Beside Herself

by Elizabeth Laban

  Hannah was right: it was chocolate. The pieces were cut and shared, and the kids dug in. Lincoln asked for another piece before Hannah had even taken her first bite, and she was happy to have something to focus on. She could feel Joel trying to catch her eyes from across the table, but she wouldn’t give in—she did her best to subtly pretend he wasn’t there. There was no mention of dinner or even of the reading Lincoln had lured her down with, so once they’d had their fill, she went back upstairs, leaving Joel to clean up the mess. All she had to do now was get through the next four hours, and her dreaded birthday would be over.

  “Happy birthday!” Reuben said as Hannah approached him. It was the next day, and he was standing in front of the movie theater, holding up the tickets he must have just bought.

  “My birthday was yesterday,” she said. “But thank you.”

  “Well, we can still celebrate,” he said, handing her a pink envelope.

  “Thanks,” she said, thinking that was probably the last thing she wanted to do.

  He motioned for them to go inside and pointed toward an empty bench across from the concession stand. The smell of popcorn made her think of her kids. She sat down and opened the card, which she noticed was sealed and not still wet, so he must have planned ahead. And it wasn’t like he owed her a card anyway. If he hadn’t had one, that would have been okay, totally fine. The front of the card said Hello Beautiful in yellow with a pink background, just like the mug he had chosen for her that one day. Inside, the typed message said, Everyone is beautiful on their birthday; you are beautiful every day. Happy birthday and happy every day!

  “Um, thank you,” she said, thinking it seemed awfully personal. But it was also kind in the way Reuben was always kind, to everyone. She would be lying to herself if she pretended she didn’t like it. At least his compliment didn’t come saturated with guilt and longing. Plus, she imagined, he probably had a stack of these in his office—it was probably his signature card to give out.

  “My pleasure,” he said.

  Inside the theater they settled into their seats. Reuben patted a small bag he had slung over his shoulder.

  “It’s the-day-after-your-birthday candy,” he whispered. “It is also contraband, but I’m willing to take the chance.”

  He pulled it onto his lap and opened it for her to see. It was full of every candy she could imagine—Swedish Fish, gummy bears, M&M’s, Junior Mints. He chose the box of gummy bears and held it up, raising his eyebrows.

  “Sure,” she said, holding out her hand to collect some as he poured.

  “So how was your big day?” he asked.

  “I got through it,” she said, shifting in her chair to face him. “We have this tradition that Joel makes me a birthday cake every year, and he did. I don’t know why I was surprised by it. I mean, it makes sense that he would this year of all years. Everything is colored because I have an almost constant urge to be mean to him, but in front of the kids I can’t be, obviously. It’s like a tightrope act, and I’m constantly stressed. And Joel is miserable, no question about it.”

  “Does he know you’re out with me?”

  She took a few seconds to answer. “No,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I told you how all my dates are terrible, and I cut them short, and he knows it. So now at least we’re seeing a movie, and I won’t be home in fifteen minutes, which is when he probably expects me to walk in the door. So I guess that’s a long way of saying I want him to think I’m on a romantic date, not out with a good friend.”

  Reuben reached out and patted her arm, some gummy bears falling to the floor in the process as the bag got turned upside down. “Your secret is safe with me,” he said just as the lights went down.

  The movie was entertaining and sad and full of great music, and Hannah enjoyed every second of it. Reuben sat next to her and handed her candy at ten- to fifteen-minute intervals. She really couldn’t have asked for a better date. They sat for a long time after the movie was over. It was peaceful, and she wanted to stretch the time she was out as much as she possibly could. And it was so easy to sit here next to Reuben. It was comfortable.

  “So we also have a tradition in my house for birthdays,” Reuben said once the credits were completely over and even the music had stopped playing. They were alone in the theater. “Well, in my house growing up, I should say. Until the birthday person was of drinking age, they would get an ice-cream cone every birthday. Then once they turned twenty-one, they had a shot—one shot of tequila—which my father always thought was good luck. He still does. So are you open to it? Can we go get a shot?”

  “My birthday was—” Hannah began.

  “I know, I know, your birthday was yesterday,” Reuben said playfully. “There is definitely a twenty-four-hour window on either side—another one of my family rules. What do you think? Are you up for it?”

  “Why not?” Hannah said, thinking Joel must be wondering where she was already. This was by far the latest she had been out on a date.

  They walked north toward Chestnut Street, and Reuben led her to a New Orleans–themed bar, which happened to be her favorite place to get a po’boy in the city. It was festive, with colorful lights and a buzzing crowd. She let him push his way up to the bar. He was back in a minute with two tequila shots. He handed one to her and kept the other.

  “Okay, so in my family we say, ‘Make a wish and drink a shot; the ice cream is gone, but hopefully your health is not,’” he said. “Ready? One, two, drink!”

  They both drank the shot, and she was glad it was tequila. Anything else she would probably have refused or at least had a much harder time getting down.

  “Is that really your family’s birthday saying?” she asked. “Because it’s sort of depressing. And what do you say if someone isn’t healthy?”

  “Well, this is going to sound really weird, but then they get the ice cream again, and that saying goes, ‘Take a birthday lick and make a wish,’” he said. “It all seems so normal when you do it year after year, but I can see it’s a little strange. Whenever someone has a birthday at Saint Martha’s, I think about my traditions, but they’re just so unusual I haven’t dared try them on anyone. Plus, they’re all pretty sick, so I think it would just be ice cream. I guess that could work.”

  “Families are so weird,” Hannah said thoughtfully, feeling the tequila move to her chest and maybe even her head. She had not had enough to eat to do tequila shots. She knew that.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Reuben asked. “You look a little red in the cheeks.”

  “Yeah,” Hannah said. “I think so. I just haven’t eaten much except for our movie snacks. I skipped dinner. Basically, I’ve had sugar and tequila today since lunch.”

  “Oh, let’s eat,” Reuben said excitedly. “They have the best roast-beef po’boys.”

  “I know!” Hannah said. “I love the debris gravy. And the bread. Really, if you close your eyes and take a bite, you would believe you were in New Orleans.”

  “I agree,” Reuben said, leading her toward the tables. “Do you have time to sit?”

  Hannah looked at her phone. It was almost eleven. Her goal had been to stay out as late as possible, but she hadn’t expected it to be so easy. “Sure!”

  They sat at a pretty tight table along the wall, and Reuben had to wedge himself into the space. He just did it. He didn’t ask if he should or where she wanted to sit; he just took the less good seat.

  “It’s the day after her birthday!” he said to the server as soon as he approached. “And we’ll both have the roast-beef po’boy.”

  “Happy birthday!” the server said, smiling. Hannah squinted to see his name tag, which read Rex. She wondered if that was his real name or if they had to choose New Orleans–themed names. He was pretty cute, longish wavy hair and blue eyes. Maybe Hannah could have an affair with him. But really he looked too young and, to be fair, out of her league unless he had an older-lady fetish of some sort like that awful Wiley. Plus, she had an
other idea, something she wanted to run by Reuben. “I’ll be right back with your po’boys. And I want to encourage you to make a wish when you take your first bite. It’s a little something we suggest people do on their birthdays. There’s magic in the air here.” When he said the last part, he whispered and winked. Hannah was going to roll her eyes as he walked away, but when she looked at Reuben, he was smiling.

  “Another tradition,” Reuben said, like he had proved their point, not letting Hannah say once again that it really wasn’t her birthday anymore. In fact, with all this talk about her birthday, she almost felt like she was getting a redo. “But I’m a big fan of wish making. There are certain things you always make a wish on—like birthday candles or lone eyelashes—but in my family we also made a wish the first time we had watermelon for the season. Do you have any?”

  “Wishes?” she asked.

  “Yeah, or times to make wishes?”

  “Well, when I was growing up, we always made a wish the first time we put our feet in the ocean for the year and the first time it snowed,” she said. “Do you ever actually keep track of your wishes? I mean, do you pay attention to if they come true? I don’t, really. Even though I love the idea of them.”

  “Most of my important wishes have not come true,” he said seriously, just as Rex placed the delicious-looking sandwiches in front of them. He stood there, clearly waiting for her to make her wish. She lifted the sandwich, took a bite, closed her eyes, and thought, I hope I will not always be this incredibly angry with Joel. She opened her eyes, completely surprised by the words that had just run through her mind. Even though she had been warned, she hadn’t really thought about what she was going to wish. Really, she wished for so many things: that life could go back to normal, that her family wasn’t in danger of breaking up. But she knew somehow that the key to all of it was her anger, her ability or inability to soften and stop feeling such rage.

  “Did you make a good wish?” Reuben asked.

  “I honestly don’t know. I hope so,” she said. “What wishes haven’t come true for you?”

  “Well, when my mom got sick, I wished she wouldn’t die, but she did,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh my God, that’s awful,” she said, putting her hand to her mouth. “I wasn’t expecting that. I am so sorry.”

  “And I always hoped to get married,” he said, moving right along. “But that hasn’t happened. I just keep dating a woman who might as well be a ghost. Really, she might as well not even be a real person. To be perfectly honest, I have a terrible time with commitment. It is just not something I’m comfortable with. And obviously, it doesn’t take a great therapist to figure out that I’m just sort of letting it happen, or not happen, as the case may be.”

  “We all do strange things, I guess,” Hannah said, the tequila now clearly taking up residence in her head. “Things that seem strange even to us. Which leads me to a proposal I have for you. Do you want to have a fake affair with me?”

  “A fake affair?” he asked. “What would that entail?”

  “Well, it would entail spending time with me, maybe one or two evenings a week, but doing stuff like this, nothing crazy,” she said, thinking. “Not much more than that, really. We could play it by ear.”

  “So would you be open with that information?” he asked. “Would you tell Joel you were involved with me?”

  “Would that be bad?” she asked. “Is there something unethical about that?”

  “I mean, it probably isn’t ideal,” he said. “My job is to help you and your family, not to make your life and your relationships more complicated.”

  “I get that,” she said. “I would be willing to not say it is with you. I mean, I don’t see us canoodling in the lounge or the conference room.”

  “Would we be canoodling at all?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “Of course not. We’re friends. But I like to spend time with you. It’s easy and fun. Really, does my affair have to be so stressful? I am so mad at Joel. I have no idea how I am going to get over that. But this—this plan—lets me not have to make any decisions yet. It would help me. Plus, it would give you some company until Lucy gets home.”

  Hannah took another bite of her po’boy, feeling slightly more clearheaded.

  “So what do you think?” she asked.

  “I think it’s hard to say no to you on the day after your birthday.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Joel stopped in the doorway as he came into the bedroom. It was a Wednesday night in November. Hannah had been having a fake affair with Reuben for three weeks.

  Hannah was reading in bed. She waited for Joel to keep moving, but he didn’t. He just stood there, one hand on each side of the doorframe like he was holding himself up.

  “What?” she finally said, not looking up.

  She had been out and had gotten home after the kids were already asleep, so there had been no reason to speak to Joel. She and Reuben hadn’t wanted to see another movie, since they were pretty much caught up, so they’d driven around from ice cream place to ice cream place, sampling and judging. She’d had a good time, but by nine thirty they’d both been tired, their tongues numb from too many cold desserts, so she’d come home earlier than usual.

  “I know I’m not supposed to ask,” Joel said now. “I know that’s the point, and I promise I am trying very hard to let you have this . . . time. But clearly something is going on. Clearly you have established . . . something, and I just feel really bad. Like, sick.”

  She reluctantly moved her eyes from the book to Joel.

  “I know you aren’t doing anything—I don’t even know what the word is—illegal? Not allowed?” he said, coming in and closing the door but still standing with his back to it. “I guess I just wondered . . . I mean, we haven’t talked much lately; I guess I wondered if we could go back to Dr. Snow. Maybe she can help us reconnect or something. I miss you. A lot.”

  Hannah had continued to cancel appointment after appointment, thinking, What was there to talk about at this point? They were sort of in a holding pattern. Plus she felt sheepish, and she didn’t want Dr. Snow to know what she was doing or at least trying to do.

  “Not yet,” Hannah said. “But maybe, at some point.”

  “Okay,” Joel said, defeated. She knew he had lost fourteen pounds since this all had started; she could see it, and the other day she’d heard him telling a neighbor who’d asked what sort of diet plan he had been on. The misery diet plan, Hannah had thought in her head. The tear-your-family-apart-and-suffer diet plan. She looked at him now. He was way too thin, way too pale. She wondered how bad it could get without his getting really sick. She didn’t want him to get really sick. She watched as he went into the bathroom and closed the door. The water ran, and in a minute he was out again and got heavily into bed, still wearing his sweatpants and a T-shirt.

  “Night,” he said, turning out the light and lying on his side, facing away from her.

  “Night,” she said.

  She kept looking at her book but couldn’t absorb a single word. She waited to hear Joel’s breathing slow, but it didn’t. Lately the kids hadn’t been coming into their bed. Maybe they felt somehow that it wasn’t the warm, welcoming place it once had been; maybe they sensed the hostility, even though she and Joel tried so hard to mask it. Finally, she gave up and turned out her light, facing away from Joel.

  She didn’t know what time it was, but at first she thought one of the kids was pushing up against her back. Someone must have come in, though she realized she’d never even gotten up to open the door, and usually the closed door meant to try their best to stay in their own beds that night. It was not a usual practice, but they had it in place just in case.

  That isn’t a kid, she thought as she very clearly felt a hard penis—separated by clothes—push toward her from behind. When they’d first been married, really even before that, when they were first together, she would often wake up at various stages of having sex, and Joel, too, would be o
nly semiconscious. She’d loved it, thinking they were so drawn to each other they couldn’t even keep their hands off each other while they slept. But it hadn’t happened in so long and certainly not since she’d discovered the affair. Honestly, she wasn’t sure how Joel was holding it together, and somewhere deep down she knew that withholding sex was not the way to keep your husband faithful. He pushed harder and groaned. Was he awake? She was afraid to say anything. She was aroused, whether she liked it or not. She pretended to be asleep and let him keep doing what he was doing, slowly finding a path around the clothes. She had a moment when she could have stopped him, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to do this. She kept her eyes closed and turned toward him, letting him ease his way into her. It felt so good, right away; she couldn’t hold back. And then he was groaning louder, more excited, until he let all his weight fall onto her, like he was still asleep. Was he? She didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to talk. What she especially did not want to do was acknowledge this. He stayed there for a long time. Finally, she eased him away, and he moved, as if in sleep, off her and over to his side, onto his back, the way he used to sleep. She waited a minute, listening, and she guessed from his breathing that he was fast asleep. So she moved into the space next to him, letting the side of her touch the side of him, and she fell into the deepest sleep she’d had in weeks. Maybe longer.

  In the morning they didn’t say a word. If he knew what had happened, he didn’t let on. She had a terrible thought about halfway through the morning—what if that was going to be the last time?

  “Do you want to go to a hotel with me?” she asked Reuben later that day. She had planned to ask him, but now she felt she had to do something. After sex with Joel last night, she was losing her resolve, her edge. She felt the outer fringes of her rage turning into deep sadness, and she wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about that.