My lip quivered. I knew she was right. It wouldn’t matter if we tried again in six months or a year. We had to go through this sometime and today was as good a day as any.
Feeling like the most heartless human being who ever walked the earth, I peeled Jack’s arms off of me. He tried to reattach himself but his twenty-one-month-old strength was no match for mine or Mrs. Mary’s, who took his hand and gently pulled him away from me.
“No! No! No!” he screamed as I backed away.
I thought my chest would explode as I said with what he must have known was fake confidence, “Have a great day, honey, you’ll be fine. I love you!”
The look of betrayal on Jack’s face as I walked out the door was something I’d never forget. I knew this for certain because the image of Sam’s face on his first day of preschool was permanently etched in my mind, despite the fact that he had long forgotten the memory himself.
“So it’s only twelve hours a week, right?” I forced myself to come back to my mother, grateful for her attempt to help me realize this was not a tragedy.
I nodded slowly and wiped the corners of my eyes with a paper napkin.
“Yeah, I know. It’s just twelve hours a week. And the odd days and times they gave us actually work well. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday from eleven to three. Since I teach Tuesdays and Thursdays from four to seven, I can really use that time to review for lectures, finish up grading, that kind of thing. And Wednesdays, well… maybe we can have lunch together once in a while, like this.” Her face beamed with delight.
“I’d love that, B. I never know my weekly schedule until the last minute, but I usually end up with two or three Wednesdays off a month.” The fact that over two decades of stellar performance as a critical care nurse didn’t afford her any flexibility or advance notice of her schedule always baffled me.
A disturbing thought crept into my mind. What if the situation with Dave were happening now? What if I was still infatuated with him and suddenly had twelve hours a week alone? The next thought actually sent a visible shiver down my spine. I was angry that he came to my first class the first week of school, but I was also a little disappointed that he didn’t show up the second week. I hadn’t admitted it to myself, but in my vulnerable state, I let myself feel it. I was still attracted to him. I still wanted Dave and seeing him stirred things up again inside me. I hadn’t forgotten our irresistible kisses and long, intimate chats online late at night when everyone else was asleep. I wasn’t aware of the conflicted look that crept onto my face until my mother spoke.
“Beth, I know this… Jack starting preschool is hard for you, but it seems like… I don’t know. Is there something more going on? Are things okay with you and Rick?”
I looked into my mother’s face and saw concern, compassion, and curiosity. I didn’t let her into my inner world often, but I couldn’t think of a good reason not to anymore. The days of confronting her about things like the time my uncle made sexual advances and blaming her for not protecting me were long behind us. Now that I was a mother myself, I knew that none of us could ever be vigilant enough to protect our children from all harm and heartache. I pondered the possibility of pouring my heart out to her right then and there.
She waited. I took in her sweet blue eyes, her champagne blond hair, and the pretty teardrop purple earrings that matched her blouse perfectly. I knew that this lunch was important to her. We hadn’t had lunch alone in ages. I realized she must have seen it as one of my rare attempts to reach out and move beyond the tensions and resentments I used to keep her at a distance.
I opened my mouth to speak but the server, a petite, young, beautiful Japanese woman named Mandy was suddenly standing before us.
“Can I start you off with some fresh lemonade or iced tea?”
I looked at my mother for confirmation, which she provided.
“No thanks,” I said. “We’ll start off with two glasses of La Crema Pinot Noir, please.”
We talked more about how to help Jack adjust to preschool for a while. The combination of her supportive words and the effects of the wine began to take the edge off so I decided it was time to change the subject.
“You’re right, Mom. There is more going on. So much I don’t even know where to start.”
She looked at her watch. “We’ve got plenty of time. Start anywhere.”
I took a large gulp of wine and its warmth surged through me. I nodded.
“Sure, I might as well tell you everything. But Mom, I don’t want to fight. Can you please try not to give me advice or say anything that’ll set me off? Can you just listen? I already know the things I should do. I just need to vent a little.”
I could see she was hurt and for a second, I started to rethink the idea of opening up.
“Why would you think I would… of course I can just listen, B. I’ve always tried to be there for you. You’re the one who keeps everything inside and doesn’t seem to trust me, which I don’t understand.”
Another large gulp of wine. I was on the precipice of a confrontation and I had two choices. I could jump off by giving in to my anger and old hurts and launching into a list of ways my mother had failed me, pressing her guilt buttons by reminding her of all the times she wasn’t there for me.
The other choice was to back away from the cliff, to retreat and head toward the lush green hills of her comfort.
“Okay, Mom, I’m sorry. I really am.”
Mandy appeared for the third time to ask us if we wanted to order food. I knew we should, but I didn’t want anything to interfere with the numbing effect of wine on an empty stomach. She assured us that we were welcome to take as long as we liked to decide on our order and that we should just wave her down when we were ready. What I was most ready to do was unload.
“So do you remember how a few months ago, I told you I kissed a former student, a twenty-one-year-old kid?”
She nodded and a look of worry took over her face, but she was careful not to reveal any sign of judgment.
“Well, it’s so embarrassing but, oh my God, Mom. I let it continue after that. I let it go too far.”
Now her expression was inquisitive. She had to know how far I let it go.
“We started talking all the time, mostly over the computer, but we did see each other a few times too.”
I knew she would never ask but was dying to know and I was feeling charitable. Charitable and a little buzzed, so I went on.
“I didn’t have sex with him, but, well, we did other things, too much. I should never have allowed myself to cross the line. I just had this crazy attraction to him, you know? I can’t explain it. It doesn’t make sense. Mostly, I loved how interested he was in me, how fun and new it was to talk to him. And I’m starting to think that even now, the feelings are still there. I’ve worked so hard to move on. Rick and I are in couple’s therapy and we each go individually too. I’m really trying, Mom.”
She placed her hand on top of mine and patted it.
“These situations are so difficult. I understand, B. I really do. More than you know.”
There was something about her tone of voice that gave me the answer to something I had wondered many times in my life. With my glass of wine almost empty and my raw emotional state, nothing seemed off limits anymore.
“You did it too didn’t you, Mom? It wasn’t just Dad.”
She looked ashamed and afraid of what might be coming. Still she nodded an almost imperceptible nod.
“Just once. Right after the second time I caught him.”
“Mom, I get it. God, we’re all so messed up. Is everyone like this or is there some kind of curse on our family?”
“Well, I think a lot more people go through this than we could possibly know. Look, fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce, right? I’m still married. You’re still married. We’re trying to work it out. We deserve credit for that.”
She paused to take a sip of her wine. Her glass was still nearly full while mine had only a drop left. I sensed advice coming and braced myself. I wanted help, but we didn’t have a good history of being able to talk about difficult issues without arguing. I hoped that could change now.
I looked down and fiddled with my watch, wondering how angry Jack would still be when I went to pick him up. Then I focused my attention back on my mother.
“You just need to give it more time. It’s too soon for you to forget. The most important thing is that you can’t see him. There can be no contact.”
I leaned back and the vinyl cushioning of the booth seat made a whoosh sound.
I looked at her with a sarcastic grin.
“You’re absolutely right. I cut off all contact some time ago and it did help. A lot. Rick and I have been working on our relationship and talking more. We’ve had some wonderful romantic moments. I was feeling hopeful. But then…”
I pictured Jack’s face again. I wanted to go get him and bring him home to cuddle up for a nap with me. But now I had sealed the deal. He had to stay for the remaining three hours because it would take me that long to completely sober up enough to drive.
My mother waited patiently as I tried to formulate the words for maximum impact.
“Well, here it is. I hadn’t seen or heard from him all summer. Then last week when school started…”
I almost couldn’t say it. A rush of jumbled emotions overtook me and I had to take in a deep breath to get it out.
“He’s in my damn class.”
She gasped. One of those melodramatic, soap opera, just-spotted-your-evil-twin-brother-who-you-thought-was-dead gasps. The couple at the table next to us looked over and then quickly looked away when they saw our embarrassed faces.
“Mom, please,” I whispered.
“But Beth, he’s in your class? You have to get him out. He can drop it, can’t he?”
“Well, he came to the first meeting, last Tuesday. We only meet once a week so I spent the week trying to figure out how to ask him to drop the class. Then yesterday, he didn’t show up for our second class. I was sick with stress about talking to him after class, and he didn’t even show up. I have no idea what he’s thinking. I know he hasn’t dropped the class because he’s still on the roster. But maybe he’s planning to. Or maybe he’ll be back next week. Next Friday is the last official day to drop a class.”
A look of determination came over her. “You have to get him out of that class.”
I remembered how good he looked, how I tried to hold my breath as I stood right in front of from him to provide handouts for his row. But my disobedient nose searched for his apple-scented shampoo only to find that it had been replaced. His soft, messy brown hair now smelled of cloves, which was just as yummy and even more masculine. I struggled not to look in his direction as I reviewed the syllabus and answered questions about the course, yet the one time I met his piercing green eyes, I saw the question in them. He wanted to know if there was still a chance. I gave him my best cold stare in return but wondered if he could see through it.
“Mom, all I can do is ask him. What else can I do, explain the situation to my chair? I don’t think so.”
My head spun and I nibbled on the piece of bread I had been trying to resist.
“And part of me thinks maybe I should just go for it, just go all out and have that one night with him I wanted so bad. After all, I just found out Rick cheated on me too, a long time ago, with a paralegal in a supply closet at a Christmas party. They did more than I got to do with Dave, so why not even the score? You had your chance to pay Dad back, why shouldn’t I get mine?”
Another gasp, and softly, with empathy, “Oh, Beth!” This time she kept it more controlled so we didn’t attract any unwanted attention.
“So there it is. We’re all cheaters. If I’m honest with myself, the truth is I’m dying to have sex with my student, even though it could get me fired and ruin my marriage. I need to ask him to drop my class, but part of me doesn’t want to. I’m a horrible wife who should be thinking about how I can help my poor husband who hates his job. And I’m a terrible mother who deserted her son, leaving him with scary strangers. Not to mention what a bad friend I am. Shelly’s pregnant and thinks her husband is cheating on her and I haven’t even called her in two weeks to see how she’s doing. I’m more interested in listening to my crazy friend Jill’s stories about her and her husband’s escapades as swingers.”
Her eyes opened wide and she leaned in. I figured she must have questions but it felt so good I didn’t want to stop and I knew she understood.
“Just keep going, B. Get it out.”
I scowled at my empty glass of wine. She put her glass in front of me, the rich, dark pinot sloshing from side to side. I hung my head down and looked at my watch again.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll drive when it’s time to pick up Jack. Just let it all out.”
And so I did.
CHAPTER 8:
RESOLUTIONS THAT
RESOLVE NOTHING
“SHELLY? ARE YOU THERE?”
“Beth? I can barely hear you.”
I pushed the annoying little device further into my ear and tried to position the tiny mouthpiece that was supposed to capture my voice closer to my lips.
“Can you hear me now, Shelly?”
“What? Beth?” The echo reminded me of when I was growing up in New York, how I used to scream words out of the car window in city tunnels for the thrill of having them repeated back to me.
“I’ll call you back, Shelly,” I yelled.
Risking a ticket for a non-hands-free phone call seemed better than causing an accident while trying to figure out the impossible new Bluetooth setup that Rick insisted I use. So I dialed again and held the phone to my ear, like in the old days.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t call sooner. I’ve been thinking about you so much. How are you? How’s the situation with Max?”
I didn’t have time to ease in with small talk since it was only an eight-minute drive to campus and a five-minute walk to my building, Hudson Hall.
“Don’t worry, Beth. I would have called you if I needed you. Stop feeling guilty for nothing all the time.”
She was right. I lived in a constant state of fear that I wasn’t doing everything that everyone expected of me. In the sober phases of my people-pleasing addiction, I could see that others were likely focused on their own concerns rather than dwelling on what I had or had not done for them. But those times were rare.
“Thanks, I did feel bad, so I’m glad to hear you would have called if you needed me. So, hey, I don’t have a lot of time, but I really wanna know what’s going on.”
“What’s going on with what?”
I wondered if I had the wrong Shelly on the phone.
“Um, what do you mean, what’s going on with what? With Max! When we had dinner together three weeks ago, you were crying because you thought he was having an affair.”
“Just a sec.” There was a shuffling sound and I couldn’t hear most of what she said, but it was some excuse to get the daughter who was in the room with her to leave, something about laundry or lavender.
The shuffling sound was repeated and she was back, presumably solo now.
“I was wrong. I confronted him and he had a perfect explanation for everything. He’s been so sweet and attentive since then too. He brings me flowers almost every day. I can’t believe I thought he would do something like that. This pregnancy has made me crazy.”
I wanted to believe her, to instantly accept that Max’s exculpation was rightfully earned, but there was something off about how happy she sounded.
“But what about the text messages? You said…”
“I was being paranoid. They’re just friends. He helps her with her problems because he’s such a good guy
. There’s nothing more to it.”
The icon of Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’ Five Stages of Grief, which I always used in presentations on communication about loss, invaded my mind. The word “denial” passed in front of my eyes repeatedly like the news ticker at the bottom of the screen on CNN.
“Well… okay, but maybe you should still keep checking…”
I paused to choose my words carefully. Maybe too carefully.
“No, never mind, I’m just jaded because of my own experiences. I’m sure you’re right. That’s great. I’m so relieved for you.”
“I know you feel protective, but trust me, I’m sure about this,” she said. “You know how I am. I wouldn’t let anyone put one over on me.”
That was how I saw her. Her confidence and forthright style were enviable. So she must be right, I decided. Still, something gnawed at me. I couldn’t figure out if it had more to do with my situation or hers.
“So now you know everything’s fine here, what’s up with you?”
I looked at the dashboard clock. Seven minutes left of the drive and walk combined. “Well, Jack started preschool. We got a last minute spot at the lab school.”
“The lab school? That’s incredible. I’ve heard it’s almost impossible to get in there.”
“Yeah, it is, but…”
“I know how you torture yourself over these things, but it’s good for him.”
“I’m trying to manage the guilt, but it’s hard for me. I have to admit it’s a little easier this time than it was with Sam, though. The first few days were a living hell. But then the fourth day, I got there early and watched him through the glass window in the door. He didn’t see me, you know?”
She laughed and the tightness in my chest from just thinking about the topic loosened up a little.
“Wait, let me guess,” she interrupted. “What you saw through the glass was that he was having fun. But then when you came in and he saw you, he put on a great show, with tears and clinging to you as if unspeakable acts of terror occurred while you were gone.”
Is This What I Want? Page 7