The dryer wails when its cycle ends. I drop my pyjamas, remove a pair of jeans and slip them on. Hot denim hugs my legs like a perfect bath, and I close my eyes and embrace myself. Ben liked me in jeans. In our first kitchen, we once leaned against the counter with the faucet slurping behind us. He whispered, “Your ass is like sculpture in Levis,” and I smothered his mouth with mine, kissing him until he was out of breath.
- That day was one of my best. I'd stop eating for a week to have it back.
- Emptying the dryer, I carry the clothes to the living room. Richard, my new husband, has gone to work on this Saturday, and Jeremy is in bed for a nap. The house is mine again and my mind runs free, traipsing through a meadow of silence. Ben seems to be wandering the house with me, even though he won't be picking up Jeremy for two more hours. I can't stop thinking about him but I'm not surprised ? we fell in love this week in August six years ago.
- I fold the laundry on the new sofa Richard bought last week. He spent more than he should have, but said he wanted us to have the very best. He kissed me in front of the grinning salesman to get me to go along with his choice, and the wrenching mix of extravagance and embarrassment made my stomach hurt. I finger the sofa's buttery black leather whenever I walk by, and imagine having sex on it with Richard. It's always dark, and he's on top, moaning, Want me, Denise, want me, while driving my head against the armrest with his powerful hips. I bite his lip and draw blood when he comes inside me, and then we lie quietly, listening to the dry whistle of each other's breathing.
- With the laundry finished I make my way to the basement. I've been secretly sanitizing Jeremy's old playthings for a week, and a large box will go to The Salvation Army. I wish Richard wouldn't buy so much: the bathtub toys, the turtle on wheels, the musical storybooks. Jeremy will need time to accept him. Ten months can't compare with the three years he's had with his father.
- I cross the toys off my list and then head upstairs. Using scissors I cut tags off the sweaters I bought for Richard at the trendy men's store downtown. I also clip stray threads and look for flaws, hoping I don't find any. Returning a sweater would mean going back to the store, and trying to stay calm while telling a blank-faced clerk that I refuse to accept defective merchandise. Richard is attractive in most anything, with his thick neck and swimmer's shoulders, and women stare when we're at the market. I admitted to my closest friend, after three glasses of Merlot, that my decision to marry Richard was based on “some vague notion of love,” and a desire to possess someone good looking. She gave me a hug and I knew she felt bad for me. Of course I didn't tell her the real reason: Richard provided a quick exit from the quicksand of misery I was floundering in.
- Ben doesn't have Richard's looks, but then he doesn't need them. He has a disarming smile, an insatiable curiosity, and a caring for others that's a balm for those of us who need it. He feels threatened by Richard?I can see it in his eyes ? even though Richard's not as intelligent as he seems. Attorneys just like the sound of their voices; they're paid for pontificating in four-syllable words. Richard's compliments are meaningless too, and he offers them like sticks of gum. This morning I was the “most sincere” lover he'd ever had. Minutes later I was “unforgettable.”
- I brew another cup of coffee and realize I would've accepted less from Ben to save our marriage. Less from Ben ? it makes me laugh. He would've been relieved to have less from me. I once cleaned his car and found store receipts and food containers, and the car payment he forgot to mail, and in fifteen minutes I mucked out the trash, put the receipts in an envelope, and dropped the payment into our mailbox. Ben stood at kitchen door the next morning with bright, angry eyes, and said I had pushed him to the edge. He claimed my micro-managing of his life was sometimes difficult to endure, but after I “violated” his car he considered leaving me for the very first time.
- In the bathroom I comb my hair and rub spots of toothpaste from the mirror with a tissue. I've changed into a cashmere sweater and have taken off my bra ... Ben is sure to notice. The whole idea of his being my ex doesn't make sense to me. I wet another tissue and tell myself, there's no “ex” of anything; he'll always be Jeremy's father; the tie is permanent. And I'll always be his former wife, carrying tangled emotions that fill my body, prickly vines inching outward, slowly consuming me.
- I sip my coffee and smoke a cigarette on the back porch. It's twelve-thirty, and Ben will be here soon, driving up in the Honda we bought one sunny Saturday. The house seems different before his visits, as though a gift is hiding somewhere and I'm waiting for someone to give it to me. It's a special gift, one that will fill a void and complete me. Finishing the cigarette I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth ? Ben hates the smell of cigarettes ? and comb the dark hair I wear in a bob. Richard likes this boyish look with my startled green eyes, but I see a woman who's desperate to look pretty. Instead of brushing I swish my mouth with Listerine, once, twice, three times.
- Back on the porch I scan the lawn for the spiky arms of new weeds. Weeds are like unwanted thoughts, and I can't stand the sight of them. The phone rings, and I race inside, hoping it's Ben. Richard's baritone fills the receiver, and my heart falls.
- “I miss the lusciousness of your lovely lips.” He says this sweetly, and I wait for a warm feeling that does not come. “Why don't you and Jeremy meet me for lunch?”
“I'm sorry. We can't.” I pause to study the neat array of coupons on the refrigerator door. “Ben's coming, remember?”
- Silence … the receiver could be a hole. I give Richard the reassurance he needs and end our call, and then have a sudden urge to pee. But Ben finding me on the toilet would be embarrassing and awkward, and everything has got to be perfect. He's already ten minutes late and could wake Jeremy when he walks in the door, and then instantly they'll be gone. Six days of waiting over.
- At the picture window in the living room I find our neighbor pushing a lawnmower. Its engine sputters and roars, sputters and roars, and the noise is intrusive, murdering my concentration. I want him to turn it off. Now ? I want it off now. I begin pacing, my triangular path from the TV, to the closet, to the end table by the door. I then fall back onto the sofa and my jeans cut into my stomach. The sweater now feels like a blanket, and a bead of sweat trickles from my underarm.
- Ben is twenty-two minutes late, and I search through our talk from last weekend. His new haircut made him look sexy and lean, and I wanted to be close to his face, smell his breath, pull him inside me. He told me about going to the grill next to the railroad tracks with a friend, the place we once visited on Sundays to eat enormous breakfasts and read the newspaper.
- “Monty's still Lord of the Kitchen,” he joked. “My omelette was cooked with two sticks of butter.”
- We laughed, but he did not mention a change in plans.
My bladder now aches, as though a metal fist is squeezing it into a raisin. I can't wait to pee and stand, using an armrest for support, wanting to avoid wetting myself. The movement brings another gnaw of pain, and blood washes through my face; my skin feels moist and sticky. I take a step towards the bathroom, just as Ben pulls in front of the house. Seeing his car I want to cry.
- Despite my discomfort I feel buoyant, as though the day were a celebration, similar to the Monday we brought Jeremy home from the hospital. It snowed that morning, but the grass was still green, like mint peeking through layers of cotton. The house was warm when we entered, as if it wanted to welcome us home.
- I pull the front door towards me, and a sudden sharp cramp floods my eyes with tears. Thirty seconds, I tell myself. In thirty seconds you can run to the bathroom. Thirty seconds and it'll all be over.
- The edge of the door passes my face, and I struggle with what's before me: the shapes are all wrong; there's not enough light. I see Ben, his haircut, his familiar mouth. His lips are moving horizontally, to another shape ? a woman. She has soft eyes, brilliant white teeth, and long curly hair the color of sunlight. This stranger speaks to me, and several seconds pass before her words penetrate my cloudburst of confusion.
- “… I've heard wonderful things,” she is saying. “I feel I know you already.”
- The woman then touches my trembling hand, and the three of us go inside.
