Mid-Life Crisis Diaries

by Geraldine Solon

  Andre nodded and looked ahead of them, where a large seashell like sculpture stood on a pedestal. The blues and greens of the piece made it even more whimsical. On top of the shell-like bit sat what Marsha could only describe to herself as a mermaid. It was abstract, for sure, but something about the simplicity of it pulled at her stomach.

  “I—I think it’s a mermaid. And she’s beautiful.” The structure had no real definition, per say. It just flowed from one portion to the next in an effortless hook shape. “She looks free. She wants to be swimming.” Marsha paused and pictured herself as the mermaid. “So she swims.”

  They stood in front of the mermaid, diving into the ocean stretched out before them, diving into freedom, for what seemed like an eternity. Andre never budged or made a sound, but he did run his fingers through her hair.

  Once they turned to walk again, Andre pulled on her arm to stop her, spinning so that they faced each other. He brushed a hair out of her face and looked more deeply into her eyes than he ever had. He aged beyond his years in that moment, his face was wise and kind, his eyes crinkled into a painful smile.

  “So swim.”

  Tears ran down Marsha’s face and she laughed. “I will. I am!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and he kissed her, in front of God and everyone. “I am,” she smiled again. “I’m hungry.”

  “That-a girl, let’s get some food.”

  “There was a vendor back there with pie.” Marsha titled her head backward like a child ready to throw a tantrum. “Let’s have pie for breakfast.”

  “Anything you want, my dear! Pie, it is.”

  The table was cheap and had a yellow tablecloth spread over it. Pies covered every square inch of it, but the whole set up was very low key. In San Francisco you would have seen pies that didn’t even look half as good, packaged expensively and pretentiously and being sold for forty dollars each. These pies were each on a different plastic container and the table looked more like something you’d see at a linger-longer in a Southern Baptist church. Andre handed money to the man behind the table and they each pointed to a different kind of pie. When the man handed them the slices, Marsha’s was still warm.

  “Oh my God!” she yelled. “It’s…..he just made it this morning!” She took a small bite and was pretty sure she’d left her body. It tasted better than she could even picture someone’s grandmother making. The berries in it were soft but had held firm in her mouth, and the crust was buttery and tasted like it might have sour cream in it. It was amazing, and it made her want to move to Puerto Vallarta. Just for this pie. She could eat it every day for breakfast. Job or no job, this pie wasn’t very expensive. She could take all of her savings and live meagerly here, and still have pie every morning.

  Andre had chosen a flan-type piece, and ate the whole thing in four bites, tossing his wrapper in the trash while Marsha took her time. “If you don’t mind,” he said when she was about halfway finished, “I’m going to run into this shop quickly. I won’t be long, and you can enjoy the rest of that.”

  “Of course,” she mumbled with her mouth full. “Go, go.” And she waved him on with her free hand.

  It was probably a bit awkward for her to still be standing in front of the pie table, eating, but she figured that if nothing else, it would be good advertising for his pastries. To see some dorky American standing there in ecstasy over a little slice of heaven for breakfast. The man didn’t seem to even notice that she was still standing there, so she stopped worrying about it.

  “Marsha??”

  The pit of her stomach turned over about three times at the sound of his voice, like a child who’d just been discovered stealing money from their mother’s wallet. There was simply NO way it could be…

  “MARSHA.” It was a forceful accusation now, more than a question, and she nearly choked on her last bite of pie. When she turned around to see Blake standing there, her sandal caught on the leg of the table and caused her to trip, sending the whole table crashing to the street. The pies that weren’t covered lay on the ground in front of them in pieces, and the pies that were covered were in mushy piles in the corners of their containers.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!!” Marsha dropped to her knees to try and pick up the large pieces closest to her, but the man started yelling in Spanish and throwing his hands in the air. She didn’t dare look up and see the look on Blake’s face, so she kept scrambling with her arms out in front of her, scooping up as much pie into her hands as she could and turning to dump it in the trash. She was so embarrassed. And as soon as she tossed the first double handful of crust pieces into the garbage can near them, the baker yelled louder and walked over toward her. She knew he wouldn’t do anything crazy like throw something at her, but she had no idea what he was saying. Should she scoop faster?! Did he want her to go away? Her face reddened under the weight of the people gathered around to try to help…and gawk.

  Several women from other tables surrounded them and yelled in Spanish toward her, as well. Eventually, when the space around her was relatively saved from large crumbs, she stood to face Blake, who had his arm around a leggy blonde. The blonde began laughing and touched her lip, signaling that Marsha had leftover pie on her mouth. Horrified, Marsha pulled up her shirt and wiped at her mouth. A streak of blueberry was left on her hem to remind her of it for the rest of the day.

  Noticing that his friend was laughing at his wife, Blake elbowed the blonde and cleared his throat twice. It would have been a kind gesture, were his arm not returned immediately to her waist.

  Marsha sighed and tried to fight back tears. How could Blake do this to her? She wanted to pounce at him—at her—at both of them. She had no idea what to say, the baker was still yelling and she finally just threw her hands up and started yelling back.

  “Sorry, okay! I said I was sorry! It was a friggin’ accident.” She turned to Blake. “I thought you were in Nepal?!”

  He laughed out of the side of his mouth and looked at his friend. “Yeah, awkward. Um, I’m not.”

  “No shit.” Marsha brushed the rest of the crumbs off her skirt and stood up, poking her arm out toward the blonde to shake her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Marsha.” Marsha forced a fake smile as a gesture that it didn’t bother her.

  The girl looked at Blake, who nodded and shrugged his shoulders. He almost had a bit of smugness to him, showing off his prize in front of the woman he was still married to. Blake’s shoulders squared and he watched as the two women shook hands.

  “I’m Jessica.” She twirled her hair.

  “Of course you are, dear. And if I’m any Love Guru at all, I’d peg you at about twenty- five, too.”

  “Jessica just graduated college,” Blake chimed in.

  Marsha laughed out loud, startling the both of them, saving it with a wide mouthed grin at the end that just seemed to leave them both feeling uncomfortable. “And how long have you two known each other, Jessica? Are you from around here? Or from around…Nepal?”

  Jessica looked confused. Blake had probably never even mentioned Nepal, and frankly Marsha thought it was a foolish thing to lie about since it made no difference to her where he was. Only that he wasn’t with her.

  “No,” the young girl replied, adjusting the skirt on her yellow sundress. Marsha looked down at her feet, the girl was balancing on three-inch wedges. Apparently, that was all the answer Marsha was going to get on the subject so she turned back to Blake.

  “Well, since you’re here, did you have something you wanted to tell me?”

  Blake cleared his throat. “Well no—I just…”

  Just then, an arm circled around Marsha’s waist and Andre slipped his fingers into the waist of her shorts. Thank God. Blake’s eyes widened and all the color drained from his face. It didn’t last long though, he was almost immediately beet red and Marsha realized this wasn’t a look she’d ever seen on his face before. She’d seen it plenty of times in her practice, of course. Sometimes it was the calm before the storm, and the jea
lous partner would rage out and smash everything in their path. And sometimes they would crumble under the weight of realizing that they’d mishandled precious goods that were in their possession and they suddenly realized they wanted the goods back. Blake didn’t look like either of these things. Marsha filed through decades of faces that she’d catalogued him making and couldn’t help but laugh at this new one.

  “What’s the matter, hon? Cat got your tongue? I was civil to your guest, could you do me the same courtesy?”

  At that moment anyone within arm’s reach could almost see the steam rolling from Blake’s ears like a cartoon character. He didn’t move. Andre, as calm and cool as he’d ever been, extended his free hand between them.

  “Andre. Nice to meet you.”

  Marsha imagined Andre making a thousand handshakes just like this, completely in control of himself and the situation, but leaving the other person feeling respected, too, no matter the circumstance. Marsha could tell from Andre’s face that he had no idea who’s hand he was shaking. And when her husband still didn’t take his hand, Marsha intervened. It was one thing to be rude to her, but not to a stranger.

  “Blake.” Her words cut through the staring contest he was having with himself and grunted, reaching out to shake hands awkwardly. His face was still red and he was breathing through his nose, a single nod was all he offered. “Careful there, you’ll blow a gasket.”

  Jessica snorted and ribbed him with her stupid tiny elbow, but he shot her a look that silenced her pretty quickly and she looked around like she was suddenly interested in the sculpture they were standing closest to.

  “We just had some pie.” Andre offered, extending his arm and gesturing toward the people who were righting the table near them and refilling the table with new pies. “They were delicious, as you can see. Even the birds like them.”

  Dozens of seagulls had taken to swooping down for bits of treat from the street and tourists were taking pictures of the whole thing. Somewhere, someone was going to go home with vacation pictures that included four adults standing awkwardly close to each other, not saying a word, and some very pissed off vendors grumbling in the background. But the birds! The birds would be nice.

  “Would you care to join us for a cappuccino or something else to eat?” Andre asked.

  Jessica looked terrified at the thought and glanced up in hopes that Blake would say no. Marsha watched Andre’s beautiful face to see if there was any sign of discomfort in realizing who he was talking to, and she wasn’t surprised to find that he was as genuinely cheerful as ever. When she looked back at Blake, she caught him staring Andre down with the fiercest That is my territory gaze she’d seen in person! Funnily enough, she wasn’t his territory anymore…unless he wanted her to be. Her heart ached a little at the thought, but then she remembered that he’d lied about where he’d been and was now standing in front of her with some goofy blonde girl that looked as though she hadn’t had a real adult conversation in her whole life. Marsha pitied the girl, this kind of conversation is one of those that creates a permanent memory in your mind, kind of like a trauma. The thought made her laugh out loud, knowing that she would be the crazy pie table lady in this poor girl’s memory for the rest of her life. She had half a mind to just bust out into a jig right there on the Malecon strip, really cementing that memory in there for good. Making sure it didn’t go anywhere.

  “I’m starving,” Blake answered. “Let’s go.” He gestured toward Andre to allow him to lead the way, and cool as a cucumber.

  Andre paid the vendor and gave him a generous tip for the ruined pie thenslid his arm from Marsha’s waist and wrapped his fingers in hers as they walked toward a restaurant. Any restaurant. Anywhere that didn’t serve pie.

  C H A P T E R 19

  The four of them walked into a small café tucked into the side of a row of buildings, and Andre held the door for all of them. Blake stopped at the doorway and tried to hold the door for Andre in a show of manhood, but Andre didn’t even flinch. He just said thank you, after you and waited until Blake huffed and puffed his way through the door. Marsha and Jessica stood near the counter together and Marsha, having the upper hand since she was not new to awkward situations or Blake’s mini tantrums, just smiled as if nothing were out of the ordinary. It clearly made the girl uncomfortable and she clamored for Blake’s arm as soon as he got in the door. Poor girl, she was lost without him. He squared his shoulders when she laced her arm through his, as though he’d suddenly regained his confidence and was ready to puff his feathers a bit.

  After a few moments, he stepped up to the counter and ordered a full breakfast. Marsha sighed because that meant they’d be there for a while, but she let it go. What else could she do? Blake then turned to his girlfriend and then back to the worker.

  “She’ll have a latte and a mini quiche.”

  Marsha’s heart stung with the pang of loss. She didn’t look at the girl, because she couldn’t stomach it, but she wanted Blake to order her food again, too. She knew he was making a show of it at the moment because he turned his head slightly so that Marsha could make sure she knew what he was doing. That hurt even worse, it felt like he was trying to one-up her, even though he had no reason to. He was the reason she was here in the first place. Blake adjusted his shirt and they stepped to the side.

  Andre walked straight up to the counter and, while lightly stroking the small of Marsha’s back, ordered their second breakfast in ful Spanish. It was so glorious it made her ears tingle, among other things, and she grinned at him. It was the only thing she could do besides an outright giggle, which she thought might be rude. She didn’t dare look at Blake, though. Or Jessica for that matter!

  Too late.

  Jessica sighed and practically fawned over Andre’s thick, sultry voice, which he had clearly ramped up for the occasion. Marsha had never been prouder to have a young twenty something on her arm as she was right then. All that he’d helped her through, all that he’d listened to, this was the icing on the cake.

  “Do it again!” Jessica squealed. Blake answered by clearing his throat, which made Marsha squint her eyes. When she opened them, still grinning, Andre smiled and winked at her. She didn’t even care what he’d ordered her! She’d eat it and love it.

  While waiting for the food to arrive, Blake stared forcefully at Andre, as if he were trying to intimidate him. Andre pretended not to notice, of course, and mostly talked to Jessica. The man was nothing if not polite and easy to talk to. The conversation ended up on real estate, which was suddenly very interesting to the young girl. Marsha excused herself to the ladies room, running her hand along the back of Andre’s neck as she left the table without thinking about it. Just outside the restroom, someone grabbed her arm and spun her around.

  “Are you kidding me with this guy? Where did you pick him up?” Blake looked angry and hurt.

  “C’mon, Blake.” Marsha pulled her arm gently from his grasp. He let go, but it took a moment. “You’re here with someone, too. You don’t have any reason to be upset.”

  “He’s hitting on my wife! I have a big problem with that. And you’re letting him!”

  The nerve of him to say that after leaving me. Marsha knew she should laugh at this moment because of the ridiculousness level of the conversation, but she decided to take the high road and just talk to him. After all, he obviously had some feelings he needed to get out, and she was a professional healer of sorts. Maybe she could help him through whatever was bothering him. The thought made her want to laugh again, but she held it in.

  “Whatever you need to say, you might as well get it out. I have business to attend to.” Marsha motioned toward the ladies room door with her head.

  Blake scoffed and ran his finger through his hair, something he did when he was nervous. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just don’t like it.”

  “Like what, dear?”

  “Don’t call me dear. We’re not—”

  “Well, make up your mind, Blake. We either are or we
aren’t. You can be mad about being married to me or you can be mad about someone seeing value in my company. But you can’t have it both ways. Which is it?”

  He didn’t answer her, and instead looked around the room aimlessly, shaking his head.

  “Forget it.” She waved her hand in the air. “That’s not for you to decide.”

  “How long have you known this loser anyway?” He demanded. It didn’t faze Marsha a bit. She wasn’t offended for Andre’s sake or anything that she expected to be. She simply smiled at her husband.

  “Whether you think someone is a loser or not says more about your quick judgment of people than anything else. I met him through a mutual friend, and we’ve just been hanging out. He shows me around and takes me to eat. That’s pretty much it. And as it is, everything that I do is really none of your business.”

  Blake laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s it. Not that way he was touching you. And what’s with his accent? What’s that about?”

  This time Marsha did laugh out loud, and didn’t even acknowledge the statement with a response. She’d known Blake her whole adult life, there was nothing that could be said to convince him of anything at this point.

  He paced back and forth for a moment, and when she was sure he wasn’t going to say anything else, she clapped her hands together loudly.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me…”And she pushed the small door and disappeared behind it.

  What was he thinking? He had no right to be jealous after bringing her here! Good grief! Marsha grinned at herself in the mirror on her way to the stall. She sure did have a young hot thing on her arm. And as soon as she thought the words, she knew Dr. Lee was right. Being with a younger man made her more desirable. Poor Blake was jealous! A grin played on her mouth.

  She brushed her thoughts aside. If he really is jealous, then maybe there’s something there. Maybe we can work with that.

  She filed through the last ten years or so worth of clientele and tried to assess what was going on in a purely professional manner, and couldn’t quite think clearly about it. There wasn’t any good way to see things with a clear head when it came to her own marriage and that really bothered her. She wanted to know how he felt, what was making him tick in this moment, so that she could see if there was a way through it or not. If there was no hope for them, no future where they could spend the rest of their lives together, then there wasn’t any need for her to carry resentment around. Or hurt. And she could resign herself to a reasonable level of sympathy that still kept her healthy and allowed her to sleep at night.