Kiss Me, Lynn (3 page)

T
hey ordered, then found their gate. By the time they reached the boarding area, their drinks had been finished and the cups dropped into a trash bin. Lynn wished for a refill to take onto the plane. She couldn’t wait to get seated and try to calm herself. Excitement mixed with anxiety made her want to drop everything and bolt toward the exit.

A few deep breaths and letting herself focus on the chatter among their group helped.
Lynn settled into the semi-comfortable seat with her Kindle in her lap, but didn’t feel like reading quite yet. She surveyed the group. She knew they’d be wonderful companions on this trip. Barb, BJ, Vicki, Dorothy, Cathi, and Sheila could barely sit still, they were so excited. Sharon looked like she might organize a Zumba class to expel some of her energy if they didn’t board soon. The craze had enveloped Sharon completely. She even did the moves with tassels she’d learned to twirl expertly. Quite a sight!

Now, i
nstead of excitement, Lynn felt trepidation and fear that this trip was completely wrong for her. What could she be thinking to do this now? Next year, maybe. But it was ridiculous to have such thoughts after the amount of money she’d drawn from her savings to pay for the flight and tour. Luckily, her mother had sounded almost happy—and completely normal—when she’d called a few days ago. Mom actually mentioned Bill, asking if there could ever be reconciliation between them. So that’s how he’d found out about her trip, prompting him to e-mail her. She’d need to talk to her mother about that after she got home.

Reconciliation a
fter two years? Absolutely not. Lynn had realized, before their wedding plans had progressed very far, that being married to Bill would mean living most of her life lonely, even if they were home together every night. She’d cancelled their engagement, knowing Bill would find someone else—probably someone who worked in the same firm—and his life would continue with barely a ripple. She hadn’t thought about him for a long time.

N
ow, though, after her mother’s reminder and Bill’s e-mail, she let her thoughts wander back to the break-up. She knew she’d made the right decision and thought he’d finally agreed, since he’d cut off all communication with her after that night. But his e-mail indicated that might not be the case. His post had come straight to the point.

“Lynn, I can’t stop thinking about you.
About us. Please, can’t we talk about it? I know you’re going to Peru, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why, other than something to do with school. I told you how unpleasant it was there. Maybe we can have dinner after you get back and you can tell me about your trip, which I hope will be more enjoyable than mine was. I’d like to see all your photos. Then, we can talk about what went wrong between us and what we can do to make it right again. I still love you.”

“…what
we
can do to make it right again”? As if she’d been the one to ruin everything. And saying he “still” loved her was a joke. How could he stay away for two years if he’d ever loved her? The part about wanting to see her vacation photos didn’t ring true, either. He’d often said that watching vacation photos was an enormous bore. He hated going on vacation. It cost too much and he’d rather stay home and watch football or basketball or baseball or fishing. It would serve him right if she agreed to dinner—steak and lobster—then made him look at every photo with an extensive commentary for each one—at Sharon’s house—before escorting him to the door.

Never happen.

But his e-mail had brought back memories she’d locked in the back of her mind. Back in college, they’d both been busy and happy to meet whenever schedules allowed. They counted on having more quality time once they had their degrees and Bill was working for his father’s firm in Charlottesville as a CPA. She’d applied for a teaching position there and was hired. He disappeared into the firm and rarely came out. She told herself that having a quiet accountant for a husband would be a good balance for her tendency to be frantic at times.

Teaching in a huge
high school wasn’t enjoyable at all for her because it increased her frenzy and never allowed her to feel like she was teaching one student at a time. The classes were larger than she preferred, so individual instruction was done through computer programs. She’d always dreamed of connecting with her students in a special way so she could instill a love of history in them. A field trip to the Frontier Culture Museum in Staunton would be a big incentive for students to behave in class and earn the right to go on the trip. But the monster school frowned on field trips because of the cost of bussing students, and because one teacher’s field trip would lead to more teachers being bombarded with requests for “excursions”—her principal’s word—so field trips were nixed the first time she brought up the idea.

Her evenings were spent grading papers, concocting endless lesson plans that were packed with
detail she really didn’t need, and waiting endlessly for Bill to get tired of sitting at home all the time and decide to do something more exciting than watching men cast lures into lakes.

The intercom on the plane clicked on again, just as the plane
taxied to the end of the runway for take-off. To alleviate the tension, Lynn always pictured huge yellow cartoon chicken feet on the bottom of the plane, running faster and faster until they were spinning when the plane left the ground. Then, when the landing gear retracted, she imagined the feet being pulled into the plane and hearing a huge sigh from the big yellow chicken. Silly, but effective at relieving her fear of take-offs.

Her thoughts returned to
Bill’s e-mail. A wave of pain overwhelmed her, reliving the realization that she could never be happy married to an accountant who worked more than twelve hours a day in his office, then another two hours at home. During the two months they were engaged, Lynn had spent most of her time alone or with Sharon and their other friends. When Bill got to his house from work every evening, he was so exhausted that most of the time he fell asleep, and forgot the plans they’d made. She’d learned she’d have to go to his house to see him after he’d finally gotten home, and usually cook supper for him. How anyone could sleep sitting in a chair at the dining table was still a mystery, but Bill could—and had—more times than she could count. Then he’d move to the couch, turn on the tv and fall asleep again.

Finally, after
watching him fall asleep every night for weeks, after they’d announced their engagement, she’d had enough. He’d refused to choose a date for the wedding—couldn’t choose a date because of tax season, he said. But there were always extensions for clients that continued for months. He said they might be able to squeeze the wedding into his fall schedule, or maybe during the winter. Maybe. She’d left him asleep on the couch that night and gone to Sharon’s house where she had wine and ended up sleeping on the couch.

The next morning, s
he thought about how her feelings for Bill had changed. He’d become a boring habit. She called his office mid-afternoon. The answering machine picked up. After listening to the boring canned message, the beep sounded. She took a deep breath before speaking.

“
Bill, we have to talk. Tonight. I know how busy you are. You’re always busy. And I know you’re tired. As always. But this is important. Be at my house at 8:00. If you don’t show up, I’ll know how little I mean to you.”

He’d shown up—at 8:45—with effusive apologies and excuses about
one of his clients, and what had to be finished by 9:00 in the morning. He’d stopped working after finally hearing her message and “finding a place to stop for a while,” but said he had to go back to the office soon, where he’d probably have to work until midnight.

Lynn sat on the couch with
her second glass of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay, listening to his excuses.

Bill
finally noticed how she was staring at him. “Aren’t you going to offer me a glass of wine?”

“Do you need an invitation?
The bottle’s in the fridge. Glasses are in the cabinet.”

He disappeared into the kitchen.
She heard him slam the cabinet door, open the fridge, then another slam, followed by the sound of the wine being poured into the glass. He appeared at the kitchen door with the bottle in one hand, the glass in the other. He drained it, then poured it full again.

“Damn, what a day this has been.
What a week! A month! Maybe you knew that and wanted me to unwind tonight before my meetings tomorrow. If so, thanks. I needed this.” He drained the glass again, then refilled it about halfway. “What did you want to talk about? The wedding? You know I’m leaving everything up to you. Whatever you want is fine with me. After I get past tax season, we’ll take another look at my calendar and try to find a date that will work. I’m thinking Hawaii for our honeymoon. We could stay maybe three days before I have to get back. Does that sound good to you?” He stared at her, waiting. “It might be less crowded in the winter, if they have winter.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Lynn cover
ed her eyes with one hand. Tired. So tired.

“Get what?”

“That I’m nothing to you. I’m a convenience. You’re married to that firm that will one day be yours after your father retires. You see me only whenever you happen to wake up on the couch between games—or casts. We’re engaged now! We’re planning a wedding. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since we’ve had a real conversation?”

“What?
A week? I’ve been busy! You know how much my job means to me. Dad will be retiring in another five years. That will mean it will be my firm, for the most part. My income will be triple what it is now! Do you know what that will mean for us after we’re married?”

Lynn let out a long sigh and closed her eyes again.
“Unfortunately, yes. I’ll see you even less than I do now. Promotion means more work, bigger clients, more sixteen-hour days.”

“In the beginning, of course.
But after a few years—”

“Sorry.
I’m not willing to wait years for you to be awake when you get home each evening, so we can have dinner out once in a while, or go to a movie. You’ll never agree to take a real vacation. You don’t even want a honeymoon longer than three days, and I’m sure that includes travel time. You love your work a lot more than you love me—if you’ve ever loved me at all.” The wine made it easy to blurt out her feelings, which she’d kept bottled up far too long. She poured the rest of the wine into her glass and downed it.

“That’s ridiculous.
Your job keeps you busy in the evenings, grading papers and writing endless lesson plans. When I get home, I’m tired! Sometimes I work through lunch. I watch TV to unwind. What’s wrong with that?”

Lynn reached for a calendar she’d placed on the table at the end of the couch.
“Take a look.” She pitched it to him, her head swimming with agitation.

Bill
frowned, clearly annoyed with her, looked up, then drained his glass again. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“Your name.
I wrote it on the days when we had lunch together or when we did something together other than watch sports or fishing.”

“So
we had lunch twice in the past month. I know we scheduled lunch once more, but I couldn’t break away. That doesn’t mean it’s always going to be that way.”

“It doesn’t matter.
I’m finished. We aren’t getting married, Bill. We’ve been playing at being engaged, you won’t agree to a wedding date, because it isn’t important to you. It’s always going to be another couple of months, next fall, next year… Your work is always going to be the most important thing in your life. I’m finished being second.” She took off her engagement ring—his grandmother’s ring, which he’d said he was required to give to her—and laid it on the coffee table. “You need a wife who’s an accountant, too. That way, you’ll both work late every night, and she won’t be stuck at home alone, waiting for you to pencil her in on your schedule. She can pencil you in on hers.”

She gave him a chance to digest what she’d said.
He didn’t respond. His expression hardened.

“It’s over
, Bill. I packed the few things you’ve left here. The box is by the door.”

He
picked up the wine bottle again, saw it was empty, then set it back down. “You’ll regret this. Within a week, you’ll be calling to tell me you made a big mistake, that you want us to be married so you can enjoy a life of luxury. You wouldn’t have to teach. You could stay home and raise our children.”

“Luxury means nothing to me.
I do want a husband someday. But it isn’t going to be you. I have no desire to raise children by myself. And, I’d like to be able to take a vacation with my husband—my family—without having to schedule it years in advance.”

She got up from the couch, took the
bottle and the glasses to the kitchen and dropped the bottle into the recycling bin. From there, she went to her bedroom and slammed the door. A minute later, she heard the front door slam, followed by the roar of his new Mercedes.

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Lynn wished for a glass of wine. She flagged the flight attendant and asked for a glass of Chardonnay.

Had she ever really loved Bill?
She had to admit that she hadn’t. They met, gone out for dinner a couple of times, and their relationship felt comfortable, since he never asked anything of her except cooking for him once in a while. Then his job became more demanding, his hours had increased, and she’d spent more time with Sharon than with him.