someone else, too.” I slapped him on the shoulder and tried to wink with a closed eye. “Then it will all be better.”
I guess that’s the last I said. Poor guy, to have been left with those last words. Poor me, too. I want to melt into the sheets I’m so embarrassed. But I’m also pissed.
“Where were you last night?” I ask him now that my outrage has returned.
“I told you I went to grab a beer with Ray. He’s having a rough time at work and I needed to have a one on one talk with him.”
“How long’s a beer take to drink?” It had to have been at least eleven before he got home.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, Cris,” he says defensively. “I just had a beer with Ray down at the BrewHouse. You can ask him yourself. I gave him a ride home afterwards because his car wouldn’t start up. I couldn’t text or call because my phone is a piece of shit, and every time I sent one text I had to restart it.”
Ray lives on the far end of a four-acre lot in Matthews, an hour and a half roundtrip at least.
“I’m sorry. I expected you home sooner and I wanted to surprise you with a date night. I wanted to move on. Bad timing, I guess.”
“So I am home late and you decide you want to sleep with someone else.” He shakes his head in disappointment.
Well, the time is here. I’ve already put it out there and there’s no going back now. Better to just get it done.
Drunks usually speak the truth. It’s what I want, what I will do in the end. I can run around in circles trying to avoid it just to come back to it anyway. The seed has been planted in my mind and it’s going to grow. I can feel it. I have made my decision and now I need to let Owen decide his own fate, because in the end, I meant it when I said I want to move on.
“No. I didn’t decide I wanted to do this because you were late. I decided I wanted to sleep with someone else because you did it to me, and now I want to know what it feels like, too.”
“So it’s not because you want us to be even, then?”
“Yes, that is part of it,” I admit. It’s the truth.
He remains silent for a moment, thinking inwardly, staring at the white covers.
“Do you still love me?” he asks.
“Beyond reason, I think. Probably so much that I hate you a little, too, for what you did to me.”
He nods in acceptance. “So you want to hurt me.”
“No, I don’t want to hurt you. I want to heal my wound. My heart, my pride, all of it, is torn to shreds, Owen! Now the only way for us to survive is to be on equal footing. Or we end it now, cleanly, because I fear that I will tear us apart if we don’t.”
“Will you trust me again if you do this?” He is looking at me now, his eyes searching for a part of me that will tell him this is all a bad dream. He doesn’t find it.
“The real question is, will you trust me if I don’t?”
“You can’t be faithful to me?”
“No,” I say flatly.
He turns to look at the wall, his jaw working furiously. He pounds a fist against his forehead and closes his eyes tightly. “Who is it going to be? Do you already have some asshole in mind?”
“I don’t know, there is no one right now.”
“So you’re going to go out looking for a fuck?”
“No. You will sign a ticket for me, so that at any point during our marriage I can ‘fuck up’ once, and you must forgive me. One night. Just like you did. I will redeem my ticket, so you will know when it’s over, and that it will never happen again after that.”
He laughs. “Wow, you’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”
“I can hardly think of anything else. You have a choice, Owen. At least you get that courtesy.” I lower my tone so that he knows the seriousness of my words. “This is the price you pay if you want to keep this family. If you want to keep me. You’ve asked me repeatedly what it will take. I am telling you now. The choice is yours.”
He gets up, pulls open his nightstand drawer and pulls out a notepad he stole from a hotel somewhere, writes something on it, and hands it to me. Saying nothing he goes to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him.
When I look at the words I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and hold the paper to my chest. I feel oddly relieved, a weight lifted from my shoulders, a barrier to the future removed with those two words.
The Ticket.
CHAPTER 9
I examine myself in my bathroom mirror, checking and double checking, making sure that every hair is in place and there is not one blemish visible on my skin. I’ve chosen to wear a simple but tight black sleeveless shirt and a dark green A-line skirt that has crystal and lace accents on the bottom and pair the outfit with my usual black wedges. My long hair is set in loose curls and pinned back with a clip on my right side.
I look pretty enough I think, but the butterflies in my stomach make me grimace.
I’m going to see him today. Bo.
It’s his mother’s 70th birthday and three weeks ago we received the purple, gold and green invitation to celebrate at his house in Huntersville. It’s going to be a “Big Easy” bash, with a zydeco band and dancing if I know her as well as I think I do, and lots and lots of Cajun food.
God, maybe I shouldn’t go. The mere thought of seeing Bo again, after over half a year, still has me so nervous I can’t think straight.
I’d finally gotten to a point where he wasn’t in the background of my thoughts every day, all day. Where I wouldn’t go to the Jensen’s house and stare at his pictures the entire time I was there. And where I wouldn’t catch myself fantasizing about what I would do if I ever found myself alone with him.
Time, coupled with every
thing that happened with Owen, had made him a distant memory. As a matter of fact, up until three weeks ago all I could think of was my husband.
Things have been wonderful. We have found each other again, our souls reconnected; I think I love him more now than I ever have. That ticket he gave me was all I needed to get out of my rut and my fury evaporated. It had given me a sense of control back, power in a way, even if I never chose to exercise it.
Owen for his part has done everything he can to regain my trust. He never goes out, even with a co-worker, and if he does he brings me along. We have hired a sitter and have made it a point to go on a date night at least once a week and we even took our first vacation alone, leaving Mia with my dad for two days while we went to Asheville. It was tough, but boy did we use that time wisely, going to dinner, exploring the town, visiting Biltmore and other historic sites. And lots and lots of bed time of course!
These were all things we did but took for granted before we had a child. Now they are a luxury. It felt like it did when we were first together. It was the definition of a perfect marriage.
Until I received this deep purple envelope in the mail, the name Bo Rougier on the top left corner. It was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Owen Roberts, so it took me a minute to understand who it was coming from. But when I did, those six months of marital bliss vanished into thin air.
I tore the paper open so fast I cut myself. When I saw it was an invitation to Bo’s house, my first thought was, “Will Owen be going?”
It’s a terrible thought, I know, but I could not handle having the two of them in the same room. Besides, Owen would see through me in a heartbeat, and I so want to see Bo.
Then the second thought hit, and I wildly rummaged through my underwear drawer until I found it and pulled out that little piece of paper. The ticket. No longer just a piece of paper, now it was a living thing in my hand, full of possibilities.
So, these last few weeks have dragged on. Owen hasn’t questioned me, but I am sure he knows that things have changed. I have felt myself drifting from him. I’m not as enamored, or as adoring, spending more and more time thinking of Bo and the few times I saw him, studying those moments in my mind, going over every detail.
