by Ariella Papa
"Oh, Claudia, I'm so sorry," I say.
"I'll get some water or do you have seltzer?" Kirsten asks Claudia, sensing the urgency.
"Yes, in the fridge, but really it's fine. We are actually going to get rid of the rug anyway. I decided the other night that I am sick of my furniture. I want something more colorful."
"I can't believe I spilled."
"No, ladies, it's ok. Kirsten, sit down. Ruth, don't worry. It was my fault, I can't hold my liquor."
"That may be true," I say. "But I usually clutch my drink a lot tighter. No one is getting it out of my hand. I can totally pay for dry cleaning or steam cleaning or whatever you do to a rug like this."
"What you do is wonder how you got yourself a white rug that you never feel comfortable letting your kids play on. And then one day you wake up realizing it's like the white rug your mom had that you were petrified of ruining. What's even the point of it all? I mean it's just a rug, right? I'll show you what you do with this rug."
She grabs the remaining quarter pitcher of bright pink liquid, stands up and dumps the whole thing right in the center of the rug. She looks from Kirsten to me with a giant self-satisfied smile.
I don’t know how to react. With this and our chat the other night, I suspect Claudia might be losing her mind. She seems to be having these deep "what's the point of life” kind of moments. This is the thing she probably should have felt twenty years ago.
I look over at Kirsten for some help. If I need to wrestle Claudia into a straitjacket I won’t be able to do it alone. But when I look at Kirsten her eyes are filled with tears, but I realize she isn’t crying. Her mouth is open in a silent scream. She is laughing and finally she takes a breath and it all comes out. She and Claudia are roaring with laughter. Kirsten picks up her glass of ginger mojito (a less staining color for sure) and dumps it on the carpet. Claudia loves this. They both look at me expectantly.
“Um, actually, I want to drink this,” I say, though it may be controversial.
This makes them laugh even harder. And I feel funny again. I feel that they get me, like someone does. Even if it’s only for a minute.
“Oh, oh, oh my God. Peter is going to kill me, but oh,” Claudia wipes tears out of her eyes and then cracks up for another few minutes.
“That was great,” Kirsten says. “Where’s my camera? I need a picture. I actually like the rug this way a lot better.”
“Oh, is it artsy? Do you think it’s artsy?” Claudia asks, suddenly getting serious. She says artsy as if it’s a style, like art deco or modern or something. This gets us all laughing again. My stomach and face are beginning to hurt. Kirsten gets up and runs into the bathroom.
“I need to pee. Three kids later, I need to pee. Oh, I always need to pee.”
“Wow, I don’t know that I ever –” Claudia stops herself and searches for the word. “Laugh.”
That makes me really sad. I want to hug Claudia. How could anyone live that way? I am pretty sure that for the most part a sense of humor is what got me through the toughest times in my life. I think it’s even helping me deal with being a new mom now.
Kirsten comes back in with her bottle of wine. “Anyone want to actually drink some of this?”
“I will,” Claudia says. “And you know, I think I want to go outside and grill up that chicken. I worked pretty hard on the marinade last night, and I want to see how it came out.”
“Ok, but I’ll grill it. You guys have done enough,” Kirsten says, still not comprehending the lack of effort I put in my pasta salad. “You should relax.”
Out in Claudia’s backyard it’s breezy. Claudia lights the grill and gives Kirsten a pair of tongs to turn the chicken. She hovers for a little while and I expect her to be a backseat griller, but eventually she sits down next to me and we clink glasses of rosé. Kirsten snaps a picture of it. She is double fisting her camera in one hand and the tongs in the other.
When the chicken is done, we eat it sloppily off the bone. My fingers are covered in sticky barbeque sauce, and I lick them off. I notice that Claudia watches me and then she does the same. She is a student now of how to chill. I smile at her and she smiles back.
“Great chicken,” I say.
“Thanks.”
Then I hear it. Abe’s loud wail. It pierces through everything. It immediately ruins the calm. And it’s embarrassing because I realize that Claudia can probably always hear it.
“It’s ok,” Kirsten says. “I’m sure Steve has it under control.”
“It’s so loud. Maybe I should call,” I say.
“He might want to handle this on his own,” Claudia says.
“I’m not sure he can,” I say.
“It’s trial by fire,” Kirsten says.
“Yeah, men need to learn,” Claudia says. For once they’re in agreement. But I don’t think they get it. I’m finally figuring Abe out. I think I might be the only one who knows exactly how to calm him down. The cries continue. It’s maddening. How could anyone concentrate on anything else?
“Is it always this loud? Can you always hear it?”
“No,” Claudia says. “I’m rarely ever out here.”
“Oh, great. Do you hear it in your apartment?”
“No,” Claudia says, but I’m pretty sure she’s lying.
“When I turn this way, I can barely hear it,” Kirsten jokes, turning her deaf ear towards the noise. “Besides if we hadn’t heard you that day, we never would have met.”
She has a point about that. Abe is showing no signs of relenting. I can tell by the way he is crying that he does not want his bottle.
“I think he wants me.” Claudia and Kirsten exchange a look. “Really I know that cry.”
“We should have done this at your house,” Claudia says to Kirsten.
“Do you think I’m wrong?” I ask. “Do you think I shouldn’t go?”
“You have to do what you feel is best,” Kirsten says.
I look at Claudia.
“I would love for you to stay but if you won’t be able to relax, you should go,” Claudia says. Of all people to tell me to relax, it’s Claudia, who is becoming less uptight since her moondance,
“I’m going to go,” I say.
“Ok, do you want to take some chicken home?” Claudia, the consummate hostess, asks.
“No, thanks, that’s ok,” I say. Kirsten is making no signs of leaving. And why should she? The night is still young. She has a night out and she knows where David is. But I am starting to understand how Claudia feels when she thinks she is being excluded. They are going to party and have fun, and I am going to go home and have Abe on me for who knows how long.
I hug Kirsten good-bye. Claudia walks me out. It takes me less than a minute to get home, but when I open the apartment door, Abe isn’t crying. There’s only Steve sitting on the couch watching the ball game.
“You’re back already,” he asks.
“Where’s Abe?” I ask, slightly frantic.
“He’s in his bed,” he says. “What did you think?”
“We were in the back,” I say. “I heard him crying.”
“What? That’s why you came back,” he says, getting annoyed. “I told you to have a nice night. I said I had it under control.”
“I know you did, but it didn’t sound like he was taking the bottle. I could tell from his cry,” I say, getting annoyed myself, but trying to keep my voice low, so he lowers his. I don’t want Abe to wake up again. And I don’t want Kirsten and Claudia to hear us if they are still hanging outside.
“He took the bottle fine, but he had some gas. And, yes, before you ask, I burped him like they showed us in the hospital. And, yes, I bicycled his legs. He was gassy and he worked himself up, but I worked it out and he’s back asleep. I’m not a complete incompetent,”
“You don’t have to yell,” I say in a loud whisper. “I didn’t think you were an incompetent.”
“You didn’t. Then why do you find it necessary to constantly remind me of all things I alr
eady know? Why did you act like I couldn’t handle tonight? Fuck, why the hell did you come rushing back instead of letting me work out my kid’s issues? Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”
He is really yelling now. And I am about to yell back, but I realize that he has a point. And I think about the way Claudia and Kirsten looked at me when I said I was going back. Maybe I need to let go a little. Maybe I need to let Steve do things his way. Maybe I need to accept that this isn’t rocket science. I’m the mom, but other people can help calm Abe, too.
“You know, you are right, Steve. I am sorry. Sometimes, maybe I want to think I am the only one who understands all the ins and outs of Abe. Like there’s some secret to it that only I know. Because if there wasn’t, what am I doing here? If it’s easy for someone else to figure out all his wants and needs, than maybe I’m wasting my time. Because I can’t seem to do it.”
“Sweetie,” he says, lowering his voice at last. “You’re doing a great job. I think you need to realize that he’s a baby. You know. I mean, I think this sucks sometimes too. Sometimes, I think I have it easy when I go to work. I know it’s draining and your tired, but you are doing great.”
“Thank you,” I say. It’s so nice to hear. It’s being acknowledged that is awesome. “I’m sorry I’m so controlling.”
“You’re not controlling. You’re just a little controlling about Abe. The thing is I’m going to do some things differently, but they might work too.”
“I know,” I say. I sit down on the couch next to him. He puts his arm around me. It’s just the two of us.
“Now I love having you here next to me, but you should maybe take this opportunity to go back to your girly night.”
“I can’t do that now,” I say. It is tempting, but I would feel embarrassed. “And I think I want to enjoy the quiet with you.”
I lean onto his shoulder. He kisses the top of my head. Then I can tell without looking at him what is on his mind. I’m definitely less inhibited after double fisting all night. The tension I felt running back home has left at last.
I sit up and look him in the eye. He raises his eyebrows.
“I don’t want to be controlling,” I say.
“Here we go,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“No, look, I want to do this, I do. I just don’t want you to worry about, you know, pleasing me. I want to do it and it will be done. It’s become this thing that I think about so much. I don’t want it to be as big a deal as I am making it.”
“Well, I’ll tell you after almost twelve weeks, it’s not going to be a big deal. I am glad your expectations are low, because I feel like a virgin again.”
“Ok, let’s do it.”
“Ughh,” Steve says, pretending he had an orgasm. Then he looks at me sheepishly. I laugh and swat his arm.
“Come on,” I say, bossily. I point into the bedroom. “Go.”
“Aggressive,” he says, marching in. “I love it.”
“And I want to be on top,” I say.
“So in control,” he says.
“You might as well take your clothes off,” I tell him, pulling off my shirt.
“Wow,” he says. “We are just going to get right to it, huh? Ok. Shit, your breasts are big.”
“How observant, Sherlock.”
“No,” he says getting serious. “They’re beautiful. And so are you.”
I actually believe him or at least believe he feels that way.
“Thank you. You know, we should have a condom,” I say. “I’m not getting pregnant again. Not yet.”
“Not a problem,” he says, pulling one out of the pajamas he just took off. “I’ve been carrying a condom around everywhere I go for weeks now. On the off chance you decided to hop on top of me. Wishful thinking, I thought, but alas it pays to be prepared.”
“You have?” I ask, breaking my pushy act for a minute. “That is so sweet and romantic in a sad way.”
“I know.”
“It is lubricated?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Well, put it on,” I say. It’s not that I don’t want to be romantic. I want to get over this hump of the first time. I nod and pull of my underwear.
“Wow, ok. The new take charge mom that you are is totally sexy.”
“Thanks,” I say. I straddle him. I hold my breath.
“We’re not going to kiss or anything,” he asks.
“Oh, sorry,” I say. I kiss him.
“No, it’s ok, you can treat me like a piece of meat. The less foreplay the longer I might last. Oh, here we go. Wow, I remember this. Oh, boy!”
And he was right. He is overeager. The whole thing lasts less then two minutes. And it definitely isn’t satisfying for me in a physical pleasure sense of the word. Steve apologizes profusely, making all kinds of jokes about being a teenage virgin. But I’m happy. It’s a sense of accomplishment to have finally done it.
“Honey, you were amazing,” I say. We laugh.
“I promise to last more than five minutes next time,” he says. “You will let me back in, right?”
“Yes,” I say. “Now spoon me.”
He does and I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
Chapter 16
Claudia Is on Fire
I was no longer in control. At the beginning, I told myself that it was only going to be that one time. And I avoided him the whole week after the company picnic. I wanted to see him, but as hard as I tried to run into him before the picnic, that’s as hard as I tried to avoid him when I got back to work after we had sex.
But that Friday my phone rang. When I saw his number, I sighed. My brain told me not to answer it, but my body, which already beginning to respond to him, made my hands pick up the phone. I didn’t say anything I just held the phone to my ear.
“Every part of me wants to touch you,” he said. And I grimaced at the line, but that was only to try and intellectualize my way out of it. Because as I sat there breathing, every part of me actually wanted to be touched.
I didn’t say anything, but picked up the pen and wrote down the address to his apartment. It was only a few blocks from the office. Then I hung up the phone and shut down my computer.
On Fridays in the summer, we were allowed to leave at three. In the past I never took advantage of it, but this year it was the perfect excuse. I told myself that I would go then, just that one time. And after that one time, I told myself, maybe I could do it every Friday. It could be my once-a-week thing. I could pretend to Peter that I wasn’t coming home early because I had errands to run, or, hell, I could pretend to be working the way I always did.
But my plan to only go on Fridays lasted a weekend, so that the Monday after that first Friday I told myself that no one would miss me if I skipped out at lunch. But like any addict, soon I was going to his apartment almost every day. Any rule I tried to set up I immediately broke.
I was certain that everyone knew what I was doing. The first few times I left in the middle of the day my assistant, Jennifer looked up, concerned. “Going out again?”
“Yeah, just going to run over to Chelsea Market for something for dinner,” I said.
But when I came back flushed and empty handed, she stopped asking. She also started scheduling my meetings to start after two and end before noon.
I was spending every extra minute over Keith’s apartment. And afterward, I would lie there sweaty and shaky and wondering how I was going to pull it together. Then I rode home on the subway, staring at everyone else in wonder. Did they all feel these things, too? Had it taken them until they were almost forty to feel these things? Probably not.
I really couldn’t control it, because every now and then when I had a lunch meeting, I found myself sneaking into a stairwell or the room a few floors down where they kept all the giant master tapes of soap episodes past. And there, in those places, I would let Keith peel my underwear down to my ankles and do things to me that I never imagined people could do.
Somehow, it didn’t affect my home
life. I really think that with the exception of not going to pick the twins up early on Fridays, I was a better mother. I was calmer. I was expecting less from my kids. I felt guilty about what I was doing, so I transferred it to lowering my expectations for them.
And the weekends, when I knew I wasn’t going to see Keith, I threw myself into being with Peter and the kids. I didn’t try to overplan anything. I let myself be with them and enjoy the moments.
I even had sex with Peter every Saturday as before. And though his touch felt so off to me, I could close my eyes and imagine it was Keith and it got me through. Peter probably couldn’t tell the difference. In fact, he may have thought our relationship was better.
It amazed me that he couldn’t see the changes in me. While Keith seemed aware of every aspect of my body, I was able to get away with it with Peter. It made me realize that we weren’t really all that connected. We were going through the motions, like two colleagues scheduling, meeting and passing the baton of child care.
But even though I wasn’t happy with Peter, I still felt guilty. I was breaking a vow. Every Sunday, I told myself that I was going to have to scale it back. No matter how much fun I was having, this was wrong. This was immoral. I had to stop it.
But every Monday I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop. And though I might be acting funny, my secret was safe. No one knew. I wasn’t transparent. My thoughts and acts were my own. For the first time in my life, I almost felt free of anyone else’s judgment.
The only time I felt I was about to be discovered was when Kirsten and Ruth were over my house. After Ruth went home, Kirsten helped me clean up. She looked at me really closely at one point and I almost burst out and told her, but I didn’t.
