The Half-Life of Everything

by Deborah Carol Gang

  It confused the researchers at first, and they mislabeled it lesbian attraction. Such a transmutation had never occurred to David, but it made sense when she explained it, and more and more sense as he later studied the volume of stimuli that, while directed at men, couldn’t fail to affect women too.

  What he said now was, “Good to know. Turn over.”

  “Okay, but why?”

  “How else can I pretend you’re her?”

  She laughed, as he knew she would, and pulled him towards her. She began to move again and he moved too. He had never confided any fantasies to Kate, though he always had the sense she wouldn’t have minded. Now, she had brought Jane into the room, and while he believed her that she didn’t suffer over the idea that his thoughts included Jane, he wanted to last a long time so he didn’t think about either woman for a while, and then he did, and they came at the same time, which they used to do easily, but hadn’t for years.

  He waited for his heart to slow and then said, “I think it’s just possible that I will never need Viagra.”

  They turned on their sides and he held her. “Jane and I don’t do anything you and I don’t do.” Had he said that right? “I mean we do the same things.”

  He couldn’t see her face, but she sounded pleased when she pulled his arm tighter around her and said, “Well, you always were more of a frequency guy.”

  “And never bored.”

  “I want to ask you something.” Kate directed this to David, though Jane was present too. In fact, they were in her living room; David and Kate had walked over one beautiful Saturday afternoon to return a coat she left in David’s car.

  “You can have anything you want,” David said promptly.

  “Really? What if I wanted us to become foster parents?”

  “Then I guess then that’s what we would do.”

  “Well, it’s a dog that I want. I know we said we’d never have a dog again, but I want one. It might have to be a puppy because of the cats.”

  “I’ve never had a dog,” Jane said quickly, “I might want one too.”

  “You want a dog? That’s a surprise,” Kate said.

  “Why! I mean, why?”

  “You like things so nice—kind of perfect.”

  “So do you.” Jane said this as David watched, amused, as if he were following a Ping-Pong game. Back to Kate. “But I’ve lived with young children—I got over it.”

  “I’m still going to think about it.” Jane had already been thinking about it, about what would give her house the feeling of inhabitation it too often lacked. Having a dog meant she would have to stay home more. She would have to decide if being home and having more time for David was a good or bad thing.

  “Why a dog, Kate?” he asked. She spoke of the future so rarely, and a dog was definitely a future-oriented concept.

  “I want to do everything. Learn to sail a small boat alone, be outside in a hailstorm, stay up all night once a year—but not on a plane. Raise a dog again.”

  She was definitely talking about a future, however odd her list was. David tried to appear to be considering the dog idea in a fair, unbiased way, until he heard Kate say, “I also might want to have sex with a new person before I die. Someone I like.” She looked at Jane and smiled. “A man.”

  David put his water glass down hard. “No. Absolutely not.” Both women stared at him in disbelief. He had completely forgotten the possible new him who might not be jealous.

  “Look, I met Jane when you weren’t…around. And then you came back and gave permission. I didn’t ask. You insisted. There was no contract or quid pro quo.” He spat out the last three words. “I’ve always hated the thought of you with anyone else. Why would that have changed?”

  The women seemed to know that Kate’s longing meant nothing negative about him. And he knew it too. But he didn’t want anyone else to touch Kate. Or Jane. It wasn’t fair or rational and he had no veto power. If it happened, it would make him crazy, but wasn’t all happiness just a moment, a slight turn into some crazy-making loss?

  Without giving any sign she heard him, Kate said sadly, “I probably wouldn’t meet anyone.”

  “There’s the internet.” Jane offered. “Do you really have to like him?” David glared at her. If this conversation had taken place in the first weeks of their experiment, he might have guessed that Jane wouldn’t mind if Kate paired off with someone else, making him and Jane a couple by default. Now he only saw a helpful friend; her expression was guileless, her amusement and fondness open and transparent. Good for her and Kate. But she was annoying the hell out of him.

  “When I was young, it just had to be someone really good-looking and hard to get,” Kate said.

  “So you were easy to get?” David asked. He and Kate had never wanted or needed to discuss this topic, but here it was.

  “I was easy to get for someone who was hard to get,” Kate said, her voice matter-of-fact. “Besides, promiscuity is just a way to travel for people who don’t like to leave home.”

  “Ani Di Franco,” Jane said. “Good one.”

  “David was the first really attractive man I met who didn’t seem to know it, or use it. He was kind and sweet.”

  “Is that really a good thing?” David asked, worrying, not for the first time, that it wasn’t.

  “Oh, yes. That first night after you rescued me at the party, I decided that I would marry you. That’s why I didn’t have sex with you then. I was afraid it’d be too fast—remember that word? I didn’t want to be too fast to be considered someone to marry.”

  “And I thought you did it to torment me.”

  “Wait,” said Jane. “Rescued? What’s that about?” So, taking turns interrupting each other and, despite having never told the whole story to anyone else, they remembered the facts identically.

  Later, David wondered if Kate had introduced this topic—he didn’t know what words to use—taking a lover—to deflect him from his opposition to a dog. He didn’t think she was that strategic. She probably wanted both a dog and a novel sexual experience. Regardless, it had worked, and the dog now seemed like an entirely harmless idea.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  David was in a bar in Phoenix with a group from a historians’ conference, his first since Kate’s return. Every surface seemed to be laminated, and the air-conditioning was set on destroy-the-planet cold. A chair from another university, Floyd Franklin, must have started drinking in his room after the last meeting.

  “I thought you’d bring one of your sister-wives along with you,” Floyd said, though in a pleasant tone. “Or both. Too exhausted? Looking for a third?”

  Kate wouldn’t come with him. “I can’t shop that much,” she said, and Jane, apologetic, explained, “Maybe San Francisco, but not Phoenix. Tell me if you have any meetings in Sedona, though.” So here he was, alone and apparently fair game.

  Franklin’s line seemed rehearsed. No one laughed. David skipped the part of trying to figure out who gossiped and thought only of punching him. His right hand began to quiver. He could so clearly imagine the satisfaction of hitting the guy’s fleshy jaw. He wanted to defend himself. He wanted to tell Floyd to tend to his one wife, whom David had met at previous meetings, and who struck him as lonely and ignored.

  “Yeah, they’re both really, really busy,” he said finally, and everyone started breathing again. Tucker raised his glass. “To love and history. To history and love.” A few minutes later, Franklin, sitting on a chair added at the end of the booth, left to use the bathroom. Three of the remaining four threw down a pile of bills, hoping to exit the bar and have dinner somewhere without him. “We’ll tell him we thought he had left,” Tucker said. “He’s on that early panel.”

  “No, I’ll stay,” said the fourth, a quiet man whose name David hadn’t quite gotten. “I have to work with him. He’s not a terrible guy—terrible social skills, though. You go. It’s fine.”

  When the remaining three settled in at a new place and had drinks in front of them, the yo
ungest, Aaron, whom David had met just that day, raised his glass. “To David, who almost hit Floyd Franklin but decided words are better. If only history were more like that.”

  “Hear! Hear!” Tucker said. “But it would have been great. Really great.”

  “Sorry, man,” David said. “Maybe next time.”

  Later, watching the weather on the oversized screen that nevertheless produced the usual bad picture, he was glad, of course, that he hadn’t been an asshole. And he was happy to be without a roommate. He always paid whatever premium the cost-cutting university required for a single room, knowing his chances of decent sleep disappeared with even a non-snoring, congenial roommate. He saw that it was, as promised, snowing at home, and he thought about Jane and Kate, sleeping or perhaps lying awake, listening for the comforting back-and-forth of the snow plows, as lovely a sound as a late-night train whistle.

  Hearing the plows, he always felt taken care of—not by God but by the idea that people had civilized themselves to the point of pooling their beads and selecting some strong men to clear the roads so the business of living could continue. He hoped the men would finish their routes in time to radio each other so they would know whether to meet for breakfast at Big Boy or Steak and Shake or Jessie’s Chuck Wagon, in business for ninety years, which was too small to hold them all comfortably, but where the waitresses would fuss over the exhausted men, and one would give her nephew, the newest member of the crew, a proud kiss.

  He was glad to know that if there were more than a few inches, Jane’s snow guy would come, and the neighbors would take care of Kate if the snow was too deep for a shovel.

  He watched the screen for a few more minutes. The weather in Florida wasn’t good either—citrus—and then fell asleep. His last thought was to wonder if there were other men in the hotel not watching porn. Do men buy porn and watch with their colleague-roommates? Were there others who didn’t want to peruse the selection? “No titles will appear on your bill,” the enticement read. Good one-line poem, Jane would say.

  Then he slept.

  Kate and David and Jane had been out in public with Tom and Lucy a few times and with Dylan and Jack twice, but they had never gone anywhere just the three of them. David couldn’t remember whose idea it was, but there was a band that rarely played that they all wanted to see. “We’ve probably been in the same crowd listening to them or dancing near each other,” Kate said, sounding pleased at the idea. David wanted to not care what people thought, and he believed he was doing better at this since his moment with the history conference arsehole. Ian had liked the story, outraged on David’s behalf, and surprisingly not disappointed that David hadn’t hit Franklin. “You were angry enough to, mate. That’s enough for me.”

  And now, faced with the big night out being planned around him, what was his choice? To stay home? Neither Kate nor Jane had volunteered to drop out or scare up other friends, and why should they? Why should they be the ones to give, and give things up, to always alternate?

  Still, sitting at a small table they’d been lucky to grab, David felt self-conscious. The large bar managed to be a place where the college crowd, post-college cohort, and baby boomers coexisted peaceably, and he would know a good twenty percent of each category. The lead singer was a former student, charismatic and smart. Kate would have delivered some of the young ones. Jane probably knew their grandparents. He tried to savor the microbrew he was sipping and feel the music, which was as good as he remembered. Apparently, it was irresistible. Kate wanted to dance.

  “I don’t want to be a spectacle,” he said pleadingly.

  “We’re a spectacle already.”

  “There are degrees,” he said. He saw that Jane was watching them with interest but didn’t speak. “Besides, what would Jane do?”

  “She’ll dance with us—or with that professorial guy who can’t stop staring at her.” Kate raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly to the right. He made himself not look and saw that Jane didn’t change her gaze either. He doubted there was such a man waiting to pounce on her.

  “That’s fine. I’ll dance with Jane then.” Kate nodded towards the moving bodies—all ages represented. “If she’ll have me.” Jane stood up promptly and the two women moved through the crowd to carve out a space.

  Left alone, he saw a group across the room—a hiring committee from another department, showing a candidate the town nightlife. Several of them were watching Jane and Kate and then turned to study him before glancing back at the women. He looked away and saw that Don and Martha had arrived and were approaching him on their way to the dance floor. Martha reached the table first and leaned down to say in his ear, her voice low and intense, “For God’s sake, David.”

  He had never heard her use the word in an unofficial way. “I’m not a fan of what you’re doing, but either do this or don’t. Don’t you dare waste a moment on embarrassment.” Kate had been close-mouthed about what Martha thought of them. “Less outraged than Claire, less sad than my parents—more mystified than anything” was all she would tell him. Martha took his hand and he resisted at first, but it would have been more obvious to fight her, so he stood and followed her and Don onto the dance floor, where he surprised the women.

  Kate gave him a happy grin and Jane smiled and backed up a little to make room for him. He danced, unsure as always when not holding a partner, about what to do with his arms. He had studied others for years but never satisfactorily answered the question. He had even Googled the subject, and it helped to know that the topic was under discussion. Hold them up, he’d read, but it was hard advice to follow.

  He heard the opening chords and worried that his former student was teasing him—the band didn’t do many covers. I’ve got seven women on my mind. The student’s mother worked for Jane and Lucy, and he would know the situation. Just then, the singer found David in the crowd and tipped his hat. It didn’t feel like ridicule. The middle-aged dancers sang the ooh ooh ooh parts, while the young ones bounced and looked amused, though by the fourth repeat, they joined in too. The band knew how to prevent people from leaving the floor, and the three of them danced for a long time until they were sweaty and out of breath. When the pace slowed, the sign that a break was next, they found their table and sat, flushed, exhausted, and oblivious to any observers.

  After Kate caught her breath, she said, “Do you remember, David, how the boys said once that they didn’t actually hate seeing us dance? They didn’t go out of their way to watch us, but if they didn’t avert their eyes in time, it was okay. We played it really cool, but we were so flattered. It made me very self-conscious at the next family wedding, but it was worth it.”

  He remembered how embarrassing it was to learn he was being so openly judged by his kids, though happy to be given what was, for the boys, high praise. “I do remember,” he said. “I think they were talking about you.”

  “Self-deprecation is not your best trait,” Jane said, but she was smiling.

  When the band resumed, the dance floor became so crowded that they stayed seated and listened. David realized with some shock that he couldn’t remember where he would be going after the bar. He knew it had been decided. How could he tune out information that was so completely interesting to him? He had been trying to become a better listener and a more careful speaker so that he didn’t repeat himself or say, “I could have sworn I told you that.” He was continually working on listening without tuning out midway through. The more immersed he had become in writing his book, the more he had to fight the temptation to compose sentences in his head when he should be listening.

  Despite his intentions, had he actually become careless, habituated to this undeserved bounty? He felt Kate press her leg against his and he had his answer. In the next minute, Jane said she’d have to be leaving soon. Of course. Lucy and Tom’s babysitter with the curfew—Jane was taking over so they could stay out late. He had been told this information and then didn’t store it in his memory. David believed, and this was not false humility, t
hat each woman will tire of him if he acts as if he’s more important or valuable than either of them. In fact, they will probably band together and leave him. He did not want to be a man who treated a woman as if she were invisible or inaudible. He wanted to be a good listener, and not just good for a man. He would take tonight’s lapse seriously.

  Jane watched David, who seemed to be concentrating on something—he looked like he was doing a math problem in his head. She hoped he was having a good time. He worried too much about others’ opinions, and yet he seemed to have let go of that tonight. Jane knew she would have been glad to hear him pull in her driveway later, but she also felt able to leave them here without anguish. Needing less is a form of wealth, she decided, and perhaps just as important as having. When she stood to leave, he stood to walk her to her car. She tried to dissuade him—“I’m parked so close”—but Kate insisted and David wouldn’t back down. At her car, he leaned into her, and without looking to see who might be around, kissed her and said “I love you,” even though it wasn’t their custom.

  Later that night, he and Kate sat on their front porch, not talking. He was quiet because he was marveling at the sweet strangeness of the evening, but Kate, it turned out, was quiet because she needed to tell him something.

  “While you were gone, at your meetings, I was with someone,” she said, and took a deep inhale, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Once. Twice. I mean one evening.”

  She had spoken so softly, he made her say it again.

  “I won’t make you ask questions,” she said. “I’ll tell you and you’ll have to stop me if you don’t want to know.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It was William.” He noticed she said was.

  “I think you know him a little. The relatively new guy from Kansas. You know how quiet he is. And his wife left him last year.”

  David remembered him. They’d served on a committee together, and William was so shy that it was hard to notice either his absence or his presence. Anything he said was smart and well received, but then he’d lapse into silence again. Of course he would confide in Kate. His misery made him talkative and more interesting, she explained.