Happiness Sold Separately

by Lolly Winston

  Ted takes another step toward Gina, clenching his fists in his pockets. “Oh, Gina. I’m sure it’s just a preteen thing. He’s a ’tweener.” Ted has read articles about this rocky stage.

  “Sure, he loves me. But he doesn’t like me.” She pours her tea down the drain. “Anyway, that’s beside the point. The point is that he makes it through the school year. So—” She pauses. “—I know it’s a weird request, but I wondered if you could help him with his homework.” She starts wiping the counters again.

  Ted can tell from the hesitation in her voice that Gina didn’t want to ask him this.

  She looks up at him—a little sheepish, a little shy, mostly tired. “You guys could meet at the library. Of course, I wouldn’t be there.”

  “Uh,” Ted says. You’re reactive, Ted hears Elinor’s voice say. You let life happen to you. Be more proactive. Ted sits on a bar stool at the counter.

  “Toby’s father is so inconsistent. He doesn’t call when he says he will; sometimes he won’t call for weeks. Then he overcompensates with big presents. I told Rod, kids need dependable, day-to-day love more than they need big presents.” Gina seems to realize she’s been mindlessly scrubbing the counter, and tosses the sponge into the sink. “Anyway, Toby’s talked about you pretty much nonstop since the other night.” She crosses her arms and squeezes them against her stomach.

  Ted feels silly for being flattered by this. But Toby probably just needs a guy in his life. Maybe he could introduce Gina to that young athletic patient who had the metatarsal fracture surgery last week. What was that guy’s name? He was single, wasn’t he? The thought of that handsome kid with Gina creates a spark of jealousy that surprises Ted. He wedges his hands between his knees.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he finally says. “I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “Elinor’s coming home. We’re reconciling. I called the counselor and made an appointment.”

  “That’s good,” Gina says.

  “So I worry about—”

  “I mean it. That’s good.” She turns toward the sink, her back to him. “I like Elinor. I really liked her when I met her.” She quickly folds a dish towel.

  “I mean, Toby’s a great kid, but I—”

  “You know, I never slept with a married man before.”

  “Oh.” Ted is even more uncertain about the trajectory of this conversation.

  “I just wanted you to know that. It was a terrible mistake and I’m sorry.” She turns toward him. He’s never seen her look so distracted or tired.

  “I just worry about making a commitment to Toby.” Ted stands, pushes in the bar stool. “I’m sure you can find a tutor through the community college. Besides, you’re a natural teacher. You taught me how to use every one of those contraptions at the gym.”

  Gina nods resolutely. “It’s a crazy idea. I’m getting a little desperate.” She massages her temples. “I’ve got to get my act together.”

  “Gina.” Ted tips his head to catch her gaze. “You’re so complimentary of everyone else—so supportive and thoughtful. Try to be that way with yourself.” He sounds stupid and new agey.

  “Really? Yeah, you’re right. Okay,” she says halfheartedly, gliding out of the room.

  “Toby?” she calls out. “Ted’s here. You want to come and say good-bye to him?”

  Toby appears in the living room. “Hey! Did you have any surgeries today?” His tanned, thin limbs poke out of baggy swim trunks and a black T-shirt with a picture of a big white mosquito and the words CAMP ITCHALOT.

  “Nah, just checkups. How was school today?”

  Toby rolls his eyes, scratches at his knee.

  “Some kids played a prank on him,” Gina tells Ted.

  “Yeah.” Toby sulks. “They filled my locker with Ping-Pong balls and when I opened it they all rolled down the hall and I’m the one who got in trouble.”

  “I’m sure there’s a way to get those mean kids back,” Ted says.

  Toby’s face lights up with so much hope that Ted flinches and coughs, sucking in saliva or air the wrong way. He coughs until he’s gasping, looking around the room for relief. He sees the door, the window—emergency exits—then Toby. Gina pats him on the back, gives him water. Finally, he catches his breath.

  “Wanna play Risk?” Toby asks.

  Ted pants, gulps at the water.

  “Ted has to get going, honey,” Gina says.

  “Why?” Toby kicks the carpet.

  “We can play for a little while,” Ted says, mopping his brow. After all, he may never see these two again. And he dreads the thought of his empty house—of eating dinner with Larry King again, going to sleep with the too-perky weather lady.

  “Yay.” Toby reaches for the box under the coffee table. “We can start now and finish next time. I’ll keep everything right here.” He pats the coffee table.

  “Just for half an hour.” Gina shoots Ted a worried look.

  Ted sits across from Toby on the leather couch, which is cool and supple and comfortable. He blushes, recalling how he and Gina lay here side by side, Ted tracing each of her vertebrae. Ted always wanted a leather couch. “Too disco,” Elinor said. “Leather couches make me feel like I should be snorting coke in L.A. with ponytailed people.”

  Toby looks up at his mother. Gina is smiling now, her hands on her hips. “You’re not gonna play, right?” he asks her hopefully.

  Gina turns and heads for the kitchen, mustering a weak laugh. “Don’t worry.”

  “You know, your mother is good at every sport on the planet,” Ted tells Toby. “Tennis, basketball, you name it.” To mix up his cardio workout, sometimes Gina would shoot hoops and hit tennis balls with Ted at the club.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t like sports.” Toby sets neutral army pieces out across the game board, tiny infantrymen pointing their rifles at Ted.

  Ted reaches across Scandinavia and grabs Toby’s hand, surprised by his own boldness. He squeezes the small, gummy fingers. “Tobe?”

  “What?” The boy dips his chin to his chest. He looks up at Ted through his curls.

  “Go easy on your mom, okay? She’s a good person and you need to cut her some slack.”

  Toby’s mouth drops open. He nods.

  “You wanna be red?” Ted finally asks.

  Toby nods. He uncurls his fist under Ted’s palm, but he doesn’t take his hand away. His skin is warm. Finally, Ted lets go. He pats Toby’s forearm, then his shoulder.

  “ ’Kay.” Toby nods vaguely and counts out his artillery pieces.

  “One day,” Ted tells Toby, pointing to Italy’s boot shape on the board, “maybe you’ll get to go to Rome and visit the Forum. You know, I heard there are still coins melted into the stone floors from the time of the invasion of the barbarians.”

  Toby says, “Yeah, right. Like anybody’s ever gonna take me anywhere.”

  Gina reappears, setting a glass of ice on a coaster for Toby, with a bottle of root beer beside it. “I’m making you frozen cheese pizza,” she tells him. “Your favorite.”

  “Thanks.” Toby makes eye contact with her, which Ted has noticed he rarely does. “Hey,” he says to Ted. “I asked my mom if you could tutor me and she said maybe—”

  “Sweetie,” Gina says. “Ted’s got a lot going on right now. He’s just too busy.”

  “Tell you what,” Ted says. “I’ll tutor you until we find a student who can take over. Maybe just once or twice.” The word we hangs in the air. Ted wants to take it back. He realizes that during their tryst he did nothing for Gina. She helped him with his diet and exercise, provided motivation, bought him books, brought him homemade soup. What did he do for her? Nothing. He never even gave her a gift.

  “Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.” Elinor wakes up. Her eyes sting from the dry airplane air. Her mouth feels glued shut. She dreamed she was holding Hector’s dismembered head in her lap, stroking his gnarled hair. The FASTEN SEAT BELT light is on, and now she can’t get up and wash her face and brush her teeth. She
must look like hell. She reaches for her purse, burrows for gum. Next come eyedrops, ChapStick, lipstick, blush and powder. Will Ted be in the airport or out at the curb? Did they decide? She wishes she could take a shower. She looks through the dusty mirror of her compact at her bleary reflection. Years of reading legal briefs into the evening hours have left two deep lines between her brows that make her look cranky. She rubs off some of the blush and blots the lipstick, both of which seem to be trying too hard.

  Anticipation burns in Ted’s stomach as he stands waiting in the swarm of people outside security at the airport. He liked it better when you could walk out to the gate.

  “Hey, wow!” he blurts when he sees Elinor step onto the escalator with the other passengers making their way down to baggage claim. Her hair is cut short and shaggy, and it’s blonder. Her eyes scan the crowd. Ted ducks behind a taller man, relishing this moment of watching his wife as though she’s a stranger. His stranger. She’s wearing jeans and her cowboy boots, which she wore all the time when they first met. Back then she looked disheveled in a sexy way—jeans, boots, and one of Ted’s baggy old sweaters or sweatshirts with a camisole underneath. The incongruity of the feminine lace and bows always excited Ted.

  Elinor’s eyes stop scanning the crowd. She hugs a down parka to her chest and frowns, as though she’s given up on Ted.

  “El!” He waves his arms overhead.

  She sees him, smiles shyly, waves once, and steps off the escalator.

  For a moment the shortness of her hair makes Ted nervous. When they got married, her hair was nearly down to her waist. He liked to lift it off her shoulders and press his lips to the back of her neck, finding that warm, moist spot that smelled like apples. But then she was promoted at work, and the longer her hours grew, the shorter her haircuts became. What if the sweet apple spot isn’t there anymore?

  Ted elbows his way through the crowd, reaching for Elinor’s hand. “You look great.”

  “Really?” Elinor laughs, bunches a clump of hair in her fist. Ted brushes strands of bright bangs from her eyes, tries to tuck them behind her ears.

  “Yeah, really.” He pulls her away from the crowd and into his arms, closing his eyes and inhaling her perfume. Ted used to find the smell of his wife’s perfume sexy. Now he finds it comforting, reassuring—something he can count on, like the newspaper in the driveway every morning. Welcome, but not exactly thrilling. But now, this hair. He kisses Elinor hard on the mouth. Her back stiffens. She clears her throat in his ear, then finally relaxes in his arms.

  He steps back from her. “I thought you might never come home.” He jingles the keys in his pocket and runs his fingers over the bumps in each key. This usually soothes his nerves.

  Elinor shrugs, works up a smile. “I’m here.”

  They stop for lunch, choosing a booth at the back of a nearly deserted restaurant. Ted slides in beside El, so they’re both facing the wall. He curls his fingers through the hole in her jeans and tickles her knee. She laughs nervously. He laughs, too, not sure what they’re laughing at. When the waitress comes, he orders two pale ales.

  As Elinor reaches for her beer, Ted sees that she’s not wearing her wedding ring.

  “Where’s your ring?”

  “I took it off.”

  “But we’re still married.” This comes out somewhere between a statement and a question.

  Elinor wipes beer from her upper lip with the back of her hand. “I feel in between right now.”

  “In between,” Ted repeats.

  “Maybe I should move out. While we’re going to Dr. Brewster. I don’t know if I want to live with you when I’m still so mad.”

  “What? You just got here. You can’t move. How is that reconciling?” The best part about Elinor coming home was that he wouldn’t have to spend another minute alone in that empty house. “El, you can be mad. You’re supposed to be mad.” Ted is talking too fast and raising his voice. He can’t help it and he doesn’t care. He pulls Elinor closer to him. The first few sips of ale make a headache collect between his eyes. “I just want things to go back to the way they were.”

  Elinor’s bangs fall into her eyelashes. Ted wants to kiss her forehead, her nose, her mouth. He just wants to kiss his wife.

  “But we can’t,” she says. “That’s the problem.” She picks at the label on her beer bottle. “Besides, I think that’s called denial.”

  Ted lowers his voice. “Just because I don’t want to analyze everything to death doesn’t mean I’m in denial. Why can’t we just start over?” He squeezes his glass. Slippery with condensation, it slides out of his hand, beer sloshing on the table and drizzling into his lap. “Dang.” He mops at the table and his pants with paper napkins.

  “We need to see Dr. Brewster. This is going to take work.”

  “I know,” Ted says. The operative word being work. He tosses down the wad of wet napkins. It’s not that he’s lazy or unwilling, but why does everything have to be so much work for them? He’d been hoping they’d cruise up to wine country for the weekend. Make love in one of those ridiculous canopied beds at a B&B, worrying about their neighbors hearing them. Of course, he can’t expect Elinor to quickly get over the affair. He brushes his fingertips through her hair, tucks little pieces behind her ears. “Listen, El. I know my behavior was absolutely unacceptable. I’ll do anything to make this better.”

  “Then go with me to see Dr. Brewster.”

  “We’re going. I made the appointment.” Ted swallows, suppressing his aggravation.

  They are both quiet for a long moment. “Do you think we can do this?” Ted finally asks, immediately terrified by the question. “Work things out?” He realizes he’s nearly whispering.

  The waitress, who’s wearing black slacks, a stiff white shirt, and a little black bow tie, arrives with their lunches. “Careful, plates are hot,” she warns.

  Elinor reaches for a french fry. “Maybe. I want to.” She takes one bite, then pushes her plate away. “I’m going to take my sabbatical.”

  “Great.” Ted stops chewing his salad. “Wait, you’re not leaving town again, are you?”

  Elinor peels the last bit of label off her beer bottle. “No. I’m just going to take some time off.” She sounds anxious, as though she’s not entirely certain about this. “I really want to focus on my marriage.”

  My marriage. Sometimes it seems like Elinor’s marriage and Elinor’s infertility, as though Ted is merely a variable in the algebraic equation of her life. Job, house, husband, baby.

  “If you’re taking time off, maybe we can go on a trip,” Ted suggests. “Drive up to Yosemite, then over to Tahoe.”

  “We’ll see. Let’s see how we do at the counselor.”

  “Right. No fun allowed.” Ted feels like a kid lobbying for a better summer vacation. He opens his mouth, decides to shut up.

  “We’ll do some fun stuff,” Elinor protests wearily.

  Ted squeezes Elinor’s small hand in his. He thinks of Gina’s long fingers—languid and flexible, like the rest of her body—compared with Elinor’s small, chapped hand, her bitten nails. He’s maddened by the way Gina pops into his head like this—like a crazy tic, like a seizure. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the warmth of Elinor’s fingers as he massages them. He loves their smallness, their imperfection. He wants to protect her. From what, he’s not sure.

  “Eight weeks?” Phil, Elinor’s CEO boss, isn’t happy to learn that she’s finally decided to take her sabbatical and the rest of her overdue vacation time. He leans back in his towering black leather chair, which is almost as big as the recliner at the dentist’s office.

  “You’ve been encouraging me to do this for months,” Elinor reminds him.

  “Yeah.” Phil laughs with resignation. “I just never thought you’d actually do it.” He cups his palms behind his head and gazes morosely out the window.

  Of course, he probably wishes that Elinor had taken her sabbatical while she was doing IVF—while she was scatterbrained and working a me
asly forty-five hours a week. Now that she’s stopped the treatments, he must hope that she’ll amp back up to sixty-hour workweeks. Give up on having a family.

  “I need time to get my life organized,” she tells him.

  “I don’t know what we’ll do without you.”

  “I’m sure the joint will shut down,” Elinor jokes. “Don’t worry. I’ll get everybody up to speed before I go.” She wants to reassure Phil, but frankly she’s getting annoyed by how these Silicon Valley companies operate. Always making you believe that you’re indispensable. Once, when Elinor was slaving over one of their few cases that went to trial, Phil told her, “You’re Steve Young, and we’re about to go to the Super Bowl!” She laughed out loud at this ridiculous analogy. “Okay, Coach,” she’d said, lugging another stack of files and her dinner of burned microwave popcorn back to her desk.

  “Don’t worry,” she repeats now. There’s life beyond this place, she thinks. That is, if you don’t let it fall apart while you’re here.

  The week before her sabbatical begins, Elinor works late to catch up and leave her office in order. When she finally gets home in the evenings, Ted has eaten and is already in bed, often asleep. Elinor showers, slides into a silk nightgown, and climbs in beside her husband, sighing at the warmth his body has created. He rolls over sleepily to kiss her. She tickles his face with her damp hair or kisses the firm center of his belly and finally, on her third night home, they make love.

  Elinor has forgotten what it’s like to be touched for anything other than medical purposes. During the infertility treatments, it got to the point where any human contact felt invasive. Ted would merely brush against her and she’d recoil. It hurt his feelings, she knew it, but she no longer liked being touched. Even clothing hurt, fabric tugging mercilessly at her tender belly and bruised thighs. The only sensation that felt good was swimming. She’d fly through her laps in the neighborhood pool, weightless, the water kissing her skin. But the adult swim always ended too soon, the neighborhood kids screaming and jumping into the water with their foam noodles. Elinor would flee, racing in her towel to the heat of her car.