We're out on the patio on a Friday night and all seems good. A little husband and wife chit-chat, you know the kind. Her friend Cherise in marketing is due any day now. Vinny in maintenance fell from a ladder but seems OK. How are the novel and the Atlantic article coming? Just OK, and not great. She reminds me of the lunch I have tomorrow with Roger. With Claire out of town it will be good for you two guys to catch up. Then her promotion, youngest ever in the position, and she'll finally be able (mostly) to get off the road. Such an amazing woman. Then back to Cherise. Why has no replacement been named, she's going to be out six months?
Which was perfect, what we both needed. Anna had been jumpy over the last couple of weeks, which was probably the new job. Back and forth, had me off balance, kind of lovey-dovey one minute and short with me the next. It was good to see her relax, breath deep and her kick back with a nice glass of wine. After a while, we grew silent, each of us staring up through the big oaks to the fading evening. The night air was perfect. The whole world was still.
That's when it started.
Anna says, "Bill, we need to talk."
Words no husband wants to hear. Ever.
I give it a moment or two then say, "Uh, sure. What about?" Please let it not be about us.
Anna takes a long pause, looks away and then back at me. She says, "About me, us."
Now I'm nervous. "What about us?"
She fidgets in her chair and says with the little stutter she gets sometimes, "Let's s-start with me."
"OK," I say cautiously. Please God don't let her be sick or dying or fed up with me or...
She hesitates again and finally says, "I have a confession to make."
Also words he does not want to hear.
I stay mum. This is now her stage.
We are Bill and Anna Smolizenzhy-Rogers, though she still goes by what she calls her 'birth name' Rogers. Anna and I have been married for four years, right out of school, grad school for me, undergrad for her. Now I'm a little over 26 and she's 24. I'm a writer, she's an accountant. Good careers, good home, good marriage, a solid marriage. A beautiful wife, a loyal and loving person, a highly intelligent and successful woman. At least that's what I thought.
But now this, a talk about us.
I give her time. She fidgets again, does not know how to start. So I say, "Confession? About what?" As if I don't know what confessions are.
"I was...it's hard to say it..."
"Go ahead."
"I was...unfaithful."
I stare at her, speechless. I knew it would be that. But hearing it out loud? A different thing entirely. How is this possible? It smacks me hard in the gut. For a second I think I'm going to be sick to my stomach. But I'm angry too, which helps the sickness pass. I grip the arms of my chair hard. I grunt and say, "You were? You are, like now? Seeing someone?"
"No, not now."
"When?"
She pauses. "About 18 months ago."
Well, better than now. Unless she's about to tell me she's getting back with... You know the next thing that would bubble up in any husband's head. Who?
"With who?"
"It's 'whom'"
I waited. "OK, whom? If it's that asshole Randy down at the store, I'm going to kill him."
A month earlier I caught Randy checking out Anna's ass while she was bent over scanning the low shelf for her special pasta. The skirt she had on didn't help. He made a humping motion, his hands measured to each side as if holding her hips, fucking her from behind, a little skit to entertain his co-worker. Yes, she has a very nice ass, I'm sure loads of guys check it out. But she knows Randy and I know she likes him. We both know how much he loves flirting with her. And he is, I have to admit, a pretty good looking guy.
Anna laughs nervously and says, "It wasn't Randy. I told you that was all your imagination."
"The way he was looking at you, I almost went over and said something in front of all of his customers." I hadn't told her about the humping, seemed like TMI.
"Bill. Are you listening? It wasn't Randy."
