by Megan Walker
This continues while I get my gloves out of my car, and grab the long-handled net that our pool guy uses to gather leaves. When we return to the den, Anna-Marie is no longer on the couch.
She’s across the room, poking at a very small rattlesnake with an open pizza box.
“What are you doing?” I yell at her.
“Trying to catch the snake!” she yells back.
I wave the gloves and net at her, nearly knocking over our lamp. “I was going to get supplies so I don’t get bit. Are you seriously going to catch it in a pizza box?”
“I didn’t know where you went!” she shouts. “You just left me here with it.”
I press my lips together. “Oh my god. First you think that I wouldn’t save you over Ben in a life or death situation and now you think I would abandon you with a rattlesnake?”
“Where did it go?” Ty asks. He is now perched on the couch, looking with interest at the edge of the rug where the snake was only moments before.
“Oh, shit,” I say, scanning the floor for it. Anna-Marie shrieks, and then jumps up on the coffee table.
“Where’d it go?” she asks.
We all look at each other, and at the floor. The snake is nowhere to be seen.
“Okay,” I say. “Anna-Marie, call animal control. I’m going to try moving the furniture, and Ty, you keep an eye out for the snake.”
We spend the next thirty minutes listening to Ty spout facts—he moves on to Amazonian snakes, having run out of tidbits about rattlesnakes—and Anna-Marie argues with animal control about whether it’s possible that there’s a very tiny rattlesnake in our house. They agree to send out a police officer, who I’m pretty sure will have no more idea what to do about the snake than we do, especially if we can’t find it. I shift the furniture around, mostly with Ty or Anna-Marie on top of it.
The snake has disappeared.
“Can snakes climb stairs?” Ty asks.
“I don’t know. You’re the snake expert.” I cringe. That was snottier than I needed to be, but I’m sweating from hefting furniture with other people riding on it, and I’m worried we’re never going to find this snake.
“There!” Anna-Marie shouts. She points across the room at the baseboard, where a very tiny thread is poking up out of the brown carpet. I ease my way over, expecting to find a stray carpet fiber, but the tail moves slightly, and then disappears between the carpet and the baseboard.
“All right,” I say. “Ty, grab the net.” With the kid safely six feet away at the end of the handle and me on the other end with rubber gloves and a rolled-up copy of Cosmo, we manage to frighten the thing out of the crack of the carpet, and I scoop it up with the magazine and dump it into the net. Ty gives a victory whoop, and almost clobbers me in the face with the snake-filled net, but Anna-Marie grabs the pole just in time to keep it from hitting me in the chin and probably sending the snake flying up into my hair.
“Okay,” I say. “Okay. We got it. What do we do now?”
Anna-Marie dashes off through the house, and I realize what she must have felt like when I abandoned her with the snake. I take the net from Ty and watch the snake to make sure it can’t climb out, but it wriggles helplessly in the bottom.
She returns with one of our seldom-used casserole dishes that we got for our wedding.
“Are you going to bake it?” I ask.
“No,” she responds, in a tone only slightly more snotty than my own. “But it has a lid.” She brandishes one of those oven-proof silicone lids at me. “So we can contain it, and then figure out what to do with it.”
“We should set it free,” Ty says. “It’s not its fault it’s a rattlesnake.”
Anna-Marie looks dubious, but I don’t particularly want to see the circus that would be the three of us trying to jointly murder a snake. “I’ll take it down to the drainage at the bottom of our neighborhood. It won’t be able to travel that far, and even if it did, I don’t think it knows our address.”
Anna-Marie looks, if not amused, then slightly mollified. She sets the pan on the floor and stands on the other side of the room, holding on to Ty while I slip the snake out of the net and into the pan, and then fix the lid over it.
Anna-Marie and I look at each other. This night hasn’t gone the way anyone—except probably Ty—wanted it to, and the snake is the least of our problems.
“Wow,” Ty says. “That is so cool.” And he comes over to pick up the pan and holds it over his head to watch the snake wriggle.
I take it away from him with my hands firmly on either side of the pan. “Why don’t we put this outside while I call the police and let them know the snake is under control. And then you and I will let it go together, okay?”
“Okay,” Ty says. He doesn’t seem the least bit scarred by the experience, and I at least managed not to let him get bit by the thing.
Though he’s going to have a hell of a tale to tell his parents when he gets home.
Fifteen
Felix
When I get back from dropping off Ty with Josh, the house is quiet. I hope this means Rachel is asleep and Jenna isn’t stuck pacing back and forth with her upstairs. It’s seemed like she’s been sleeping better these last few days, but my limited experience with infants indicates that just when I think things are getting better, they get worse again.
I’m headed up the stairs to find Jenna when she appears at the top, wearing a knee-length black skirt that flares out around her waist, and a tank top with a little red jacket over it that matches the red streaks in her long black hair.
“Hi,” she says, sounding almost embarrassed. “I know we’re staying here for dinner, but I got dressed up.”
I smile up at her, taking her in. Jenna is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and two years of marriage hasn’t changed that a bit. My body aches just looking at her, and though I can’t admit it out loud, I miss how we used to be, before my Suboxone withdrawal messed us up.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her.
She smiles shyly. “Thanks.”
“I picked up dinner from that Indian place you like,” I tell her. “Come on.”
Even though the meal came in Styrofoam containers, we dish it out onto plates and eat curled up together on the couch. Jenna is midway through dipping a thick piece of naan into her curry when she looks up at me.
“I know we’re not supposed to talk about the kids,” she says. “Then we’ll become one of those couples who can only talk about the kids.”
I smile at her. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. Of course we can talk about the kids.”
Jenna is quiet for a moment. “I don’t really want to talk about the kids.”
I snuggle her closer. “This is awkward, isn’t it?”
Jenna nods. “It never used to be awkward.”
That’s true. There’s this distance between us now, and I’m not sure if it’s Jenna’s issues or the new baby or my physical problems that are causing it. Maybe it’s all of them.
“You still love me, though,” I say.
Jenna looks up at me. “Of course I do.”
I smile. “I think I just needed to hear you say it.”
“I love you,” she says. “Always.”
“Same here,” I tell her. “More than ever.”
Jenna’s face crinkles for a moment, and I think she’s going to cry, but she takes a deep breath, and she doesn’t.
“Hey,” I say. “I know things have been rough. That’s supposed to be normal with a new baby, right? And it’s kicked up a lot of stuff for you, and I’ve felt helpless a lot of the time. But we’re not fragile, right? Our marriage is tough, and we can take a lot more than this.”
Jenna hesitates. “How long do you think it can go on like this?”
I blink at her. “What?”
“I know I haven’t been a
very good wife lately,” Jenna says, and I shake my head.
“That’s not true.”
“I think it is. And I know you want me to get help and I’m not ready yet. I want to get better, for you, but I don’t know how, and I just want to know how long I have before you can’t deal with it anymore.”
I put down my plate and tighten my arms around her. “Jenna,” I say in her ear, “you have forever.”
She shakes her head, but I hold on tighter. “I mean it,” I say. “I’m never going to leave you, not for any reason. I want you to get help for you, but if every week was like this week, I would still be here. You can take as long as you need to figure stuff out, and you still don’t lose me. Understand?”
Jenna toys with the naan, but doesn’t eat it. “But I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“I’m not,” I tell her. “Things are stressful, but you make that better, not worse.” I can tell she doesn’t believe me, so I continue. “It’s like having a paper cut. It can hurt like a bitch, but do you amputate?”
“No,” she says.
“No. Because you still like your arm, even if it stings right then.”
“But what if it stings every day?”
I shake my head. That’s not even close to what’s going on in our marriage. “It doesn’t. And even if it did, I wouldn’t amputate. I really like my arm.”
That makes her smile. “I am a bit partial to the things your fingers can do.”
My pulse picks up. In the months before Rachel was born, our sex life was cobbled together with intercourse alternatives and brief encounters. While I miss the way it used to be when I had drug-induced stamina, these last six weeks—seven, now—of abstinence have been tougher on me than I would have thought, given that immediately after Rachel was born, the cessation of our sex life felt mostly like a relief.
It’s more than the physical—I miss the way we used to connect. We had sex almost daily, both craving that closeness, that intimacy. I miss holding her in my arms after, whispering together in the dark.
That’s when we did our best talking, now that I think about it. No wonder things have grown distant since.
Jenna has been to her six-week checkup. Theoretically we could have sex again, but we haven’t even been messing around in the ways we could have been. I don’t know how to approach it any more now than I did then.
Jenna seems to sense this, because she finishes her naan and cuddles closer. And while I want to follow up on her suggestive statement, want to try to reclaim some of what we’ve lost, I find myself taking a bite of my food and chewing slowly.
I’m scared, I realize. I haven’t been this nervous about sex with Jenna since our first time.
“How have you been feeling?” I ask. “Are you still having flashbacks?”
I’m worried she’ll pull away, but she doesn’t. “Yeah,” she says, almost as a whisper. “And it’s more than that, sometimes. I’ve been calling myself things when I’m frustrated. Things Grant used to call me.” She settles against my chest, like she doesn’t want to look me in the eye. “Out loud, sometimes.”
“What kind of things?” I already have a good idea, but I want to hear her tell me, to be sure.
“Useless bitch. That kind of thing.”
I hate that his voice is still such a strong force in her life, and I wish I could erase it, but I know I can’t.
I suck on my lower lip. I don’t want to ask this next question, but I have to. “Has it happened in front of Ty?”
Jenna tenses. “No. But it has in front of Rachel.”
I’m not worried about that. Rachel can’t understand the words.
“Are you mad?” Jenna asks.
“No. Rachel is too little to get it, and even if you had done it in front of Ty, I wouldn’t be mad. I just want you to tell me if that happens, because I want to talk to him about it. To contextualize it for him, so he understands what’s happening.”
“I don’t even understand what’s happening,” Jenna says. “Besides that I’m being a terrible mom.”
“I think you’re a great mom. The best. But even the best need help sometimes.”
Jenna takes a couple deep breaths, and I wonder if she wants to snap at me again for suggesting she might not be capable of doing this on her own. The thing is, I don’t think she’s capable without help right now. I just don’t think that’s as bad a thing as she thinks it is.
“I’m afraid to get help around the house, and with the kids,” she says slowly. She twists the end of her hair around her finger. “Because I think if I disconnect, I won’t want to come back.”
My heart slows. “Like, you’ll want to leave?”
“No,” Jenna says quickly. “I mean, I don’t think I would.”
My chest aches. She has that impulse, though. She wants to leave us.
I hate how much that hurts, and I sure as hell don’t want to let her know. She feels bad enough about the situation as it is.
“I’m just scared,” Jenna says, her voice breaking. “I know I’m already disconnecting, from you and from the kids. I’m just—I’m afraid of feeling too much. I feel like there’s this tidal wave bearing down on me, and I have a wall up to keep it back, but it’s going to break, and the wave is coming, and I’m scared of what will happen when it crashes.”
So she doesn’t think the worst is behind us. It makes sense. She’s still fighting against the feelings from her past that are trying to come to the surface. It’s like I told her before, I don’t think she can move on until she’s fully felt those things, until she’s accepted them.
“You have to feel it sometime,” I tell her. “You can’t hold it back forever.”
“I’ve held it back in the past,” she says. “And it went away.”
“But the pain always comes back.”
“But I can’t right now. This is my time with Rachel.”
My heart aches for her. It isn’t fair that this is all dropping on her now. She desperately wanted to enjoy her newborn this time, to get to have all those tender memories that other people talk about.
I hate that her past is taking this from her. Like my addiction ruining our sex life, except worse, because the things that were done to her were never her fault.
“Okay,” I say. “But if you’re still feeling this way in a few months, you need to see a therapist, okay? Promise me.”
Jenna nods. “Yeah, okay.”
“And I’m going to be here when the wall comes down, when the wave comes crashing in. I’ll be here, no matter what.”
Jenna sniffles and turns to wrap her arms around me. I hold her, and I can’t help but feel like we’re clinging to each other for dear life.
“I miss you,” she says. “I know it’s my fault, but I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too. And it’s not your fault.”
Jenna looks up at me. “The doctor said I can have sex now. But do you even want to?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Of course I do.”
Jenna looks doubtful. “Before Rachel was born, I felt like you weren’t getting anything out of it anymore. I didn’t know if it was because of the withdrawal symptoms, or because I was pregnant and huge, or—”
“You thought that? You were the hottest pregnant woman on the face of the planet. So sexy. I never stopped wanting you.”
“But sex started making you uncomfortable. I knew you didn’t want it, and I didn’t want to be always asking you for something you didn’t want to give.”
“I felt like you didn’t want it anymore,” I say. “I knew it wasn’t as good for you as it used to be, and—”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Jenna says. “I mean, yeah, the stamina was nice.”
“It’s not even that. Even just an average amount of stamina would be fine. But I can barely be inside you without coming.” My face is
getting hot. I know I should be able to talk about this stuff with my wife, but it’s humiliating. Emasculating. And frustrating as hell.
Jenna puts a hand on my cheek. “It was still good for me. It helped me feel close to you. The way I want you hasn’t changed.”
I hold her tight.“Yeah, it hasn’t changed for me, either.”
Jenna climbs to her knees, running her hand down the side of my face. “Do you want to, then?”
I do, desperately. I stand and lift her into my arms, praying that Rachel will stay asleep long enough not to interrupt us. We’re playing with fate there—but she’s been starting to sleep in longer and longer bursts.
Jenna looks into my eyes as I carry her up the stairs, and my heart is thumping with the anticipation. It’s not even just the sex that I want, as much as the intimacy of being with her, the trust and the closeness and the way we are with each other after.
But there’s something physical to it, too. A deep, primal longing to feel the woman I love come in my arms, to finish inside her, to give her the pleasure she reserves only for me, and to feel it in return.
I take her into our room and lay her on the bed, and then close and lock the door, mostly out of habit. Ty isn’t here to disturb us, and even he knows how to knock by now.
Jenna kneels on the bed in front of me and pulls my shirt over my head, and I take off her jacket and then her tank top, as well. I pull her down on top of me, unhooking her bra, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin against mine. She whispers my name against my jaw, and I reach down and run my hands up under her skirt and pull down her underwear. Her hands slide inside my jeans, working me up carefully, without too much stimulation, and I shrug out of them, and my boxers, and Jenna kisses my neck as our bodies press together.
It’s too much. I don’t want to finish so soon. I roll her over on her side, facing away from me, and slip my hand up her thigh, and then down the other. Jenna shivers against me, whispering my name again, and I run my teeth down her ear and then bring my fingers up her thigh again, teasing her gently.