The Husband Diet (A Romantic Comedy)

  Please God, keep me safe tonight, until I can get back into my own warm bed. But the thought of my bed, our bed, made my eyes burn. For months I had tried to make it work: trying to save my marriage, save my family, keep things normal. And then I had met Julian, possibly the best thing that had ever happened to me, and all I had done was push him away. When would I finally get it, once and for all?

  Sprawled across the passenger seat, I bawled my eyes out, worried about the children’s future, my future and where our life was going. I had to rev up my one-year plan to less than six months. By the summer, I had to get the kids to Tuscany. It was already December.

  I rummaged through my bag for a Kleenex, blew my nose and checked my cell phone. Ten missed calls and a message.

  Is everything okay? I’m worried about you. Please call me. Julian.

  I burst into a new bawl, and this time Kleenex wouldn’t be enough. That amazing man was worried about me, while my own husband hated me.

  I wanted to call Julian and tell him where I was, to ask him to please come pick me up and bring some gas. But I couldn’t. I needed to do this on my own. No matter what it cost me.

  * * *

  I woke with a jump, confused to find myself in my car parked on the side of the road. But then the afternoon played itself out in front of my eyes and I began to bawl all over again. All these years, chasing a dream of happiness. Sacrificing myself for my family, my husband. And what did that leave me with now if not an empty bed and a broken heart?

  I caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror. Jesus, did I look rough. I felt rough. I felt dead. Actually, I really didn’t feel anything. I felt no pain, no anger. Just a big empty spot in my soul. But I had always felt empty. That’s why I ate.

  But that ended here and now.

  It was almost three in the morning. I texted Paul: Kids spending night at Marcy’s. Can you pick them up and meet me at home in the morning?

  To which he immediately answered with a smiley face and a Go for it!!!!

  I called a taxi and gave the driver Julian’s address, silent tears gushing down my face. All I needed now was to be with him, to lie back and let him sink into my soul, to be loved. Because I deserved it. I deserved Julian. I finally understood that now. And he would welcome me with open arms the way a lover should. He’d listen to me patiently and then possibly offer a few solutions.

  This time I didn’t use my key but rang his doorbell once. A quick buzz. If he didn’t answer, it was a sign that I shouldn’t even be there. But he opened the door after a few moments, his chest bare and his hair mussed. He wore jeans and smelled of clean warm bed and man. I looked up at him, his image blurred by my tears.

  “Erica...? What happened?” he whispered as he took me in his arms.

  “I’m sorry for not calling,” I croaked. “Can I crash here?”

  “Of course. Are you okay? Where are the kids?” he whispered.

  “At my parents’,” I whispered back.

  He put a hand on my chin, lifting my eyes to his, but I couldn’t look at him. “Please tell me what happened, sweetheart.”

  I shut my eyes tight and shook my head. “Bed,” I whispered. “With you. Please.”

  There was a long silence. I’d die if he’d changed his mind.

  Instead, he took my hand and led me up the stairs, my eyes hungrily watching his exquisite Levi’s butt.

  He stopped on the threshold and looked back at me, as if to give me time to retreat if I still wanted to. His bed was unmade and in the light of the bedside table looked like a sea of warmth.

  As he watched me, still unsure, I reached for his unbuckled belt and pulled him toward me, kissing him on the lips. He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me up against his already hard body. I heard his breath catch in his throat, could feel the banging of his heart under my lips as I ran my mouth over his pecs.

  He traced my cheekbones with his thumbs and looked into my eyes, his own hooded. I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them off his thighs and then he lifted me onto his bed. I closed my eyes and hung on to him as he pulled my dress over my head, raining kisses all over me, washing away the pain and replacing it with pleasure. Deep, uncontrollable pleasure.

  I remember the thump-thumping of my heart, the pounding between my legs, the way my skin tingled all over like a live wire when he lowered his lips to my neck, my weak spot. In twelve years of marriage I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell Ira I wanted him to kiss me there, and Julian instantly hit the nail on the head. And now I clutched at him, his kisses hot and amazingly sexy as he nibbled at my throat, caressing it with his tongue, searing it with his mouth.

  “Erica...” he groaned as I pulled him to me.

  The moonlight shone silvery through the window and seemed to bounce off his abs. He looked like a ripped silver God floating on a silver sea. And he was all mine. For now, at least.

  I swallowed, reached out a tentative hand, and in the silence of his unfamiliar bedroom, my fingers traveled over the soft fur on his chest that seemed ready for the most intense exertion.

  As my fingers fell below his waist, a low growl escaped his lips and his hand came up my thigh, closing around the wide stretch of my hip.

  I lowered myself and kissed the area around his belly button, and he groaned. Not in annoyance, like Ira, but with want. God, he was so gorgeous, lying there just for me.

  “Erica…”

  “Shh…” I whispered, getting bolder, and he took me in his arms and kissed me. Deeply. Like no one ever before. The fireworks had begun.

  I watched his beautiful jaw clench over and over as he brought us together. Had I been wrong? When there was chemistry between a couple, lights did go off in your brain, and you did soar through the universe at light speed, and, believe it or not, I did clutch at him—not for fear of falling off the edge of the earth this time, but of literally passing out. The preliminaries went on and on, topped by such a strong orgasm, I almost did.

  * * *

  Four hours and two sets of multiple orgasms later, he reached out and wrapped an arm around my waist, his other hand playing with my hair. We both watched in the sunlit room as he unraveled a lock and let it snap like a spring. Then, back again, curling it around his fingers. I never knew my hair could be so bouncy.

  “How’s my girl?” he whispered, nuzzling my neck.

  “Great. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why don’t you play anymore?” I blurted.

  At that, he stiffened slightly, and then finally sighed. “Many things have changed since then, Erica.”

  I propped myself up on my elbow. “Meaning?”

  He shrugged, caressing my thigh. “I’m not a champion anymore. Who cares what I do now?”

  “Who cares? Just about everybody who meets you, Julian. You’re a big name. If you don’t play anymore you could at least do something. Maybe write another book or something. Didn’t you like it?”

  He looked at me and I read nostalgia in his eyes. “I loved it.”

  “So why not continue? Just because you don’t play pro anymore doesn’t mean you can’t talk about your experience or teach a punk or two what it’s like to work so hard for your dreams.”

  Julian huffed. I’d never seen him huff until now. This thing was obviously a thorn in his side. “Can we forget the compliments and go straight to my favorite part where you let me make love to you again?”

  “But I don’t understand. You’re a talent.”

  “Sweetheart, really. Come a little closer, will you?”

  I nestled myself in the space between his arm and his hip, determined to use sex to ply him. If it worked, I could get away with murder here.

  “Up until now you’ve been helping me,” I began.

  “I like helpi
ng you,” he argued softly.

  “I know and I’m so, so grateful to you, Julian. But I want to help you back.”

  “By pushing me to write another book?”

  “By reminding you that you love sports—and writing. Hell, even I loved your last book and I absolutely hate sports.”

  At that he chuckled and squeezed me.

  “I’m not joking, Julian. You are an amazing writer. Why waste your talent looking after a bunch of unruly schoolkids?”

  He eyed me, a bit dubiously. My magic was starting to work.

  “Anybody could be a principal. Well, almost anybody, but you are way too talented.”

  He sighed, almost as if to say, I know you’re right but I don’t want to admit it.

  I caressed his strong chin. Every day I knew him a little more, and it had dawned on me that he was wasted here. “Just promise me you’ll think about a new book. Then, if it doesn’t come, it doesn’t come. Think about yourself, how you started out and all your dreams. Think of how you would inspire and help rising talents.” Man I was good.

  “It’s not all a bed of roses, Erica. There are a lot of dangers following a sport like mine. Doubts. The prospect of drugs and booze and you have no idea.”

  “That’s why you need to have your say. If I could have my say, I’d boast about how cool it is to sleep with a champion,” I giggled. “A sex champion.”

  Julian grabbed his opportunity to get out of dodge and get back to more impelling issues—i.e., sex. So I let go of my bone. For now.

  “It’s nice to sleep with a redhead,” he answered with a grin.

  “I’m sure you’ve had lots of redheads in your past.”

  “Not real redheads.” He grinned again, and I slapped him playfully on the arm. “Some gentleman you are, spilling the ladies’ secrets.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, as he pulled me close.

  “Your hair is dyed, too?” I offered, and he whispered into my ear. “Ti Amo, Erica. I love you.”

  And I love you, I wanted to say. If I could do that, it would be like the first breath I’d taken since I was born, as if I had been living my life underwater. Just one last obstacle and I would have broken the surface.

  “Really? Since when?” I wanted to know.

  “Ever since you fell off the chair in my office.”

  Wow. And to think I even had a stuffy nose that day, on top of that horribly thick brown dress and that awful coat. But I needed to believe this whole wonderful Julian thing was really true.

  What would happen now to Julian’s spontaneous I love you when I started snoring or thrashing around like, as Ira was often fond of saying, a pig on a spit? That would certainly be the last of him. And then what would happen to my I Love You? I wasn’t wasting any of those on a man again. At least not until I was good and ready. Until I knew for sure where he stood and how far he’d come with me.

  But for now I’d enjoy the sex and try and not fall asleep at work. It was going to be a long life of sleepless nights if Julian and I were going to be doing this on a regular basis. For once in my life, sleepless nights were a good thing. Now if I could only address my sleeping issues…

  “What’re you thinking?” he whispered into the hollow of my collarbone.

  I hesitated. Did Julian need to know everything that passed through my mind? Probably not. But the mistake I’d made with Ira was that he knew nothing of my thoughts, nor I of his. I would find a happy medium this time, however long (or short) this relationship lasted.

  “You don’t really want to know.”

  “I do if it’s bothering you,” he answered softly.

  “I was thinking about… my sleeping habits. I’m a real earthquake.”

  I felt him grin against my neck as he pulled me closer. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I sleep like a log.”

  “No, I really mean it. I talk in my sleep.”

  “So do I.”

  “You do?”

  “Real long monologues. It was time I had someone to have a chat with.”

  I grinned. “Ira didn’t like to chat in bed. He’d always fall asleep when I talked to him.” A bit too much information?

  “That won’t be a problem seeing that you and I are both perfectly capable of continuing our conversation in our sleep,” he said, his voice mirthful.

  “Silly,” I whispered.

  “Tell you what. Whichever one of us falls asleep first has to do the dishes the next evening. How does that sound?”

  “Like a dream,” I grinned, caressing his chest.

  * * *

  As I walked into the kitchen to retrieve my Christmas shopping list, Ira came out of the spare room with another suitcase. He’d been packing like a madman since I’d discovered him with his lover. One more week and he’d be out. One more week to prepare the kids and I still didn’t know how I was going to do it.

  “I’m leaving now,” Ira said softly.

  My whole body was traversed by icy claws that racked my legs, ripped into my stomach and my lungs, squeezing real hard while my entire world, which was already pretty much off its axis, started to spin drunkenly.

  Now? He had no idea how much pain and unhappiness he had caused me during all our years together, but leaving us on the day before Christmas Eve? What the hell was wrong with him? Wasn’t he thinking about his children at all?

  “We’ve already had this conversation. You’re supposed to wait until the new year.”

  Ira lowered his eyes and sighed. “We open the gifts after dinner tomorrow and then I go.”

  “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve; you can’t abandon them on Christmas Eve, you’re going to scar them for life. You owe it to Maddy and Warren.”

  He only shook his head.

  “I can’t. I already don’t know what to tell them.”

  I shrugged, feeling numb. “The truth. That you’ve found a slut with a skinny ass and that she’s more important than them.”

  “Erica—let’s at least be civil, okay…?”

  Civil? For years he’d treated me like I didn’t exist, sighing in frustration at the mere sight of me and now he wanted to be civil? I pushed my chin out and straightened my hair. My messy hair that he had always used to put behind my ear. But that was long gone. Gone too were the caresses, the laughs, the evenings we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. That was a long, long time ago. Now we were two total strangers hardly able to look each other in the eye and who couldn’t wait to go our separate ways.

  “Are you picking up the kids from your mom’s?” he asked.

  I sighed. “Paul’s bringing them back later today.”

  He nodded. “Okay. I have to go now,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  * * *

  I drove to the supermarket, determined to cook the best meal ever, so that years from now the kids would remember this Christmas for the amazing turkey, sweets and gifts and not because their dad had left them. I would protect them from the pain, the heartache. No, Ira had never been close to the kids, but perhaps this would help them cope with it. Lessen their sense of loss? What did I know?

  As I ambled through the bright red-and-white aisles lit like Santa’s sled, through the merry music, the colors, the bright lights, happy snowmen and Santas climbing chimneys and Rudolphs jumping over roofs, I wondered who Julian would be spending his Christmas with.

  Chapter 29:

  Jingle-Bell Hell

  Paul and I made it back to the house at the exact same time, the kids dancing around me like I was a campfire.

  “All right, you two. Go wash up and change.” I forced a laugh as I gave them both a quick peck. Paul took a few bags off me and followed me into the kitchen. “Well? Did you do it? How was he? Tell me!”

&
nbsp; “Thanks for picking up the kids,” I said as I put the food away.

  Paul waved his hand in the air. “Never mind them. Spill!”

  “First things first. I caught Ira and his secretary here the other day.”

  Paul’s jaw fell open. “What? Screwing here?”

  “No, just packing. Anyway, it’s Maxine.”

  Paul gasped, his eyes wide. “Pristine Maxine? No!”

  “Yeah. She’s at least twelve years younger. And yes, I slept with Julian. But last night wasn’t our first time.”

  Paul hugged me, jumping up and down as if he’d won the lottery. “Oh, my God, Erica—this is amazing!”

  I nodded, happiness mixing with misery. “Ira’s leaving on Christmas Eve. The kids’ll be devastated.”

  Paul waved a hand in the air. “They’ll get over it. We both know you’re all better off without him. Forget Ira—you’ve got yourself a real man now. What’s he like in bed? I have to know.”

  I stopped and placed some ready-made dough on the counter and thought about it. What was Julian like in bed? Hot. Tender. Sexy. Extremely selfless. “It was out of this world,” I gushed.

  “Good for you!” Paul whooped. “Is he big?”

  “Paul!”

  “Oh, get off your high horse. Details!”

  I beamed at him. “He’s absolutely perfect.”

  Paul punched the air. “Hallelujah! The Amazing Erica’s back!”

  She certainly was. And the new Erica went out and bought herself a new bed.

  * * *

  The next morning, I shopped for gifts, cleaned like mad—even the windows—and baked the best food I could, including cookies and cakes. In only a few hours, the hour of my children’s loss of their innocence, I would take pictures of the kids and their father so they wouldn’t miss him too much. But deep down I knew that he wouldn’t be all that missed. His presence in the house consisted only of his computer and his gazillion shirts and suits hanging in the closet. The wooden model planes hanging in Warren’s room was my effort, just like the fairy wings hanging on the back of Maddy’s bedroom door.

  And then I realized it. Ira was leaving nothing to his children—no kind memories, no afternoons of laughter. Bupkis.