Is This All There Is?

by Mann, Patricia

  While the rest of us were forced to admit to the likelihood of making some pretty selfish and unethical choices in the face of impossible dilemmas, Rick gave the perfect answer to every question. He would risk his life to save the child in a burning house, cut off his own left foot to end world hunger. I don’t know if I would have paid much attention to him if his answers hadn’t been so curious and so consistent. I teased him and accused him of studying the questions and memorizing answers that would impress chicks. But something inside me knew he was the real thing. Unlike anyone I had ever known, and in spite of my deeply held stereotypes about frat boys, it was clear that this young man was just a purely decent, honest, ethical, human being.

  At the end of the evening, without so much as an attempt at a peck or a hug, he respectfully asked if he could take me out to dinner the following night. We were inseparable for the remainder of our collegiate lives. And now, here we were, all these years later, with a gulf between us so wide I thought it might swallow us both up. But his hand was still touching mine, and that gesture of tenderness felt like a long awaited invitation. Maybe he can save me, I thought. Finally the traffic let up and we exited the freeway.

  “Let’s call your mom and ask her to take the kids back to her house after the zoo so we can be alone.”

  “But I haven’t spent any time with them since... ”

  “This is a perfect example, Beth. Please. I’m asking you.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and started dialing. My parents were ecstatic about the idea of keeping the boys at their house for the rest of the day. My mother, always one to take any opportunity to push the envelope, asked if they could sleep over. Just as I opened my mouth to say no, I heard the boys and my father roaring with laughter in the background. I told her I’d think about it and call her back later. I didn’t mention the offer to Rick.

  Thankfully, my car was right where I had left it, safe and sound. During the ride home alone, I contemplated what Rick had in store for me when I got there. There was a time when I welcomed his attempts to solve all our problems in a clear, concise one-hour discussion. But this time felt different. It wasn’t fun for either of us anymore. In the early days I gave enough back to deserve his free life coaching sessions. I figured now I just seemed pathetic to him, a lost woman who shared his house and barely noticed him.

  Chapter 10

  I collapsed on the couch, too exhausted to pick up the toys scattered across the hardwood floor and tattered Persian rug. Part of me wanted to crawl into bed and drift away. I could hear Rick finishing up in the bathroom and the guilt felt like it was eating a hole in my stomach. I considered telling him the truth. I remembered a radio talk show psychologist’s advice to one of her callers. “Dr. Linda, I slept with my husband’s brother two months ago, and now I’m pregnant with his child. I already have four kids and I... ”

  “And so what is your question for me?”

  “I just feel so guilty and... ”

  “Susan, you’re not listening. I asked you what your question for me is.”

  “Oh, right, well, I guess the question is, should I tell my husband?”

  “Of course not! How selfish can you be? Telling your husband would make you feel better and cause him great pain. You need to take this secret to your grave and suffer the guilt and shame over what you did in silence. Now stop whining and go take on the day.”

  I heard footsteps coming down the hall and Rick entered the living room with a legal pad and pen. I could see he had fully transitioned into rescue hero mode during his drive home. I wasn’t sure that was really what I needed at the moment, but it was a relief to see that he hadn’t come as close to giving up on me as I previously thought. I smiled as he sat next to me on the couch.

  “I thought we could have a little talk and jot down some ideas.”

  I nodded with reluctance. My stomach made an audible gurgling noise and a wave of nausea combined with what felt like hunger shot through me.

  “Just a minute.” I returned with the crusts from some leftover toast on the kitchen counter. I could see the determination in his eyes. He actually thought he was going to fix everything right then and there.

  “I think it’s time to consider using a babysitter. That way we could have a little more time together and you could have some time to yourself. Maybe that girl down the street, what’s her name?”

  “Ellen? Rick, she’s only 15.”

  “So. How old were you when you started baby-sitting?”

  “Twelve, and now I realize those people were insane to leave me alone with their kids. I had no idea what I was doing.”

  “Well, they all survived, right?”

  “I think I want a little more than survival for my kids.” He rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh.

  “Okay, fine, so what do you think the problem is?”

  “Rick, it’s just… it’s complicated. I’m confused. I don’t know exactly what I want and I’m just not ready to get into details and logistics with you right now.” I put the hardened crust up to my mouth to take a bite but it smelled like dirty socks. I set it back down and rubbed my stomach.

  “You okay?”

  “No, I feel like shit and I don’t mean just physically. I just feel like…I don’t know. It’s like I’m a hamster on a wheel with no time for reflection.”

  “Exactly, more time to reflect. That’s why we need a babysitter.”

  “Rick, please. Can you just let me talk about how I feel for a couple of minutes without moving to solutions?”

  He nodded, leaned back, and pulled his index finger and thumb slowly across his lips. He looked so much like Sam in that moment, especially with that childlike gesture, that I had to smile. I gazed into his face and pondered that moment in time. Here I was with an attractive man, this man with the sweet blue eyes and close cut dirty blond hair. This strong, dependable man who lifted weights regularly and went to work every day to provide for our family was sitting here with his zipped lips ready to listen to me complain about how unhappy I was. And if he only knew what I had done, he couldn’t possibly imagine.

  The memory of Dave’s sweet apple scent and soft lips sent a chill through me. I felt a pulsing sensation between my legs that took me by surprise. My libido was rearing its head again, after a very long absence. I saw Dave’s face and tried to push it out of my mind. Those eyes. It finally occurred to me that they were the green of grass. An eye color I had never seen before. The pulsing came back stronger and traveled down my thighs all the way to my toes. I knew it was just the pent up frustration from the night before. It wasn’t directed at Rick but still he picked up on it. He had a sixth sense in this area. His radar was always poised and ready to detect even the slightest interest on my part, which was rare. I remembered the analogy of how women are like crockpots, needing lots of time to warm up, with plenty of love, attention and conversation. Men on the other hand, were compared to microwaves, fast, super hot and ready to go at a moment’s notice.

  Rick raised his eyebrows to see if his perception was correct. I rolled my eyes and looked away from him. It felt so intense and confusing. My head was flooded with images of Dave. The kiss. His stubble. His body pressed against mine. The combination of arousal and guilt was agonizing.

  “Rick, I sort of flirted with a young guy from school, actually a previous student, that I ran into at the bar.” He smiled and puffed up his chest.

  “Did he flirt back?”

  “Yes, he did, I mean, Rick, it was some pretty serious flirting.”

  “It turns me on to think of a young college kid wanting my wife. A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone.”

  He didn’t understand. He thought I was telling him this to turn him on. I felt the words on the tip of my tongue. How would I say it? He kissed me? Or would I be more truthful and say I kissed him? Before I could say anything, he moved closer to me. He turned me around and positioned himself behind me and started to massage my neck. I forgot about my guilt for a moment. The pres
sure was just right. I let go of all my thoughts and lost myself in his touch. As he kneaded my sore spots, there was a loud crack and we both laughed. He continued, moving down to my shoulders.

  “Could you possibly have any more tension bottled up in your neck and shoulders?”

  Suddenly, talking didn’t seem to be what I needed, this did. His hands found their way to my waist as he gently gripped my shirt and pulled it up over my head. Despite all his years of experience, it took several tries for him to succeed in unhooking my bra. He ran his hands slowly up and down my bare back. I slumped forward and moaned. He began walking his thumbs up my spine and my shoulders dropped. I slowly rolled forward to position myself with my stomach down, making my entire back more accessible to him and closing my eyes. He proceeded to work his way up and down my spine as I drifted away, not meaning to fall asleep, but unable to stop myself.

  I awoke with a start and found myself face down, topless, on the couch. A note on the coffee table read, “I’m picking up Chinese for dinner. The boys are going to sleep at your parents’ house.” Through uncomfortably dried out contact lenses, I tried to focus enough to read the numbers on the clock. I couldn’t believe it. 8:17 p.m. I had been sleeping for hours. All of a sudden I became painfully aware of my engorged breasts. Unfortunately, in that instant my eyes were drawn to a picture of Jack hanging on the wall and the waterworks started. Small streams of milk began spraying straight out of my breasts. I cupped my hands over them as I ran to the bathroom. I grabbed a towel off the rack and covered my chest. The release actually felt good, but I didn’t want to leave a trail of milk everywhere, so I pressed the towel against my breasts as hard as I could. After a while, the spray subsided and I took a deep breath and tried to figure out what to do next.

  After putting on a new shirt, I went into the bedroom and took out my journal. “Who am I?” I wrote. I felt a wave of panic make its way from the pit of my stomach to my chest where it stayed and grew, causing my heart rate to increase rapidly. At first I couldn’t determine what it was about, and then I knew. The boys. I needed to see them, to touch them. I needed to know they were alive. It had been too many hours. I started imagining all sorts of horrific scenarios involving their death or disfigurement at my parents’ home. The all too common bathtub drowning, the snapping of Jack’s little bones upon impact after tumbling off my parents’ bed, Sam running out into the street in front of a car, the possibilities were endless.

  My mind raced as I walked briskly to the kitchen and picked up the phone. I felt a surge of anger at my mother. I was certain she wasn’t watching over them as diligently as I would. I imagined my father swinging Sam around in the yard upside down by his arms, accidentally dropping him headfirst onto the concrete as my blood began to boil. Just as I was about to dial the number, I paused and returned the phone to its cradle. Then I picked it up again. I put it down. I picked it up one more time and then slammed it down so hard that I wasn’t sure if I had broken it. “This is ridiculous,” I said out loud.

  I returned to the bedroom and started writing. “My children are fine without me. My parents are perfectly capable of protecting my children from harm. I can’t use my children to fill the hole that was left from my own childhood. Only I can fill it. But how?” I wanted to write more, but I was afraid. It would be too dangerous to write about the truth.

  I went into my office and turned on my computer. My heart was racing. There’s no way he would have, I thought. But maybe. My fingers were shaking as my email program opened up. I tried to slow my breathing as I scanned the list of addresses next to incoming messages. My heart rate slowly returned to normal as I realized there were no unfamiliar names. I was just getting out of my chair when I heard the chime of a new message arriving. I sat back down and my heart rate immediately revved up again. The message was from a sender called “Davey21.”

  “Beautiful Beth,

  I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ll see you next Friday, right?

  Yours,

  Dave”

  I read the words over and over until I heard the rumbling of the old garage door opening. A sense of panic came over me as I hit delete and rushed back to the couch. Rick gave me a half smile and raised his eyebrows. He was hurt.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. It’s just I hardly slept last night.”

  “Yeah, I know. Anyway, you in the mood for some chow mein?”

  I smiled and shook my head. It was a guilty smile, but he read it differently. I took his hand and led him to the bedroom. We each undressed ourselves and slipped under the covers. For a moment, I thought he was about to kiss me, but then he turned his head to the side and buried it in my neck as he climbed on top of me. I closed my eyes and made love to Dave.

  When it was over, Rick cuddled up to me as I lay on my back.

  “Whew, was that… that was four times for you, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded and bit my lip, feeling ashamed for so many reasons.

  “Damn, I’m good, aren’t I, baby?” he said, still huffing and puffing.

  “Oh yeah, you’re good. The best.”

  I rolled over and remembered the days when I used to still wish he’d call me baby or any other term of endearment outside of the bedroom.

  He got up and feasted on chow mein as I fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of Dave.

  Chapter 11

  I sat there staring at the email message on my computer screen.

  “Will you at least send some response so I know you’re getting my emails?”

  On the other end of the phone, my mother was lecturing me about how she didn’t approve of my detoxification diet.

  “Mom, it’s only been five days and I already feel so much better.” She went on, quoting one of the nutritionists at work.

  I tucked the phone under my ear and typed slowly so she wouldn’t hear.

  “Yes, I’ve gotten all your emails. You have to stop this. Last Friday was incredible but I’m not coming back tonight. I can’t see you again.”

  I turned to see Jack still happily stacking his blue and red wood blocks on the rug beside my desk.

  “Beth, if you really think you need to lose a few pounds, why don’t you just do it the way your friend Shelly did?”

  “Mom, Shelly’s happy that I found something that works for me, why can’t you just…” She cut me off again, which was fine since I was more focused on rewriting my email response.

  I deleted my first attempt and started over.

  “Yes, Dave. I’ve been getting your emails. I know you want to see me again, even if it’s just as a friend, but…”

  My eyes drifted to the clock. I erased my unfinished response and saved Dave’s latest email in a folder titled “students.”

  “Mom, I gotta run. We’re late for our playgroup. I’ll bring the kids over at five tonight, okay?”

  “Why don’t you come a little earlier so we can talk more?”

  “I can’t, Mom. I’m really busy. I’ll see you at five.”

  Rick and I hadn’t found time that week to discuss our plans for Friday night. It was the first of what would now be the kids’ weekly sleepovers at my parents. Part of me entertained the possibility that I would find a way to escape and finish what I started with Dave the week before.

  I opened the “students” folder and started to reread the emails he had sent one by one. His writing was flawless and flattering. Being desired in this way was my new drug and I was starting to need a daily fix. I knew my lack of response was cruel, but I enjoyed being in the power position for once. I got through three of the emails when Jack started to get restless and tugged at my pants.

  “I know, honey. We’ll head to the park in just a minute.”

  I handed him the spill-proof sippy cup of apple juice that had rolled under my desk earlier. That diversion only lasted long enough for me to read one more email and change my password again. As we were heading out the door, the phone started to ring. I scanned the number on the little scr
een.

  “It’s just Daddy. I’ll be off in a minute.” He crossed his arms and put on a pouty face.

  “Hey, Beth. Did you call about the copper piping estimate?”

  “Yup. He’ll be here Monday morning at eight.”

  “Great. So, uhhh, what’s the plan for tonight?”

  “I don’t care, whatever you want to do,” I said, thoughts of Dave still twirling around in my mind.

  As I made the two-minute drive to the playgroup at the park that my neighbor Jill had invited us to, I hoped this one would be different from all the others I had dropped in and out of over the years. I wondered if there was some universal playgroup agenda that required mothers to gripe about sleep deprivation and unhelpful husbands. And did all women who gathered with toddlers have to play the one-up game up of trying to top each other with exaggerated reports of their children’s developmental achievements? I imagined a playgroup in Central Park with sophisticated moms chatting about the prior evening’s ballet at the Metropolitan Opera House. Or a Beverly Hills playgroup with nannies chasing after the children as mothers traded stock tips and planned lavish charity functions.

  They were spread out on a row of blankets under the trees. I worried that there were reserved spaces, like the desks in high school, when if you sat in someone’s space by mistake, you’d get your ass kicked. Since we arrived late, the conversation was already in full swing. A woman with dark circles under her eyes and deep frown lines was shouting at no one in particular.

  “So when I walked in the front door, the smell was unbearable. And he claimed he didn’t even smell it. Can you believe? Her diaper rash was so bad I had to take her to Dr. Goldman. She needed prescription ointment. I tell you that man is on thin ice with me right now.”