You knew exactly what you were doing, didn't you? You knew what you wanted and you knew from the beginning how it was going to be. I saw the look, I felt your eyes, even as you smiled with beguiling wit and alluring chivalry. You welcomed me back home after my second year at college and marveled at how I had grown, how much of a woman I had become, how mature, how easily mistaken for some cosmopolitan runway model or some professional volleyball player, with my long blond hair and clear blue eyes. You told me how much you missed me. You told me how amazed you were at how I had truly filled out and fully blossomed as a sophisticated college student on my way to possible med school.
I had asked where mom was, but you said she was home getting the place ready for my arrival. Mom had gotten my bedroom ready and had invited just a few friends to visit on my homecoming. I was excited to see family and friends and I longed for the sweet smell of Mom's cooking. And you were so right.
Despite my jetlag from my four hour flight, I was re-energized to visit with long lost friends and cousins. My face even hurt from smiling so often, being the homecoming heroine just back for a week-long visit from the big university out east. "Carly, come here" and "Carly look at this!" and "Isn't my Carly so pretty?" was what I heard all night long.
I smiled and danced and ate my fill and I noticed your eyes. Always your eyes were on me, watching, enjoying, drinking in the good nature of it all. I smiled back at you, often, feeling loved and welcomed. Mom too was a gracious hostess, showing me off as her prize pony and making sure I sat and spoke to Aunt Sara or Uncle Mike or Nana Beth. Mom carted me around like I was her beauty pageant doll and she poked and preened at me, also commenting on how much I had grown into a beautiful young lady. I did take small note of her distance from my father throughout the night. They seemed polite, but they were certainly distant.
In time, the festivities came to an end, nearly midnight and all the drunk relatives and drunker friends waving off and heading to their homes. Every one of them made me swear to spend a day or two to hang out or go do this or go see this movie or go shopping. I promised all of them because I could scarcely deny their wishes. I had been gone for almost two years now.
Mom had retired after cleaning up the kitchen, a bit tipsy herself, but happy and fulfilled. She kissed me goodnight and retreated to the master bedroom. My room, as it turned out, looked exactly as I had left it. Posters of the Backstreet Boys and Brittney Spears still lined the walls. Pink frills and lace and stuffed animals adorned every corner and floor space. It made me smile to look upon old friends and the comfort of home. Always home. Warm and welcoming and relaxing. None of the pressures of exams and readings and deadlines and projects. Home. Where I was welcomed with open arms with love and admiration. I never had to prove myself. I was simply loved.
About an hour later, sitting up in bed and reading the latest text on psychotherapy, I barely heard the soft knock on my door. "Come in," I said quietly. "It's open."
And then you popped your head in, almost sheepishly, slightly red-faced. Had you had too much to drink also? You smiled and cleared your throat, asked if I was feeling jet-lagged or jittery from the flight. Asked if I had too much caffeine and couldn't sleep. Asked if I was too wired from the party.
I smiled warmly and nodded. "Yes, I'm still in a different time zone, remember?"
When I invited you in, you were almost too shy, like a little schoolboy trying to ask out his first girlfriend on a date. You came in and I noticed you closed the door behind you. You pulled my desk chair and sat near me. "What're you reading, hon?" I could see you rubbing your hands together, perhaps drying them off, perhaps a bit nervous. About what? I wondered.
I shrugged. "Just the latest textbook for school. I know I have a week off, but I still have a lot of reading to do during this break." Then I saw the look in your eyes, the sadness, the longing. You seemed to have a lot on your mind. You seemed as if you had something to tell me. "What is it, dad? What's wrong? I noticed you seemed distant and distracted all night."
You shrugged and looked down at your hands, now folded over your lap. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Then you shrugged again. Your eyes slowly met mine and I could see pools of tears emerging, threatening to burst at a moment's notice. "It's...well...your mom. It's just that...well...we haven't...oh Carly, I don't know how to say this to you..."
Your words trailed off and I was suddenly pained to see you so sad. I reached out my hand and placed it on yours. "What is it, dad? You can tell me. I did notice the two of you seemed so distant, so apart tonight. I never really saw you two talking or near each other at all. What's wrong?" And then, you said it. Looking down at your hands, now gently covered by my own, through tear-filled eyes, you recounted how you knew that mom was cheating. Mom had been with other men and you knew about it. You discovered her infidelities, but had yet to confront her on them. You spoke about how you felt that mom was cheating on you because she thought you weren't man enough or strong enough to keep her satisfied or loved or whatever it was that was missing in your marriage. You were so lost and confused and scared and...lonely.
I sat for a very long time listening to your story. My heart ached and my heart broke, for you and for mom. For the both of you. "If you think she doesn't value you or your relationship, why haven't you discussed this? Why not confront her with the truth? Why not fight for her?"
"Carly, I've tried," you said. "I've tried to hint at what I suspected, but she seems to just laugh it all off. She thinks it makes me even weaker to express my feelings and emotions to her. She laughs at me, like I'm some big dope—a clown for her amusement."
I couldn't believe your words, yet here you were now, crying your eyes out. Mom was cheating on my dad. Mom and dad loved each other, right? They were supposed to be together forever. That's how the story ends. That's what I thought; that's what I wanted. My brain was clipping away at a mile a minute, thinking of a way to resolve this complex problem. And didn't I deal with this nearly every day? Couples therapy. Psychology. This was my forte. I took in a long, deep breath and let out a sigh. Looking at you seriously and determinedly, I said, "Then have you tried to make her jealous? Have you tried to flirt with other women to see if she would react differently?"
You shrugged, confused, disturbed. "Be with other women? I couldn't ever imagine that. Your mom's the only one I love and want to be with."
"But she doesn't value you like you do her. She doesn't see you as a handsome, sexual being. She doesn't value who you are and she takes you for granted."
You chewed on what I said for a very long time as your eyes blinked back the tears and you seemed to sit up a little. I could see the wheels turning in your head and at last, you said, "But...if I do...who would...who would go along with the charade?"
I smiled, feeling better that I had convinced you of how to approach this dilemma. And then I named off a few women in the neighborhood, all of which I knew would take my father in if given the chance. And through them all, you found fault. You found a way to negate my suggestions. I offered several women at work who I also knew admired my father. And still you shook your head and refused. "They would not be able to keep a secret and that would be dangerous for me at work," you reasoned.
All too true, I realized. There was no way to keep his reputation intact if he attempted an affair at work.
I sighed again, not knowing where to go from here. "It's pointless," you said hopelessly. "Mom wins and I...well...I lose her to other men. No one you mentioned would work out because someone would find out and more people would get hurt. I couldn't trust them to keep things quiet and...well...no trust, no love. Mom is the only one I can trust—at least, I thought...." You buried your face in your hands and my heart reached out to you.
My hands reached out to you, to hold you, to stop your shaking and heaving. We held each other close as you wept quietly on my shoulder. I stroked your hair and wiped your eyes as you slowly finished crying. And, tear-stained face and lips parted, I looked deeply into your eyes as you did mine. "Maybe..." I whispered. "Maybe you shouldn't...go elsewhere for love. Maybe..."
Your eyes searched mine as your brain raced through the possibilities of what I was saying, what I was suggesting. Actually have an affair, not with a stranger or a friend or a coworker. An affair with someone closer. Closer to home. Someone in your own backyard. Someone...in your own...daughter's bedroom!
You licked your lips and I could hear your ragged breath, your eyes confused, yet, slowly coming to realization. "But..."
I nodded slowly, resigned to what I was about to say, what I had to say. "Dad, I love you and I love mom and I don't want to lose both of you. I don't want you to split up. If this is the only way to get her jealous and to get her to value you as she should, then I am happy to help you both. I want to see you both survive and get through this."
"But..."
"Dad, it's okay. You're not forcing me. I'm not under aged. I'm doing this willingly."
You shook your head, wordless, as you held my hand and helped me out of my bed. We stood, staring into each other's eyes, searching, looking for the sanity out of this situation. I watched as you swallowed once, taking in my body from head to toe, noticing my sheer pink nightgown as you beheld me as a man beholds a goddess. So reverent, so admiring. I blushed at your attention and soon we were floating towards each other in a loving embrace. I don't know, to this day, whether it was the alcohol. I don't know if it was preconceived, but I do know that your desire for me was shockingly evident as your hardness poked into my belly as you held me close.
