Four Friends (8 page)

“I can’t believe it,” Andy said, resting her head in her hand. “I never even imagined this possible.”

“Me, either,” Gerri said. “I never knew anything was wrong with us.”

“But it was five years ago,” Andy said. “You sure you want to separate over something that’s been over that long? Five years doesn’t give you some peace of mind?”

“I can’t just forget about it,” Gerri said. “He said he tried but couldn’t get my attention. I’ll tell you one thing he never tried, though. He never said, ‘I’m tempted by a pretty woman at work and I need us to have more sex.’ He never came clean with me. Instead, he got involved, knowing the risk. Apparently we were worth the risk. I just can’t go through that again.”

* * *

There was a little lie in Gerri’s memory. She couldn’t exactly remember Phil romancing her, letting her know he was feeling needy. But she could remember their sex life dwindling, all but disappearing and not being sorry. It was so gradual she couldn’t put a time marker on it. She remembered when Andy met Bryce and was flushed and floating because of all the erotic sex and Gerri had just laughed at the absurdity of it. “Better you than me,” Gerri had said. “I don’t think I could handle the stress at this point in my life. And God knows, I can’t spare the sleep.”

There was one truth—she hadn’t realized it was just her. She thought it was both of them, their libidos beaten down by everything else. And, she didn’t think he minded, either. She thought he’d gone as dry as she had. She did remember times he snuggled her, pressed up against her, tried fondling. Most of the time she said, “Aww, Phil...” Honestly, she couldn’t remember when they’d last had sex. Months ago. And she had no memory of whether they were doing it more or less than that seven years ago.

But then along came a woman—a small, young blonde with fluffy hair in Gerri’s imagination—to awaken him. Stir him. What was so unfair in that image was that Gerri couldn’t possibly compete—not with her stretch-marked stomach, saggy boobs, torn sweats, her tired eyes, her menopausal mood swings.

What she did have, from the day they met to the day before she heard about the affair, was the ability to communicate with him about anything and everything else. Their professional lives had so much more in common, they used each other for sounding boards all the time. When it came to family, they shored each other up, at least one of them always being there for the kids. And they were unfailingly there for each other, whether it was a work problem or personal crisis, obsessively interested in each other’s lives. They worked together like synchronized swimmers to keep everything running as smoothly as possible. And they didn’t just have meaningful conversations sometimes—it was all the time.

And on those evenings they were both at home and could relax with a glass of wine or sit in front of a fire on cold winter nights, their time wasn’t consumed by passion or even that unhurried, gentle love she remembered from younger days. It was companionship that filled the hours—conversation, laughter, empathy, advice for each other. Maybe a movie or quiet time when they both read. Companionship. Partnership. Perfect symbiosis.

She didn’t know when or how the lovemaking disappeared. She had always thought it was normal for the sex drive to relax, to become better friends than lovers. She thought his libido was exactly like hers—no longer urgent. It simply went to sleep. When she thought about growing older with him, she never thought of sex being a part of their lives. Their lives were so good, their relationship so strong, it never once occurred to her they needed anything more, except maybe time.

Honestly, if he’d said, ‘I need a good, hard, sweaty roll in the hay before I lose my mind,’ she would have laughed at him.

They argued, yes. But they had laughed a lot, too. Their chemistry was good. She kept telling herself the marriage had such value, such depth, it just couldn’t have been all about sex. Sex was something they could’ve fixed. She wasn’t sure how but something could have been done.

Their first week of separation was difficult at best. The kids were angry and quieter than usual until they had regular short flare-ups, outbursts that had nothing and yet everything to do with their parents living apart. Gerri watched them carefully, fully aware that few people understood how closely depression and anger were linked. Jed was absent a lot, typical for a nineteen-year-old in college with a steady girl, but when he was around he held his tongue, a feat for him. Matt, on the other hand, acted as if nothing had happened; his conversation was all about baseball.

Jessie was in the worst shape, snotty and disrespectful, sneering sarcastically when answering her mother, muttering under her breath. “You probably didn’t notice there weren’t any chips or Cokes since you’re hardly ever here.” And “Why do I always have to stay home just because you and Daddy have this thing going on?” Once in a while Gerri heard what sounded suspiciously like the b-word directed at her. She was so awful that Gerri wanted to smack her. But then Jessie got out the photo albums, looking through the family pictures as if someone had died. As if trying to remember how they’d been before this.

A second week passed, Gerri seeing her counselor twice a week, whole sessions during which she did little talking and a great deal of crying. She slept poorly and wondered often if Phil was finding comfort somewhere else, angry because she wasn’t finding comfort anywhere. Angrier still because she had no desire to seek out any other form of comfort. It wasn’t that she was bored with Phil sexually, there just wasn’t so much as a spark in her.
How long can I do this before I say uncle?
she wondered.
Is it better with you as a cheater than without you as a partner?

Then Gerri looked through the photo albums herself, left on the coffee table by Jessie. She studied their faces, hers and Phil’s, twenty years ago, fifteen, ten, five. Two years ago. He was a good-looking man who had seasoned with age and experience. She looked at herself in the pictures very critically, but she had photographed well. She had probably never qualified as beautiful, but she was handsome—five-nine, slender, long neck, high cheekbones, engaging smile. She knew she was fortunate. Tall, slim women tended to look decent in everything from shorts and jeans to cocktail dresses. She marveled at the frequency of so many shots being captured while she smiled into the camera and Phil gazed at her. And in every goddamn one of them—from twenty years ago to two, even through the time it was happening for him with someone else, they looked happy and loving. How was that possible?

Gerri soldiered on. Walking in the early morning, driving kids to school, going to work, coming home in the evening to manage her home and family, sometimes finding Phil there using the computer in his home office after having spent time with the kids. Then she’d lie in bed at night feeling so robbed, so alone, every expectation shattered.

* * *

Sonja was having a really hard time with Gerri and Phil’s separation. She was trained to intuitively know when intimates were in trouble. A hundred seminars and retreats had helped her to develop these skills. She tried not to say anything when she noticed small things, like a person’s chakra auras or the balance in their homes being out of whack, but truthfully, except for the usual disruption of a busy household, she had always judged the Gilberts to have the stuff of a solid, unbreakable family. This troubled her because she loved Gerri; she should have paid closer attention.

She refused to offer to clear the presence of Phil out of the house with sage and feathers. She hoped this was just an altercation that would mend. She didn’t offer healthy meals or special herbal drinks because while Andy would become annoyed and throw her offerings in the trash, Gerri was just testy enough to shake her till her teeth rattled. So she remained positive, urging Gerri to listen to her body’s messages and use her instincts in getting through the rough patch with a goal of emerging stronger, better. And Gerri snarled at her.

Then she came home from a yoga class to find George was home early. She found his car in the garage and she went into the house and called out to him. He was in their bedroom, packing.

“George,” she said, surprised. “Do you have to leave town?”

He turned slowly. Gravely. “No, Sonja. I’m leaving. I’ve rented a place. I’m sorry, Sonja. I’m moving out. I just can’t do this anymore.”

“Do? This?”

“The candles. The tinkling music. The little waterfalls. The bland meals. The way-out-there philosophies on destinies being altered by where people put the goddamn red candle. I just want a normal life.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, laughing nervously. “You’re just teasing me again...”

He took a breath. “This is no joke. I can’t take it. I feel like a fucking Chia Pet, constantly fed and groomed. I don’t want you in charge of my sleep patterns, my cholesterol. I take goddamn pills for my cholesterol. It’s not necessary for me to eat grass. My home life is intolerable. Seriously, Sonja—if you want to do this for a living, have at it. Knock yourself out. But I’m through.”

“But where will you go? What will you do?”

“What will I do? Spill food on my shirt and let the dry cleaner get it out. We haven’t had an adult conversation in years. It’s all you telling me what to eat, what to wear, scolding if I want a drink, going on and on about my fucking chakras. I managed fine never knowing I had chakras!”

“But we have sex at least twice a week,” she said, remembering everything Gerri had said about her deteriorating sex life with Phil.

“We have sex
exactly
twice a week. Tuesday night and Saturday morning. And you want the truth? I couldn’t care less. Sex isn’t the problem, and frankly, it never was. Not even before I met you. But I can’t be in this kind of relationship. It’s loony. I want to come home and turn on the football or baseball game, eat bloody red meat on a TV tray, spill on my shirt, fall asleep on the couch, wake up tired and hungover once in a while.”

“George—”

“You’ll be taken care of, don’t worry. I’m sure your heart’s in the right place, but if I come home to candlelight and spa music one more time, I’m going to snap. We’re not right for each other, Sonja. We’re not. I don’t want you to make me last so that every day of my life feels like an eternity. I’m miserable.”

“But you’ll be alone! No one will care about you!”

He thought about that for a moment and said, “I know.” Then he zipped his bag, hefted it and walked out of the room. He turned at the door. “If you need me, just call my cell. I won’t abandon you, but I have to stop this now. Before I go totally crazy.”

“But, George,” she cried, running to him, grabbing his shirtsleeve. “You want me to change? I can make changes! We’ll compromise!”

He just looked at her. “Sonja, you can’t change this. And you haven’t heard a thing I’ve said in ten years. You need to just carry on, be yourself and let me go.”

And then he left.

* * *

Gerri walked out of her house at the crack of dawn, holding her coffee cup. Andy emerged from across the street at about the same time. Sonja had not been early; Gerri made a mental note to thank her for that. Sonja was go, go, go all the time; she seemed to see it as her mission to keep her friends in shape, moving all the time. Gerri and Andy met in the middle of the street. “Where’s little Mary Sunshine?” Andy asked.

“Sleeping in?” Gerri asked with a short laugh.

BJ came out of her house down the street and the women waved at each other. BJ began stretching for her run while the other women wandered up Sonja’s walk.

“We could sit on the planter box, finish our coffee,” Andy suggested.

“Yeah, but I’d rather get this over with,” Gerri said.

“You doing okay?” Andy asked.

“Ach,” she said with a noncommittal shrug. “I think I’m doing what all women in this position do. Half the time I want him killed, half the time I just want him back.”

“Bryce must be a real loser,” Andy said. “I’m pretty miserable, but I don’t want him back. I just want the kitchen finished and some energetic young stud to come over a least a couple of times a week, then leave quietly.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Andy laughed at her. “Really? You’re just bitter. Not that I blame you, but I hope you can work this out. I love Phil. I know he has to be punished, but I love him. If I didn’t love you more, I’d take him off your hands.”

They approached the door. “He watches himself brush his big, beautiful teeth, splatters all over the mirror and everywhere. He snores like a locomotive and farts in his sleep. He blows his nose in the shower and poops three times a day.”

“Oh, he’s regular, that’s good. That’s one of the things I’ll be looking for in a man,” Andy said with a laugh. Then she knocked on Sonja’s door.

“Knowing what you know, you could not have a man like Phil.”

“Sister, if I could get a man down to one infidelity per twenty-five-year marriage, I’d think I was queen of the universe.” Andy knocked again.

“I’m not ready to laugh about this yet,” Gerri informed her. “Where the hell is she? She’s usually pacing outside my door at least five minutes early. Hit the bell.”

“I don’t want to wake George. He doesn’t get up before six.”

“I wonder how he gets away with that, being married to the hyper one. Ring it, anyway.” When there was still no answer, Gerri pounded on the door. “What the heck,” she muttered. “Andy, see if you can see in the garage windows, see if there’s a car in there.”

Andy handed off her coffee cup and jogged to the front of the garage. She had to jump up and down to get her eyes up to the windows in the garage door. Then she stopped and turned toward Gerri. “Just her car,” she said. “You think they went out for a whole night somewhere?”

“She would’ve scheduled that with us three weeks in advance,” Gerri said. Then she pounded again and yelled, “Hey, Sonja! Sonja, come on!”

“They’re not home,” Andy said.

“She would’ve called. You know her—she’d pull herself off the operating table and call to say she’s running a little late because of major surgery.” She pounded and yelled again.