by Fiona Lexus
But this weekend Jonathan says that things are going to be different. He has canceled all of his plans and intends on taking me to the beach. One of the last really nice days where the beach will be warm.
It’s the middle of September and all of the kids in Glen Cove have gone back to school. My park sessions have changed a little bit because my mommy friends’ schedules have changed.
I do a morning session with Cindy when she walks her kids to school and then keeps the youngest for the rest of the day. Darlene and Kathy come to the park after school and I usually join them with or without Cindy, so I can get caught up on all of the latest gossip. Plus, Darlene is teaching me about religion and Mormonism. Which is actually fascinating and at the same time bat-shit crazy. I like the conversations because she is so darn cute and naive about how weird their rituals sounds to outside people.
I also listen because religion was her savior. It was how she got out of a really messed up world of drugs and ended up living here in happy, sunny Glen Cove, married to the High School Principal.
But today I will miss the park sessions because Jonathan is here, getting into his swim trunks and packing us a lunch. I am sort of in awe of him. How he can just change from straight forward lawyer and businessman in his expensive suits, to laid back beach-goer and husband wannabe. I go with it.
I’m in my new bathing suit: a one piece, black and white striped suit that sort of reminds me of a sailor's wife's outfit. I have a white hat and cute gold flip flops on. I am wearing the necklace Jonathan gave me for my birthday and my shades, which may or may not be too big for my face. I haven’t decided yet. I enter the kitchen and Jonathan spits out his orange juice onto the counter
“What?” I ask as he is laughing. I look down at myself.
“No, babe, it’s just that you look so darn cute. I mean if I didn’t know any better I would have thought you were manning a ship or married to a sailor.” He comes over and tries to hug me.
“Fuck off! I like this hat!” I head to the microwave to try and see my reflection in the glass. He is right. Unfortunately he is absolutely correct. However I am going to rep the shit out of this suit because it was expensive and because I am still tan and hot looking from summer, so he can kiss my tush!
He grabs me as I walk by him and kisses me. “I’m excited to hang out with you today,” He says.
“Ya, well, you better be. Let's go, slow poke.” I grab a croissant off the counter and stuff it in my mouth. We head out the door with our bags in hand. Beach towels, sandwiches, and water bottles. I have never felt more Leave It To Beaver in my entire life.
We arrive at the beach and there is a slight breeze, but to my delight, there are only two other couples scattering the horizon. My lucky day. We find a quiet isolated area to sit and set up our towels. We pull out our books. Mine is A HANDFUL: LARGE COCKS AND HOW TO HANDLE THEM. It’s more of a manual than a novel, but I am intrigued. Jonathan stops me before I can begin.
“Hey, I brought you here for a reason. And it’s not to read.” He smirks at me with that coy expression, and I know what he means.
“Look, I know, but let me settle in first, ok? Plus there are people here!” I look around and point them out to Jonathan.
“No, not that.” He pulls out an envelope from our bag. He hands it to me. “So, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I finalized things with Molly last week.” He continues as he crosses his legs and faces me. “I let her have the apartment, and we decided to not split the money 50/50. She just wants to part ways. She was pretty generous, I guess you could say. I’ve been up so late the past few weeks, in part because I’ve been writing up a contract for her and I. I wanted to make sure everything was settled. The sooner the better, you know?”
He seems so sincere and sweet in saying this, I am sort of floored. I turn to face him and cross my legs. “Oh, I had no idea. That's good I guess.” I am still getting used to the fact that this man is getting a divorce. Because of me.
“Molly wanted me to give this to you.” Jonathan hands me the envelope.
“She wrote me something?” I ask.
“Guess so. I mean, I didn’t really ask. I figure it’s probably shit I don’t want to know about. Plus you have been so distant from me lately, I just figured that maybe this little note might have some sort of explanation for you or something.” Jonathan starts to get up.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I am going for a swim.” He starts to walk off then turns back to me. “I really do love you, and I hope you feel the same.” Jonathan seems defeated which is quite uncharacteristic of him.
What the hell could be in this note? I don’t say anything back to him because I don’t know what to say.
I open the envelope and inside is a letter. Two pages. I bear down.
It reads:
Dear Emily,
I am writing you because you have been in my thoughts lately. I know we haven’t spoken since moving day a few months ago and I wanted to reassure you of a couple of things.
First, going through this divorce with Jonathan is both a blessing and a curse, and I have you to thank. I never thought I would be getting divorced. I want you to know that I am fine, but mostly I want you to know that nothing is as it seems.
Let me explain.
When Jonathan and I first met, it was I who pursued him, not the other way around. He didn’t stalk me, he didn’t take my picture. I was jealous of the girls he was with and although I was technically testing out my sexuality at the time, I had every intention of making Jonathan mine from the get go.
I knew he was adventurous with sex, and even though I wasn’t crazy about the ideas that he wanted to explore, I did it because, well, love makes you do some stupid shit sometimes.
He never forced me, he never tried to convince me to have an open relationship. I willingly participated in every moment. Sitting here now in an empty apartment, I realize that I slowly gave up who I was for him, because I thought that was what would keep us together. We started down the road of swapping partners with our friends, joining sex groups, and even going as far as finding women together to pursue.
At first I thought of it as a fun way to bond (I know that sounds bizarre) but I was naive. After almost ten years of knowing each other, and six years of being married, I never once told Jonathan that our journey was not one I wanted to be on.
Instead, I turned into a resentful bitch. Like the one you met in New York. But here is the message I want to tell you: You are not me.
Jonathan actively chose you. I saw how he pursued you and how badly he wanted you, and at first I was pissed. I was jealous and I was scared of losing a man who I had given such a huge part of my life to.
Here is the thing: you don’t choose love, it chooses you. I lied to myself for a very long time and ended up unhappy. Jonathan has his issues. He works too much, he has practically no family, and grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. He doesn’t open up easily and he is stubborn as hell. Oh, and did I mention possessive!? But you already knew that.
Emily, I guess what I am trying to say is, this is not Jonathan’s fault. I could go on for years being angry, but really this whole time I should have been angry at myself because I am the reason things got so out of hand. I don’t think you will have that problem. You may be thinking that Jonathan put me up to this, but one thing I have learned being on my own for a while is, Jonathan has never put me up to anything.
I am moving on with my life and doing the things I want to do now. In large part due to you. Thank you. I was so weak before and I didn’t even know it.
Please don’t tell Jonathan the contents of this letter. We both know his head is already too big. Just know that he chose you and I am positive that he would do anything to protect that. I will be moving to France next month for work. I am subletting the apartment. If I ever come back to New York, it will be as the person I want to be and not the person someone else wants me to be.
Hopefully this helps. Hopefully
it clears the air. It felt good to write it.
Take care,
M
I fold the paper back up and place it into the envelope. I feel as if I have just woken up from a long sleep. I look out into the ocean and I see Jonathan swimming and enjoying himself, oblivious to anything I have just read.
I stand up and run out into the ocean. My hat goes flying off and I don’t retrieve it. I splash into the waves like a child. Jonathan sees me and starts to make his way back up towards the sand. We meet somewhere in the middle. I launch into his arms and clasp my legs around his body. He holds me tight and I close my eyes. Our wet bodies are intertwined and deep in harmony. He puts me down and we stand in the waves. He pulls my hair back and kisses my lips with his salty ones. I have never been so turned on in my whole life.
People or no people, we collapse right there on the sand, grinding our bodies together. He pulls my bathing suit top down and my breasts pop out, cold and hard from the water. The waves hit us but we don’t stop. I can feel how hard he is. I bite his lip, he pulls my hair. He pulls my suit completely off and enters me, thrusting himself deep inside of me. I am wet and consumed and out of my mind. It all happens in a matter of minutes, and then the great release and he comes. He lays on me, with his heavy body and rapid heart beat. The water comes at us less and less, but every time it covers our bodies.
We are consumed with each other, and I stay in this for a while. I let go of something after reading that letter. I am not sure what it is. But I think it spells F-E-A-R.
10
Sick
Tonight I am going to see mother and father.
Jonathan thought it would be a good idea for us to all meet in the city and splurge on a nice dinner. I know what that means. That means Jonathan and daddy dearest will be chatting about work and mother and I will be left there sitting, hopelessly trying to make conversation.
She will return her dish because something is wrong with it. She will ask to sample their wine menu, and by the end of the night I will be helping mother into the car while father smokes his cigar, oblivious to his drunk wife.
But here I am, under the bathroom lights, applying lipstick. I have on a super sexy black dress that has a slit going all the way up the side. Jonathan did not pick this one out, I managed it myself. He will be impressed.
Gertie-bitch-cat happens to be sitting on the toilet watching me apply my make-up. She looks up at me like she is disappointed. As if she is saying “What ever happened to you? What happened to the days when you used to lounge in your underwear and not wake up until noon? I liked those days best.”
I look at her. I try and pet her soft and amazing fur, but she jumps off of the toilet and runs down the hall. For a second I think about running after her and showing her a lesson. Instead I yell, “Unappreciative little snatch!” And she of course ignores me and begins to clean herself.
Make up on, check!
Totally rad and sexy dress on, check!
Boots instead of heels on, check!
I am a sassy Jessica Jones wanna-be and I take no shit!
Referencing my favorite character from television, while preparing to be social, lets me pretend for just one second that I am exactly the person I want to be.
And then it immediately fades.
The coolness of Fall is coming, I can feel it. I feel it in little ways, like when I step out of the car after a long drive, how I am not met by the melting sun and burning rays of hell. I am instead met with a light trickle of wind and a smell from the North (probably coming from the landfill, but I’m not going to make assumptions).
It’s been almost three weeks since my beach excursion with Jonathan which, if you were wondering, did leave me chaffed in all of the wrong places. Beach sex is not Pamela Anderson in a red swimsuit, but more like sleeping on a bed of cheese graters. It seems like a good idea at the time, and while it was very sexy and hot, I do not recommend it for first timers. Rookies need not apply!
Jonathan should be home any minute, and for once in a long time I am excited about that. I must have eaten something terrible for lunch because my stomach has been feeling weird all day. I usually have a cast-iron stomach. I am the girl who downs a whole pint of Ben and Jerry’s, followed by cheese melted on Saltine Crackers. The sweet followed by the salty repetition is quite amazing.
I need to go through my head to figure out what has tripped me up. Let’s see:
Breakfast: bagel with cream cheese and salmon…hmm maybe the salmon?
Snack: a cigarette. Nah this was more helpful than anything.
Lunch: Caesar Salad with Cindy at Moyo’s Restaurant downtown.
I remember only eating half of the salad because her youngest pooped his pants while trying to make it to the bathroom, and so we had to leave ASAP. She promised she would treat me to a lunch again, but I told her only if the kid stays at home with Daddy.
Me thinks that four is a little too old to shit one’s pants. If you can verbalize that you have to poop, than by god just do it, child! But in the bathroom, always the bathroom.
Anyway, so that is what I had and there is nothing strange about it except that kids pooping and lunch at a fancy restaurant don’t mix well.
I hear the door open and I run to the noise.
“I could have just met you down there you know.” I say, as I strut out with my hands on my hips. I feel like we could fit in a sexual escapade right now, but I know how Jonathan is about being prompt, so I won’t push it. I'll just tease him a little.
“Wow, you look amazing!” he says. “Let me change really quick.” He walks straight past me without even one touch. Goddam him!
“Can we take your car?” He yells from the bathroom.
“Sure,” I reply, as I lean against the back of the couch, pouting. Gertie the Gremlin looks up at me like “What the fuck happened to you?”
Cats have this way of making every situation seem bitchy. Like when I feed her, her expression reads: “Can you pour it any slower into the bowl?” I forgive her because she is cute and soft and mine, but I wonder if this is how parents feel about their children. Even the crappiest of kids have parents that coddle them and think they are Just The Greatest!
I look back at my cat and just smile. I will take the high road.
We arrive at the restaurant at 7:00PM sharp, because Jonathan is a time monster. He checks his watch every fifteen seconds, as if my parents would actually ever be mad at him, or leave because we are ten minutes late.
“Relax. We will get there,” I say in the car on the drive over. But I shouldn’t have because the look he gives me is like the one lions give to their prey right before they strike and sink their teeth into their necks.
So I just sit there in the car looking at all of the brilliant lights.
My parents are already seated when we arrive. Walking over to their table, one must have thought that dad’s hearing aid was turned off because the old man shouts, “Over here!” so loudly it’s embarrassing.
Mother kisses me and says, “Darling how are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m starving.” I just can’t quite get proper with her and she hates it.
“And Jonathan, my love, come give me a kiss. It’s been far too long.” Mother insists and Jonathan kisses her and helps her into her seat.
I see her wine glass is half empty.
“I see you’ve had wine already mother. Are we late?”
Before mother can speak, father chimes in with: “Oh, you know your mum. Can’t sit down for two seconds without an alcoholic beverage sitting down next to her.”
Mother scowls at father and takes my hand which is sitting on the table. “Darling, why haven't you invited us to your new house yet? I mean, It’s been months.” She lets go of my hand and opens her menu. I guess she was just throwing that guilt trip out there to start off our conversation with a BANG!
Suddenly I feel sick again. Fucking Salmon! I think to myself.
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” I say, but n
o one seems to be listening. Father and Jonathan are already talking politics and money and mother is deep into her menu options.
I walk briskly to the bathroom, but by the time I turn the corner and push the door open, I am running. I crash into the stall and sit on the porcelain tile and vomit into the toilet.
Nothing really comes out but bile. It smells gross and I immediately flush. I feel better. Much better.
I get up to wash my hands and three seconds later it comes again.
Puke.
Wipe mouth.
Puke.
Wipe mouth.
I decide it must be nerves and I make my way back out to the table.
The night passes and we order a plethora of food. Mother fills me in on San Francisco, and the new art gallery where she is volunteering. She loves it because she gets to walk around with wine in her hand and mingle. Two of her favorite things.
I’m feeling better at this point because I’ve eaten about half of the servings brought to us. Jonathan even gives me a look - pre-bite of Calamari - which says, “slow down, piggy.” But I could be paraphrasing his thoughts.
I am tired and although it’s only 9:00PM, I grab Jonathan’s arm. I’m hoping he just guesses what that firm touch means but he isn’t stopping his conversation. He just grabs my hand and holds it.
No, dumbass! I am not wanting snuggles or reassurance, I want to go home!
Let’s see… what else is in my arsenal? I decide to pinch his leg. That will do it. I pinch his leg and he jumps up and scowls at me.
“Emily! Fuck, that hurt.” He yells my name but whispers the rest of the sentence.
