I started this one at work. I received this thing in the mail that GWU is having a writing workshop for short story writers. I'm usually not that great at writing short stories. I'm sorry it's long, its supposed to be 10-15 pages. It was inspired by Nina Simone's The Other Woman. In case you don't know it, here's a link so you can hear it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Lh9mwgqb-A. But yeah, here's the story:
The Other Woman
She placed her earrings on the night stand, in their usual place. With a light flick of her wrist, her long bangs were taken out of her face, only to fall back, like threads of rebellion. The bedroom wasn’t entirely dark, the sinking sunlight shown through the thin curtains and onto her face and soaked the room in its warm light, but she turned on the table lamp anyways. The lamp’s gaudy yellow light lit the table it was on, and very little more. But she knew the room by memory, every piece of furniture, every turn, every speck of dust, everything.
She got up from the bed, went to the walk-in closet, turned on the light, and tried to pick out just the right thing. He loved her in black, it contrasted her milky skin perfectly. She ran her fingers through the clothes, but wasn’t satisfied with any of it. As she turned to leave the closet, the white box caught her eye. It was a gift he’d given her for their anniversary, but she’d waited for the perfect moment to wear it. She lifted the box gingerly, carried it to her bed, and opened it. Inside were sheer lace, black, and beauty. She gingerly lifted it out of the box, laid it out, and planned the look. She went back and forth from the closet, to the dresser, all over the room in a flurry of excitement.
She prepared every part of her image. She readied her hair so it cascaded perfectly, elongated her lashes with pitch black paint, painted her lips a fierce red and dolled herself up. Once she was satisfied with her scents and all the little details of her face, she moved to the bed. Most of what she did, she knew would be undone by the end of the night, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was how he found her, looking like a lonely queen, awaiting his arrival. She knew what details he loved on her, such as her sating garter belt, her silk thigh high stockings, the black stiletto heels he met her in, so she wore those for him. She slipped on the dress. And the final touch, the French perfume.
They’d met at an odd place, at an odd time. It wasn’t like a fairly tale romance, one in which their eyes lock, they share a moment, and it all unwinds from there. No, her story was different. She was supposed to meet someone else.
She had been waiting for so long, she started to wonder if she was undesirable, but no, it couldn’t be her fault. There had to be something else. She had worn one of her many little black dresses, her black stilettos, the ones known as the “Fuck-me” shoes. All of her was dolled up for the single purpose of seducing. She kept looking at her watch, nothing, no one showed up. At the table next to her was an older gentleman. He was handsome, took good care of himself, and carried himself unlike anyone, any man she’d ever seen. She caught a snippet of his conversation, not intentionally of course, “…these reservations for two weeks. You said you had everything ready! Well, call your mother or one of your friends to stay with the kids! You know what, forget it. I’ll be home in an hour.” He let out an exasperated sigh, “Always with the excuses.” She quickly glanced over at him, he noticed, “I’m sorry if I disturbed you with that. My wife, you’d think with all of the play dates she sets up with the kids, at least of those moms would be able to take them so she and I can have time to ourselves. But no. No, no, no, she just can’t make time of us.” She gave a small, coy smile, “Well, at least you know why your date’s not here. My mystery date hasn’t shown up for mysterious reasons.” She elicited a smile from him. “Well, since you and I are dateless, would you care to grace me with your company?” The question sounded so genuine, she didn’t feel suspicious of his intents, she didn’t get a bad feeling about him, and the whole situation didn’t feel awkward. “I don’t see why not,” she was about to get up and switch tables, but he stopped her, “Please, a lady shouldn’t have to switch tables.” He got up and exchanged his empty table for the one with the better company.
The whole night they talked, like old friends. She felt at her best, she was coy and brazen all at once, everything about her was inviting, all the energy she had reserved for the mystery date was unleashed on him, and he liked it. He like the attention she gave him, how she earnestly laughed at his jokes, understood what he meant when he talked about what he did, shared many of his guilty pleasures. They both shared the feeling of having spent a great night in even greater company. Time flowed with the wine, and all the bad moments of the evening were forgotten, until the ring of his cell phone interrupted their bliss. “Oh god, it’s my wife. What should I tell her?” The phone pierced his thoughts and prevented him from quick thinking. “Tell her you didn’t want to let the reservation go to waste, so you stayed and dined, but because the restaurant was so full, it took them a while to get you your dinner. “ He looked at her dubiously and she erased his doubt by finishing with, “It’s not a lie. It’s true. The only thing you’ve omitted from the truth is that you enjoyed your dinner with another person.” He smiled at her genius. She brains and beauty, more than was waiting for him at home. He answered and verbally regurgitated what she had told him to say and omit. “I know I said in an hour, I already told you why I’m still sitting here at the restaurant. I’ll call you when I’m heading home. No, I haven’t been drinking. Just one glass of wine with my dinner. Yes…no…” another frustrated sigh, “…be home soon…fine. Good night.” He hung up quickly, not wanting to miss anymore time with her. “I’m so sorry about that. My wife she’s, well, you get the idea.” She laughed at that a little, “No, I don’t actually, because I’m not married to her.” That’s what he liked about her, her quick wit. His wife could never think on her feet like that. She was always thinking of how to respond to things, and it took too long. By the time she finally thought of something, it was too late, and it wasn’t funny any more.
The night was winding down, and it was time for both of them to go, he picked up the tab, got up, gently pulled out her chair, held her hand as she gracefully got up, and placed his hand on the small of her back. He guided her out to the front, “Did you drive?” he was only asking in hopes of her saying no and him offering her a ride home. “No, I caught a cab,” she knew his plan, and couldn’t avoid it in any way, or rather, wouldn’t avoid it. “Did you need a ride home?” it was almost too perfect. “Only if you’re heading east,” she wanted to spend more time with him, but at the same time, she didn’t want it all to be spent in one night. He felt the same way, but didn’t know it yet, so he offered anyways, “I’m actually heading west, but I can still take you where you need to go.” She wanted to go with him, but decided against it, “No, let’s pick this up some other night, what do you say?” They exchanged numbers, had a cab hailed for her, and he sent her on her way.
The days, weeks, months that followed led up to this night. It had been a week past their anniversary, but there weren’t able to spend it together as they had wanted. But tonight, nothing could interfere with their plans. He said he had covered his track well, and was about to spend a glorious night with her. Everything was going as she had hoped. She went around her apartment making sure everything was in its place. She felt silly doing all of this dressed as she was, so she wrapped herself up in her silk robe, “The red one, “ the thought, “just in case he comes while I’m still fixing things up.” She grabbed the roses she had bought, trimmed them and put them vases through out the apartment so that their scent would disburse through out her home. She picked up a few things here and there, selected the music, and chilled the white wine and the champagne. She wasn’t sure which he would want, so she got both. She cleaned off the strawberries she had bought. She couldn’t help but think how cheesy that was, “Strawberries, like a romance novel.” She laughed softly at her corniness, but it was too late to change that.
He hadn’t specified what time he’d arrive. Either way though, she expected him to arrive at any moment. She had tried to call him earlier, but he didn’t answer. She kept trying every once in while, but he wouldn’t answer. “How funny,” she thought, “we met because someone had stood me up, and now, he’s the one standing me up.” Had he forgotten? Was he in some sort of trouble? The kids, maybe something happened to one of his kids? She quickly reprimanded herself for thinking such awful thoughts. She tucked all of that away into the back of her mind. She got up, put on some jazz music, and poured herself a little bit of red wine, to relax her. One cup of wine became two, and two into three, and so on into the night.
He looked at his watch. He was a little frantic to get out of the office and on his way to her. So close to five, so close but it just couldn’t get there fast enough. “Faster time, faster!” his anxiety was starting to show through his cool demeanor. He typically wasn’t this anxious over anything, but he hadn’t seen her in a week. Every time they made plans, something came up. Something with the kids, something with his mother-in-law, something with his wife, something at work, always something.
It had been a little over a year ago they had met. And ever since then, she’s all he’s ever wanted for anything. It was almost as if she had put a spell on him, or did he think that because it was playing through the speakers of his computer? That’s how he felt about her, the moment they met, she did something to him that prevented him from forgetting her, from getting her out of his head. His favorite part, she was just like that song, she enchanted with her French perfume, she was always so well put together and was never seen with pin curls in her hair, she was the perfection he longed for in his wife. But if she was so perfect, why couldn’t he leave his wife? At first, the kids were his excuse, but they didn’t pay much attention to him, he barely saw them before he met her anyways. He was at work, they were at soccer, ballet, violin classes, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, camping, everywhere but home. And when he got home at night, they were in bed. If it weren’t for all of their toys being scattered all over the house, he’d swear his kids were imaginary.
He was lost in a day dream of her when the phone rang, the wife. He answered the phone. Even though he knew who it was, he still answered professionally, using the name of the company, followed by his name, as if he didn’t know who it was, “Oh hi sweetie! How are you?” he hated being phony with her and wondered if she could tell. “No, I haven’t forgotten tonight’s her recital. Yes, I know it starts at seven. Yes, I will try my hardest to be there but then I have to come back to the office. I already told you, I have a big project due tomor…you didn’t tell me there was a family dinner afterwards. No, you didn’t say anything about it. Oh god. Okay, I’ll try to be there for at least a little bit. Yes, I know this means the world to her. I know but…yes…okay…are we done here? Good, I’ll see you tonight.” He hung up angrily. She always sprung these surprises up on him. She always gives incomplete information. It was frustrating for him. Let him giver her incomplete information, see how she would react. He did that once, just to see a reaction, to see how she liked it. The vase his mother had given her as a wedding gift ended up smashed after that one. It started innocently enough, and escalated to a full out battle, ugly things were said, she through the vase and almost hit him, and in the end, he stormed out and went to her, to his perfection. She consoled him and told him it wasn’t his fault, which is what he wanted to hear.
He busied himself with the final details of the day’s work, hoping that would make time go faster. When he finished, he looked at the time, it was five twelve. That always happened, he’d wait for five, get busy working, look up and it was always past five. He quickly shut down his computer, grabbed his suit jacket, turned off the lights, closed the door and headed out. Once in the car, he pulled out of his spot and drove off.
As soon as he got home, it was the chaos he hated. His office was impeccable, her home was twice as immaculate, but when he got home, it was disorganized chaos. He detested his own home for this. His wife never told the kids to put away toys, never told them to not colour on the walls, never told them no. They had everything scattered everywhere. What frustrated him the most was the he had spent so much money building them a play room, a tree house, a backyard playground, places specified for their activities, yet they still managed to make a mess of the entire home. He’d look back upon his childhood and wonder, “Was I this awful as a kid?” He even went so far as to ask his mother once, and she said no, he wasn’t that awful, but then again, she wasn’t so lenient either.
He tripped over a toy car, briefcase went flying and he crashed on the floor. “Sonova…” he sighed in anger and called his son over, “What have I told you about picking up your toys? If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times. Pick the damned things up. One of these days, someone is going to do more than just trip over them and then what? Huh? Quit staring at me blankly, pick them up now. And go get cleaned up, we have something to do.” He went to pick up his briefcase and collect whatever fell out, but noticed that his son just shrugged his shoulders and walked away from the mess. He let out another aggravated sigh, but just gave up. He had given up on his children a long time ago, quite possible, at birth.
He reached for his coat pocket to giver her a call, but realized he’d forgotten it at the office and would need to go back for it. At first glance, it annoyed him to have forgotten such an important thing but then he realized he had just found the perfect excuse for leaving early. But how could he get out of his obligations tonight with that as his excuse? “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” that tiny voice, he knew it and loved. His little princess, the only one he loved. He scooped up her tiny body in his arms and lifted her into the air, “My little lady! Are you ready for your big dance?” Though he was annoyed with his wife, he forgot everything that bothered him about her whenever he looked at his daughter. She more like him than her, which is why he appreciated her the most. “Daddy, I’m glad you’re here! Mommy tried to comb my hair but she couldn’t because she had to do her hair and it’s almost six and my hair still isn’t done and if I go with it down teacher won’t let me dance and I really want to dance and…and…daddy? Can you comb my hair for me?” She was only five years old, but she was so great. She brought out the best in him, “Go get the comb and I’ll do your hair baby.” She ran off, her tutu bouncing with each step she took.
He sat at the kitchen table. He never announced when he came home. He thought it was too trite, so he never said anything when he came home. He just sat at the kitchen table, and let the world continue without him participating. He saw a drawing on the table done by his daughter. He picked it up, in large pink letters, in her childish handwriting, the drawing was captioned “Daddy and me!” There were two oddly drawn characters of him and her, standing on grass, holding hands. She had her pink tutu and he was in a blue shirt, red tie, black pants and shoes. A smile spread across both their faces. This was why he stayed.
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” he turned around and there she was, brush in hand, with all the necessary things to make the perfect bun. He tried to get her tresses in control with the brush. He gently pulled it all back and somehow managed to make a bun, though he’d never done one before. But she didn’t know any better, she loved it because he had done it, and that’s all that mattered to her. Why couldn’t his wife be easy to please as well? She turned around, hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, “Thank you Daddy!!” This was his only reason for staying, his heart.
“Oh thank god you’re here!” Her voice shattered his moment of peace. “I need you to get the boys ready please! I still haven’t had a chance to finish my hair and get dressed! I’ve been in these rollers all day! I had to go to the grocery store in them and oh my goodness, I’m still not ready yet! And then…” she kept talking, but he’d already left the room. He walked up the steps, slowly, and looked at his watch. It was six fifteen. He stopped, turned back down the stairs and into the kitchen, “Hey, how about you finish up with yourself and the boys and I get Princess down to her recital?” He really didn’t want to deal with the boys. They only frustrated him more than was necessary. “Why can’t you do what I ask you to do? Is it really that hard to do one little thing? Please? Honestly, I do everything you want me to do and you still can’t do the little things I ask you to do! Is there something wrong with your…” he stopped listening again. “Fine, whatever.” That usually ended arguments with her because she knew that meant he didn’t care to argue, that he’d given up. He walked up the steps, while trying to think of something that made him happy. His little princess brought an innocent joy to him. But what would make him happiest that night would be to see her, in all her perfect glory. But he’d have to wait to see her.
“Boys, quit screwin’ around. We have to get ready for your sisters recital.” Three boys and one girl, that’s what she had always wanted, he only wanted the one girl, which is probably why he loved her the most. The first one was born five years after they had gotten married. They’d been married for almost twenty years now. The third boy was actually a twin to his princess. But it didn’t matter, he still didn’t love the boys quite like his daughter. They all came out looking, acting, talking, everything like her. The only difference was that they were a little bit bolder and a little bit more rowdy. But then they were boys, and as the old saying goes, boys will be…a sharp scream pierced his thoughts. “What now,” he sighed. He went down the hall a little faster and into the middle boy’s room. He was hanged by the elastic of his underwear to a coat hook on his bedroom door, being smashed between the door and the wall by the oldest. “What the fu…he…heck is wrong with you sick bastards!?” His wife was particular about language in front of the boys. He knew it didn’t matter though, they were foul mouthed bastards anyways. Just the other day he’d heard the youngest one, only five years old, tossing around some “potty words” just for fun. He pulled the oldest away, brought down the middle one and scolded them both for their shenanigans. “Look, stop acting stupid, go and get dressed at least half-way decent, and be downstairs in five minutes.” He stormed out of there and into the twins room.
There was his daughter, admiring his handy work with her bun. His son was playing with some blocks, hair still wet from his shower and in a child’s bathrobe, “All right champ, let’s get you dressed.” He went to the closet, picked out a little blue polo with some plaid shorts that matched. He grabbed a pair of little plaid slip on shoes and some itty, bitty blue socks. “Do you have some undies on?” he didn’t bother looking up, “uh-huh.” Well, at least his wife finished something. He picked him up and dressed him quickly. He’d gotten practice dressing children as a teenager, his brother and sister were ten years younger than him, also twins. He scooped both of them up into his arms and carried them towards the living room. As he passed the rooms of the other boys he shouted to them, “You have one more minute left boys!”
Once downstairs, he sat the twins on the couch and went back to the kitchen. She wasn’t there. Good, he could have a moment of peace. He went to the refrigerator, no wine. His wife never thought to buy wine. Another fault of hers, another thing the other woman had that was perfect about here. She always kept wines, champagnes, anything he could want in her apartment. He scanned his refrigerator for something, anything at this point in the day. He grabbed three juice boxes and headed back to the living room.
The twins were always the best behaved of the bunch. He felt as if he never had to worry about them. They sat quietly on the couch giggling about something, as usual, sharing secrets with one another. He popped the straws into their juice boxes and handed each one a box, “Don’t spill on yourselves now. We’re almost ready to go. He looked at his watch, six forty-five. He knew her ballet school was about ten minutes from the house driving. He shouted up the stairs, “I’m taking the twins to the ballet school, you take the other two. I’ll see you there.” Before she could object, he grabbed the twins and was out the door. “What about mommy?” asked the boy, “She’ll catch up with us kiddo, don’t worry about her.” He got them into their car seats and drove off to the school, still wondering when he was going to use his cell phone excuse.
After they had gotten married, she’d lost part of her identity. Over the years, she lost more and more of herself and she was simply known as “The Wife,” “Mommy,” and sometimes jokingly, though she never believed he meant it as a joke, “The ol’ ball and chain.” That one always hurt her the most. She constantly wondered if he still loved her. And if he did, did he still love her like when they first met?
They met in college, just like all those other stories, movies, songs, everything. The typical story, she was a wild child, he was a little bit more conservative. They met at a typical college party, with the booze, sex, drugs, and loud music. She remembered her hair was wild and frizzed and all over the place. She had a mini skirt so tiny, it barely covered anything, and a shirt so low cut, she may as well not have been wearing anything. A drink was in one hand and a joint in the other. He approached her with his clean cut look, asking for something, she couldn’t hear him over the music. It didn’t’ matter anyways, she had no idea what he wanted anyways. She just grabbed him and kissed him. They made out for the rest of the night. If more happened, she didn’t remember it, to this day. She thought he’d be just another one night stand, just like all the other guys. But he wasn’t, he actually called her the next day, and the next week he sent her flowers, the next month, they were dating, and the next year, they were engaged and married.
Then there were the kids. He never told her how he felt about all of them, but she felt as if he resented her for having so many. But she resented him as well for the kids. She resented that he left her with them. She resented that he was able to get away from them, but she got stuck with them and their friends. By the time they each turned five, one after the other, she had given up as a mother. She didn’t know what to do or how to control them. Some books said be firm, others said be soft. There was happy medium, so she wasn’t happy with her life.
He was never home either. But she knew why. She knew it was more than just something at work, something with a client, something with his friends. But she never said anything. The books all said to be passive about this kind of thing. But what was this thing? Was he having an affair, was he living a double life of some sort? What was it? She’d been wanting a divorce for a while now, since the twins were born. But she hadn’t said anything. Her mother told her that divorce was bad for a family, that the twins were still too young to go through all of that, how would she survive after a divorce, good people don’t get divorced. Those were mother’s words. And mother was always right. But, if she was always right, then why did she get married?
She was still upstairs taking the curlers out of her hair when she heard the door close and his car drive away. She looked out of her window, and saw him going down the street towards the ballet school. “Ugh! He can never wait!” she hadn’t expected to say that out loud, and she didn’t expect her oldest son to hear her, “He always was an impatient bastard.” She whipped around in surprise, a loose curler fell to the floor, “Don’t say that about your father! He may be impatient, but he’s not a bastard! Are you ready to go? Check on your brother for me real quick please!” “Fine, whatever dude. He’s old enough to take care of himself.” She hated when he came out with smartass answers. That came from his father, not from her, of this she was sure of.
Her son stormed out of the restroom and into the hallway. She finished with her hair. Looked at her watch, six fifty. She quickly went into her room and changed into the yellow dress she had picked out for the night. It was an emergency purchase. The dress she had planned on wearing, the red one with the large jewels on around the collar, was too tight. She’d gained weight since the last time she wore that dress. When was that though? Was it for her husband’s Christmas party last December? Had it been that long since they’d made love? Six months? How did that happen? Well, he was always busy with something, as was she. But how could they let so much time pass by with out realizing it. It’s not like she missed it though. She’d been so busy with the kids, their activities, her volunteer work, taking care of her mother, especially after her father passed away. So much had happened in the last year, let alone six months.
In the last year, he’d become more distant from her. She lost him a long time ago though. But she didn’t know to what, or rather who? She’d contemplated an affair a while back, when she first started suspecting him of having one. But she wasn’t bold enough to start one, not anymore at least. But when they first got married, there was one, wasn’t there? She had had a fling with a particular person. They had met in her art class, bonded over surreal art, and enjoyed each other in ways she never had enjoyed her husband. Where had that bold woman gone? With her first son’s birth, came her free spirit’s death. Some might disagree and say her free spirit didn’t die, it was just tamed. But she knew it died. It died and it was never coming back.
She was slipping on a pair of green shoes to match the green dots on her yellow dress. She fished out the green earrings her middle son bought her for mother’s day, the gold bracelet with her children’s birth stones, and a gold necklace with her birthstone. She was about to put her wedding ring back on but she stopped herself. He doesn’t wear his anymore. He hasn’t for the last year now. She let out a sad sigh. Her bedside clock beeped, seven. She quickly went over to the nightstand and grabbed her earrings and slipped them on quickly. “Come on boys, let’s get going!”
The boys were waiting for her in the living room, arguing over which movies were better. They saw her fly out of the house, keys, purse and cell phone in hand. They quickly followed her out of the door and into the mini-van. She cut on the engine, buckled up, and pulled out of the drive way. The ballet school was ten minutes away, but she had a short cut that made it seven. Once there, she got lucky and found a parking spot near the front of the school. She quickly swerved into the spot, turned off the engine, and rushed in, boys following right behind her. She arrived just in time.
She found a seat near the middle of the audience, pulled the camera out of her bag, where it always was, and started recording immediately. She tried hard to focus on the show the entire night, but found it a little difficult to do so. She was distracted by her husband’s distant attitude. She decided to put away her thoughts and focus on her daughter’s recital. She watched a row of little girls that looked all alike prance across the stage. She looked for her little ballerina, but couldn’t recognizer her. It wasn’t until the row of girls did a little twirl that she saw one that had a crooked bun that she was able to see which one was hers. She felt so proud of her little lady. It was then that she felt sadness envelope her. She knew what she had to do. But she didn’t want to. She’d done everything she could to save her marriage, her family, her life as she knew it. But she had no choice. The only way to save the family was to end the marriage. But she didn’t want to. She’d wait. She’d wait for an opportune moment in which her daughter wasn’t the center of attention, when the kids weren’t demanding so much of her time and energy.
She’d gotten home at five thirty. It was now nine. The sun had set ages ago. She’d drank an entire bottle of red wine. She could barely keep her eyes open. She’d waited for long, and he never showed up. He never answered her calls. He had stood her up. The irony of it made her laugh. She had never expected her to be left waiting by him. She contemplated opening the bottle of white wine, but decided against it. Instead, she grabbed the bowl of strawberries, along with a bottle of chocolate sauce she had saved in her fridge, and started eating.
Had she done something wrong? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t explain what happened, or why. She always blamed herself when things went wrong in her relationships. But this wasn’t like her other relationships. In the past, she had be their “number one girl.” But in this one, she’s “the other woman.” She’s only the number two woman. When he looks for an escape from his home life, he calls her. And sometimes, he doesn’t even bother to call her, he just shows up. How could she let him treat her like a toy? She should have known better than to accept anything from a married man, be it something as small as a simple greeting or something large, like unrequited love. But he’d said he loved her. He said it every time they spoke, every time they saw each other. When she looked into his eyes, when he held her, when he kissed her, she felt it. Or at least she thought she felt it, she thought it was there. Maybe she was wrong. How could she miss it? The magazines all say there are signals men give off for everything. There are signals for when he’s lying, when he’s cheating, when he’s only using you. But how could she miss them? Did he even give off signals? Signals, signals, and more signals, but what if it’s all a bunch of lies? She didn’t know what to think any more.
The doorbell rang. She sprang up in excitement. She knew he arrived by surprise sometimes, but he didn’t have to ring the bell. He could have just opened the door, he had spare keys. She tried calling one more time, straight to voice mail. She sat on her couch, not knowing what to do. She looked at the picture on the little table next to her couch. He gave it to her for her birthday. It was a picture of them at the beach. The frame was from an antique shop. He knew she loved antique things. She looked at his eyes in the photo. “He looks as if he loves me,” she spoke to no one but her sadness. The doorbell rang once more. She was annoyed by this. She looked through the peep hole, it was her neighbor across the way, an elderly lady. She tighten the robe around her and answered her door. “Oh, I’m so sorry to bother you deary but, I was wondering, was my T.V. Guide accidentally put in your mailbox? It should have come in today but it hasn’t.” This was a weekly conversation, and every week, the answer was the same, “No ma’am, maybe it was put in 1005’s box. Maybe you should check with them?” “Oh, bless you dear! Thank you! And again, I’m sorry to bother you!” “Oh, it’s not a bother, it’s perfectly fine,” she hated lying to the old lady. “Bless you hon, and have a good night.” She puttered along to apartment 1005.
The couch was her solitary companion that night. She sat back down, grabbed her bowl of strawberries and her bottle of chocolate and kept eating. She started to cry. She felt it was unfair. It was unfair that she had to wait for him to come to her whenever he felt like it, unfair that she had to let him go, unfair that he didn’t love her at all. She got up to stop the music, it wasn’t helping her feel better in any way. She wanted to put a movie on, but all of them reminded her of him. Even her favorite movies betrayed her that night. She decided against watching anything that night. Maybe going to bed was the good idea that night.
She decided she needed to do something about this relationship, but what? She decided she’d call him the next day, tell him she was done with him. But why was she going to end it just like that? The only problem she had was that she was the other one. He hadn’t promised her that he would divorce his wife. So why was she expecting him to? Honestly, it hadn’t occurred to her why, in the year they’d been together, he hadn’t made that promise. Was it because he didn’t plan to? Was it because she had told him when they met that she didn’t want to get married? But that was a year ago, things had changed in that year. She had stopped smoking, just for him. She actually went out and got a job, something she wouldn’t have done otherwise, simply because she didn’t need to, that’s the whole point of being a “trust-fund kid” as her working friends called her. She actually took better care of herself, better than what she had previously. All of that was for nothing? Well, maybe not for nothing, she benefited somehow as well. But she didn’t care for that at that particular moment. She wanted to figure out how the scales were balanced.
Her phone rang. Was that him, finally? No, the caller I.D said it was her mother. She didn’t feel like speaking to her. “Leave a message mom.” She puttered around her apartment for a little bit. She started thinking maybe she should get a pet, a cat maybe, this way she wouldn’t feel so lonely, like on nights like this. She sat at her dinner table, it had been unused since she bought it. She got up, went to her refrigerator, and found the leftovers from the dinner she had with a friend the night before. She popped it into the microwave she’d only used maybe twice in the last year. She put it on an untouched plate, sat at the table and ate leftovers for the first time since childhood. “So pathetic…” she cried as she ate her left over chicken sandwich.
It was ten already, he was tucking in the twins. He had read them a bedtime story, but he had to change it a little to accommodate both of them. The story started off too girly, then it became too much for a boy, so he had to find a happy medium. If only life were that easy, a happy medium. But it wasn’t, not for him, not for a man leading a double life. Things only got harder for him then. They all said their good nights, he congratulated his little lady on a great show, turned out the lights, and headed downstairs.
He didn’t bother to check if his wife was in bed yet. It didn’t matter to him. He went into the kitchen, his favorite room for some reason. He flicked on the lights, and there she was, getting a cup of water in the dark. “Oh god! What are you doing in the dark!?” She chuckled a little, “I’m not that ugly yet, am I?” He smiled a little bit, “No, not yet. You haven’t put on your night mask yet.” She laughed hard because she knew it to be true, she saw her face every night in the mirror. “You look like you have something on your mind,” she sipped from her water. “Not really. I just have to get my cell phone from the office. I left in such a rush I forgot it.” He felt odd without it, mostly because he’s never without it. “We haven’t had a chance to talk in so long. How have you been? How’s all the clubs and extra-curriculars and all that?” He was making a sincere attempt at trying to talk to her, like they used to. Before the kids, they’d just talk for hours. After the kids were born, there was no talking between them. Conversations were empty and phony. The conversation continued with the usual small talk, “How are you? How’s work? What’s new?” The small talk.
He wanted to find an out, but she beat him to it, “Well, if you want to get your phone, you should head out now so you can get back home in time to get some rest. I’m off to bed, I have to get up early to bake cookies for the little man’s Boy Scout meeting. Good night. Get some rest when you can. I hope we can do this again.” She left the kitchen and headed up stairs. He reached across the table for her cup. She left a lipstick mark on the cup. She always did that, a cup of water before bed, lipstick stains on the cup, always the same dark colour, Bordeaux if he recalled correctly.
It was odd, he hadn’t thought of her like this in almost ten years. He laughed a little to himself. He remembered the crazy hair back in college. It was a shame she straightened it out now. Her hair was so crazy back then, just like her. He missed that very much. He put her cup in the sink, turned off the lights, and headed up stairs.
She changed into her pajamas and washed off her face. She was thinking of putting on her night mask, but decided against it. She pulled the covers off of the bed and got ready for the night. Why hadn’t she brought up the divorce when she had the chance. “I guess tonight isn’t the night.” She hadn’t turned off the lights to the restroom, so she went back, “Nope, not tonight my old friend…” “Not tonight what?” He caught her by surprise, “Oh! Ha! Um…no, um…I was thinking what you said about…um…the mask or whatever…so I decided not to put it on tonight. Ha ha! Yeah, that’s what I decided against tonight, “ He gave her a gentle smile, a hug, and a small kiss on the lips. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten one those from you!” She was taken aback by surprise. Maybe it was too soon to think about a divorce, maybe this marriage still had life in it.
He changed out of his clothes and into his pajamas, “I was just thinking about your hair back in college, you remember that?” How could she forget that? It was crazy, frizzy, and curly, all over the place. She laughed whole-heartedly, “You still remember that mess? Oh god, that was awful!!” She missed her crazy hair some days and thought if maybe she went back to that, he might love her again, but she wasn’t sure, maybe it was her imagination.
They crawled into bed together and pulled up the covers. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, “Good night sweetie.” He leaned over, grabbed her, and gave her a long kiss. She didn’t know what to make of it, but let it happen anyways. “I love you, you know that right?” she knew he meant it when he said that. “I love you too.” She had an easy smile on her face. They curled up together, like they hadn’t done in a long time and slept peacefully.
She cleaned up the little mess she had made and put everything away. She turned off the lights in her kitchen, turned off the television in her living room, the lamp, and worked her way around the apartment. She returned back to her bedroom and turned on her lamp and closet light. She removed her shoes, unhooked her stockings and slid them down her leg. She took off her garter folded it nicely and put it back in its drawer. She picked up the stockings from where they dropped. As they were about to go into the dirty clothes hamper, she thought about and decided that instead of putting them there, she’d fold them and put them back. The shoes went back into their place in the closet, the outfit into its little white box and back into the closet.
She slipped on a silk nightgown and turned off her closet light, leaving only the little lamp. She picked up her earrings from the nightstand. They had been a gift from him. She began to cry again, she couldn’t help herself. She went to her jewelry box and put them in. She picked out a pair her father gave her for her birthday and put them on the nightstand. She had been wearing the same earrings for a year, it was time to change them.
She decided he must have tired of her, much like she tired of the earrings. She couldn’t sleep though. There was too much going through her mind. Would he call her in the morning? Would he forget about her? She didn’t know what to expect. She got up, walked to the window and pulled the curtain back a little bit. She needed him out of her life, but how? She went back to her closet and pulled out a big box and started to take everything out of her closet he’d given her, clothes, shoes, jewelry, everything.
By one in the morning, she had no more energy to do anything. She’d cried herself out, and she was tired of removing everything he’d given her. She sat in the middle of her living room floor. The bottle of white wine, sitting next to her, empty. She didn’t know what else to do. All she could do was wallow in her sorrow. She didn’t want to though. She wanted to get up and do something. But she had nothing more to give.
She slowly got back up and headed back into her room. She didn’t bother to turn anything off or anything. She crawled into her large and lonely bed and cried herself to lonely sleep.
