The Wanting Life

by Mark Rader

  “‘The cows held an emergency meeting. All the animals gathered around the barn to snoop, but none of them could understand Moo.’”

  Instead, she’s tipping over into a different place. Lying beside David in a different bed. She’s reading out loud, but it’s something interesting from a magazine, something interesting that she thinks he’ll like too. His reading glasses are wedged above the narrow bulb of his nose; a book is facedown in his lap: he’s just set it there in order to listen. His attention to her is a heat she can feel on her neck and ears like sunlight. The thing she’s been missing, the thing she enjoys so much. The thing Harden will never give her, not the way she wants it.

  “‘In a faraway place in a long-ago time there lived a man and his wife. They were very poor. All they had was a tumble-down house and tiny turnip garden.’”

  When story time is done, she shuts the book and lays it on her lap. All right! Fun’s over. Time to hit the sack: that’s what she usually says. But tonight she can’t muster anything close. Their bedtime ritual, she’s told her therapist, is one of the things she doesn’t think she could give up. And she does love this, she really does: her two kids snuggled up beside her, that warm animal thing. But is it so precious that she wouldn’t trade having it every night for anything else? Is this more important than that?

  “Today was a weird day, wasn’t it?” she says, her chin brushing the hair on Ella’s head. “You guys doing okay with everything that happened?”

  “What do you mean?” Evan asks.

  “I just mean it was sad, that’s all.”

  Ella shrugs. “I’m not that sad,” she says brightly.

  “Me either,” says Evan. “I didn’t even really know him.”

  It pains her to hear this, but it shouldn’t surprise her. They’re right. How honest they are, her beautiful children.

  “Oh, you guys,” she says. “Come here.” She pulls them closer and holds them tight, as if trying to stamp this moment into her body for later, so it forever holds its shape. Only when Evan says, “Mom, you’re squeezing too hard,” does the ache rushing through her relent. Only then does she let go.

  Ella is asleep by the time she leaves the room, and Evan is well on his way, holding his Rubik’s Cube with both hands like a groggy Golem. He prefers to fall asleep alone anyway. And the melatonin will kick in soon. Maura looks down the hallway into the kitchen where Harden is behind his laptop, sipping brandy. She could use some right now—she can already feel the rush of warmth to her brain—but to get it would mean walking over there and having a conversation. And she doesn’t want that.

  Instead she walks into the room across the hall and closes the door behind her. Standing beside their unmade bed, she takes off her skirt, black blouse, red flats, then squats and rummages through the suitcase on the floor, on the far side of the bed, for fresh socks and her pajamas. Dressed, she realizes that what she wants to do is read Paul’s letter again, so she plucks it from her purse, unfolds it, and sits on the edge of the bed.

  This time, Paul’s voice wanders in, replaces the usual voice in her head. It’s hard to remember voices: faces for her are easier. But it comes back. A gentle baritone, Wisconsin vowels. Reading his letter to her, like she’s a child sitting on his lap. Finished, she exhales, chest trembling. She looks at the door, to make sure it’s shut, then scans the room, as if the walls and floor have just shot up around her.

  It’s a drab little space, despite Tim’s best attempt to make it homey: a jelly jar full of water with cut gerberas slumped inside it on the chair positioned beside the bed, a makeshift end table. The faint tang of Febreze. Ugly dark brown wood paneling, broken into sections like pieces of Hershey’s chocolate on the bottom half of the walls. Above that, pale gold wallpaper with a repeating fleur-di-lis pattern, stained from ancient cigarette smoke. Near the window, a half-opened closet, three peeling particleboard shelves. It’s a place that screams loneliness. Veiled neglect. The sort of charmless hotel room she could imagine a person sitting on a bed inside of, desperate, but calming by the minute, knowing they’re here to end their life. A grim, nowhere sort of place.

  And yet, as she absorbs the sadness of this space around her, she doesn’t feel sad. Instead, an improbable, swelling fondness. It will always be special to her, this room: it’s where she’ll have decided to change her life.

  A minute later, she’s outside, walking, shoes back on, her phone in her hand like a weapon, and Harden left behind in the kitchen.

  Four times it rings before she hears David’s outgoing message. Just after it beeps, she hangs up.

  She imagines him out in his studio, measuring something with a tape ruler, making a tiny line in a plaster block with a pencil, a cold beer on a worktable not far away. Though it’s just as likely that he’s on the couch, Ralphie at his feet, watching the Travel Channel. As is his wont.

  It’s been twenty-three days. Enough time for him to have begun to hate her, to have left her forever. He might have already started moving on. And if he has, she’ll have no one to blame but herself. But then her phone rings and it’s him. As she brings the phone to her ear, she closes her eyes.

  “Hi,” she says.

  “I almost didn’t answer,” he says. “But I figured, what the hell. Let’s hear what she has to say.”

  She’s right that he’s angry with her. And hurt. The ache in his voice as he tells her how much is so raw she can’t stand it.

  “I thought we had something really good going,” he says. “But now I realize, for you, it was just a game. Once it got a little scary, you chickened out.”

  “I know,” she says. “I did chicken out. I won’t pretend that I didn’t. But that was a mistake. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  David says nothing, waiting for more.

  “I was scared,” she says. “But I don’t feel that anymore. I understand if you don’t trust me when I say that. But I swear it’s true.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “I don’t think I can trust you. Not after all of this.”

  At this, Maura’s face curdles, fighting back tears.

  “So what is it that’s changed?” he asks. His voice isn’t quite as angry: she can already detect a change.

  “I thought I could fix things. Or that I should fix things. But I realize now, there’s nothing left to fix. And even if there were, I’d still want to be with you.”

  “You figured that out in three weeks?”

  She likes that he’s been counting too. “Yeah. Though I think part of me already knew.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “I’m so sorry, David,” she says—she can’t really say it enough. Already she knows she’ll say it many more times. As many as it takes. “After everything I’ve put you through, I’d understand if you hated me a little. I really would.”

  “No comment,” he says. But he’s joking a little, she’s pretty sure.

  She’s been staring at her feet this whole conversation, but now she feels the need to look up and out. Coming toward her, walking with big stomping steps, is a gay couple with two gigantic wolfhounds. Across the street, a sweet, fat little boy sits on his stoop, looking at his phone.

  “Are you at home right now?” he asks.

  “I’m in Wisconsin. At my uncle’s funeral.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I remember you talking about him.”

  “Yeah, thanks. It’s been a long day. Lots of emotional ups and downs. But I swear I’m not calling you because I’m just a mess from the funeral. This is how I really feel. As soon as I’m back home, I’m going to call an attorney. And tell the kids.”

  Three sharp sounds hit her ear: it’s Ralphie barking in the background.

  “Just so you know,” he replies, “I don’t think I could handle you backing out again. If that happened, I’d have to move on. Just for my mental health.”

  “I promise,” she says, and this time she means it.

  “Okay,” he says.

  “Okay.”

&
nbsp; “How about you call me after you do all that, and we’ll go from there?”

  “Okay. I will.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m just going to say ‘okay’ one more time for fun,” she says.

  And finally, he laughs—two little puffs of air from his nose. “Okay.”

  “Maybe, at some point, I could come up to Maine for a while,” she says. “For a weekend. Or longer. Whatever would work for you.”

  “Okay,” he says.

  “Are you saying ‘okay’ as a joke or did you really mean that?”

  “I really meant it.”

  “So…that’s just ‘okay’?”

  “I mean,” he says, “I’d like that. I really would. I’d like that a lot.”

  “You don’t sound completely sure.”

  He exhales into the receiver. “Well, Maura, I guess maybe I’m still getting used to the idea a little. Ten minutes ago, I thought I might never talk to you again.”

  “I did kind of spring this on you, didn’t I?”

  “You could say that, yes.”

  “That’s fair. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can I call you tomorrow then? Or at least send you a text?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “That would be nice. I’ve missed hearing your voice.”

  “Okay then,” she says. “I will. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

  For a while, she looks at the traffic passing by her on her left: a minivan, a Prius, a red truck advertising plumbing services.

  “I realize this conversation was a little awkward,” she says. “But I think we’ll do better tomorrow. Don’t you think? I mean, there’s nowhere to go but up.”

  She thinks she can hear David smile. “Let’s hope.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll prepare my throat with tea and honey.”

  “Good plan.”

  “Okay,” he says.

  “That ‘okay’ didn’t really make sense,” she says, and he laughs: “I know.”

  “I love you, you know,” she says. “That never changed. And it never will.”

  “Thanks for saying that, Maura,” he replies. “I love you too.”

  All the kitchen lights are off when she returns, and Harden isn’t there. The only place he could be is their room, but when she opens the door it’s still odd to find him there. He’s lying flat on the bed in a T-shirt and boxers, a heavy forearm resting on his forehead like a bandage. When he turns his head to her, his arm moves with it.

  “You can turn the light on if you want,” he says.

  “That’s okay. I can see fine.” Maura sits on the side of the bed, her back to him. Takes off her shoes: one, two.

  “You went out to call him, didn’t you?”

  She didn’t even consider whether he might figure that out, but what else could he have thought? He who is suddenly so watchful.

  “I did, yeah.” She realizes there’s no longer anything to hide.

  “I figured.”

  She turns to look at him over her shoulder. He doesn’t deserve any of this. But there’s no other way it can go now.

  “Harden,” she says, “I can’t do this anymore.” She said something similar to him at the cottage that night, but in retrospect that was a test run. After nearly twenty years, maybe she needed one.

  He nods. “Yeah.”

  She softens her face. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  He takes this in, staring at her blankly, before looking back up at the ceiling.

  “I don’t want to waste your time anymore,” she says. “You deserve someone who will love you better. I mean that.”

  “Wow,” he says bitterly. “How big of you. How nice.” The way he says it, she can tell he’s a little drunk.

  “I mean it. It’s true.”

  He shakes his head. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you? You go off and have your big love affair, and I’m the one who sticks around and does all the hard shit. Good old Harden. Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  “We’ll share the hard shit,” she says. “We’ll co-parent, like a lot of people do.”

  “Oh, is that how it’s going to go?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m going to fight you for custody. That’s what I mean. If you want to be with your boyfriend, fine. But I don’t want my kids shuttled back and forth like it’s no big thing. They need stability, Maura. Evan especially. And if you can’t give that to them, which it’s pretty clear you can’t, then I will. Somebody fucking has to.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Actually,” he says, “I totally fucking am.”

  Maybe it’s the brandy talking, but it seems like more. In an instant, he’s become her enemy, more than she ever thought he could. There’s menace in the air. She reminds herself that Tim is only a few doors down. Not that Harden would ever do something for which Tim would be required. But it’s where her mind goes, even so.

  “Know what’s funny?” he says. “About a half hour ago, before you went outside, I was actually going to ask if you wanted to have sex. Just to try that again. But I guess those days are over, aren’t they?”

  She doesn’t know how to respond, but he’s right, they are. She sizes up the full length of his body, lying on top of the sheets: his gray boxer briefs with the black waistline and little flap; his strong legs; his still muscular, slightly hairy arms; the line of his jaw. She remembers lusting over his body long ago, back when his was the only body she cared about. She finds herself wanting to remember the first time she saw him naked, but before her mind has time to entertain the project, something extinguishes it—just like that.

  “I know you’re angry at me and I know you’re hurt,” Maura says. “But you can’t do this to me, Harden. It’s not right and you know it. I deserve better.”

  He doesn’t bother to look at her. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s what the lawyers are for, isn’t it?”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Yeah. You better believe it.”

  She opens her mouth but nothing comes out. Slowly, as if savoring the power he’s exerted, Harden pushes himself up to sitting. Then, even more slowly, he stands and faces her and crosses his arms. He’s decided to skip the defeated part and go right for revenge. Or justice. Maybe that’s how it feels to him. Though surely half of this is about pride.

  “I’m going to go sleep in the other room,” he says.

  “We can talk about this,” Maura says. “Okay? We can find a way to work it all out.” She feels like an old, feeble person, begging for her life. She wishes she seemed stronger.

  He ignores her. Her words have already evaporated. “I’ll just say this,” he says. “I hope it works out between you and this guy, because no way in hell am I taking you back. And this time I mean it.”

  Which means he didn’t mean it before. She looks at him, this strange man she’s known for so long.

  “Set your alarm for seven,” he says. “We need to leave here by eight.”

  “I will,” she says.

  Once he’s left the room and she’s alone, Maura positions herself L-shaped on the bed—butt and back pressed against the headboard, hands clasped in her lap, legs flat—and looks out the window. The air’s gray now. The sun’s long gone. Framed there is the edge of the grade school beside the church, a playground with a twisty slide, monkey bars, a four square court. Dark trees behind.

  The position she’s sitting in, the way she’s looking out the window, a little stunned, makes her think about college, first semester freshman year—the fall she got her first taste of independence. Her roommate, Wendy, usually stayed the night at her boyfriend’s apartment, the dorm room just a front for her parents’ peace of mind, so Maura basically had a single all to herself. Nights, after watching TV in the lounge, or studying, or masturbating under her comforter, she’d sit just like this, looking out at the quad through the big window to the left of the poster of the Cure she’d taped up on moving da
y—and the magnitude of the freedom now hers would wash over her in waves. It was like the air in the room literally pulsed.

  After what had felt like an endless childhood, she’d come to understand very quickly that she could become whoever she wanted to be. Her parents were a thousand miles away. Nobody was keeping track anymore, except maybe the student adviser she was supposed to check in with a few times a semester. It was miraculous. Almost too good to be true. But it also terrified her. Because now, if she screwed things up, there was no one to blame but herself. And who, exactly, was she? The terrible, wonderful power she possessed, and the fear that she wasn’t up to using it well, would paralyze her sometimes, to the point where she felt unable to leave the bed.

  Here now, she feels a similar paralysis, but it’s because she’s in shock. That must be it. She didn’t expect this from Harden. She knows it doesn’t bode well. He’s been angry for a long time. It’s been building, like steam in a pipe, waiting to escape. And he’s a man who sticks to his guns, capable of holding a grudge.

  If she has to fight him for joint custody, she will. With everything she has. She’ll cash out her retirement to pay for the lawyers. Ask her mom for help. She’s pretty sure her mom will agree. When push comes to shove, she’ll say yes.

  But even then, it’s possible he’ll get his way. She is, after all, the one who cheated, the one who would be punished.

  For a few moments, she feels foolish and afraid. This could turn out to be the worst decision of her life. But no, she thinks. The time for agonizing is over. She needs to have faith. Her heart aches for everything she’ll lose, but it’s an aching heart that’s fuller than it’s ever been. A heart that’s finally been opened up. This is my one short life, she thinks, and imagines being in David’s arms, and what settles over her is what she sometimes feels after sex: a sweetly debilitating exhaustion, a reduction to her purest self. Invisible rings radiate out from her warm, spent body, as from a dropped stone in a pond. Until, slowly, beautifully, the water heals.