Melanie Gideon - Wife 22

“Alice.”

“What?”

“Come here now. ”

“I’ve always fantasized about having sex on a table but I’m not sure I’d recommend it,” William said half an hour later.

“I concur, Mr. B.”

“What did you think about the pitch?”

“I’m not sure the client will go for it.”

“Why not?”

“The client thinks it’s a bit too on-the-nose. Can we move this into the bedroom now?” In order to lie next to each other on the table, each of us had a leg and an arm dangling off.

“I’ve changed my mind. I like the table.”

“Well,” I said. “It’s hard. I’ll give you that.” My hand traveled down his chest to his waist.

“That’s the nature of a table,” he said, covering my hand with his own, guiding it south.

“Always have to be in charge, don’t you.”

He groaned softly when I touched him. “I’ll come up with a new pitch, Ms. A. I promise.”

“Don’t be stingy. Five new pitches. The client would like some choices.”

In deference to Helen, not wanting to rub it in her face (this was my idea), we’d decided it was best if our relationship stayed secret at work. Keeping up the masquerade was both thrilling and exhausting. William passed by my cubicle at least ten times a day, and because I could see directly into his office (and whenever I looked, he was looking right back at me) I was in a constant state of arousal. Nights, I came home and collapsed from the effort of having to sublimate my desire all day. Then I sat around and thought about his Levi’s. And how he looked in those Levi’s. And when we did venture out, for a walk in the Public Garden or to a Red Sox game, or to the hinterlands of Allston to hear some alternative band, it was like we’d never done any of those things before. Boston was a new city with him by my side.

I’m sure we were extremely annoying. Especially to older couples that did not walk down the sidewalk hand in hand, who often didn’t even seem to be speaking, a three-foot distance between them. I was incapable of understanding that their silence might be a comfortable, hard-won silence, a benefit that came from years of being together; I just thought how sad it was they had nothing to say to one another.

But never mind them. William kissed me deeply on the sidewalk, fed me bites of his pizza, and sometimes when nobody was looking, copped a quick feel. Outside of work we were either arm in arm or hands in each other’s back pockets. I see these couples now, so smug, appearing to need nobody but one another, and it hurts to look at them. It’s hard for me to believe that we were once one of those couples looking at people like us, thinking if you’re so damn unhappy why don’t you just get divorced?

Lucy Pevensie

Not a fan of Turkish Delight.

38 minutes ago

John Yossarian

Has a pain in his liver.

39 minutes ago

So sorry to hear you’re feeling unwell, Researcher 101.

Thank you. I’ve been spending a lot of time in the infirmary.

I assume you’ll still be in the infirmary tomorrow?

Yes, and the next day and the next and the next until this damn war is over.

But not so ill that-

I can’t read your surveys-no. Never that ill.

Are you saying you like reading my answers, Researcher 101?

You describe things so colorfully.

I can’t help it. I was a playwright once.

You’re still a playwright.

No, I’m wan, boring, and absurd.

You’re funny, too.

I’m quite certain my family would not agree.

Regarding #49. I’m curious. Have you ever been to the Taj Mahal?

I was there just last week. Courtesy of Google Earth. Have you ever been?

No, but it’s on my list.

What else is on your list-and please don’t say seeing the Mona Lisa at the Louvre.

Tying a cherry stem with my tongue.

Suggest you set the bar a little higher.

Standing atop an iceberg.

Higher.

Saving somebody’s marriage.

Too high. Good luck on that.

So listen, I have to press you a bit further on your refusal to answer #48.Resistance of this sort usually indicates we’ve touched upon a hot-button topic.

You sound like the Borg.

I would guess your aversion has something to do with the way the question was posed?

Honestly I can’t remember how it was posed.

It was posed in an entirely clichéd way.

Now I remember.

You’re insulted by a question that has been so clearly designed for the masses. To be lumped into a group is an affront for you.

Now you sound like an astrologer. Or a human resources manager.

Perhaps I can ask #48 in a way that you might find more palatable.

Go right ahead, Researcher 101.

Describe the last time you felt cared for by your husband.

Come to think of it, I prefer the original question.

Alice Buckle

Bloated

24 minutes ago

Daniel Barbedian Linda Barbedian

You do realize posting on Facebook is not the same as texting, Mom.

34 minutes ago

Bobby Barbedian Daniel Barbedian

Check no longer in the mail. Tell Mom.

42 minutes ago

Linda Barbedian Daniel Barbedian

Check in the mail. Don’t tell Dad.

48 minutes ago

Bobby Barbedian Daniel Barbedian

Tired of funding your social life. Get a job.

1 hour ago

William Buckle

Ina Garten-really? Golden raisins in classic gingerbread?

Yesterday

“I saw a mouse yesterday,” says Caroline, unpacking vegetables from a canvas bag. “It ran under the fridge. I don’t want to freak you out but that makes two this week, Alice. Maybe you should get a cat.”

“We don’t need a cat. We have Zoe. She’s an expert mouse catcher,” I say.

“Too bad she’s still in school all day,” says William.

“Well, maybe you can fill in for her,” I say. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“This rainbow chard looks amazing!” says Caroline.

“Except for those little bugs,” I say. “Are those mites?”

William paws through the chard. “That’s dirt, Alice, not mites.”

William and Caroline are just back from an early-morning trip to the farmers’ market.

“Was the bluegrass band there?” I ask him.

“No, but there was somebody playing ‘It Had to Be You’ on a suitcase.”

“It’s pretty,” I say, fingering the yellow and magenta stalks, “but it seems like the color would leech out once you cook it.”

“Maybe we should put it in a salad,” suggests Caroline.

William snaps his fingers. “I’ve got it. Let’s do Lidia’s strangozzi with chard and almond sauce. Ina’s gingerbread will be perfect for dessert.”