Melanie Gideon - Wife 22

“What kind of a life is that?” I ask.

“One where you wear your hair in braids,” pipes up Peter, referring to the pink-cheeked girl working the Two Girls and a Plow booth. “Like your apron,” he says to her.

“Muslin,” says the girl. “Holds its shape better than cotton. Twenty-five bucks.”

“When you’re under thirty, aprons are sexy,” says Bunny. “Over thirty you tend to look like one of the Merry Wives of Windsor. Caroline, would you like one? My treat?”

“Tempting, seeing that I only have four good apron-wearing years left. But I’ll pass.”

“That’s a good girl,” says William. “Real cooks aren’t afraid of stains.”

Bunny and Jack stroll just ahead of us, holding hands. Watching the two of them together is difficult: they’re so openly affectionate. My husband and I walk on opposite sides of the aisle. It occurs to me we’ve become one of those couples I wrote about in the survey. The ones who have nothing to say to each other. William has a grim, closed look on his face. I turn my back to him and open my Facebook App on my phone. John Yossarian is online.

Do you ever see other couples and feel envious, Researcher 101?

In what way?

That they’re so close.

Sometimes.

So what do you do?

When?

When that happens?

I look away. I’m an expert compartmentalizer.

William calls to me from across the aisle. “Should we buy some corn for tonight?”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to pick it out?”

“No, you go right ahead.”

William drifts over to the Full Belly Farm booth. He looks forlorn. His job search isn’t going well. Every week that passes wears him down a little more. I hate to see him like this. Despite the fact that his hijinks were a contributing factor toward his being laid off, they’re not the only reason. What happened to William is happening to so many of our friends: they’re being replaced by younger, cheaper models. I feel for him. I really do. I duck behind a towering display of beeswax hand creams.

Could it be as easy as holding his hand, Researcher 101?

Could what be?

Connecting with my husband.

I don’t think so.

I haven’t done that in a long time.

Maybe you should.

You want me to hold my husband’s hand?

“Is a dozen enough?” William shouts.

“That’s perfect, honey,” I answer.

I never call him honey. “Honey” is for Bunny and Jack’s benefit.

Bunny turns around, smiles, and nods at me approvingly.

Uh-not really.

Why not?

He doesn’t deserve it.

Oh, God.

“What?” Bunny mouths when she sees my startled face.

Suddenly I feel protective of William. What does Researcher 101 know about what William deserves?

That was mean. I don’t think I can do this anymore, Researcher 101.

I understand.

You do?

I was thinking the same thing.

Wait. He’s going to give up that easily? He’s giving me such mixed messages. Or maybe I’m giving him mixed messages.

“Do you have a five, Alice?” asks William. I look across the aisle. His face has suddenly gone the color of milk. I think about Jack and his heart. I think I should start buying baby aspirin and forcing William to take it.

“Are you okay?” I ask, approaching the stall.

“Of course. I’m fine,” says William, looking completely un-fine.

I glance at the corn. “Those are puny ears. Better make it another half dozen.”

“Will you help me?” he says.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “I feel dizzy.”

He really does look sick. I take his hand. His fingers lace automatically through mine. We make our way over to a bench and sit there quietly for a few minutes. Peter and Caroline are sampling almonds. Zoe is sniffing a bottle of lavender oil. Bunny and Jack are standing in line at Rose Pistola to buy one of their famous egg sandwiches.

“Do you want an egg sandwich?” I ask. “I’ll go get you one. Maybe your blood sugar is low.”

“My blood sugar is fine. I miss this,” he says.

He looks straight ahead. His thigh touches mine ever so slightly. We sit stiffly next to each other like strangers. I’m reminded of the time I brought soup to his apartment on Beacon Hill. The first time he kissed me.

“You miss what?”

“Us.”

Seriously? He’s picking today , the day after I sneaked out to have an assignation with another man, to tell me that he misses us? Emotionally, William always arrives at the table just as the plates are being cleared. It’s infuriating.

“I’ve got to find a bathroom,” I say.

“Wait. Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard.”

“And all you have to say is you have to go to the bathroom?”

“Sorry-it’s an emergency.” I run into the Ferry Building, find a seat at Peet’s, and pull out my phone.

What the hell, Researcher 101?

I know. You’re angry.

Why did you even suggest meeting me?

I shouldn’t have.

Did you even plan on coming?

Of course I did.

You didn’t change your mind at the last minute? Decide the fantasy was better than the real thing?

No. It’s the real you that’s so appealing. I’m not interested in fantasies.

The damn survey. It’s completely changed my life.

Why?

Because now I realize how unhappy I’ve been.

Subjects frequently-

Don’t talk to me about subjects. Don’t insult me. I’m more than a subject to you.

You’re right.

I’m thinking of leaving my husband.

You are?

Researcher 101’s shock buzzes right through the phone; I feel it like a Taser. That’s not what he wanted to hear, neither is it true. I haven’t contemplated leaving William. I just said it to get a response. I look up and see Bunny walking briskly toward me. I slip down into my seat. She grabs the phone out of my hand, quickly reading the last lines of our chat. She shakes her head, kneels by my chair, and begins typing.

Let me ask you a question, Researcher 101.

Okay.

Tell me one thing you love about your wife.

I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

I’ve told you everything about my husband. Surely you can tell me one thing about your wife.

Okay, she is the most stubborn, proud, opinionated, stick-to-her-guns, loyal-to-the-death person I know. The weird thing is I think you’d like her. I think you’d be friends.

Oh. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with that information.

I’m sorry-but you asked.

It’s okay. Actually it makes me feel better.

It does? Why?

Because it shows me you’re not a cad. That you have nice things to say about your wife.

“Cad? Who the hell uses words like ‘cad’?”

“Quiet!” says Bunny, elbowing me aside.

Thank you, I guess.

So what are we supposed to do now, Researcher 101?

I don’t know. I think things will become clear. I never thought any of this would happen. You’ve got to believe me.

What did you think would happen?

That you would just answer the questions and we would go our separate ways and it would be over.