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IVY
“BABY, I MISS YOU SO MUCH,” his voice is raspy with strained desire.
I press the phone to my ear, my heart pounding, a thin sheen of sweat spreading over my skin.
“I miss you, too, more than ever.” My fingers tighten around the phone.
“Just wait ’til I get my hands on you tomorrow night. You’d better get a lot of rest tonight because you’re going to need it. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re not gonna be able to walk ’til Monday.”
My breath catches and I cover my mouth with my hand. Tomorrow night. Friday night.
“Oooh . . . let’s just forget dinner and spend the night in bed.”
“Mmm, baby, I like the way you think,” he sighs into the phone. “I better go now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I love you.” My stomach twists into a knot.
“I love you, too, babe,” he says back.
The words are so familiar to me; he’s said them to me thousands of times. But this time, he’s not saying them to me, and that’s not my voice saying it back. I have said them, many times. But not this time.
This time, there’s someone else hearing and saying those words with my husband.
I wait for him to hang up before I gently press the end button and put the phone back in its charger next to the bed, my hand trembling so violently that I almost drop it. Hot tears burn in my eyes and spill down my cheeks. Grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, I dab my eyes and run for the master bathroom as I hear him coming down the hall toward our bedroom.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, trembling, my mind racing, trying to somehow make sense of what I just heard. It must be some sort of mistake. Or a joke. I did not just hear my husband on our telephone, at midnight, telling another woman he loves her. He’s going to see her tomorrow night.
He misses her.
He loves her.
She loves him.
He’s going to fuck her hard.
I lurch toward the toilet and vomit up eighteen years of trust, devotion, commitment, and love.
Now all I have is lies.
“Ivy . . . are you alright?” The doorknob rattles. “Babe, why is the door locked?”
I wipe my face with a cold, damp washcloth and take a deep shaky breath. “I’m not feeling well. Go to bed.”
“Can I get you anything? Unlock the door. I don’t want you locked in the bathroom while you’re sick.”
Still sitting on the floor in front of the toilet, I reach over and unlock the door, and he immediately comes in and stands over me.
“What’s wrong?” He squints at me in the bright light of the bathroom. “You were fine a little while ago. Did you eat something bad?”
No. I married something bad.
Concern is all over his face, and it looks sincere, causing my stomach to turn again at the thought of how long he’s been lying to me. Right to my face. I vomit again, and he takes a step backward. My head spins round and round. He loves her. He misses her. She loves him. Friday night. He’s supposed to love me. Only me.
Earlier, he mentioned having to work late tomorrow night. He’s been working nights and weekends for a long time, leaving me and the kids here alone.
He was with her.
Of course.
As I kneel on the floor and wretch, more signs flood through my mind like evil flash cards. Strange expenses on our credit cards. Long nights at the office. A short temper with the children. Lack of interest in sex. Avoiding family outings.
My stomach heaves again.
“Ivy, you’re worrying me. You never get sick.” He fills a small paper bathroom cup with water and hands it to me. “Try to drink a little water.”
Taking the cup, I peer up at him and start to sob. I have loved Paul for eighteen years, and never once in all that time have I ever doubted him in any way. Not once.
Confusion shrouds his face. “Are you crying? What’s wrong?”
“I heard you.” My voice is a wretched whisper, my throat raw from dry heaving.
“Heard me what?”
“You, while you were downstairs on the phone.” I swallow back the acid in my mouth. “With another woman.”
His skin pales, and his hand goes to clutch the back of his head like he does when he’s mad or upset. “Fuck.” He closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them slowly to meet mine. “You were eavesdropping on me?”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Are you serious? That’s all you can say? No, I wasn’t eavesdropping. I saw the phone light up and thought one of the kids was calling somebody.”
He blows out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ivy.” He paces the small room. “We have to talk. I didn’t want you to find out like this.” Oh, God. He’s not even denying it.
I stand up and wobble on my legs for a second before pushing past him into the bedroom. The bathroom is suddenly a way too personal space to be sharing with him. I sit on the edge of the bed, stunned that he hasn’t denied anything. Why isn’t he denying it? This is the part where I find out it was some kind of misunderstanding.
“Paul, what’s going on?” More tears stream down my face. “Please tell me I’m hallucinating or something, or that this is some kind of misunderstanding.”
He sits on the bed about three feet away from me. “Ivy, I’m so sorry—“
“You’re sleeping with another woman? You love her?” I demand, crying harder.
He rubs his forehead. “I don’t think we should talk about this when you just got sick.”
“I’m sick because of this.”
He looks at me and then quickly looks down at the floor like he can’t stand to see the sight of me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way,” he says again, his voice low.
My stomach pitches, and new tears spill from my eyes.
“Did you want me to find out at all? Or were you just going to keep seeing her behind my back?”
Still staring at the floor, he shakes his head. “I really don’t know.”
“So it’s true?” My body trembles uncontrollably as reality starts to edge back in.
The man I’ve loved since high school looks me in the eyes and nods his head. “Yes, I’ve been having an affair.”
My heart and stomach both sink, and then rage boils up inside me.
“Are you kidding me?” I hiss, trying not to yell. “I’ve been having a physical relationship with the detachable showerhead for a year now while you’ve been with another woman?” All this time, I assumed that his lack of sexual interest in me was due to him working too hard and dealing with too much stress. I never once even considered he was having an affair.
“Please don’t yell. I don’t want the kids to hear this.” He glances toward the hallway. “I didn’t plan any of this. You know how I feel about infidelity. I hate it . . . but it just happened.”
I let out a half-hysterical laugh. “Really? How exactly did it just happen, Paul? Who is she?”
“The hygienist at the dentist office,” he admits quietly, not meeting my eyes.
I cannot even fathom how anyone could be attracted to someone while they are scraping plaque and other ickiness from their gum line. The visual of it almost makes me laugh.
“I can’t believe this. The hygienist?” Despite the fact that she’s had her fingers in his mouth, as well as mine and my children’s, I have to admit she’s young, thin, gorgeous, and bubbly. She’s the kind of woman that all men want and all women hate but secretly want to be.
“She’s like twenty two years old, Paul. What’s happened to you? Cheating on me for a year? Leaving me and the kids every weekend while you spend time with her?! Lying to all of us? What the hell is wrong with you?”
He sits there staring at the floor and doesn’t say a word. I want him to give me some kind of answer, some kind of explanation. But he gives me nothing.
I grab another tissue and blow my nose, hating that I am crying in front of him because I am not a pretty crier, and now I suddenly feel ashamed to look like a mess in front of him.
“So now what?” I ask him, even though I don’t want to hear the answer at all, because I already know what’s coming. “What do we do now?”
“We don’t have to talk about that right now. I think you’ve had enough for today. Why don’t you—”
I slam my hand on the nightstand, making him jump. “Don’t coddle me, Paul! Just say it. I don’t want to drag this on. This is killing me inside. Do you even see that? Do you even care?”
“Of course I care, Ivy. I care about you and the kids more than anything in the world.”
“Apparently not, or we wouldn’t be sitting here discussing your affair.”
He ignores my sarcasm. “You know I care about you and the kids. I always will. But I think we’ve grown apart over the past few years. You’ve said it yourself a few times. We barely see each other. We argue-“
“We barely see each other? Paul, you’re never home. I’m always here with the kids! You’re either working, or I guess, lately, you’ve been out dating and having a fun life with someone else. The only reason we argue is because you’re never here! Don’t you dare try to blame this on ‘us’. I’ve been a good wife and mother. I’ve never strayed. I take care of everything around here.”
He closes his eyes for a long time and nods. “You’re right. You are, and I know that. You’ve always been a great wife, and you’re a terrific mom.” He shakes his head slowly, still looking at the floor, which seems to be the only place his eyes can focus on now. “I guess I just started to want something more, or different, than that.”
I stare at this stranger who has taken over my husband’s body. “More? What does that even mean? We have two beautiful children and a nice house. Both of us have good jobs. We’ve been in a relationship for twenty years, eighteen of which we’ve been married! We have everything you have always said you wanted. What more do you want?”
His face contorts with exasperation and confusion. “I don’t know, Ivy. This is hard for me, too. I love you and the kids. I’m very torn. I just . . . I don’t even know how to explain it. I guess I just want something different. When I met Charlene, it’s like everything I thought I wanted just changed. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“That’s just great. I’m glad to hear that Charlene has led you to the path of true happiness and saved you from your boring, torturous life here with your family. I’m sure her sexy body had absolutely nothing to do with any of it.” I hurl my tissue into the small garbage pail next to the nightstand.
“That’s not true, and I didn’t mean it like that. Maybe because I’ve only ever been with you, I got restless. Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to be with someone else?”
I turn to stare at him. “So you got bored sleeping with me and had to have some twenty year old? Someone you could fuck so hard they couldn’t walk? Is that what you said to her? When did you become a pig? And no, I have never thought about being with another man. Unlike you, I have always been more than happy with exactly what I have, even though you’ve never fucked me so hard I couldn’t walk. In fact, most times, you can barely stay awake to finish the job.”
He winces at my comment but reaches for my hand. I quickly pull away. “Don’t touch me, Paul.”
“I’m trying to apologize.”
“Don’t. That’s not even possible. What are you going to do now? What do you want?” I repeat.
He sighs and looks around our bedroom like he’s never been here before. “I don’t think it’s right for me to stay here anymore with all this going on. I’m going to leave and come back tomorrow to pack some things, and if it’s okay with you, I’ll come back with a truck next weekend for the rest of my stuff. We should probably talk to a lawyer. I promise I’ll take care of you and the kids. You don’t have to worry.” I can tell by the way he’s talking that he’s thought about all of this before. He’s mulled it around in his mind, trying to figure out what to say and what to do, and now he’s just reciting it.
Divorce. He’s divorcing me. And I don’t have to worry. I’m not even getting a chance to win him back . . . He doesn’t even want to try to make our marriage work. I am floored that he can throw eighteen years of marriage away over some girl he barely knows, who is only a few years older than his own daughter.
I shake my reeling head slowly. “Just like that? We’re over? You don’t even want to try to fix this? We could try couples therapy. Lots of people do that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and they’re very discrete—”
“Ivy, I’ve been sleeping with another woman for a year. How do we fix that?”
The brutality of his words stuns me. I lost a year of my marriage without even knowing it. How did I not know? How did I miss all the signs?
“I thought you loved me.” My voice cracks. “I thought we loved each other.” I realize I sound pathetic, but these are the only words that come out.
“I do love you, but I somehow fell in love with her, too.” He walks slowly to the closet that we share and throws some clothes into his gym bag. “This has been a mess for me, too, Ivy. It’s been destroying me inside to lie to you for so long. I know you don’t deserve it, and I hate hurting you.”
“Then why did you? Why couldn’t you just stay committed to us? Why would you let someone come between us?”
He approaches me with his overstuffed bag in his hand. “I don’t know. I wish I had a better answer, but I don’t. I never wanted to hurt you. Ever. One thing just kept leading to another. You’re right—I should have stopped it. I’m an asshole. I know that.”
“So you want to leave me and the kids? For her?” I demand.
“Not for her. But for now, I think I need to leave. And I’m not leaving the kids. I’m still their father.”
My heart cracks and shatters into a million little isolated memories of our life together, splattering like blood at a brutal crime scene. This will never be able to be cleaned up or put back together again. He’s obliterated it.
His eyes are on me as I fall apart. I know he can’t see it, but all my hopes and dreams of growing old together with the man I love are climbing into that bag with him to be given to someone else.
“Is it because I’m not as thin as I was?” I ask him, my voice shaking. “I can join a gym, buy new clothes—”
“Ivy, God . . . no. You’re beautiful, and I still love you. It’s not that at all.”
I shake my head slowly back and forth as I try to grasp what’s happening to us. “I just don’t understand what I did wrong.”
He takes a few steps closer to me. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I swear to you. I didn’t plan it, and I wasn’t looking for it. Actually, she kinda reminds me of you when we were young. She’s happy and carefree. I like being with her and not having kids screaming and fighting, or on the other side of the wall or blasting video games and music. I’m sorry.”
“You wanted kids, Paul. They make noise.”
“I know that. But come on, Ivy. We had Macy when you were eighteen and I was nineteen. We were way too young to have a baby. We never got to enjoy ourselves or each other. And as soon as she was able to be by herself a little bit and not need one-hundred percent of your attention, Tommy came along. I guess I want to have fun for a little while, while I’m still young.”
