Melanie Gideon - Wife 22

center.org and the password is 12345678. Please log on to our website and change the password at your earliest convenience.

From this point on, all correspondence will be sent to the Wife22 address. We apologize if the pseudonym sounds clinical, but this is done with your best interest in mind. It’s only by striking your real name from our records that we can offer you complete confidentiality.

A researcher has been assigned to your case and you will be hearing from him shortly. Rest assured all our researchers are highly credentialed.

The stipend of $1,000 will be paid upon completion of the survey.

Once again, thank you for your participation. You can take pride in the fact that you, along with a carefully selected group of men and women from across the country, are participating in a landmark study that may very well change how the world looks at the institution of marriage.

Sincerely,

The Netherfield Center

I quickly log on to the new Wife 22 account.

From: researcher101 ‹researcher101@netherfieldcenter.org›

Subject: Re: Marriage Survey

Date: May 4, 5:25 PM

To: Wife 22 ‹Wife22@netherfieldcenter.org›

Dear Wife 22,

Allow me to introduce myself-I’m Researcher 101 and I will be your point person for the Marriage in the 21st Century Study. First, my credentials. I have a PhD in Social Work and a Master’s in Psychology. I have been a researcher in the field of marriage studies for nearly two decades.

I’m sure you’re wondering how this works. Basically, I’m on a here-if-you-need-me basis. I’m happy to answer any questions or address any concerns you may have along the way.

Attached is the first questionnaire. The questions will be sent to you in a random order; this is done intentionally. Some of the questions you may find atypical, and some of the questions are not about marriage per se, but of a more general nature (about your background, education, life experiences etc.); please strive to complete all the questions. I suggest you fill out the questionnaire quickly, without thinking too much about it. We’ve found this kind of rapid-fire response results in the most honest responses. I’m looking forward to working with you.

Sincerely,

Researcher 101

Before I took the preliminary survey, I’d Googled the Netherfield Center website and found out it was affiliated with the UCSF Medical Center. Because of UCSF’s stellar reputation, I filled it out and emailed it off with little thought. What could answering a few questions hurt? But now that I’ve been formally accepted AND assigned a researcher, I’m having second thoughts about participating in an anonymous survey. A survey I’m probably not supposed to tell anybody (including my husband) I’m taking part in.

My heart ca-cungs in my chest. Having a secret makes me feel like a teenager. A young woman with everything still in front of her-breasts, strange cities, the unfurling of hundreds of yet-to-be-lived summers, winters, and springs.

I open the attachment before I lose my nerve.

1.Forty-three, no, forty-four.

2.Bored.

3.Once a week.

4.Satisfactory to better than most.

5.Oysters.

6.Three years ago.

7.Sometimes I tell him he’s snoring when he’s not snoring so he’ll sleep in the guest room and I can have the bed all to myself.

8.Ambien (once in a blue moon), fish oil tablets, multi-vitamin, B-Complex, calcium, vitamin D, gingko biloba (for mental sharpness, well, really for memory because people keep saying “That is the third time you asked me that!”).

9.A life with surprises. A life without surprises. The clerk at 7-Eleven licking her finger to separate the stack of plastic bags and then touching my salt and vinegar potato chips with her still damp licked finger and then sliding my potato chips into the previously licked plastic bag, thus doubly salivating my purchase.

10.I hope so.

11.I think so.

12.Occasionally, but not because I’ve ever seriously considered it. I’m the kind of person who likes to imagine the worst, that way the worst can never take me by surprise.

13.The chicken.

14.He makes an amazing vinaigrette. He remembers to change the batteries every six months in the smoke alarms. He can do minor plumbing repairs, so unlike most of my friends I never have to hire somebody to fix a dripping faucet. Also he looks very good in his Carhartt pants. I know I’m avoiding answering the question-I’m not sure why. Let me get back to you on this one.

15.Uncommunicative. Dismissive. Distant.

16. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

17.We’ve been together for nineteen years and three hundred and something days, my point is very, very, well.

This is easy. Too easy. Who knew that confession could bring on such a dopamine rush?

Suddenly the front door is flung open and Peter yells, “I call the bathroom first.”

He has a thing about not using the bathroom at school, so he holds it all day. I close my laptop. This is also my favorite time of the day-when the empty house fills back up again and within an hour all of my de-cluttering is for naught. For some reason this gives me pleasure. The satisfying inevitability of it all.

Zoe walks into the kitchen and makes a face. “Tuna casserole?”

“It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“I already ate.”

“At volleyball practice?”

“Karen’s mother stopped on the way home and got us burritos.”

“So Peter’s eaten, too?”

Zoe nods and opens the fridge.

I sigh. “What are you looking for? I thought you just ate.”

“I don’t know. Nothing,” she says, closing the door.

“Dang! What did you do to your hair?” asks Peter, walking into the kitchen.

“Oh, God, I forgot. One of my kids was playing hairdresser. I thought it was kind of Audrey Hepburnesque. No?”

“No,” says Zoe.

“No,” echoes Peter.

I slide the elastic out of my hair and try and smooth it out.

“Maybe if you combed it once in a while,” says Zoe.

“Why is everybody so comb crazy? For your information, there are certain types of hair that should never be combed. You should just let it dry naturally.”

“Uh-huh,” says Zoe, grabbing her backpack. “I’ve got a ton of homework. See you in 2021.”

“Half an hour of Modern Warfare before homework?” asks Peter.

“Ten minutes,” I say.

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

Peter throws his arms around me. Even though he’s twelve, I still occasionally get hugs. A few minutes later, the sounds of guns and bombs issue forth from the living room.

My phone chirps. It’s a text from William.

Sorry.

Client dinner.

See u 10ish.

I open my laptop, quickly reread my answers, and hit Send.

From: researcher101 ‹researcher101@netherfieldcenter.org›

Subject: #13

Date: May 5, 8:05 AM

To: Wife 22 ‹Wife22@netherfieldcenter.org›

Dear Wife 22,

Thanks for your first set of answers and for getting them back to me so quickly. I have one question. In regards to #13, did you mean to write “children,” not “chicken”?

Regards,

Researcher 101

From: Wife 22 ‹Wife22@netherfieldcenter.org›

Subject: Re: #13

Date: May 5, 10:15 AM

To: researcher101 ‹researcher101@netherfieldcenter.org›

Dear Researcher 101,

I’m sorry about that. I suspect my chickens, I mean children, are to blame. Or more likely auto correct.