An Answer

Yes, I can tell you.

* * *

They moved our group up to the fourth floor a few months ago, remember? I sit on the outside aisle now. He'd walk by to the coffee station every once in a while, always saying hello to everyone, including me that first day. He was easy with everyone, even the twenty-somethings. I guess his thirty-five...I found that out later...made him fun but safe.

We'd chat if we happened to both head there at the same time. If he was alone, sometimes he'd stop by on his way back and talk for a moment or two.

Once he brought a second cup of coffee back with him and set it on my desk, "Thought you could use this." It became a sort of ritual.

* * *

We had lunch together in the cafeteria once in a while. More often. Regularly. Sometimes with others, sometimes not. When it was just us, we'd talk about what we liked, where we'd been. Not much about family, lots about what we wanted to do someday.

I came in one day and found an out-of-print book by an author I had mentioned on my desk. "Found it while I was in a second hand shop anyway," he said, brushing off all thanks.

* * *

You got that promotion at Christmas. "Nothing much, no real money," you said, blowing it off, "just a bit more responsibility."

"Congratulations," I said. "Come on, let's go out for dinner." Fun to eat out for a change, it's been a while.

Looking back, I should have seen your secret pride, you had wanted it, acknowledgment for years of work. It was a pleasant evening, but I think you wanted me to fuss a bit more.

* * *

"Some of us are going out for drinks after work," he announced one day. "Come out with us."

I shook my head. I had to stop at the grocery store and then get dinner ready.

The subway was jammed and I was late getting home. You were quite late getting home, yourself, and we ate it in front of the TV, staring at some sitcom.

* * *

The next week, "drinks again, come along?"

"No, I have a husband waiting at home. I should get going."

"OK," he said easily. Paused on his way out, "No matter how married you are, you still can come out one of these times." Still with the easy smile, then gone.

* * *

He was right. The third time invited, I called you and you said, "Sure, have fun, we'll eat when you get home."

One drink.

You had already eaten, "I was starved!", but you reheated the spaghetti for me and we talked little things before heading up to bed.

* * *

It was nice to have the kids home at Christmas. You didn't like Rebecca's boyfriend, though, said he was a little too free with those hands. I laughed at you, remembering a few visits to your parents' house.

You knew I was a bit down at the party but not why. It was Sam.

No, not what you're thinking. Sam's just a friend. You caught him giving me a kiss under the mistletoe. He was all sheepish, you just said, "Hey, ease up on the old girl, she's taken."

It was different from that year after high school, when we weren't sure we were together, I let Bill Waldman kiss me and I had to beg you not to start something.

* * *

There came a time when the drinks were just the two of us. I didn't know, he just said "A drink?" and we went.

We talked about the kids away at school, his sans-girlfriend status..."the last was a demon from hell, best left undiscussed", the plans you and I had to do a bit of traveling, plans that somehow hadn't become real, yet.

He wanted to travel, too, castles, ruins, ancient wonders. I expressed my desire for sunny beaches, cool drinks in a chaise.

"I got it, then!" he said. "Italy, just the two of us. A few days in Florence for me then on to Cinque Terre for your chaises and cabana boys with fruity drinks."

I just laughed. "You're a very bad boy."

He grinned, didn't meet my eyes for second, "Sorry."

My eyes held the disbelief at that apology, I recognized a while ago that he was more than just friendly, hitting on me a bit. Any woman would.

* * *

The 40th party you threw for me in the spring was fun, though perhaps the number of fire extinguishers around the cake was laying it on a bit thick.

Sex was good that night, it had been a couple months without. Even longer back to a time when it was more than a quick fumble, you holding off just long enough for me to come with you. That night was more like the old days, slower, multiple orgasms, more like the younger me rather than the middle-aged, bit worn-on-the-edges woman I see in the mirrors some days.

* * *

I was on the elevator with another woman when he got on one day. The other woman got out a floor before ours. He stepped back suddenly to let her out and the back of his arm bumped my breast. He looked at me, face flushing a small bit, clearly flustered, embarrassed, "Sorry," he said.

I knew something then. I'm not sure why I knew, I just did. He may be serious in his flirting with me, but he wasn't a player, wasn't someone for whom I was a tally. He wasn't smooth enough.

* * *

Out of the corner of my eye, I'd see his gaze occasionally wander up and down slightly, never overt, never rude, never if he thought I or anyone was watching, eyes always firmly on mine if I turned toward him.

If only you knew, I'd think, gravity sagging things here and there, some stretch marks, not bad but there if you wanted to see.

"That dress is a great color on you," was his reply even though I hadn't said a word.

* * *

Do you remember the get together at the Haroldsen's? It took me an extra hour to get home from work. I wanted to just pass on going, or at least go late, looking in the mirror, seeing slightly askew, flustered, middle age, bad day on the subway.

"Don't worry about it, honey," you said. "Let's just go. Nobody'll care."

I realized that you were telling the literal truth.

* * *

I saw him early last week in the coffee room, talking to one of the young women before she headed back to her cube. I watched him watch her as she did, watch the slow sway of her rear as she walked away. He didn't see me standing a bit behind him, so I said, "Hello,"--just enough tone in my voice that he knew I knew.

His head snapped around, all instant nonchalance. "Hi," he responded.

"I'll bet she'd go out with you," I offered.

He looked at me for a moment, then shook his head with a half smile. "Maybe in a noisy club we'd have fun. But if we had to sit and talk with each other, we'd run out of conversation fast."

I thought about us later, about our conversations. Comments how the house was quiet now that the kids were gone. Golf scores. What events were coming up the next weekend. About the neighbor's new car. Things that were going on at work. But, I wondered, did you know how much I cried over the ending to that book I read last weekend? Probably not. Did I know how you felt about the little bald spot you were getting? I realized I didn't; you probably were insecure about it but I had never asked.

* * *

I called you to say we were going out because Sandy was quitting. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Watching TV. Have fun, talk to you later, love you," you replied and went back to your show.

* * *

Some of us danced at the bar that night. Mostly fast stuff but a couple of the slow ones. Some of the guys in the office are a bit grabby in those, both arms around you, sometimes hands sliding a bit low if they think they can get away with it, putting your arms around their necks.

He didn't. My right hand lightly in his left, his other hand toward the small of my back, like a waltz, our legs brushing each others as we moved. Sometimes my breasts would touch his chest as we turned. I knew he was conscious of it...perhaps he knew that I knew, I'm not sure.

Looking back, did I know then? Perhaps.

We used to dance like that. "Teasing," you called it.

* * *

The party ended, people heading home to families and lives. He asked me about another drink.

"I'd like that," I said, "Chardonnay." Not my first, second or even third of the evening. Not drunk, though perhaps if I was pulled over they would disagree, just feeling good and enjoying the conversation as we sat and talked, just the two of us, conversation wandering far and wide. No sense of hurry.

It wasn't the alcohol, if that's what you were thinking.

* * *

There were no cabs outside.

"I'm a couple of blocks over that way," he pointed. "Let's walk. It will be easier to find one on the avenue."

We strolled that way, my arm hooked in his, he grinning as I teased him a bit for his admission he had watched the spanking scene in "Secretary" five times, replying, "Hey, at least I wasn't a Duran Duran groupie when I was a teenager."

"True," I replied with mock chagrin.

* * *

The wide street was there in front of us. "I'm just up there," he said, gesturing to a building across the street. He was quiet for a moment as our eyes flicked over the passing cabs, occupied.

"You know, the first part was fun, I really liked dancing with you."

"Yeah, me, too," I replied.

"But I'm even gladder you stayed." I watched him as he fumbled with his words a bit. "Sitting and talking with you was more fun than anything I've done in a long time."

His eyes went down the street. "There's a cab coming down there. I can grab it for you." He wasn't relaxed anymore, he held his arm awkwardly, both my arms still looped through it, uncertainty written on his face. "Or..."

I just looked at him for a bit as I watched the cab draw up to the corner. I watched as another couple waved and ran over to it, then I tugged his arm and we headed across the street.

* * *

I look over at you, sitting in the marriage counselor's office.

You wanted to know why? Now you do.