(Continued from last issue)
David and Diane have been married for years; then there is Julie, the young secretary whose axis collides with the couple’s in ways none of them saw coming.
I arrived at the house about twenty minutes after I had left the apartment, and while there was no sign of the children or their grandmother, Diane was in the living room, and from the minute I walked in, the tension was thick and palpable.
“Hi,” I greeted her simply, making a beeline for the stairs.
“I guess I don’t need to bother asking where you’ve been,” she answered frostily, clearly itching for a fight.
“Probably not,” I did not rise to the bait. “Are the children already in bed?”
“It’s nine thirty, half an hour past their bedtime; so, where else do you expect them to be?”
“Goodnight, Diane,” I answered firmly, making it clear I was not going to give her the fight she was looking for, then continued on towards the stairs.
She was, however, determined to be heard, and turning off the TV, followed me.
“So, this is what your children should expect going forward? You not getting home until they are already in bed!” she demanded, slamming our bedroom door behind her.
“Well, they aren’t going to get any sleep if you keep slamming doors like that,” I answered wryly.
“You think this is all one big joke, but you’re the only one laughing! You have decided to play house with that whore and your bastard and completely forgotten about your other children!”
“As usual you are being over dramatic; I haven’t forgotten about any of my children, and me coming home a little after their bedtime on one night doesn’t imply that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to shower and go to bed,” I answered tiredly, and headed for the bathroom.
“Fine! Scrub extra hard; I don’t want you bringing her scent into our bed,” she sneered.
As it were, her concern was unfounded for Julie and I had not had sex that evening, but I was not in the mood to prolong the argument any further; so, I walked on into the bathroom, pointedly locking the door behind me.
I knew David was with that whore when he was not back home by dinner time, and while I was obviously irked by that, what really upset me was how bothered Daniel was by it.
Ever the sensitive one, he ascribed his father’s absence to our fight the previous evening, and blamed himself for that.
“I’m sorry I made you and Daddy fight yesterday,” he apologized meekly, as we sat down to dinner.
“You didn’t make us fight! We argued because your father was being silly – it wasn’t your fault!”
“But the argument was about me and now he’s not here,” he insisted sadly.
“Your father was just looking for something to argue about, and if he hadn’t picked you, he would have picked something else; so, again, it wasn’t your fault – just like it’s not your fault he’s not here now – that’s on him, not you; do you understand?” I asked firmly.
He nodded slowly, but I could tell he was not convinced, and it was that that really bothered me; the implications and pain of David’s affair were hard enough for me to deal with, but I would not let Daniel shoulder their weight too.
When David finally did return, I was waiting and ready to have it out with him; with my mother having returned to her own home, and the children in bed, there was nothing to hold me back, and I was determined to put down my foot and draw some sort of line in the sand about the madness that our life and marriage were descending into.
However, it quickly became apparent that as determined as I was to reach some sort of resolution, David was just as determined not to discuss the matter, and when he walked away from me and locked the bathroom door behind him, it was all I could do to stop myself from banging the door down; instead, I stalked out of our room and into the guest bedroom – there was no way I could bear to spend the night in the same room as him, let alone the same bed.
It had been lovely having David around for the evening, mainly because it proved that he really did intend to keep his promise to spend more time bonding with Junior, but also because it felt to me like our own relationship was somehow promoted to a higher standard.
Dinner had been a hit; the conversation had flowed easily (perhaps because Sandra had stayed away), and unlike in the past, he had not
kept checking the time while we were together, which had only added to the relaxed, comfortable feel of the evening.
In fact, the evening had been perfect in every way but one – we had not made love. I don’t know why; there had definitely been plenty of opportunity for it as Junior had dozed off at about eight, and with Sandra still cooped up in her room, we definitely had the privacy and time, but while David was affectionate, he had not pushed any further; so, neither had I.
It was ironic that it bothered me as much as it did, because not only had we just had a weekend of more than enough sex, but in the past, whenever David had made love to me at the apartment, a part of me had felt like that was the main reason he had come, and yet now, when he made it obvious that he was content to just be with Junior and me, I wondered why he was not pushing for more.
I guess it is true what they say about women after all – we really don’t know what it is that we want. I wanted David to spend more time with Junior, but I wanted him to come to the apartment because of me too.
I did not want him to view me as merely a source of sex, but I wanted intimacy and love making too. Maybe I just wanted it all.