In What We Didnt Say Alt End

[If you read "In What We Didn't Say" and didn't like the ending, you might like this ending. Readers told me the other ending was too out there. If you haven't read the first version, I can only say, I like this one better myself.]

Three of us were sitting together in the company cafeteria having lunch. Because all three of us are married men the conversations usually were about sports, politics, money or occasionally, sex. If one of our offspring had done something noteworthy we allowed a little time for parental bragging. All three of us were in the age group where our offspring were either out-of-the-house at college or out-of-the-house married and gone.

Wally showed us an article in some magazine about the numbers of married American men who had mistresses. He said it was over thirty-five percent! He read from the article that said that the percentage in Europe was over fifty percent. Then he asked an interesting question. "How do you convince a woman to be a mistress?"

Our conclusion was that most of the time it was done with money. "You rent her an apartment." Pete said. "You buy her nice gifts, really nice gifts." Wally said. I said, "All of that and maybe a car." Then Pete said, "So it's only rich guys who have mistresses. My wife would sure as hell notice if I spent enough to rent an extra apartment!"

Wally added, "My wife would notice a hundred dollars missing. When we sit down to do the bills we look at everything!"

At the end of lunch we went back to work. I can't speak to what Pete and Wally did or thought about for the rest of the day. I did my job and thought about what it would be like to have a mistress. When "The Change of Life" arrived at our house it found it was crowded. In order to make room for hot flashes, mood swings and other symptoms of the new arrival something had to go. What went was my wife's libido.

From an active, enjoyable sex life of two or three times a week we went down to once a month. I mentioned the change and was met with a frosty woman who accused me of being insensitive. Mentioning it also prompted what was left of our sex life to end. As time went on I made a notation in my calendar whenever I made a move toward or issued an invitation for a little bedroom activity. The notation was a "+" sign if the invitation resulted in some activity and a "-" sign if I was turned down. All the things that used to work at getting her "in the mood" no longer worked. I started feeling like she was my roommate who happened to sleep in the same bed. I wasn't sure if she slept nude with me because she liked being nude or to torment me with what I couldn't have.

Wally was worried about his wife noticing a hundred dollars missing. I was starting to think Donna would notice the missing money before she noticed or cared that I was having sex somewhere else. Maybe a mistress could be a good thing.

The evening after our lunch conversation I brought roses home with me. She got excited and put them in a vase. I took her out for dinner. Back at home I took the trash out and took a shower before bedtime. When I got in bed she was wearing a night gown. A flannel nightgown. Over the years she had done that, to stay warm until I came to bed, then she took it off and we slept nude together.

"I don't want to sleep nude any more." She said. "It makes you think about sex. I'm done. I can go the rest of my life without sex."

"Is the next step twin beds or is one of us moving into the guest room?" I asked.

"I'm not making you do either, but either would be Ok with me."

"Sex has been a part of our relationship for all the time we've been together. It's a part of being married. Take the sex out of the relationship and we're roommates!"

"Fine! You want sex? It's the fourteenth of May. From now on you can screw me on the fourteenth of every month." She got out of bed, peeled off the flannel, her panties and got a tube of lube out of her nightstand. Then she stood beside the bed and lubed her pussy. She got back in bed and said, "Ok, husband. I'm ready!"

I was shocked. I was also turned on. It had been two weeks since I'd seen her nude. I'd felt her nude next to me in bed but hadn't seen her. Seeing her usually got me going. However, her speech and her attitude pissed me off. I hesitated.

Five or ten seconds passed and she said, "Well? I thought this was what you wanted."

"You were wrong. What I wanted was not a hole to masturbate into. What I wanted was the woman I've loved for more than twenty years and shared intimacy with for all those years. I guess she's gone. So am I."

I got out of bed and went to the guest room. I wondered if she'd follow. I wondered if she heard me at all. She stayed in the master bedroom.

In the morning I went to the master suite and gathered toiletries and clothes and went to what had been the guest bedroom since our youngest had moved out. I got ready for work and left. Not a word had been spoken between us.

At lunch I called home and left a message. I made it short and to the point. "Hi, it's me. If you were planning to make dinner for both of us for tonight, it won't be needed. I'll eat before I come home."

My work day ends at four. At three forty-five my phone rang. The ID window showed our home number. I picked up and gave my professional answer. "GBH Industrial, Alan speaking. How may I help you?"

"Alan? Why aren't you coming home for dinner?"

"Right off the top of my head I can give you two reasons. If I come home for dinner you'll want to talk and I'm not in the mood for a conversation with you. If I go to a restaurant I can eat in peace and quiet."

"We need to talk." I remembered her tone from when she said the same words to each of our kids. They didn't like that tone either.

"We? Maybe we do need to talk, but we don't need to talk tonight. If we talk tonight I will probably say things I don't want to say. I'm too angry to talk to you about last night and about the future. Maybe I'll be ready before the end of the month."

"You're not having dinner at home until then?"

"Can I come home for dinner and not have a discussion? Am I invited for a quiet dinner?"

"We need to talk this through."

"I don't see why. You made it very clear. You never want sex with me again. You are willing to grease up and let me masturbate inside you once a month, on the fourteenth. Did I misunderstand?"

"That's not how I said it."

"Did I get the message correctly?"

There was a pause as she considered her answer. "Yes."

"Then, as of your edict, we are roommates. When you spoke the edict it wasn't up for discussion, it was the Queen telling her subject about the new law. We share the house as roommates. As a good roommate I let you know I won't be home for dinner. Thanks for calling." I hung up.

Walking out of the building a little later, I was struck by how long it had been since I hadn't gone home for dinner. At dinner I was struck by how long it had been since I ate dinner alone. For over twenty years I'd shared my life with Donna. We had a routine, a pattern, for how we lived together. It had been broken.

As I drove home I realized this was the weekend we always did the bills. I got paid on the fifteenth of every month. The weekend after the fifteenth we always sat down at the dining room table and paid the bills. I worked and Donna stayed home... to raise the kids and take care of the home. Only the kids were gone. The bill paying session would be interesting.

When I pulled into the driveway I saw the living room lights go out. When I entered through the back door the light in the kitchen was the only one on. I got a diet Coke from the fridge and carried it to my room. Donna was in the master bedroom with the door closed. As I walked by the door I called out, "I'm home."

There was no response.

In my new bedroom I noticed the bed was unmade. A Kleenex I had tossed at the trashcan in the morning had missed. It was still on the floor next to the trashcan.

I didn't sleep well. In the morning I took care of my ritual and included a new step, making my bed. I tossed my dirty clothes in the bathtub and reminded myself to get a laundry hamper on my way home.

In the kitchen I ate a bowl of cereal and washed my own dish. I didn't see Donna. I heard her moving around in the house but I didn't see her. I left a note on the counter that let her know I would be home on Friday evening by six for dinner and our bill paying session. I asked for lasagna for dinner. It was a request, not a demand.

At work, I tapped into our accounts and printed copies of our current status. I called the bank and put new limits on the credit cards. Lower limits. I looked at our spending patterns over the last few months and reacquainted myself with the fact that our expenses had decreased significantly when the kids left. Our youngest still needed fifteen hundred a month, but his scholarship paid for school so the fifteen hundred was for room and board, etc. One of the other expenses that had decreased a lot was the groceries.

As I expected, Donna didn't call. I ate out again and in a diner I'd never been in before. The food was good, the place noisy and the waitress cute and young. At first I felt bad for looking her over, then I realized it was Ok. Donna wasn't interested. Donna wasn't there.

I was home and in bed by ten-thirty. I brought a new hamper into my bathroom and loaded it with my dirty clothes. When I got up in the morning I was all business and soon I was dressed and off to work. Donna was nowhere to be seen. No breakfast was on the table. On my way out I saw a note to me stuck on the fridge.

"Dinner will be at six. Lasagna, as requested. D."

Work went really slow that day. It was hard to concentrate with the money meeting on my mind. I had so many questions. 'Was this the end of our marriage? Was I willing to go the rest of my life without sex? Was her cutting me off a ploy to get something? Did most women get to be her age and slam the door on sex?'

I had no answers.

By noon, I wanted some answers. I called the minister of our church. He was two years older than me and his wife two years older than Donna. I asked if he had time for a conversation over the phone and if I could have a conversation with his wife.

His conversation confirmed to me that his sex life was active and enjoyable. When I talked with his wife, Helen, I asked about the commonness of menopause having a wife shut the door on sex, forever. She said she wasn't sure that it was very common at all, especially at our age. If we were in our seventies or eighties yes, but we weren't that old.

She gave me the number of a therapist and I called her. I had a fifteen minute conversation with her and learned a lot. What Donna had done wasn't something she had no control over. I called Donna's OB/GYN doctor and she called me back at three. She confirmed that the libido does decrease in menopause but seldom is severe enough to require stopping sexual activity.

I went to a park after work and watched a little league game until quarter to six. I drove home and walked in to the smells of lasagna. As I entered the kitchen I noticed a box in the trash. The lasagna was from the freezer section of the market. Donna's lasagna was the best I'd ever had and I always made a point of making sure she knew how much I loved it.

She made no pretense of dinner being her lasagna. It sat on a trivet in the middle of the table still in the aluminum foil container from Stoffer's. I washed up in the kitchen sink and sat across from her.

"Thanks for making lasagna." I said. I said it straight, no sarcasm.

"It's too much trouble to make my lasagna for just the two of us."

"I'm sure this will be good. Maybe not as good as yours but edible." I dished out about a third of the pan onto my plate. I asked, "Would you like me to serve you?" as I held the serving spoon.

She shook her head and reached for the spoon. "No thanks." She took about half of what was there.

Usually when she made lasagna she made a salad as well. Not that night. I asked for lasagna. I got lasagna. I didn't ask for salad, so there was no salad. I hadn't asked for water, wine, juice or diet Coke so those weren't on the table either. She was making a point. She stayed quiet for the whole meal.

The lasagna was edible, but not very good. I'd describe it as hot and filling but nothing more. I carried my plate to the sink and washed it. I covered the left-overs with foil and put them in the fridge. In our den we kept a box where all the bills lived between the last time we paid bills and the next time. I got it and brought it back to the table. She sat across from me.

I wrote a list of all the bills. Mortgage, utilities, insurance, car payments, and everything else. At the top I put the amount of my last check. We made out the checks, signed them, put them in envelopes and put stamps on the envelopes. Our conversation was minimal. When the bill paying was done I took the stack of envelopes to my car so I could drop them at the post office the next morning.

Donna had put the box away while I was gone. She was sitting on the couch and held the remote in her hand. The TV wasn't turned on.

I said, "You said we need to talk. You're right. So, talk."

She smiled and put the remote down. "You don't understand. I'm in menopause now. My sex drive has shut down. Women are like that. When our hormones shut down we're done. It doesn't mean anything personal. It has nothing to do with you."

"Really? Who else is involved?"

"Me! Don't take it personal."

"You tell me my sex life is over, that the woman I love no longer wants sex with me. So, what do I do with my libido? I want sex and not a place to masturbate into once a month."

"That's the best I can do for you. That's not going to change."

"What about the rest of our marriage?"

"What are you talking about?"

"We just did the bills, right?"

"Yes."

"I brought the money home. I made out the checks and put them in the envelopes. You put the stamps on. Does that act make you my partner? My wife?"

"No. I am your partner. No single act makes me your partner. Would having sex with you make me your partner? I'm your wife."

"Sorry, I don't see it. Here's what I see. I earn the money that pays for everything here. I take care of the yard work, both cars and anything that breaks in the house. I want to know what you do as my partner."

"I gave birth to your children. I raised them. I've cooked and cleaned this house for over twenty-five years."

"To quote someone famous, What have you done for me lately? Matt left home last August. The children are now adults. You did a good job, and phases one and two are done. You gave birth to them and you raised them. Done. You announced tonight that making lasagna for two is too much work. What else is too much work to cook for two of us? Are the majority of my meals going to be delivered in aluminum pans from now on?"

"Lasagna takes hours to prepare."

"And what else did you need to do today? I noticed you didn't do the laundry. Wait, maybe it was just my laundry you didn't do. Did you clean the whole house today?"

"I clean the house every day."

"Yesterday did you clean my room?"

"No. I was angry. You're being unreasonable. I didn't clean your room and I didn't do your laundry."

"Remember sitting in church two weeks ago? The minister said that marriages are partnerships. Each person does what they can to have life work for the other person. Each part of a partnership has the intention of giving more to their partner than they get from their partner."

"I've given to you and the boys for over twenty years."

"What do you think would happen at my job if I quit managing the twenty people who work for me? I've managed them for twenty years. I don't need to do it any more. I'm angry at three of them for being unreasonable. What would happen?"

"You'd lose your job."

"From where I sit, it looks like you've quit your part of our partnership. I get frozen dinner. I need to do my own laundry, clean my room, take care of the yards, maintenance on the house and work sixty hours a week. Oh, and I need to masturbate. What is it you do?"

"I've been taking care of you and the house except for this week."

"So, when are you coming back from vacation?"

"I'm not on vacation!"

"When will I be able to count on you cleaning the whole house? When will I be able to count on a home made dinner every night? When can I count on you doing all the laundry?"

"I don't know."

"Ok. That's unacceptable. I want to be married to you. For twenty-six years I've been faithful, a good husband and a good partner. Since I no longer have a partner and no promise of getting her back any time soon, the marriage is over. You want to live here or are you moving?"

"The marriage isn't over! Jesus! I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, you are. You and I are trading rooms. Since I am the majority partner I get the master bedroom. Tomorrow is Saturday. When I get up I will move my things back into the master bedroom. I will clean your bedroom and wash the sheets I slept on. You can move your things into your new room."

She finally knew I was serious. Tears started down her cheeks. Then her hands went to her face and she openly cried. I got up and went to bed. At seven I was up and in the kitchen. I made a pot of coffee, actually a small pot, just two cups. I had some toast with my coffee. Then I started piling things in the hallway. Before ten everything of mine was out of the bedroom, the sheets were in the drier and fresh ones were on the bed. The door to the master bedroom had not opened. I knocked on it.

"I don't feel well." She said.

I opened the door and she was indeed still in bed, surrounded by her blue flannel nightgown. "If you need help getting to your new bedroom I'm willing to help you go. With help or on your own, you are moving today."

She slowly got out of the bed and said, "I can walk." She did. She walked down to her new room and closed the door behind her.

It took me the rest of the morning, but I got all her stuff piled in the spare bedroom and all my things into the master bedroom. As I was putting fresh sheets on the bed I realized they were sheets Donna bought. Sheets Donna liked. I folded them back up and put them back in the linen closet.

On my way shopping I stopped at a great little Mexican restaurant and had lunch. Then I went to a store I knew Donna shopped at and looked at sheet sets and a comforter. I bought things that were decidedly masculine. In the checkout line two women from church, friends of Donna's, saw me and said, "Hello."

They asked where Donna was. I said she had said she wasn't feeling well this morning. They joked with me about the things I was buying looking very masculine.

I said, "They are for my bed. I'm masculine. Seems to fit, don't you think?"

"You don't sleep with Donna?" Betty asked.

"Not any more. She doesn't want to be my wife anymore. Life moves on." It was my turn at the register so they moved on. After I paid I looked for them and saw both of them on their cell phones. I wondered, for a moment, which of them was calling Donna.

I saw a Lazy-Boy store on my way home. I smiled and stopped. Twenty minutes later I was on my way home again. My new chair would be delivered on Monday afternoon. For over twenty years I had thought of the house as Donna's domain. Decisions about sheets, curtains, rugs and furniture had been mostly her decisions. That was over.

When I walked in carrying the three bags from Bed, Bath & Beyond Donna was sitting on the couch. Right next to her was the phone. She looked at me and the bags and said, "It's true! You told Betty we are getting a divorce!"

"No, I didn't. Carole Wright was with her. Call her and ask for exactly what I said. I can tell you what I said. Betty saw what I was buying and asked, quote, You don't sleep with Donna?" I said, "Not any more. She doesn't want to be my wife anymore. Life moves on." "That was the end of our conversation."