The Wives

ELEVEN

The front door swings open and Seth walks in, carrying two large bags of takeout. Ah, it’s Thursday. I’d forgotten. Lately, all I think about is my husband’s wives. Somewhere along the way, Seth has been replaced. I give him half a smile. We both know it’s forced. A bouquet of white roses rests in the crook of his arm. Roses for no reason, or roses because he sent me a text meant for one of the others? Normally, I’d rush over to relieve him of what he’s carrying, but this time I stay where I am. He never even attempted to explain his mistaken text. And I waited all week for something...anything. My mood is dour—and I don’t plan on faking a good mood for his sake.

I picked some up. I’ll make an excuse and get out of it. Love you.

The lines on his face are relaxed, his eyes alert. I fold a towel and place it carefully on the put-away pile as I watch him kick the door closed and come sauntering down the hallway toward me. Everything about his demeanor bothers me. He’s not playing the part of the contrite husband.

“For you,” he says, handing over the flowers.

I stand awkwardly with them in my hand for a few seconds, and then set them aside to deal with later. I’m a mess again—hair loose and air-dried to waves. I’m wearing my favorite yoga pants, the ones with the hole in the right leg. I brush hair out of my eyes as he holds up the take-out bags and shakes them at me.

“Dinner,” he declares.

The smile he’s wearing is almost contagious, except I don’t feel like smiling. I wonder if he’s pleased with himself for picking up dinner, or if he has good news. It’s a risk grabbing takeout without knowing if I cooked, but I suppose he suspects I am on strike.

“Why are you so happy?” I fold my last towel and pick up the pile to carry to the towel closet. Seth smacks my butt as I move past him. I think about shooting him a death glare, but I keep my head stiffly pointed forward. Why does his effort bother me now? I would have reveled in this attention a few weeks ago.

“Can’t a man be happy to come home to his girl?” Can’t a man be happy to come home to just one girl?

I press my lips together to keep from actually saying those words and busy myself arranging the towels in the linen closet.

When I’m finished with the laundry, we sit down at the kitchen bar to eat. I’ve said no more than a few words since he walked through the door, though he hasn’t seemed to notice. Or perhaps he’s ignoring my silence as a way to pretend everything is fine. I watch as he unloads grease-stained containers onto the counter, glancing at me every few minutes to gauge my reaction.

The smell of garlic and ginger wafts from the boxes and my stomach grumbles. He stands up to get plates but I wave him back.

“No need,” I say, leaning forward and pulling a container of garlic chicken toward me. Flipping open the lid I pinch a piece of chicken between my chopsticks, watching him over the rim of the box as I chew. He eyes my UGGs, which are propped up on the counter next to the food, bewildered amusement on his face.

“First ramen, now Chinese takeout,” I say. “Next comes pizza...” It’s meant as a joke, but my voice is devoid of emotion. It sounded more like a threat, I think.

Seth laughs, dragging his bar stool closer to mine, reaching for the lo mein. “And shoes inside,” he says of my UGGs. “I like it.”

“To be fair, UGGs are practically slippers.” I’m flirting and I hate myself for it.

“I didn’t know you were capable of allowing yourself to breathe,” Seth says.

My toes curl in protest. I have the urge to yank my boots off the counter and grab proper plates from the cabinet, but I stubbornly stay where I am, staring squarely at my husband. Maybe I want to focus on knowing the man instead of impressing the man. Probably something I should have done in the first place. Instead, I’d been swoony, full of dreams and the belief that we had something.

I set the container of chicken on the counter and wipe my mouth with one of the flimsy napkins Seth hands me. For the first time, I notice that he’s wearing a T-shirt underneath a hoodie I’ve never seen before. When was the last time I saw my husband this casual, in a T-shirt? For the last year, Seth’s wardrobe has consisted of dress shirts and ties, distressed loafers and sports coats—work Seth, married Seth. He looks like an entirely different man in scuffed Chucks and a worn T-shirt. I feel something stir in my belly... Desire? Someone I’d like to hang out with, I think.

“You’re different tonight,” I say.

“So are you.”

“What?” I’m so lost in my thoughts, his voice alarms me.

“You’re different, too,” he notes.

I shrug; it feels terribly juvenile to do so, but what is there to say? I’ve found your wives and now that they have names and faces everything feels different? I don’t know who you are anymore? I don’t know who I am?

It’s difficult to put into words all the things I’ve been feeling, so I say the only thing I’ve actually worked out. “People change...”

I’m almost afraid of the casual way he’s looking at me, and then I remind myself that I’m trying to care less about what he thinks and to focus on what I think.

“You’re right.” He picks up his beer and holds it out to me. “To change,” he says.

I hesitate only for a moment before raising my bottle of water and tipping it toward his beer. His eyes hold steadily on to mine as we toast and sip our drinks.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he says, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. His T-shirt lifts to reveal a tanned, toned stomach.

I quickly look away, not wanting to be distracted. I am a sexual creature—he controls me with sex, and I control him with sex. It’s a merry-go-round of pleasure and servitude that I’ve always enjoyed. But being dick-whipped or pussy-whipped can sate you just enough to blind you. My mother once told me that a relationship could withstand almost any trial if the sex was good. It had sounded shallow and ridiculous at the time, but now I see that’s exactly what has happened with Seth and me. A lot happens in a relationship, probably a lot that you really need to pay attention to, but you’re too busy fucking to notice.

At the door, I shrug on my jacket and pull a beanie over my hair. I turn to the door and find Seth staring at me, a strange expression on his face.

“What?” I ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” he says, a little sheepishly after being caught. “Just appreciating the view.”

He leans in and kisses me lightly on the tip of my nose before opening the door. I follow him into the elevator, my nose tingling. We ride to the lobby in silence, and when we step out, he grabs my hand. What’s gotten into him? Flirting, public displays of affection... It’s like he’s a different man. As we step out onto the sidewalk, a feeling lurks in the back of my mind, something I’ve forgotten. I push the thought away. Here and now, I tell myself. Be here and stop thinking about everything else.

Normally, Seth and I don’t venture out of the condo on the days he visits, part of the reason being we prefer to stay at home and just be together. The other part, of course, is being spotted by someone who knows him as Regina’s husband. In the beginning it bothered me; I’d try to get him to go out to a restaurant or the movies, but he insisted on staying home. It hadn’t seemed fair at the time—I was his legal wife, after all. Eventually I gave up, resigning our relationship to be one that stayed behind closed doors. And now here we are, stepping out into the wet streets of Seattle, my hand firmly gripped in his. Brava for me!

Seth glances at me and smiles, like this is as much of a treat for him as it is for me. My boots plow through puddles as we make our way to a cider stand on Pike. Seth unrolls dollars from his money clip, one after another. He leaves a generous tip and hands me a paper cup of liquid gold. The money clip was a gift from me a few Christmases ago. I’ve not seen him use it until now; he always carries a worn leather wallet in his back pocket.

We huddle underneath an awning with our drinks and listen to a street musician play a Lionel Ritchie song on his fiddle. As we sip, we glance almost shyly at each other, and it feels like it did on our first date—charged and unfamiliar. There is a change between us tonight, a new chemistry we’ve not tapped into before. I imagine we could have had this all along if there were two instead of four people in the marriage. Our bond would be strengthened instead of pulled thin.

Seth pulls me close and I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder, humming along with the song. I’m pressed so tightly against him that when his cell phone rings I can feel the vibrations against my leg. Seth, who normally has his phone turned off when he’s with me, pats his pocket with his free hand. I angle my body away from his so he can reach it, taking a careful sip of my cider. It scalds the roof of my mouth; I press the tip of my tongue to the burned spot as I wait to see if he’ll answer.

When he pulls his phone from his pocket, he makes no move to hide the screen from me. Regina’s name flashes across his wallpaper—a group photo of his nieces and nephews in their Halloween costumes. I bite my lip and look away, feeling like I’ve done something wrong.

“Do you mind?” he asks, holding up the phone. The name Regina stares at me. I blink at him, confused. Is he asking me for permission to take a call from his other wife?

I shake my head dumbly, shifting my eyes back to the fiddler, who is now playing a Miley Cyrus song with gusto.

“Hello,” I hear him say. “Yeah... Did you put it in peanut butter? She’ll take it that way... Okay, let me know how it goes.”

He’s talking to Regina in front of me. It’s like a metal ping striking at the center of me with sharpness. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

He slides his phone back into his pocket, nonplussed.

“Our dog,” he says, watching the fiddler with renewed interest. “She’s old and sick. She’ll only take her pill with peanut butter.”

Seth has a dog.

“Oh,” I say. I feel stupid, emotionally clumsy. Had I ever noticed dog hair on his clothes? “What type of dog?”

He grins his lopsided grin. “A Sheltie. She’s an old lady now—has trouble with her back legs. She had surgery a few days ago and won’t take her medicine.”

I listen, fascinated. His other life, a detail most would consider mundane, but I cling to it, want more. A dog. We briefly considered getting a dog, but living in a condo seemed unfair to an animal—that and my work hours.

“What’s her name?” I ask cautiously.

I’m afraid that if I ask too many questions he’ll shut down or get angry with me for prying. But he doesn’t.

He tosses his empty cup into an overflowing trash can and says, “Smidge. Regina named her. I wanted something generic like Lassie.” He laughs at the memory and then waves at a toddler who bellows, “Hi!” as his mother pushes him past in his stroller. I look away quickly. I can’t look toddlers in the eye.

“You’ve never said her name,” I say.

Seth tucks his hands in his pockets and stares at me. “Haven’t I?”

“No,” I say. “And last week you sent me a text meant for one of them...”

His head jerks back and I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. “What did it say?”

I study his face, not believing the pretense. “You know what it said, Seth.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I don’t remember. If I did, it was my mistake and completely hurtful to you. Forgive me?”

I pull my lips tight. There isn’t really another option, is there? I could drag this out and sulk for a few more days, but what good would that do anyone? I nod, forcing my lips into a smile.

“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let’s get back. It’s freezing out here.”

I let him twine his fingers with mine and suddenly we’re running across the street, me holding my beanie to my head and skipping up the curb. I hear myself laughing as we dodge slow-moving bodies on the sidewalk. He looks back at me and I smile shyly, the wings of infatuation beating in my belly.

We kiss as we ride the elevator to our floor, even though there’s someone else in there with us—a middle-aged woman with a trembling Yorkie. She draws as far away from us as she can, pressing herself to a corner of the elevator as if we’re contagious.

“Where have you been?” I whisper against Seth’s lips.

“Here, I’ve been here.” He’s as breathless as I am, his hands groping through the puffiness of my coat. He yanks the zipper down, the noise startling in the confines of the elevator.

On the mirrored wall behind us, I see the woman’s face pale. She clutches her purse tighter to her chest and stares at the numbers above the door, willing herself away from us. The Yorkie whines. I laugh into Seth’s mouth as he pushes my coat off my shoulders and reaches to cup my breast. The doors slide open and she charges out. They slide closed and we climb higher. His hand is between my legs, his thumb rubbing circles. When the doors open on our floor, we move together, not wanting to let go.

Later, we lie in bed, our limbs tangled and our skin damp from exertion. Seth traces a line with his fingertips up and down my arm. I curl into him, enjoying the moment, everything but us forgotten. Just for tonight. Tonight, I will forget. Tomorrow is a different story. And then I remember the thing that’s been bothering me, swimming in my mind right out of reach: Regina’s message.

Hi, Will,

I don’t mind the compliments at all! I worked hard to get through law school—lay ’em on me.

I have a heavy workload right now, but I can make time for fun. You mentioned that you like to hike. Maybe we can do that sometime. I’m up for drinks, too, if you prefer that. Your nieces and nephews are adorable. You seem great with kids.

Talk soon,

Regina

With Seth snoring softly beside me, I read her message to Will three times before I write my response. There is more I want to know, to confirm, and Will is the only way I can do that.

Hey, Regina,

Since you’ve given me permission to load on the compliments I guess I should tell you that you’re stunning. I’d love to go on a hike with you! And yes, my nieces and nephews are adorable. Do you want kids? I guess that’s a really personal question but somewhat important to know when you’re dating.

Will

It’s been just a few minutes since I hit Send on Will’s message when my phone lights up on the nightstand. I glance over my shoulder at Seth to see that his back is to me as he snores. Lifting my phone carefully from where it lies, I’m surprised to see a notification that Regina has sent me/Will a message. It’s late and I wonder why she’s awake, and then I remember Seth telling me that she’d stay up long after he went to bed, working—always working.

Will, what are you doing up so late? Looks like you’re a night owl like me. I can never sleep. There’s a really great hiking trail near my house. It takes about four hours round trip. Let’s do this!

And yes, I do want children. Let’s have a phone conversation soon.

Talk later,

Regina