Sharon O'Donnell

 

EXCERPT

When Eric got home, the kids were sleeping soundly. I, as usual, was folding laundry. He looked at me, his eyebrows slightly raised. "You feel better?"

I smiled. "I'm okay now.." He sat down beside me, reached for some towels to fold. "How was your dinner meeting?" I asked.

"Pretty interesting. This CEO is trying to rewrite the tax laws. I mean, you wouldn't believe how he -"

"What'd you have to eat?" I interrupted.

"Some chicken mushroom thing and a salad. The tax laws -"

"A Caesar salad or a regular salad?

Eric looked at me and bit his lip, contemplating why I was so curious about food. "Regular. Tomatoes and lettuce basically." He shrugged his shoulders. "What's the big deal, honey?"

"You know how I love to go out to restaurants. I'm living vicariously." He sighed. I took the pile of folded towels into the bathroom. He followed me.

He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. "I know we haven't been out in a while," he said. "I've been so busy." He started to massage my shoulders and neck, and it felt absolutely wonderful. "Do you have any plans for tonight?" Eric whispered suggestively. I immediately felt guilty because I wasn't in the mood for sex. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror and saw my mascara was smeared and my sweatshirt had ketchup on it. I felt very far from being sexy.

"Honey, I'm so tired," I said. "I just feel so pulled by so many people, doing this for Bradley and that for Timmy . . ."

Eric pulled back from me like he had been bitten by a snake. "And sex for me?"

"I didn't say that."

"Please," he said, "don't feel like you've got to do that for me. It's supposed to be a mutual thing."

"It is," I said quickly, foreseeing World War III about to begin. "It's just that I am so out of steam by the end of the day that -"

"I've heard this before," Eric said coldly, yanking off his paisley tie. Tears formed in my eyes. I hadn't meant to start a fight. He stomped into the bedroom and threw the tie on our unmade bed. "I know you're tired,” he admitted, “but what about us?"

Us. The word was deafeningly loud in my mind. For some reason at that moment, I couldn’t think about ‘us’. Our eyes met, and then I looked away. "What about me?" I asked, my voice cracking. My lips started to quiver and I struggled to hold back the tears, determined I would not look weak in his eyes.

"I give you time to go out with friends sometimes!” he exploded. “I give you time to work on your children's story!"

"You give me time?"

He dismissed my comment with a wave of his hand. "You know what I mean.”

I bit my lip. Good. The tears had disappeared, the natural urge to cry suppressed. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I do.” To me, he was saying that I had to be given things, that I didn’t earn or deserve them. I shook my head and sighed.

Eric glanced at me, perturbed. “What do you want from me?” he asked. “I can't figure you out any more. I'm afraid to even touch you."

“Here we go again,” I mumbled.

He shrugged his shoulders, then said sarcastically, "Hey, why don't you hang a red flag over the bed if you're too tired to have sex and a green flag if it's okay?" He took off his dress shirt and pulled a t-shirt on over his head. He threw the shirt into the laundry hamper and grabbed the tie off the bed.

"I wish you didn’t get so mad at me," I told him.

Eric fingered the tie he held in his hand and absentmindedly stared at the design. "I'm not mad I'm . . ." He paused and ran his hand through his hair. "I guess I'm just tired, too." He flung the tie onto the dresser and headed downstairs. "I've got some work to finish up." He said he wasn't mad, but I knew he was. And I knew he had a right to be.

I ran some water in the bathtub and added some bubble bath. I sat down in the warmth of the water and closed my eyes. I savored this rare time alone. I thought of Eric's comment about putting a green flag above the bed when it was okay to have sex. Even though he was being sarcastic when he said it, it showed his dry sense of humor. I smiled. I had forgotten.

The telephone rang the next morning as I was cleaning the toilet in the downstairs bathroom. "Did you hear who's back in town?" my friend Marie asked as soon as I said hello.

"No. Who?"

"Robert."

"You're kidding," I said. I thought of the photo on the magazine cover at the grocery store I’d seen yesterday and felt for an instant like fate was somehow at work. My sophomore & junior year college heartthrob back in town.

"I ran into him last night on campus," Marie said. " I'm teaching that history night course and I stopped by Chamblee's to grab something to eat and there he was."

"What's he doing here?" I asked, still in disbelief. Marie explained that Robert was only in town for a few days for an English department symposium. I hadn't heard from Robert in nine years and had often wondered what was going on in his life.

"He's teaching at NYU now," Marie said. "He's written some plays for local productions and even worked on one off-Broadway." She paused and then added with a hint of teasing in her voice, "He asked about you."

"What'd he say?"

"Wanted to know if you were still married."

I asked the question that that I was afraid to ask. "Is he married?" I imagined him married to some gorgeous size 6 actress with breast implants who brought his plays to life on stage, gaining his admiration and gratitude forever. I imagined them eating at bistros in the city, going to cast parties with their arms around each other's waists, and taking carriage rides through Central Park. I hated her.

"He's divorced," Marie said. I smiled and was glad no one could see it.