“With the kids around, it’s difficult to find much time for ourselves,” she responded quietly, not wishing to provoke an altercation.
“But even when we do, it doesn’t change much.” Not wishing to dig into the roots of their alienation, he abruptly changed the subject: “Michelle’s going to have a sleepover with Natalie tonight.”
“That’s fine,” Ana responded, still contemplating his earlier comment. “What do you think has happened to us over the years? We used to be so close.”
Rob shrugged with a sense of resignation. “That’s life. We have kids, work, more responsibility, less time for one another. It happens to most couples.”
“But does that mean our interaction had to become so ...” Ana searched for the right word, “... sterile?”
The harshness of the term wounded her husband. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it sterile,” Rob countered. But her comment rang close enough to the truth to trouble him. “Marriage or even just living together for a long time tends to put a damper on the infatuation one feels in the beginning of a relationship,” he generalized.
But Ana wasn’t convinced. She looked into Rob’s amber eyes, those “doe eyes,” as she used to describe them back in college. “We were so much in love. We couldn’t have imagined this erosion of intimacy ever happening to us.”
“Yeah, well, intimacy takes energy and time. We haven’t had much of either since the kids were born,” Rob reiterated his earlier point, convinced that his wife had a tendency to romanticize reality.
Ana sat down in a yogi position on the carpet. “Do you mind if we continue talking for awhile?”
Rob took a seat on the floor across from her. He wasn’t too eager to pursue their conversation, sensing in Ana’s tone an emotional neediness that always made him feel viscerally uncomfortable. “Alright,” he nonetheless acquiesced. “But I still have some things to do this afternoon. I was planning to use the next few hours to work on a couple of songs.”
Ana had a pleasant recollection of their first year together, when Rob had serenaded her with his lyrical, emotionally charged love songs. Back in college, she saw in him a creativity that she had hoped to encourage throughout their marriage. But within a few years, they each went their separate ways. Rob stole a few moments here and there from his overcharged business schedule to squeeze out a few drops of solipsistic inspiration for his music. Ana devoted most of her time to artistic creation, which filled her with a mixture of elation and despair. Although it was pleasurable to paint, material success was much too tenuous. “I’d love to hear your new songs,” she said. “You always used to share your music with me. How come you stopped?”
“I hardly have time to compose anymore,” he replied, sounding dejected. “Besides, you stopped being interested in my music once you became more involved in your art. It seems that every time I wanted to share with you my songs, you started talking about your next painting. You may not be willing to admit it, but you’re more of a diva than a muse.”
Ana couldn’t disagree with this characterization. It was entirely plausible that she had become so caught up in her own art that she had ignored her husband’s timid efforts to reach out to her. “If I’ve behaved that way, I’m truly sorry. Because I’ve always admired and wanted to bring out your creativity.”
“Apparently not enough to place it on a par with your own,” Rob retorted, his inner frustrations trickling out under pressure.
What a waste of so much time together, when we could have been closer, Ana thought. Leaning forward, she gave Rob a kiss filled with a sense of devotion which even years of neglect and months of infidelity hadn’t completely dissipated.
He was surprised by his wife’s sudden display of affection. “Is anything wrong?” he asked her.
Ana’s mood was so fragile that even the gentleness of his tone unhinged her. “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered.
“Do you know something I don’t? Did the doctor tell you I have a terminal illness?” Rob tried to make light of her strangely dramatic comment.
Ana shook her head. “I just wish we could at least try to focus again on each other. To see if we can reignite the love we felt before.”
Rob read her conciliatory statement as a reproach. “And I wish you had a real job with regular hours rather than staying at home to ponder the sad state of our relationship.”
“But I’m not blaming you for our problems. I know they’re mostly my fault,” Ana said reassuringly. “You’re the father of my children and our provider. I just wish you had also remained my lover, my fellow artist and my wild child.”
“For a long time now, life’s crushed the living juices out of me with a ton of responsibilities,” Rob retorted, his tone more sad than defensive.
Ana recalled a poem he had written. It had made her realize that there was so much more to Rob than met the eye. “Do you remember that poem you wrote in college? About how having a job, a wife and kids would take over your inner, creative world until nothing was left of it but a worm infested corpse? I thought you were exaggerating ...”
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t.”
”But couldn’t we tap into some of that creativity together?” Ana viewed art as a litmus test that would tell them whether their marriage had any chance of being saved from the grip of her new love.
“Not the way you’d like us to,” Rob responded, to her disappointment. “You’re so demanding, so intense. You’d like to have hours a day to compose and paint. You want to discuss every spark of inspiration. If we were independently wealthy and childless, maybe we could do that. But even then I’m not sure that I’d get into it quite as much as you do. You need to accept the life we have now.”
Ana looked into her husband’s eyes: “Do you?”
Rob hesitated for a moment. “Part of me does and part of me doesn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I love the kids and don’t mind devoting most of my time to them. But I’ve always told you that I wish that I had a situation similar to yours. I wish that you had sacrificed your creativity and took on a real job so that I could try to fulfill my artistic ambitions.”
“You mean by composing music?”
“Sure,” he shrugged. “Or maybe even writing a novel, who knows? When I was young, I had so many dreams. Just like you.”
“But you’re still young. It’s not too late to start now,” Ana tried to encourage him.
Rob shook his head. “It’s not about my age. It’s about our lifestyle. The way our lives are organized. If I did what you do, we’d all starve and our home would be repossessed by the bank.”
“Couldn’t smaller steps help?” she persisted. “Will you play for me your latest song?” Her eyes implored him to open up to her again.
Rob walked to the closet and took out his guitar, the same one he had used to serenade Ana during their sophomore year in college. She recalled how many dreary winter days in a sparsely furnished dorm room his music had illuminated. And now, as she found herself on the brink of eclipsing their love, her husband’s features reassumed their former youthful innocence and serenity. Rob tilted his head slightly upward and to the side as he sang, reminding Ana of a little song-bird, as she used to call him. His mouth curled into an oval when he hummed the melody of the refrain, “tu tu ru tu tu.” Ana felt the spark of desire reignite. Rob’s rounded lips begged to be covered by hers, then slowly licked, then kissed again. The sunlight shone so brightly through the window that it enhanced the brown luster of his hair, its luminous glare masking the “distinguished” white strands that had sprouted the last couple of years above his ears. In that instant, Rob became once again the gentle young man she fell in love with years ago.
This wistful song with a soulful melody captured Ana’s mood, as if it had been written especially for her. She focused on her husband’s delicate fingers, small and thin, moving rapidly upon the guitar strings with a facility that used to mesmerize her as much when he was playing musical inst
ruments as when he tenderly caressed her.
“Please let’s do everything in our powers to save our marriage,” Ana said at the end of his recital with a sense of urgency.
“Why? Are you planning to leave me?” Rob’s voice wavered between amusement and concern.
“I’m just touched by your song. It brings back so many beautiful memories,” Ana expressed only part of the truth. Ultimately, she lacked the courage to tell him why each note and each word of his song resonated with her current thoughts and feelings.
Chapter 9
Karen surveyed the apartment to decide where to begin packing. The bedroom seemed like the most logical place. She opened the upper hand left dresser drawer and removed all of her underclothes, placing them at the bottom right side of the suitcase. She then pressed them down with her hand, to make sure there would be enough space left for the next drawer, which was filled with tee shirts and nightgowns. Last but not least, there was more than enough room in the suitcase for all of her sweaters: nine total to be exact. She deliberately left two of them behind, for when she’d return to visit him. Going over to the big closet, which they shared, proved somewhat more difficult. Seeing all of Michael’s shirts, suits and khaki pants made her wish to put her own clothes back into the drawers. Show some willpower, Karen urged herself. She began removing her shirts, dresses, skirts and pants from the hangers and folding them neatly into the suitcase. All that was left for the second bag were her eight pairs of shoes: two hiking boots, three pairs of pumps, two pairs of black heels and a pair of sandals.
I didn’t even need a second suitcase, Karen was surprised to note her own Spartan style. Her modest jewelry collection—consisting of five gold necklaces, including one heart pendant from her fiancé and a gold cross from her mother—would go into the second suitcase, along with her books. After packing all of her personal belongings, however, the suitcase was still half empty. Karen visually inspected the room, to see what else she needed to take along. All of her makeup, which she rarely wore, fit neatly into an oversized purse. Perhaps some of the cookware could go in here as well, she speculated, walking into the kitchen to confirm that hypothesis. She chose one pizza pan, a skillet and half a dozen plates, along with a few cereal bowls, cups and spoons, knives and forks. Some of them I should ship ahead of time, she thought, carefully placing the fragile dishes into a box filled with shredded newspapers. The flurry of practical activity momentarily distracted her from the reasons behind it. But once she finished the busy work and was faced with the material reality of leaving, Karen broke down in tears.
At this opportune moment, Michael walked in, whistling cheerfully. “What the hell’s going on here? Are you going on vacation with your new lover?” he hazarded a tactless joke.
“I’ve decided to move to Phoenix,” Karen announced, assuming the somber expression of someone delivering a eulogy.
“Why?” Is she leaving me? Michael wondered. Part of him felt some relief at this unexpected deus ex machina intervention. But another part of him didn’t want events to take this turn, at least not yet, since Ana wasn’t ready to divorce. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Karen tried to control her emotions as she began enumerating the reasons for her decision, which she had rehearsed at least a dozen times in her head. “I made a list of all the pros and cons. The pros won. First of all, I’d like to go there earlier than you so I can furnish our apartment. Second ...”
“Hold on a sec. Our apartment?” Michael interrupted her.
“We talked about moving to Phoenix right after you finish your Masters degree this spring, remember?”
Michael recalled talking about the move several months earlier, but fresher on his mind still was his change of heart since having met Ana. “I told you I’d like to find a good teaching position in Detroit,” he, in turn, jogged her memory.
Karen felt compelled to tread more lightly. “I know you were considering looking for a job in the area. But just in case that doesn’t pan out, I wanted to set up our nest in your ideal location.”
“What if I find the job of my dreams here?” Michael rebutted, substituting the word “job” with the word ”woman” in his own mind.
“Then I’ll come back. But please promise me that you’ll come and see for yourself the new apartment during spring break. It might win your heart, who knows?”
“I seriously doubt it,” Michael replied, thinking it was highly unlikely that his relationship with Ana would sour so soon.
“How do you know? A week in paradise might change your mind. Maybe you’ll prefer living in an ideal, sunny, beautiful location over a decent job in this dingy ice hole,” she tried to tempt him.
“Yeah?” he asked, unconvinced.
Sensing his coolness, Karen approached him and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “This decision was very hard for me.”
”I know, Baby.”
”But I’ve got to do it. I want us to start our relationship from scratch, without all the emotional baggage,” she tried to convince herself as much as him.
“You think a new location will erase the fact I cheated on you?” he asked her a little too bluntly.
“I’ve already forgiven you for that,” Karen was quick to assure him, not wishing to reopen that can of worms. “In fact, it cuts both ways. I hope that moving to Phoenix will change your ideas about me. That you’ll come there with a fresh head.”
“A fresh head of what? Lettuce?”
Karen moved away, hurt that he was making light of such important matters. ”I’m being perfectly serious! You have all of these wrong impressions about me.”
“Such as ...?” Michael’s tone now betrayed irritation.
“Such as that I’m not funny. Many people find me hysterical.”
“Hey, I can’t argue with that,” he concurred, thinking of Karen’s frequent crying spells lately. “What else?”
“You think that I’m not as cultured as you. When I move to Phoenix, I’ll only work part-time. I plan to devote a lot of time to reading and movies, to broaden my horizons.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” he approved, feeling bored.
“And, of course, I’ll also keep up my diet and exercise program.”
“Good. Keep me posted, okay?”
“Sure. I was thinking we could talk every night between nine and ten your time,” Karen took the cue. “Don’t forget, there’s a three hour time difference between Arizona and Michigan.”
Michael hesitated, wishing to leave his options open. “If I’m not home, just leave me a message on the answering machine and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
“Why wouldn’t you be home?” Karen asked, her suspicions easily aroused.
“Who knows? I might want to go out for a beer with some of my buddies.”
“You don’t have any buddies.”
“By that I mean some of my colleagues.”
“The only colleagues who interest you are the kind that wear skirts.”
Michael couldn’t help but smile at this self-evident truth. “You got me there! But I also like shooting the bull with some of my male acquaintances.”
Karen’s underlying anxiety about Michael’s infidelity had been scratched like a wound by their brief exchange. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t jump off a cliff,” he replied with a smirk.
“I mean it, Michael!” Her tone became beseeching. “At least give us a chance at a fresh start. That’s all I ask.”
“Okay.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
The following day, at the airport, Karen repeated the same plea, word by word. Her eyes were red from crying, her lipstick smeared by his goodbye kiss. What a lost soul, Michael thought, as if he had already abandoned her. This could very well be our final farewell and she’s not even aware of it, he told himself, feeling in charge of their relationship.
“I’ll miss you every single day, each minute of each day,�
�� she confirmed his intuition.
“Right back at you,” he replied, blowing her a kiss.
“I’d never go through with this stupid move if I didn’t feel so strongly that’s our best chance at a new beginning,” Karen excused herself, feeling guilty for initiating their separation.
“May it also mean a better life for you,” Michael reverted like a spring back to his original position, of gradually separating the strands of their intertwined lives.
Chapter 10
Since Rob and the kids went to an indoor water park that Sunday and Ana was allergic to chlorine, she stayed behind at home. As soon as she heard the garage door close, she ran to the phone. “It’s me,” she said.
“Hey Baby!” Michael replied warmly.
“I’m free for the next few hours. Do you have time to meet?”
“Don’t I always have time for you?”
It’s true, Ana thought. Every time I call him, no matter when, no matter how often, he always sounds so happy to hear from me. Her lover’s boundless enthusiasm enchanted her. “What would you like to do?” she asked him.
“I was planning to go furniture shopping this afternoon. Let’s just say my old sofa set has seen better days. It would be kind of fun to go there with you.”
“Okay ...” she answered with slight hesitation. A furniture store didn’t exactly sound like the optimal venue for a hot date, but then again, Michael’s presence made everything sizzle.
“How about we meet at Artclub in half an hour?” he suggested a local furniture chain.
“Sounds good. I can’t wait to see you!” she said, punctuated her statement with kisses planted on the receiver.
“Me too, hmm, bye.”
Ana went into the walk-in closet to select her clothes, knowing that Michael was very particular about what she wore. She took off her jeans and put on a plaid miniskirt. She then removed her pantyhose and replaced them with the pair of black thigh-highs that Michael had given her the week before. On top, she chose a micro fiber tee shirt with no bra, so as not to leave much fabric between her skin and his roving hands. At first she was hesitant about it, preferring regular pantyhose to the thigh-highs that had a tendency to roll down her legs when the elastic wore out or, if it stayed tight, left red marks upon her tender skin. But, as usual, Michael had countered her objections with the sweet cooing that made her melt inside. “Why refuse me such a little thing? Don’t I always do everything you wish?” Then, the melodious refrain she couldn’t resist, “Come on, Baby, do it for me please.” She did, and not just to please him. Michael’s energy and spontaneity made her feel youthful, happy and alive, as if she had spent the past ten years hibernating in a rule-bound, lackluster life that lacked the energy and excitement of their passion.
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