Melanie Gideon - Wife 22

“Never.”

“This is not a therapy session,” says Kelly. “It’s a focus group for the client . This woman is not our target market. Cut her loose.”

“Do you wish you felt differently?”

Sonja nods.

“If you felt differently, how often would you like to have sex? How many times a year?” asks William.

“Twenty-four?” she says.

“Twenty-four. Twice a month?”

“Yeah, twice a month sounds good. That sounds normal to me. Do you think so? Do you think that’s normal?”

“Normal? Well, that’s one more time a month than I’m having it,” says William.

“That’s it. Shut it down,” says Kelly.

I gasp. Did my husband just announce to the entire focus group and his team the frequency with which we have sex?

“My wife and I pretend we have sex every week, just like most other married couples we know who are really only having sex once a month,” says William.

“I’m shutting the camera off,” warns Kelly.

“I wouldn’t call our marriage sexless,” William continues. “Sexless would mean sex once every six months, or once a year. It’s just the moment used to be right more often than not,” says William.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” says Elliot.

“Tell me that’s not going to be us in twenty years!” says Melinda.

“Never,” says Avi. “That will never happen to us, babe.”

“ Anytime the moment is right. It’s the anytime that really gets me. That’s not freedom. Not for the woman, anyway. It’s a threat,” says Sonja. “It’s an erection Code Orange.”

“Can I ask you one more question?” asks William.

“Go ahead,” says Sonja.

“Do you think most women your age feel this way?”

Sonja sniffs. “Yes.”

I press Pause on the video and rest my head on my desk, wishing I could rewind the last ten minutes of my life. Why, oh why, oh why did I watch that? I feel ashamed for going behind William’s back, angry at the brash and unprofessional way he conducted himself (the cardinal rule of conducting focus groups: never, never share personal information), humiliated that he publicly outed us as having a sexless marriage (not true, we have sex once a week-okay, once every two or three weeks-okay, maybe sometimes it stretches to once a month), worried that he is on some sort of new medication that he hasn’t told me about, afraid that medication is Cialis and soon he’ll be telling me that thanks to modern medicine we now have a thirty-six-hour window in which I will be expected to have sex at least three times a day, but the strongest feeling is grief, because I saw parts of myself in both women. The desire-to-inhale-the-very-air-her-boyfriend-breathes Melinda. And the moment-is-rarely-right Sonja. They were- are -both me.

Tell me, Alice Buckle, what car would you be if you were a car right now?

That’s easy: a Ford Escape. A hybrid. Base model. Well-used. A scraped-up front bumper. Pings all over the doors. A mysterious rotten-apple smell rising up from the floorboards, but dependable. A car with all-wheel drive that’s good in the snow but whose potential is totally wasted because its owner lives in a city where the temperature rarely dips below 40.

And that, right there, is the problem.

25.William’s girlfriend’s name was Helen Davies and she was the VP of Branding. The rumor floating around the firm was that they would be engaged any day. They came in together in the mornings, sipping their coffees. They’d go to Kendall Square for lunch. She’d retrieve him at the end of the day and off they’d zip down to Newbury Street for cocktails. She was always stunningly dressed. I shopped at Filene’s Basement.

I was put to work on a toilet paper account. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded. I got to go home with rolls of TP samples and think of inventive new ways to say gets your ass really clean with just one sheet.

I put him out of my mind. Until one day he sent me an email.

– Are those running shoes on your desk?

I emailed him back.

– Sorry! I know that’s a filthy habit. Putting my shoes on working surfaces. It won’t happen again.

And then he emailed me again.

– Just went by your cubicle. Where are they now?

– Where are what now?

And then a flurry of emails.

– Your running shoes, Brown.

– They’re on my feet.

– Because you’re going home?

– Because I’m going running.

– When?

– At lunch.

– Where?

– Um-outside.

– Yes, Brown. I assumed outside. Where outside?

– I start at the Charles Hotel. I do a five-mile loop.

– Meet you there in fifteen minutes.

From: Wife 22 ‹Wife22@netherfieldcenter.org›

Subject: Timing

Date: May 18, 12:50 PM

To: researcher101 ‹researcher101@netherfieldcenter.org›

Researcher 101,

It might take me a little longer than usual to get the answers back to you, as things are a bit crazy here. I should probably let you know that my husband was demoted. I’m sure we’ll figure it out, but it’s been stressful on all of us. I have to say it’s a strange time to be recounting our courtship. It’s hard for me to reconcile the young, vibrant William and Alice with the currently middle-aged us. It makes me kind of sad.

All the best,

Wife 22

From: researcher101 ‹researcher101@netherfieldcenter.org›

Subject: Re: Timing

Date: May 18, 12:52 PM

To: Wife 22 ‹Wife22@netherfieldcenter.org›

Wife 22,

I’m very sorry to hear about your husband’s job. Please take all the time you need. Going back to the beginning is often difficult and dredges up all sorts of emotions. But in the long run I think you’ll find it enlightening to return to the past.

Sincerely,

Researcher 101

From: Wife 22 ‹Wife22@netherfieldcenter.org›

Subject: Re: Gambling

Date: May 18, 1:05 PM

To: researcher101 ‹researcher101@netherfieldcenter.org›

Researcher 101,

Sometimes when I log on to my computer I feel like I’m in a casino sitting in front of a slot machine. I have the same shivery feeling of anticipation-that anything is possible and anything can happen. All I have to do is pull the lever, i.e. press Send.

The rewards are immediate. I hear the machine churning. I hear all the lovely chimes and whooshes and pings. And when the symbols come up: “Kate O’Halloran likes your comment”; “Kelly Cho wants to be your friend”; “You have been tagged in a photo”-I am a winner.

What I’m trying to say is thanks for such a quick response.

Best,

Wife 22

From: researcher101 ‹researcher101@netherfieldcenter.org›

Subject: Unreachability

Date: May 18, 1:22 PM

To: Wife 22 ‹Wife22@netherfieldcenter.org›

Wife 22,

I understand what you’re saying completely, and often feel the same way, although I have to admit it worries me. It seems like we’ve gotten to the point where our experiences, our memories-our entire lives, actually-aren’t real unless we post about them online. I wonder if we might miss the days of being unreachable.

All the best,

Researcher 101

From: Wife 22 ‹Wife22@netherfieldcenter.org›

Subject: Re: Unreachability

Date: May 18, 1:25 PM

To: researcher101 ‹researcher101@netherfieldcenter.org›

Researcher 101,