Jade Sharma - Problems

“Stop it. Look, I only like to be treated badly in a hot way.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not your husband. I didn’t make any vows to you.”

“You’re a great teacher, by the way. Some of the lessons were repetitive, like what a giant fucking asshole you are.”

“You came on to me!”

“Right, the innocent sixty-one-year-old teacher who was taken advantage of. Ripped from the headlines of Asshole Magazine .” My voice got louder. People were staring. I was officially making a scene.

“I only answer you when you text or e-mail me first.”

“Like that proves anything except how fucked-up you are. You led me on and you know it.”

“Fine, I wanted you then, but now I don’t. Clear?” He blinked, and then he glared at me. I could feel him hating me for not going along with the script. I wasn’t supposed to fight back. I was supposed to cry and say I understood.

“If you never heard from me again, would you care?” Fuck it. If he wasn’t going to have sex with me, then what was the point of trying to be cool about this?

“I would be concerned.”

“Concerned like they’re out of milk at the store, or concerned like my child is missing?”

“In the middle,” he said.

“Why did you start with me?” I should have shut up and left. There were no answers that would make anything better.

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“How is it possible I’m sitting here dying, and you’re sitting there like nothing?”

He shook his head. “We’re living in two different universes.”

“Did you sleep with other people when we were together?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it was none of your business.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be with someone I can be with be with. Someone I can marry.”

“But you’re old and completely fucked-up. Why would anyone want you?”

“Great point. Why did you want me?”

“Because I could tell you were sad.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Can’t you, like, grandfather me in to this new life of yours? Fuck me till you find a wife?”

“Grandfather you in? You’re funny,” he smirked. “C’mon, let’s be friends. This is the worst.” He never said anything was “the worst” before he met me. He was using my own language to manipulate me into not making a scene. He deserved to be embarrassed.

The waitress came by, and I asked for a dessert menu. I was making it uncomfortable for him by making him sit there. I was willing to endure the pain knowing at least I was making this difficult for him.

“Will you share with me?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said.

I ordered the triple chocolate mousse and banana ice cream. “You are a deceitful selfish asshole.”

“You’re the one who is married, and I’m the one who’s deceitful?”

That was good. I hated him. I kind of wanted to make out with him. Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t we just go and fuck and be happy?

“I’m married, so I’m always the villain and you’re always the innocent one, right?”

He grinned. “Why did you want an old guy like me anyway?”

I could tell it wasn’t an act. Never seeing me again didn’t mean shit to him. Take that, self-esteem. “Is this the only way you can get off anymore?”

“Keep it up, and I’m gone,” he said.

“Fine, go. I’ll go, actually. You are officially boring the shit out of me.”

I stood up and threw my napkin in his face and knocked over my water. Before I could take his glass and throw it at him, he jumped out of his seat, and then I left. Tears running down my cheeks. I called Elizabeth, blubbering. She said, “Just come here.”

Behind every crazy woman is a man sitting very quietly, saying, “What? I’m not doing anything.”

* * *

It was inevitable from the moment we met that Peter would leave me.

After we returned from visiting his family, things cooled between us. It was obvious, but he wouldn’t admit to anything being different. A common tactic of men — denying they are behaving differently so you feel like you’re just going nuts.

He would wake up early, go for a run, do sit-ups as he watched The Colbert Report , then go to work, and then come home. Instead of pawing at me drunkenly like he usually did, he would pass out facing the wall. I tried to kiss him but would get a cheek instead of his lips. When I said, “I love you,” he said it back like a robot. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he was busy. I chose to believe him.

We had been together for so long we had gone through cycles, and I wanted to believe this was just another one. I tried waiting it out. There would be a day when he would feel lonely or sad and then he would come to me. If I pushed too hard it would just start a fight. He would scream, “Dammit, Maya, I am exhausted.”

I called Ogden. “Hey, miss me?”

“Of course.”

“Regret dumping a hot piece of ass since you know you’re closer to death, and you probably won’t have that many chances to have sex?”

“Every moment of the day.”

“Good. Drinking more?”

“Yeah, Maya, I’m completely miserable and live in constant regret.”

“It’s too bad you ruined a good thing. You’ll never get another chance.”

“I don’t think I could honestly live with myself if I lost you again, so maybe it’s better we don’t try it again.”

“What level is your sarcastic meter up to?” I asked.

“It’s so high it’s almost full circle back to being earnest.”

“I don’t have time for your old-man mind games. It’s kind of a waste talking to you anyway, since you probably won’t remember anything because, you know, you’re old and probably getting senile. Thank god I won’t have to be there when you have ranch dressing running down your wrinkled varicose-veined chin.”

“All your jokes and comments about me getting old and senile never get old.”

“That’s because you don’t remember them because you’re old and senile.”

“This is tiresome and frustrating.”

“Yeah, that’s what you’re going to be saying when you’re trying to bang a woman your own age.”

“Maya, seriously, I have work to do.”

“Peter is being weird. Like not talking to me or touching me. Ever since we got back from Vermont. I think he’s going to leave me.”

“You’re the one who might be having memory issues. How many times did you say to me you needed to get out of your marriage? That you were stuck in a rut?”

“That’s different from him leaving me. I was talking about me leaving him.”

“So leave him. You’re unhappy with him. You need to get your life back together. Why don’t you ask him to take a break?”

“A break? That’s stupid. I’m not ready. It was one thing when I had you, but if he leaves. . I’m just not ready. I need to line up another dude.”

“Why can’t you be alone for five minutes?”

“I probably have some kind of personality disorder. I can spend hours alone watching television or listening to music. But being sober, the silence creeps up. I can’t handle it. I can’t handle not having someone around to tell me I look hot or get mad at me or just generally acknowledge my existence. It’s like, what’s the point of being alive if no one is there to see it? If there’s no one to disapprove of my behavior, then why bother doing it?”

“Your dance card won’t be empty for very long.”

“God, a new one. Find a new dude, fall in love, and then slowly start to see whatever special, unique, fucked-up hell starts to show itself. Everyone is fucked-up. It’s just a matter of waiting to see what kind it is and if you can put up with it. At least Peter keeps the kitchen clean. He is a good wife.”