Melanie Gideon: Wife 22

“That’s absurd.”

William shakes his head. “It would be a harder life for him.”

“You sound like a homophobe.”

“I’m not a homophobe, I’m a realist.”

“Look at Nedra and Kate. They’re one of the happiest couples we know. No one discriminates against them and you love Nedra and Kate.”

“Love has nothing to do with not wanting your children to be discriminated against unnecessarily. And Nedra and Kate wouldn’t be happy if they didn’t live in the Bay Area. The Bay Area is not the real world.”

“And being gay is not a choice. Hey, he could be bisexual. I never thought of that. What if he’s bisexual?”

“Great idea. Let’s shoot for that,” says William, leaving my office.

I log on to Facebook once he’s gone and check my news feed, scrolling through the status update chaff.

Shonda Perkins

Likes PX-90.

2 minutes ago

Tita De La Reyes

IKEEEEAAAAA!!!!Hell-somebody ran over my foot with their shopping cart.

5 minutes ago

Tita De La Reyes

IKEEEEAAAAA!!!! Heaven-Swedish meatballs and lingonberries for $3.99.

11 minutes ago

William Buckle

Fall, falling…

1 hour ago

Wait, what? William has a new post and he’s not quoting Winston Churchill or the Dalai Lama? Poor William is one of those Facebook posters who has a hard time thinking of anything original to say. Facebook gives him stage fright. But this post has an undeniably ominous ring to it. Is that what he came to talk to me about? I have to go ask him what he meant, but first I’ll send out a quick post of my own.

Alice Buckleis educating herself.

DELETE

Alice Buckleis stuck on Band-Aids.

DELETE

Alice Buckleblames her chickens.

SHARE

Suddenly my Facebook chat pops up.

Phil ArcherWhat did the poor chickens do?

It’s my father.

Honey, Alice. R u there?

Hi Dad. I’m in a hurry. Have to go find W before he leaves for work. Can we talk tomorrow?

Date tonight.

You have a date?? With who?

I’ll let you know who if there’s a second date.

Oh. Okay. Well, have a great time!

U not worried about me? STD’s 80% increase in people over 70.

Dad prefer not discuss yr sex life.

WHO ELSE DISCUSS SEX LIFE?

Caps means shouting.

WELL AWARE OF THAT . Thank u for check. It arrived early this month. Gd thing. Property taxes overdue. Stay. Talk 2 me.

Next month I can send more $. This month tight. Zoe lost retainer. Again. Did u change to energy efficient bulbs like I told u?

Will today. Promise. What’s new with u?

Peter may b gay.

Not new.

Zoe embarrassed by me.

Not new either.

Endless to-do list. Can’t keep up.

Dad?

Dad?

One day u look back & realize this is the best part of life. Going going going. Always something to do. Someone expecting you to walk in the door.

Oh, Dad. Yr right. I’m sorry.

:)

I’ll call tmr. B careful out there.

Love u

U 2

The smell of toast drifts into my office. I shut off my computer and walk into the kitchen in search of William, but everybody’s gone. The only sign of my family is a stack of dishes piled high in the sink. Fall, falling will have to wait for later.

My cell rings. I don’t have to pick it up to know it’s Nedra. We have this weird telepathic telephone thing. I think of Nedra and Nedra calls.

“I just got my hair cut,” she says. “And Kate told me I look like Florence Henderson. And when I asked her who the bloody hell Florence Henderson was she told me I looked like Shirley Jones. A Pakistani Shirley Jones!”

“She said that?” I say, trying not to laugh.

“She certainly did,” huffs Nedra.

“That’s terrible. You’re Indian, not Pakistani.”

I adore Kate. Thirteen years ago, when I met her, I knew within five minutes that she was perfect for Nedra. I hate that line youcompleteme , but in Kate’s case it was true. She was Nedra’s missing half: an earnest, Brooklyn-born, say-it-like-it-is social worker, the person Nedra could count upon not to sugarcoat things. Everybody needs somebody like that in their life. I, unfortunately, have too many people like that in my life.

“Sweetheart,” I say. “You got a shag?”

“No, it’s not a shag, it’s layered. My neck looks ever so long now.”

Nedra pauses for a moment. “Oh, fuck me,” she says. “It’s a shag and I look like a turkey. And now it seems I’ve grown this little Julia Child hump on the back of my neck. What’s next? A wattle? How did this happen? I don’t know why I let that slut Lisa talk me into this.”

Lisa, our mutual hairdresser, is not a slut, although she has also steered me in the wrong direction several times. There was an unfortunate burgundy henna phase. And bangs-women with thick hair should never have bangs. Now I keep my hair shoulder-length with a few face-framing layers. On a good day people tell me I look like Anne Hathaway’s older sister. On a bad day, like Anne Hathaway’s mother. Just do what you did last time is the instruction I give to Lisa. I find this philosophy works well in many circumstances: sex, ordering a venti soy latte at Starbucks, and helping Peter/Pedro with his algebra homework. However, it’s no way to live.

“I did something. I’m doing something. Something I shouldn’t be doing,” I confess.

“Is there a paper trail?” asks Nedra.

“No. Yes. Maybe. Does email count?”

“Of course email counts.”

“I’m taking part in a survey. An anonymous survey. On marriage in the twenty-first century,” I whisper into the phone.

“There’s no such thing as anonymity. Not in the twenty-first century and certainly not online. Why in God’s name are you doing that?”

“I don’t know. I thought it would be a lark?”

“Be serious, Alice.”

“All right. Okay. Fine. I guess I feel like it’s time to take stock.”

“Stock of what?”

“Um-my life. Me and William.”

“What, are you going through some sort of midlife thing?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Answer the question.”

I sigh. “Maybe.”

“This can only lead to heartbreak, Alice.”

“Well, don’t you ever wonder if everything’s okay? I mean not just on the surface, but really, deeply okay?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Really, Alice. I know everything’s okay. You don’t feel that way about William?”

“It’s just that we’re so distracted. I feel like each of us is a line item on the other’s list that we’re just hurrying to check off. Is that a horrible thing to say?”

“Is it true?”

“Sometimes.”

“Come on, Alice. There’s something else you’re not telling me. What brought all this on?”

I think about explaining to Nedra about my tipping-point year, but honestly, as close as we are, she hasn’t lost a parent and she wouldn’t understand. She and I don’t talk much about my mother. I save that for the Mumble Bumbles, a bereavement support group that I’ve been a member of for the past fifteen years. Even though I haven’t seen them recently, I’m Facebook friends with all of them: Shonda, Tita, and Pat. Yes, I know it’s a funny name. We started off being the Mother Bees, then became the Mumble Bees, then somehow it morphed into the Mumble Bumbles.