Regrets Only

by Erin Duffy

  I arrived first, because I decided at the last minute to bring Bo with me, and I wanted to pick the table in the corner so that I didn’t have to worry about someone knocking into him with hot coffee or tea. It was inconceivable that I needed to psych myself up to meet Owen in order to have this conversation. Things used to be easy and comfortable. Now they were difficult, and awkward. He arrived ten minutes late, dressed in his weekend jeans, his white button-down, and his brown loafers, all effortlessly preppy and casual. He looked exactly like someone who would walk down this street and think, Hey, I haven’t had any oysters in a while, maybe I’ll pop in for a dozen before I go play paddle ball at the country club. I looked down at my own mom jeans, the painfully tight Spanx underneath holding in sagging post-baby skin, all wrinkled and crinkled like used tissue paper when you remove it from a gift bag, and a pale pink sweater that had the remnant of a sticky banana handprint on the hem. I looked like I was forced out of the house on laundry day before the dryer was finished, which was frustrating, because I really tried to look nice. This was just the best I could do.

  He nodded in my direction, then stopped to say hello to someone at a neighboring table. I didn’t recognize the man, or the woman he was eating oysters with, but it didn’t matter. When Owen was finished playing mayor of the Main Street Oyster Bar, he approached the table, and, thank God, didn’t attempt to give me some kind of awkward kiss on the cheek to prove we were still friendly. He simply pulled out the tiny wooden stool across from me, put his blue-and-white-striped kitchen towel serving as a napkin in his lap, and reached for Bo’s hand. “I’m sorry about that. He’s a ghost from my past.”

  “There’s a lot of them floating around,” I said. He didn’t realize what he’d said until it was too late. He let it go. So did I. Except, really, I kind of didn’t, and probably never would.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I replied. “We’re doing great.” I wanted to tell him that I had a date soon, but I didn’t, because that seemed wildly immature and also because if Fred canceled on me I’d have to die of embarrassment.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that,” he answered. I thought I saw him relax, and realized that maybe my telling him that I’d like to talk to him about something important had him wondering if I was sick and was going to tell him I only had six months to live.

  “Me too.”

  “How’s my little man this morning?” he asked. He ran his forefinger around Bo’s double chin and he squirmed and squealed in his seat. “I’m happy you brought him. I miss seeing him every day. It seems like every time I’m with him he’s doing something new.”

  “He changes every day. He’s trying to pull himself up to stand now.”

  “Is he really? I haven’t seen that. Next time he does it can you send me a video? I don’t want to miss it.”

  “I’ll try,” I said. His voice sounded so sad and I wanted to feel badly for him for everything he was missing but I couldn’t because he wouldn’t be missing it if he hadn’t had an affair.

  “Thanks. Can you please tell me why I’m finding beans all over the place? I went to put my windbreaker on last week and they fell out all over the floor. What’s that about?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Seriously, Claire? That’s what you’re going to say?”

  “Maybe you pissed someone else off and she decided to scatter beans throughout your belongings as a reminder of your asshole-ness for years to come. Why do you think it’s me?”

  “Fine, Claire. Bad enough you ruined my entire wardrobe. If assaulting me with dried beans makes you feel better, have at it. But no more internet dating sites, Claire. I mean it. That wasn’t funny.”

  “It depends on who you ask,” I said. I was starting to get angry, which wasn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to be calm and collected and rational, which was wonderful in theory but a lot more difficult in practice.

  “Okay, whatever. Let’s just move on. Do you want to have some oysters?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I replied, because nothing says divorce due to infidelity like an aphrodisiac in the middle of the afternoon.

  When the waitress appeared Owen ordered a dozen oysters and a beer. As soon as she’d returned with his beer, he took a long slug and then checked his watch nervously, as if he had somewhere better to be.

  “I’m glad we’re doing this,” he said. “I wanted to tell you that I found an apartment.”

  This was news. “Really? Where?” I asked, still trying to decide if this was something that should make me feel better, or not. If he had his own place, that meant he wouldn’t be spending all of his time at Dee Dee’s. But if he had his own place, then things became even more final than they already were, and something inside me clenched tightly. This man was supposed to be my entire world, and now I only saw him when he came to take Bo to Marcy’s every Wednesday night and every other weekend because that was the schedule we agreed to when we agreed on how to divide Bo like a Caribbean timeshare.

  “It’s over near the train station. It’s a two-bedroom. It’s in a nice building, it’s clean, and quiet, and I think you’ll like it.”

  “I don’t want your girlfriend around my baby. Do you understand that? My lawyer told me that I have rights where she’s concerned, and if you violate them I’ll challenge our custody agreement. Don’t push me on it, Owen.”

  “I know what we agreed to. You don’t have to worry about that. I want to spend time with him alone.”

  “Good.”

  “Do you want to come see the apartment? You’re welcome to come over anytime,” he offered.

  “Why would I want to come see your new bachelor pad?” I asked. I hadn’t thought much about where I wanted to move, only because I didn’t know the town all that well, and didn’t know what area I wanted to live in, but I now knew I had to scratch anything near the train station off my list. Once again, Owen had managed to limit my options.

  “Because I thought you might like to know where Bo is when I have him.”

  That was a good point. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of that myself.

  “Oh,” I said. “Yes. I guess I would like to see that. Have you been putting him to sleep in the portable crib you took with you?”

  “Yeah, but I went to Buy Buy Baby, and had them look up your registry, and I bought the exact same stuff he has in his room at the house. I thought maybe it would make the change easier for him. It’ll be delivered to the new place.”

  I hated to admit it, but that was actually sweet. That was the Owen I married—the thoughtful, caring, loving man who somehow forgot he was all of those things and so he became someone else that I couldn’t possibly stay married to. My Owen was still in there somewhere. I wish he’d been strong enough to conquer the monster that made him think that Dee Dee was the answer to a problem he never had.

  “Okay. At some point after you move in and get settled I’ll drop him off instead of you picking him up. I’ll see it then.”

  “Great. That sounds great.”

  Yes. It’s really great, I thought. It’s absolutely fabulous. I tried to keep my face absent of emotion. It had been weeks of searching for answers that wouldn’t come, of wiping away tears that wouldn’t stop coming, and praying for strength that came and went depending on the day. I was exhausted, and that made it easier to appear calm and collected when I hadn’t seen calm or collected since I saw Dee Dee in her underwear.

  “Also, I have a really strange question for you. I can’t believe I’m even asking you this, but did you recently go to Bliss in Manhattan and charge it to my credit card?”

  “Yes,” I said unapologetically because I wasn’t sorry for it even a little.

  “I was hoping that was the answer.”

  “You were?” I asked.

  “Yeah, otherwise someone stole my credit card.”

  “I don’t know if you remember, but something came up the afternoon that I was supposed to go, and I nev
er made it to my original appointment. I decided I still deserved to go, so I did. It was amazing.”

  “You’re right. I’m glad you went. You deserve more than that.”

  “It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. I guess it is.” Owen pulled Bo out of his highchair and sat him on his knee, bouncing him up and down and causing him to clap and coo and I had to look away because if I didn’t I knew I would cry. We should be doing this every weekend. We should be a normal family having brunch and that should be it. We shouldn’t be discussing apartment rentals and Amex charges.

  “What did you want to talk about?” he asked, his dark, round eyes and his feathery lashes so familiar and comforting I couldn’t help but stare. I took a deep breath and summoned the courage I used to have in abundance, and now most days struggled to find no matter how hard I looked.

  “After careful consideration, I think I’d like to sell the house,” I said calmly. I knew that in order for me to get what I wanted, I needed to stay in control of my emotions. Owen didn’t like when I flew off the handle, which could definitely happen. I wanted him to give me the okay. I wanted this conversation to be civil, and adult, and mature, and quick.

  “Why would you want to sell the house?” he asked, totally incredulous, which surprised me. I wouldn’t think the concept of wanting out of our marital home would warrant the kind of shock that registered on his face. If nothing else, I wanted him to understand the emotional fallout I was going through. If nothing else, I wanted him to lie and pretend he did—even if he didn’t.

  Because the goal was to stay calm and reasonable, I didn’t want to tell him that part of the reason I wanted to move was because it occurred to me that Dee Dee probably used our bathroom and now I could only pee if I stood up. “It’s too much house for just me and Bo. It’s lonely, and I think I’d be more comfortable in something smaller. I’d like to sell the house and move somewhere that doesn’t remind me of you. I want a clean start.”

  “I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Owen said. His response left me completely confused. I’d gone over this a billion times in my mind. I made a reasonable argument. Owen was a reasonable person. This was a reasonable request. Why wasn’t I getting what I wanted?

  “Why not? I’m not planning on leaving town. Sorry, I guess I should’ve clarified that. Going forward, let’s just assume that I have no intention of breaking any federal laws. I just want to sell the house and move somewhere else in town.”

  “I know you’re not planning on leaving town. We’ve been through that already. But even still, I don’t think moving anywhere is the best idea right now.”

  “Let me just give you a quick rundown of events, because I’m not entirely sure how I ended up in this situation and I think maybe you’re a little confused as to how we got here in the first place. Man marries wife. Man cheats on wife. Man refuses to let wife leave state. Man refuses to let wife leave house. Do I not have any rights at all? When does the wife get to make a decision all by herself?”

  “You forgot ‘Man ends up with beans in all of his personal belongings.’”

  “Why do you care where I live? You don’t want to live with me, so why can’t I go where I want?” I asked, still trying oh so very hard to stay calm, but the effort was starting to show. I was speaking through gritted teeth. I could feel my cheeks burning a shade of red that probably matched the paint on the walls, and my nails were now digging into the flesh of my palms. Still, I tried.

  “Bo is happy there. We bought the house because it was a good family house. He’s dealing with enough change in his life, and I don’t think it’s in his best interest to move him.”

  “Owen, he’s ten months old. I’ll move his crib, and his toys, and two days after we get there he won’t remember the house we’re in now at all. Bo will be happy where I’m happy,” I argued. I thought it was a pretty good argument.

  “I’ve read a couple of books about the psychology of children of divorce, and they all say that consistency is key. The house is a constant. I don’t want him to move.”

  “You were a constant in his life, too, you know. You didn’t seem to care too much about that when you left us.” Small cracks were starting to form in my calm veneer.

  “I know. And for the millionth time, I’m sorry,” he said.

  “And for the millionth time I’ll repeat, I don’t care,” I reminded him. “So that’s where you got the idea to replicate his bedroom? From a book about the kids of divorce?”

  “Yes. You should read it. It’s really interesting, and I think it will help us parent him through this.”

  “Thanks for the book recommendation, Oprah. Except, I’m not here to be in a book club with you.”

  “Aside from that, we bought at the top of the market. The housing market has slowed and I don’t want to sell the house at a loss. I’m sorry, Claire, but it’s not like you’re living in squalor. You’re in a beautiful home in a beautiful town and for now I think you should stay there.”

  “This is unreal. I mean, you are really, really unreal,” I said, not caring how many times I used the word “real” or that I sounded like a fifteen-year-old arguing with her parents over letting her boyfriend watch movies in her room. “It’s bad enough you’re keeping me in Connecticut, but now you won’t even let me live somewhere that I can make my own? Do you have any idea what it feels like for me to come home to that house every day? It’s torturous. It doesn’t feel like home, it feels like the scene of a crime! That home is where you killed our marriage. It’s a murder scene.”

  “I understand that, and I’m sorry. But I’m not going to throw money away because you’re uncomfortable.”

  “We bought at the top of the market because our real estate agent sucked!” I screamed. The calm party was over. We were now moving on to the fully crazy after-party. More than a few people looked up from their European beers and their West Coast oysters and stared.

  “Claire, calm yourself or I’m leaving. Bo is here, for God’s sake. Do you want him to know his mother made a scene in front of the whole town?”

  “You’re right. That’s what will be embarrassing for him. It would be horrible for Bo to learn that his mother lost her temper in a restaurant. Let’s hope he never learns about what his father did in our house.”

  “That house is an asset. It’s in my name. I’m letting you live there because I know this has been hard on you, and I thought it would be best for you to not have to worry about your living situation, and for Bo to have some continuity in his life. You can paint me as the asshole all you want, but in this case, I’m trying to help you. I’m sorry that you caught Dee Dee there, but that’s not a reason to lose hundreds of thousands of dollars. If the market turns around and we can make some money on the place, we’ll talk about it again, and you can move anywhere in town you want. Until then, you’re staying put, Bo is staying put, and that’s all there is to it. Poor little Claire, forced to live in a gorgeous colonial that, might I remind you, you once loved. You sat across the table from me after we saw it and you told me that you loved it and that you wanted it. You’ll love it again. This is just a reaction to everything that’s happened. Trust me, one day, you’ll be happy you stayed.”

  “Trust you?”

  The waitress placed a huge glass bowl of ice in front of us, with twelve oysters nestled in the snow, small silver cups of cocktail sauce, mignonette, and lemons resting in the center. If you didn’t know better, we looked like a nice couple having brunch on a Sunday. Unfortunately, we knew better. So did the waitress, and more than half the people in the restaurant.

  “Why isn’t my name on the deed? We should be co-owners of the property. Why did you leave my name off it?” I asked. I pulled Bo off Owen’s lap, placed him in his highchair, and sprinkled Cheerios on the table in front of him, which would hopefully keep him quiet for the remainder of our conversation slash argument.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not on the deed because you’ve neve
r wanted anything to do with the finances! You didn’t even come to the closing, Claire. If you were on the deed, you would’ve been required to show up and sign papers and you wanted no part of that! You were pregnant and hormonal and stressed out and you wanted me to take care of it, and guess what? I took care of it. I’m sorry it ended up working out this way and now you can’t force me to sell the house, but like I said, stop acting like I have you sequestered in a basement somewhere. I’m trying to set you up so that you can live a wonderful life. You’re just too focused on me, and what I’m doing, to notice it. Start worrying about what’s best for you and for Bo and I think you’ll realize that moving is a very bad idea.”

  “I’m not going to ask your permission for everything I want to do for the rest of my life!” I screamed. “I didn’t sign my name on this oyster, does that mean it’s not mine?” I picked up a bumpy black shell, the loosened mollusk sliding around inside of it, and without thinking, threw it on Owen’s lap.

  “Really, Claire? A food fight?” Owen asked. He picked up the shell from the floor and plucked the slimy oyster from his lap, a wet smudge clearly visible on his pants. “I don’t know why I even bothered coming here. I thought maybe we could have a civil, adult conversation. We’re going to have a lot of them over the years. We share a son, remember? I’m not going away.”

  “I hope I signed a piece of paper somewhere saying that I own him,” I said, smugly, trying to prove how stupid it was to rely on paper to prove ownership of every single thing in life. I lived in the house. It was mine. At least in part. Isn’t ownership like nine-tenths of the law or something? Who said that? I made a mental note to call Tara and challenge his assertion. It smelled like horseshit.

  “You did. It’s called a birth certificate.”

  Well, he had me there.

  “Why is it so hard for you to try and do something to help me? I didn’t do anything to you, and I feel like you just keep beating me up again, and again, and again.” The tears came, same as they did most nights during the last two months when I lay in my bed in the dark. At some point, the faucet needed to turn off; the amount of tears available in one lifetime had to be finite, and I was afraid I was going to use mine up.