The Wives

EIGHT

It has been a miraculous three sunny days in Washington and the night sky is rejoicing with a spray of stars. I opened the blinds right before bed so we could feel like we were lying underneath them, but now they almost seem too bright as I lie awake next to my snoring husband. I glance at the clock and see it’s just past midnight when suddenly the screen on Seth’s phone lights up. His phone is on his nightstand and I lift myself slightly so I can see who is texting my husband. Regina. I blink at the name. Was that...Tuesday? A client wouldn’t text this late at night, and I know the names of everyone in his office. It had to be. I lie back down and stare at the ceiling saying the name over and over in my head: Regina... Regina... Regina...

Seth’s first wife is Tuesday. I don’t know if it was me or if it was Seth who gave her that nickname, but before Hannah, it was just Seth and the two of us. Three days went to Tuesday, three days to me, and one day was reserved for his travel. Things felt safer back then; I had more control over my own heart and his. I was the new wife, shiny and well-loved—my pussy a novelty rather than a familiar friend. Of course, there was the promise of babies and family, and I would be the one to provide them—not her. That boosted my position, gave me a power.

Tuesday and Seth met sophomore year in college at a Christmas mixer thrown by one of his prelaw professors. Before Seth was business, he was law. When Seth walked in, Tuesday, a second-year law student, was standing by the window sipping her Diet Coke alone and illuminated by Christmas lights. He spotted her right away, though he didn’t get to speak to her until the very end of the night. According to Seth’s account, she was wearing a red skirt and four-inch black heels. A departure from the dowdy attire of the rest of the law students. He doesn’t remember anything about her top, though I doubt it was anything scandalous. Tuesday’s parents were faculty members of the college, observing Mormons. She dressed modestly except for her shoes. Seth said she wore fuck-me shoes right from the get-go, and that over the years, her taste in footwear has intensified. I try to picture her: mousy brown hair, a blouse buttoned to her collarbone and hooker shoes. I asked once what brand she prefers, but Seth didn’t know. She has a whole closet filled with them. “But check if their soles are red,” I wanted to say.

Toward the end of the night, as people were starting to leave to head back to the dorms, Seth made his way over.

“Those are the sexiest shoes I’ve ever seen.”

That was his pickup line. Then he said, “I’d ask them on a date, but I think they’ll just reject me.”

To which Tuesday had replied, “You should ask me on a date instead, then.”

They were married two months after they graduated. Seth claimed that they never fought once during the two and a half years they dated. He said it with pride, though I felt my eyebrows lift at the ridiculousness. Fighting was the sandpaper that smoothed out the first years of a relationship. Sure, there was still plenty of lifelong grit after that, but the fighting stripped everything down, let the other person know what was important to you. They made the move to Seattle when a friend’s father offered Seth a job, but Tuesday hadn’t acclimated well to the constant shade and rainy mist of Seattle. First, she became miserable, then outright hostile as she accused him of dragging her away from her family and friends to mold away in wet, dreary Seattle. Then, a year into their marriage, he caught her with birth control pills, and she confessed that she didn’t want to have children. Seth was distraught. He spent the next year trying to convince her otherwise, but Tuesday was a career woman and my dear Seth was a family man.

She was accepted to a law school in Oregon, her dream. Their compromise was a relationship commute for the two years it would take her to finish. Then they would reevaluate and Seth would look for a new job somewhere closer to her. But the business Seth ran was doing well, and his investment in its success grew. When the owner had a stroke, he agreed to sell the company to Seth, whom he had trusted to run it for two years. Seth’s move to Oregon was thwarted. He would never leave Tuesday, he loved her too deeply, and so they worked around their respective states, driving, driving, driving. Sometimes Tuesday would drive to Seattle, but mostly it was Seth who made the sacrifices. I resented Tuesday for that, the first, selfish wife. Seth opened an office in Portland partially to be closer to Tuesday, and partially because it was a good business opportunity. When we first met, I asked him why he didn’t divorce her and move on. He’d looked at me almost pityingly, and asked if I’d been left before. I had, of course—what woman hasn’t experienced being left? A parent, a lover, a friend. Perhaps he was trying to distract me from the question, and it had worked. Tears sprang up, resentful memories came, and I believed Seth my savior. He wouldn’t leave me, no matter what. That’s where jealousy came in, when someone or something threatened my happiness. I’d understood Seth in that moment, admired him, even. He didn’t leave, but the downside of that was he didn’t leave anyone. He merely adapted. Rather than divorce, he took a new wife—one who could give him children. I was the second wife. Tuesday, in a compromise to remain without children, agreed to legally divorce Seth while I married him. I was to be the mother of his children. Until...Hannah.

“Seth...?” I say it again, louder this time. “Seth...”

The moon is bright outside the bedroom window, and its glow illuminates my husband’s face as he slowly opens his eyes. I’ve interrupted his sleep, but he doesn’t look angry. Earlier, Seth stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my neck slowly, as we looked out at the city below. I must have forgiven him sometime between his bowl of ramen and our lovemaking, because the only thing I feel for him at the moment is intense love.

“Yes?” His voice is heavy with sleep and I reach out to touch his cheek.

“Are you angry with me for what happened to our baby?”

He rolls onto his back and I can no longer see every detail of his face, just the slant of his nose and one blue-green eye.

“It’s midnight,” he says, like I don’t already know.

“I know that,” I say softly. For good measure, I add, “I can’t sleep.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I was angry,” he admits. “Not at you...at life...the universe...God.”

“Is that why you found Monday?” It takes all of my courage to form those words into a sentence. I feel as if I’ve cut open my own chest and splayed out my heart.

“Monday hasn’t replaced you,” he says after some time. “I want you to believe that my commitment to you is real.” He reaches out a hand and caresses my face, the warmth of his palm reassuring. “Things didn’t quite pan out the way we wanted, but we’re still here and what we have is real.”

He hasn’t really answered my question. I lick my lips, thinking of a way to rephrase. My footing in our marriage is unsteady, my new purpose unclear.

“We could have adopted,” I say. Seth turns his face away.

“You know that’s not what I want.” His voice is clipped. End of story. I’d brought up the topic of adoption before, and he’d immediately dismissed it.

“What if the same thing happened to Monday...that happened to me?”

His head snaps right so he’s looking at me again, but this time there’s no kindness in his eyes. I’m startled by it.

“Why would you say that? That’s a terrible thing to imagine.” He pushes himself to a sitting position, so I do, leaning back on my elbows until we’re both staring at the bay windows and the stars beyond.

“I—I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly, but Seth is flustered.

“She’s my wife. What do you think I’d do?”

I bite my lip, gripping the sheets in my fists; such a stupid thing to say, especially after things had been going so well all evening.

“It’s just...you left me. You found her after...”

He stares straight ahead, not really seeing anything. I see the muscles in his jaw jump.

“You knew I wanted children. And I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

“But are you?” I argue. “You need two other women—”

“Enough.” He cuts me off. He gets out of bed and reaches for his pants. “I thought we were done with this.”

I watch as he steps into them, not bothering to button them when he pulls on his shirt.

“Where are you going, Seth? Look, I’m sorry. I just—”

He walks toward the door and I swing my legs over the side of the bed determined not to let him leave. Not like this.

I throw myself at him, grabbing onto his arm and trying to pull him back. It happens in an instant, his hand shoving me away. Caught off guard, I fall backward. My ear clips the nightstand before I land on my rear on the wood floor. I cry out but Seth has already left the bedroom. I raise my hand to my ear and feel the warm trickle of blood on my fingertips, just as I hear the front door slam closed. I flinch at the sound, not because it’s overly loud, but because of the anger behind it. I shouldn’t have done that, woken him up in the middle of the night and put thoughts of dying babies in his head. What happened wasn’t just hard on me; Seth had lost his child, as well. I stand up, wobbling on my feet. Squeezing my eyes closed, I cup my bleeding ear and wait for the dizziness to pass, then I walk slowly to the bathroom, flicking on the light to assess the damage. There is a centimeter-long cut on the outside of my ear, running parallel to the cartilage. It stings. I clean it with an alcohol wipe and dab some Neosporin on the wound. It’s already stopped bleeding, but not hurting. When I return to the bedroom I stare at the bed for a long time, empty, the sheets rumpled. Seth’s pillow still holds the indentation where his head rested.

“He’s under so much stress,” I say out loud as I climb into bed. I think my problems and insecurities are extreme, but I only have one man to keep happy. Seth has three women: three sets of problems, three sets of complaints. I’m sure we all pressure him in different ways: Monday and her baby, Tuesday and her career...me and my feelings of inferiority. I pull my knees up to my chest, unable to close my eyes. I wonder if he’ll go back to Hannah. Or maybe it will be Regina this time.

I tell myself that I won’t search for them online, that I’ll respect Seth’s privacy, but I know it’s not true. I’ve already crossed a line, befriended his other wife. Tomorrow, I will type their names into a search box so I can see who they claim to be. So I can study their eyes, search for regret, hurt...or anything that looks similar to what’s in my own eyes.