This story hopes to please the readers who hanker for stories longer than 750 words. See, I listen (sometimes).
The story could also go into Loving Wives, but I like the romantic side of it more. (And lest you, kind reader, have an attack of bilious outrage that I'm too scaredy-cat to post it in LW, look at my submissions. And have a Happy New Year.)
Thanks, kenjisato, for editing help. All remaining mistakes are the result of my stubbornness and/or laziness. Apologies.
"Dad, what's bugging you? You look like a bear whose shitting spot in the woods got replaced by yet another new Starbucks."
Derek, our 22-year-old, was always the more perceptive of our two kids. Natalie, two years younger, just assumed everything in the world existed for her pleasure, and therefore she had no need to perceive things. Any perceiving that needed to be done, needed to be done by others for her benefit. When you're pretty, you can get away with that for a long time. Acorns not falling far from trees and all that.
I took a sip of beer while I considered my son's question. Once a month, come rain or shine, he bought me a beer at O'Malley's Bar and Grill. Well, every month since his 21st birthday.
"Come on, dad, spill it. It's not like you to suffer in silence. No, wait, actually it is. But hey, I'm buying, so I'm entitled to hear."
With a sigh, I put my glass down. "Okay, you asked for it. You're not going to like it, but you asked. I'm thinking of moving on."
"Moving on as in moving away, or as in leaving Mom?"
"Maybe both, but starting with the latter."
"Wow, way to drop a bombshell! Why? The two of you have been so happy for so long."
"Coming up 25 years, son, so yeah, you got the long right. The happy, though, maybe not so much."
"Coulda fooled me. Tell me more--what's taken away the happiness?"
"Not what, who. Deirdre Bekins."
"Oh, shit, you think Mom is bi?"
"No, I don't think so. But your mother has all but moved in with that snake-bitch."
"I don't know her all that well," my son said with a perplexed frown. "What's so bad about her?"
"She's pushing fifty, has never been married, but has your mother believing she alone knows the secret to marital bliss and happiness. I ask you: do you think your mother has been happily married?"
"Think? The whole world
knows,
Dad. You know that, too."
"Shows you what the world knows, because Deirdre has your mother convinced she's unhappy and unfulfilled. I'm a total loser, I've deprived her of discovering her true self, and she needs to finally get herself 'a real man.'"
"What? No. Did she say that?"
"Mandy Albright works with Deirdre, and she told me. I was shopping in the grocery store when we literally ran into each other. Once she recognized me, she told me she needed to talk to me, so we went to a coffee shop and she brought me up to speed. Deirdre apparently is telling everyone who will listen that she's taken your mother under her wing, and is educating her to a higher level of self-actualization. Which, it turns out, is nothing but code for getting bonked by more men. That's what Deirdre does, and she says it's the secret to life. Your mother, according to Professor Deirdre, is sitting on her happiness, quite literally, and needs to uncork it."
"Are you telling me Mom's listening to that horseshit?"
"That I can't say for sure, but probably, because your dear, unfulfilled mother has pretty much stopped talking to me. And the amount of time she spends with the authority on relational fulfillment leads me to believe she might be ingesting that equine manure."
By this time, our glasses were empty. Rather than drink more than our single stay-in-touch round, we decamped to the grill part of O'Malley's for burgers.
Once we'd place our orders, Derek spoke. "So, Dad, what are you going to do?"
"What can I do? If your mom's convinced I'm a loser and she needs to boff other men, I have no choice but to move on. I will not be anybody's cuckold."
"Can I say something that might piss you off?"
"You did buy me a beer, so go for it."
"How about you stop being a wuss? I'm not saying you are." He held up his hands in the universal gesture of peace and surrender. "But you have to admit, your love for Mom can tempt a snake like this Deirdre to accuse you of it. When was the last time you insisted on doing anything your way?"
--
On the way home, I pondered Derek's question--a valid one. Because I loved Hailey, making her happy made me happy, and was therefore a major priority for me. Did that make me a wuss, or at least appear like one? Time to find out.
When I walked into the house, Hailey sat in the kitchen, speaking into her phone. "He just walked in. Talk to you later."
Turning to me, her snide voice mowed down any pleasant thought I may have had about being home. "Where the fuck have you been?"
When you're sitting on a knife's edge, it doesn't take much to tip you over.
"Didn't you hear," I snarled back, "when I told you I'm having a beer with Derek? Or do you think so little of me you've stopped even listening to what I say?"
She sucked in her breath--never in our more than 26 years had I spoken to her like that. Immediately, she backpedaled. Getting up, she smiled and came to give me a hug. "You're right, I'm sorry. I forgot and I got worried. Can I fix you something to eat?"
"We got ourselves a burger while we were at O'Malley's." Out of principle, I dropped my nice guy demeanor.
"Okay. When you didn't call, like I said, I got worried." She looked me in the eyes and gave me another kiss. "I love you, you know."
I looked her back in the eye and shook my head emphatically. "Actually, no, I don't."
Passing her gaping mouth, I filled a glass with water from the tap in the fridge door, added a few ice cubes, walked to the family room, and flopped into a wingback chair. Where was a recliner when you needed one?
She followed me, aghast. "What do you mean you don't?"
"Just that--I don't know that you love me."
