Everyone portrayed is over eighteen. This is fiction; as always, all characters and events, etc. are figments of our imagination and have no connection to any living or dead persons, or true events.
Jennifer
If you asked me two months ago whether I'd be in this situation, I'd have told you that you're full of shit. No way, no how would I suspect my wife, Jennifer, of cheating on me. But before this evening is out, she's going to get the surprise of her life when I hand her copies of the divorce papers, she'll be served officially at work on Monday.
It wasn't supposed to end like this. We've been together for five years, married for four. What kills me, besides the cheating, is Jenn, that's what I call her, has been talking about starting a family. So why is she playing around on me - with one of my best friends?
Maybe all the attention she's received in the past couple years has gone to her head. Jenn's the proverbial ugly duckling that's now a swan. Well, not really an ugly duckling, she was never ugly, but you probably get the drift.
My name is Ronald, by the way - my friends call me Ron. I'm a bit of a nerd, but I did play football in high school. Not a starter, but I played all four years and spent enough time on the field to earn my varsity letter and the respect of my fellow teammates. Was voted 'most likely to succeed' by my high school classmates. Throughout high school and college, I had a few girlfriends, some ended it with me, some I ended with them.
I met Jenn when we were both graduate students in Northwestern's evening MBA school, the Kellogg School's Master of Management program. I was working full time in the IT department at one of the downtown banks and taking classes in the evening. Jenn was working at Boeing's Chicago Headquarters. An MBA would go a long way to helping both of our careers.
Long story short; I noticed the young lady in one of my Finance classes. At the time we met and while we dated, Jenn was overweight, probably by thirty or forty pounds. She wore glasses and was not what one would call a snazzy dresser. Jenn came from a small Midwestern town of less than a thousand people, then went to a public college not known for its style or sophistication; so until recently, fashion was not important.
Jenn may not have been a big city sophisticate, but she is as smart as anyone I've ever met. She was recruited by Boeing right out of college, partially due to her proficiency in Japanese. Turns out her father was stationed in Japan the first twelve years of Jenn's life and Jenn knew the language as if it was her native tongue.
Jenn seemed pleasantly delighted when I asked her out while we were walking out of our class. I picked her up at her apartment on Belmont and we had a nice dinner on Rush Street; then hit a lounge so we could continue to talk and learn about each other. It turns out our mutual favorite place in the city is the Art Institute and the following weekend we spent all day Saturday walking through the galleries comparing likes and dislikes.
From that Saturday on, Jenn and I spent much of our free time together. Between work and school, free time was rather limited and it was further limited by Jenn's volunteer work at the Children's Hospital near school. Jenn would go to the hospital and read to one or two of the juvenile patients at least twice a month. When I asked her "why?", she explained it to me.
"My youngest sister was diagnosed with cancer. I was fifteen, didn't understand anything about death, serious illness, real loss. I was just beginning to socialize with boys and was pretty self-centered. I think my parents were trying to shield me and my siblings from the reality of Jessica's situation. As a result, I spent less time with Jess than I should have. When she died a year later, it was as if a wave hit me. It took a couple years for my family to recover. Mom and Dad stayed married; but it was touch and go there for a while. Now I read to these kids and I pretend it's my sister."
I didn't know what to say, so I just held Jenn's hand. She continued.
"It's silly I know, but it helps me. I pray Jess is looking down on me and understands how terribly sorry I am for not being with her more that last year."
Jenn started to sob. I held her and couldn't help but feel honored that Jenn could share something so intimate with me. We'd only been going out a few weeks when she shared it.
Another thing Jenn did to endear me to her was help my little sister. A month after Jenn and I started dating, I brought her home to meet Mom and Sara.
My father, Owen, had left us ten years earlier, Sara was seven years old and I was fifteen. Owen (I never call him Dad) left Mom after she confronted him about the on-going affair he was having with his secretary. Mom had caught him once before and, after Owen promised to stop seeing the woman, they tried to stay married 'for the children's sake'. Owen got caught again a year later, then simply packed up and moved out.
Owen continued to send a monthly support check as required by the courts; but I rarely saw him after that day. It wasn't much of a difference to me; Owen was rarely around before his departure; I can't remember him attending more than a handful of school or athletic events. I think it was much tougher on Mom and Sara.
Anyway, Jenn meets Mom and Sara, Jenn and Sara make an instant connection. From that day forward, the two of them acted like sisters. Both were bright, geeky, slightly introverted and needed a bit of self-confidence to reach their full potential. Sara watched as Jenn grew into a confident, successful businesswoman and it seemed to give Sara the inspiration she needed. Sara has been accepted to the U of I and plans to eventually study medicine.
Jenn and I continued to date and the relationship continued to grow more intimate. We had the 'exclusive' talk. I made it clear to Jenn that infidelity was an instant deal breaker, considering how I watched my mother nearly destroyed by Owen's betrayal. Jenn agreed and everything about Jenn made me understand I could trust this woman with my heart.
Our first time was sweet, in a 'not-overly-red-hot' kind of way. Neither of us were virgins, but neither of us were what you could call experienced. After the first couple sessions together, Jenn did what she always did when approaching a new challenge - she bought two books and brought them to my apartment. She showed me the books, 'Kama-Sutra for Beginners' and some other 'how-to' manual.
"Ron, I can tell I'm not rocking your world. There's no excuse for two highly intelligent people not to have the best sex in the universe. I have every intention of fucking your socks off." Jenn opened the first book to page one and proceeded to do just that.
So now the love-making rivaled the shared interests, friendship and intimacies. My life was complete and on the first anniversary of our first date, I asked Jenn to marry me. Jenn said 'yes' and we married six months after that. It was during our engagement that Jenn's physical transformation began to take place. For some reason, it was important to her that she lose twenty or more pounds for the wedding. She had her eye on a wedding dress and couldn't see herself in that dress unless she had the body to make it look good.
The time Jenn spent in the gym wasn't wasted time, for either of us. I started to lift weights again; the first time I was serious about lifting since my senior year of high school and it was paying off. My trainer insisted on measuring me before we started and my biceps were just over thirteen inches; six months later, they were close to fifteen-inch 'guns' (the term Jenn used). There was a hint of a six-pack and a good start to some pecs and lats.
Jenn was losing weight and a month before the wedding, a co-worker brought her to one of the upscale salons on Michigan Avenue. Jenn's perpetual ponytail was replaced with a businesswoman's hairstyle with highlights to match. Slowly, Jenn's transformation was taking place. I'll never forget the moment Jenn walked down the aisle of the church on her father's arm. Instead of Mendelssohn's Wedding March, the string quartet played Pachelbel's Canon. Jenn lifted her veil and I saw the most beautiful woman in the world.
From the moment we exchanged our vows and said, 'I do', I was the happiest man in the city. We both finished our studies, received our Masters' degrees and we both advanced in our respective fields. Jenn had to travel overseas at least once a month; but that was all right. It was only for a week at a time and, to tell the truth, at that time in my life, it seemed like a good thing. I spent the week catching up with my guy friends. I never had any reason to suspect Jenn of cheating on me when she was out of town.
Whenever Jenn met me at the door, no matter if it was after a weeklong trip or a single day in the office, she'd give me a toe-curling kiss and say, "Ron, I love you."
See, that's the thing. I never suspected anything because Jenn and I were compatible in almost every way. Our marriage, and especially our sex life, was what I would consider perfect. I once heard that if you put a penny in a jar every time you and your wife made love during the first year of marriage, then removed a penny every time after the first year; that there would still be pennies in the jar when you celebrated your fiftieth anniversary.
That wasn't the case for Jenn and me. Jenn would get back from one of her trips overseas and we'd spend the weekend in bed. There were empty cartons of Thai delivery, empty pizza boxes and empty bottles of wine and beer stuffed into the wastebasket. I loved these 'welcome home' weekends. Jenn stayed naked the entire two days; watching her walk around the apartment in her birthday suit was a thing to behold.
The other three weekends a month were spent in the 'normal' way - with friends and family, going out to dinner and dancing, sometimes a show, sometimes a museum or other special event. Life was good.
A month ago, everything took a turn for the worse. And it seemed to come out of nowhere. Looking back, I can't think of a thing that happened to change our marriage. Was I blind the entire time? Did I miss the signs of a cheating wife? Could the woman I trust with my heart be this duplicitous?
A month ago, that's when I began to suspect my wife of cheating. It started out with one little inconsistency; just like you might hear at any tavern where the guy gets hammered as he tells the bartender, "Well, it started like this."
It was the day I received a bonus at work for delivering on a project, installing a new server system at the bank. The system had gone in two months before; there was a month of collectively holding our breaths, but everything went according to plan - no 'Murphy's Law' hiccups to bite us in the ass. Senior management was ecstatic, this would save the bank millions, and they chose to reward me and my staff with a nice bonus. It was a surprise and I wanted to share the news with Jenn.
It was one of those nice Spring days and I decided to take a couple hours off; head over to her building to ask her out to lunch. I was practically walking on air. A half a block away from her building, I saw Jenn walk out of the front entry, accompanied by my good friend and college roommate, Carl Morris. They went straight into a cab as I rushed to catch them. I tried Jenn's cell and it went to voicemail. Since their buildings were next to each other's, it didn't seem too unusual; but why isn't she answering her phone? I tried her cell twenty minutes later, again, voicemail.
I walked back to my office trying to make some sense of it, but as soon as I entered the bank lobby to use the ATM, all hell broke loose.
If you can believe it, two imbeciles tried to rob the bank. I mean, with some off-the-shelf software and a decent computer printer, you can forge cashiers' checks and steal thousands of dollars; but these two idiots walk into the bank that has alarms, armed guards and cameras, waving their guns around and acting all John Dillinger. And even if they get out the door with the bag of money, when they open the bag, a packet of unwashable dye explodes, covering the money and the thieves.
These two didn't even make it out the door. A Chicago detective was cashing a check at the time and his partner was sitting in their car outside waiting for him. Between the two cops and the bank guard, both bank robbers ended up getting shot up as they exited the building. I was right there during all the gunfire. Who knew guns were so loud? My ears were still ringing three hours later.
Anyway, I had to spend some time with two detectives, giving my statement as to what I saw. By the time I was finished with the police, I was exhausted and needed a drink. I went home, Jenn and Carl almost forgotten, until she walked in the door. I was sitting in my leather chair, drinking my second IPA.
"Ron, why are you home so early?"
"I had a hell of a day, Jenn. I needed a beer."
"That's not like you, Honey. And why didn't you answer my call? I called you back when I saw I missed your call."
