The Wives

FIVE

I have just enough time to get back to the hotel and take a shower before I’m supposed to meet Seth for dinner. I’m distracted this time, almost driving into the back of a delivery truck that is stalled at a red light. Hannah, Hannah, Hannah. Her face swims before my eyes. I wear the black dress he likes, tight in all the right places, and let my hair hang loose around my shoulders. Beneath the dress, I am wearing the lingerie I chose earlier in the afternoon. The lace is itchy and I’ve made comparisons in my mind about how Hannah would look wearing the same thing. It will be a good night, I tell myself. I am looking forward to being with him during our stolen time. It feels like cheating and that thrills me. Hannah might be everything I’m not, but he chose to spend tonight with me. I call him to check the time of the reservation, and when he answers, his voice warms me right where it counts.

“How much did you spend?” he asks.

He’s joking, of course. He likes to act frugal when I spend money, but he always asks to see the things I bought and comments on them. He’s an interested husband, and those are rare.

“A lot,” I tell him.

He laughs. “I can’t wait to see you. I’ve been distracted at work all day thinking about tonight.”

“Will you come here, or should I meet you?” I ask.

“I’ll meet you there. Did you bring that black dress I like?”

“Oh, yes,” I say, smiling a little. Most days I still get butterflies when I hear his voice on the phone. Sometimes it makes me feel easy, like all he has to do is use that deep rumble and I’m putty in his hands. But today there is an absence of emotion as I listen to him. I can feel the slight disconnect in the recesses of my mind. We are bantering like we normally do, but my heart’s not in it. Perhaps actually seeing Hannah, the other wife, changed things for me. Made it all real instead of a situation I emotionally detached myself from. Their baby. Their trip to Mexico. Their house. I wish I had time for a drink, I think miserably as I grab my coat off the seat.

Seth is waiting for me outside when I pull up to valet. The restaurant is quaint and romantic—a place where new couples come to connect and old couples come to reconnect. I thrill that this is what he chose for our night together, noting the crisp, white linen napkins and ankle-length aprons the servers wear. The hostess leads us to a table in the corner; I take the seat facing the window. Instead of sitting across from me, Seth slides in next to me.

I look around to see if anyone is watching us, if they care. When I discover that no one is pointing fingers and laughing, I relax.

“I never thought I’d be that girl,” I say, sipping my water.

“We used to make fun of them, remember?” Seth laughs. “The gross couples...”

I smile. “Yeah, but now I feel like I can’t get enough of you. Probably because I have to share.”

“I’m yours,” he says. “I love you so much.”

His voice sounds flat to me. Has it always sounded like that? You’re being paranoid and nitpicking everything to death, I tell myself. He hasn’t changed, you have.

It’s hard not to wonder how often he says that to the others. Hannah’s face fills my mind and I feel a rush of insecurity. This is why Seth keeps us apart—so we won’t focus on jealousy and each other, but rather on our relationship with him. I bite back my feelings. That’s what I do: compartmentalize, organize, prioritize.

Seth orders a steak and I opt for the salmon. We chat about the hospital and the new house he’s building over in Lake Oswego for a retired actress. It’s all very banal and normal, a typical married couple discussing the small details of their lives. I almost feel better about everything, the wine softening the sharp corners of my anxiety, until I see a young blond woman walk up to the host stand cradling a newborn baby. The only thing visible is the crown of the baby’s head where a patch of dark hair peeps past the blanket. Jealousy rolls over me hot and heavy. I feel as if I can’t breathe, and yet I can’t tear my eyes away. The woman’s partner fusses over her, touching her tenderly, and then wrapping a protective arm around her as they stare down at their tiny creation, together. I freeze, watching them carefully, the familiar tide of pain creeping in. They share an intimacy because they made a child together. No, that’s not true of everyone. Plenty of people have children together and that’s all they have. But I can’t help but think of Hannah and Seth, how they’ll have something together that I won’t.

Seth sees me watching them and grabs my hand. “I love you,” he says, looking at me with concern.

Sometimes I think he can tell that I’m thinking about them—the others—and he rushes at me with words. Word salve for the second, barren wife. You couldn’t give me what I wanted most in the world, but hey! I still love you so very much.

“I know.” I smile sadly and look away from the happy family.

“You’re enough for me,” he says. “You know that, right?”

I want to lash out at him, ask if I’m enough, then why is he having a baby with someone else? Why is there anyone else? But I don’t. I don’t want to be that maudlin girl, a nagger. My mother was a nagger. I grew up seeing my father’s pained expressions when she’d rant on and on and I felt sorry for him. And her biting comments seemed to intensify with age, as did the crease lines on my father’s weathered forehead. His face was well-worked leather while hers was a veneer of Botox and filler.

“You look upset,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Hard week at work.”

I nod sympathetically. “Anything I can do to help?”

When Seth looks at me, his eyes are soft. He reaches for my hand, a sexy half smile on his lips.

“I chose this life and everything in it. I can manage. I worry about you, though. After—”

“You don’t need to worry. I’m fine.” I nod reassuringly. It’s a blatant lie, and perhaps if he weren’t so distracted—stretched so thin—he would see through it. I’m not fine, but I can be. In my weakness, I thought I could talk to him about my struggles, but he has enough of his own. Besides, if Hannah can do it, so can I. She’s expecting a baby with a man who has multiple wives, and yet when I was with her, I didn’t pick up on any insecurities. She appeared to be a happy woman. Then I think of the bruises on her arm, the purple marks, dark as plums, that resembled fingers, and my eyes narrow.

“What’s wrong?” Seth asks. “You did that thing with your eyebrows...” His hand grips my thigh underneath the table, squeezing gently, and I feel a tingling between my legs. My body betraying my mind, typical of me; I have no discipline. Not when it comes to Seth.

“What thing?” I ask, but I know what thing. I just like to hear him say it.

“Where you scrunch them up and then your lips pucker like you want to be kissed.”

“Maybe I do,” I throw back. “Have you thought of that?”

“I have.” Seth leans in to kiss me and I feel the softness of his lips press to mine. He smells of wine and himself and suddenly I want him to see the lingerie. I want to watch the lust rise in his eyes before he pushes me onto the bed. It’s a good thing to want your husband and to want him to want you, I think.

We are full-on making out like two teenagers when I hear a woman’s voice nearby—insolent, a little riled up. Seth pulls back to look over his shoulder, but I am still hazy-eyed and picturing the bed at the hotel.

“Lovers’ quarrel,” he says, turning back to me. Over his shoulder, I see a couple arguing at the bar.

I run my finger around the rim of my wineglass while I watch his face. I can tell he’s straining to hear what they’re saying as he stares at his water glass in concentration. He seems to be enjoying the sound of their voices, which are strained with tension. I watch the set of his lips to see if he’s taking a side, but no, he’s just listening. Seth and I rarely fight, probably on account of how agreeable I force myself to be. Had I ever seen him lose his temper? I flip through my memories, trying to conjure an image of my husband being angry enough to hit...grab...push.

“Seth,” I say. “How often do you fight with them?”

The wine has loosened my tongue, my facade of indifference dropping away as I study my husband’s face.

He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Everyone fights.”

“Yes, I suppose,” I say, already bored with his answer. “What sorts of things do you fight about?”

Seth looks uncomfortable as he reaches for his glass. It’s empty, of course, and his head jerks around to look for our server so he can cushion my question with alcohol. My eyes stay glued to his face. I want to know.

“Regular things.”

“Why are you being evasive?” I drum my fingers on the tabletop. I’m aggravated. I rarely ask questions, and when I do, I expect an answer. I expect answers for my compliance. My role isn’t an easy one.

“Look, I’ve had a really hard week. Being with you is a break from all that. I’d rather just enjoy your company instead of drudging up every fight I’ve had with them.”

I feel myself soften. Tucking my hands under the table, I smile at him apologetically. Seth looks relieved. I was being unfair. Why spend our time together talking about his other relationships when we could focus on strengthening our bond? I push Hannah and her bruises from my mind.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Would you like one more drink before we leave?”

Seth orders two more drinks, and after they arrive, he looks at me with what can only be described as solemn guilt.

“What? I know that look. Spit it out.”

He laughs a little and leans over to kiss me on the lips. “You know me so well.” He grins.

I lean back against the firm leather of the booth, waiting for the bad news.

“Actually, I really need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay...”

I watch as he takes another sip of his bourbon, stalling for time, arranging the words in his mind. I imagine that if he had something bad to tell me all along, he’s already rehearsed what he’s going to say. It makes me prickly to think he invited me all the way here just to butter me up for bad news.

“It’s about Monday,” he says.

Something in my belly twists and I feel a wave of panic. He found out I’ve been to see Hannah. My lips are dry. I lick them, already composing the words—the excuses I’m going to give him.

“Monday?”

“Everything with the baby is fine. So far. But I was thinking that it’s a bad idea for you and me to take our vacation this year with the baby due...”

His words drop between us and all I can do is stare at him, dumbfounded. It’s not as bad as I thought, but also just as bad.

“Why?” I blurt. “What difference does it make? We can go before she has it.”

“That’s just it,” Seth says. The waiter comes by and Seth passes him his credit card without looking at the bill. “I’ll need the time off when the baby gets here. I can’t take a vacation. On top of that, things are busy at work. I need to be there.”

I fold my arms across my chest and stare out the window, suddenly not feeling as special and loved as I had hours ago. I feel cast off, abandoned. I am not the one having his baby—she is—and so my needs matter less. Oh my God, he invited me to Portland to soften the blow. This wasn’t a stolen romantic getaway, it was a manipulation: the soft words, the flirting, the nice dinner—the realization stings.

“I’ve sacrificed a lot, Seth...” I want to cringe at the bitterness I hear in my voice. I don’t want to act like a child, but being robbed of my time with him is unbearable.

“I know you have. It hurts me to ask you to do this,” he says.

I balk at his tone. It’s like he’s speaking to a child, one he’s about to discipline.

I look at him in alarm, weighing my urge to lash out and say something that will hurt him. “Ask me? It sounds more like you’re telling me.”

It begins to rain, and a couple dashes from the restaurant and across the street toward the parking garage. I watch their progress and wonder what it’s like to be with a man who wants only you. I didn’t date much before Seth. I was one of those serious students who avoided relationships to focus on my studies. If I had more experience under my belt, maybe I wouldn’t have agreed to the life Seth offered me so easily.

“You know that’s not true.” He reaches out to touch my hand and I pull it away, placing it under the table on my lap. Tears sting my eyes.

“I’d like to leave,” I say.

Seth actually has the audacity to frown at me. “You can’t run away from this. We have to talk about things. That’s how it works in a relationship. You knew when I married her what that would entail. You agreed.”

I am so enraged I stand up, knocking over my empty water glass as I push out of the half-moon booth and rush toward the door. I hear him call my name, but nothing he says could make me stop. I need to be alone, to think about all of this. How dare he lecture me on marriage? His path is the easy one.