Five months earlier
Charlene
My beige, stretchy pants were too big, but I ignored that and put a long top on, which in reality was just a way too big and equally beige blouse. It had a pattern of pale pink flowers, though, and I’d thought it was cute when I bought it, but it felt kind of plain now. I shrugged and hoped it’d look like the kind of flouncy tunics I’d seen other women wear.
I’d joined a gym the day after I got back from the mountains and had picked one that was for women only. It turned out to be a great choice because they were friendly and helpful, but most of all because they had yoga classes in addition to the usual equipment and regular classes. The first time I did yoga, I thought I would surely die, but I kept going and it got better. After the first two weeks, I’d even started doing some exercises in the mornings at home, liking the way stretching seemed to start up the day in a much better way than a quick cup of coffee and no breakfast. As a result of my training, and the fact that I ate mostly chicken breast and salad, I’d started losing weight at a surprising speed.
I didn’t try to get in shape because of those men outside the restrooms in a small bar. I really wasn’t.
The other women had spent most of the journey sleeping off what apparently were hangovers from hell, so I’d had plenty of time to stew on what the men had said. I’d started out angry, explaining silently in my mind that I would have granny-hair after a day with a ski-helmet pressing it down. And I would lean on the wall because I’d been fricking tired. Halfway home it hit me.
My hair was boring. The pounds had piled up on my hips, and I’d let them. I had been exhausted already after a few turns in the slopes, so I was seriously out of shape. My clothes were boring. I was boring. I’d let myself slowly drift into the kind of person I’d laughed about when I was in my early twenties. The frumpy middle-aged woman who didn’t have enough respect for herself to make an effort.
Not an effort to look young, or hip. Just an effort to look like the one I was on the inside.
An effort to look like me.
So, it might have been what those men said that got me thinking, but I didn’t start changing things about myself because of them. I started because of me.
“Tomorrow,” I murmured and smoothed the blouse over my hips.
I’d lost enough weight to indulge myself so I’d make a trip to the mall and buy some new clothes. I suddenly longed for a pair of jeans. Bob often said jeans were for young people, and I hadn’t agreed but I hadn’t disagreed either, and it had just been easier to get slacks or dresses. I hadn’t worn a pair of jeans in years, but perhaps I’d get a pair now.
“Are you ready to go?” Bob murmured next to me.
“We’re not in a hurry, she didn’t give an exact time,” I said. “I’ll just put some makeup on.”
“No need,” he grunted. “You look okay.”
I looked okay?
Ouch.
“Let’s go,” he added and moved toward the stairs.
I didn’t feel like quarreling, and it was a small family dinner, so it didn’t matter anyway. Trying to argue with Bob also never led to anything. A long time ago, I’d told my girlfriends about how we never fought. I’d been happy about it, almost bragging when I shared that it was impossible to get into an argument with my new boyfriend. He just listens as I rant and rave, and then we move on, I’d shared with a giggle. These days, I found that trait rather annoying, but it was who he was, and I’d married him knowing it. My colleagues would have been surprised at how I simply went along with what he said, though. They were used to me being very clear with what I wanted to be done, and how. At home, it was just easier to agree.
We walked into Marianne’s house, and I looked around in surprise. What she’d said would be dinner with the family was apparently something very different. There were at least five couples I didn’t recognize standing in her spacious living room, in addition to quite a few of her friends whom I knew well. I was horribly underdressed in my beige pants and plain blouse, and wished I’d pushed Bob to give me the time to do something about my face. Bob moved uneasily, and I assumed he was a surprised as I was, but he had at least put both a tie and a sports jacket on.
We started making our way around the room, greeting our friends and introducing ourselves to the ones we hadn’t met before. The other guests were talking quietly, and the mood was strange in a way I couldn’t understand. Marianne’s parties were usually rather noisy, and it wasn’t uncommon for someone to be well on their way toward cheerful inebriation more or less immediately. I noticed how some of the women tried to hide how they were glancing at us and wondered if it was because of my out of place clothes or my lack of makeup.
A single man joined the party just after us and started making his way through the crowd, talking to people and introducing himself. I watched him, happy that at least one person I both knew and liked would be there. Thomas wasn’t a close friend of ours, but we met occasionally at various dinner parties and he and I often ended up next to each other. He was a doctor at the hospital I worked for, so we’d always had things to talk about, and I’d worked with his wife briefly, although many years before she died. I’d liked her too.
“A word, Bob,” Thomas murmured when he reached us.
He had a steely look in his eyes that I’d never seen before.
“Later,” Bob said in a voice which sounded weirdly strangled.
He walked away immediately to greet a couple on the other side of the room. Thomas watched him go, exhaled as if he sighed a little, and then he moved me gently to the side. Marianne started walking our way but whatever she saw in his eyes stopped her.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, not liking the look on his face at all.
“No one here will tell you, but you should know,” he murmured and moved us even further away from the crowd.
“Know what?” I asked, surprised by his choice of word.
He looked at me for a beat, turned us so my back was toward the gathering, and made a small face as he watched me.
“Bob’s sleeping with the woman in the red and green dress.”
“Slee –”
I stopped speaking, too stunned to go on. Surely he wasn’t serious? My husband, the middle-aged, pot-bellied, balding man who fell asleep on the couch each evening before eight o’clock? The man who hadn’t touched me in well over a year, other than the perfunctory daily goodnight peck on the mouth?
That man?
Sleeping with… I turned slowly to glance over at the woman and almost started laughing loudly. She looked like a cheap version of my sister-in-law, which meant she also looked a little bit skanky, albeit not aging. At least, not yet because she was probably ten years younger than me. She also weighed a lot less.
“You’re joking?” I asked and looked up at Thomas.
His eyes softened, and he shook his head mutely.
“You’re sure?” I asked, still not quite ready to believe it.
He nodded.
“How long has it been going on?” I asked quietly.
“I’m not sure, Charlene. A while, I think.”
I nodded slowly.
“Okay.” Then I squeezed his hand briefly. “Thank you.”
“Do you want me to take you home?”
“Did he know she was coming tonight?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, Charlene.”
I didn’t know if that was a yes or a no, but I was still reeling from the news, so I didn’t ask for clarification and nodded stupidly instead. When Thomas put a hand softly on my shoulder, I raised my head to look at his gentle expression and met eyes that were full of anger on my behalf. A few seconds passed, and the hard ball of ice that had settled in my gut was slowly replaced with fury. My husband of twenty years had let me walk into his sister’s home wearing what literally was a beige tent and with no makeup, knowing his side-piece would be there.
“Right,” I sighed but added when I saw the look he was aiming at Bob, “I’m fine, Thomas. Really. Thank you for telling me, and you’re right. I should know.”
He made a small sound of annoyance, but I squeezed his hand, squared my shoulders and turned toward the room with a smile. Then I made my way across the floor toward Bob, smiling cheerfully at everyone but not looking straight at anyone. I studiously kept my eyes far away from the woman in a green satin dress with ugly, bright red flowers because I did not want to start a bigger scene than the one I’d ended up in. I only wanted to escape.
“Either you come home with me now and pack your bags yourself, or you can pick them up on the front porch tomorrow morning,” I said to Bob, not quietly but not shouting either.
“What?”
“You know what.”
Our eyes met, and when he didn’t say anything, I stretched my hand out, palm up.
“Car keys,” I said calmly.
He gave them to me, and I walked away without looking back, leaving him to explain my sudden departure to his sister and the rest of the guests. If there was a need for it.
Bob came rushing out of his sister’s house just as I was about to start the car, and we rode home in silence. I stopped at the curb outside and turned to him.
“I’ll be back in an hour. Be gone by then.”
“Charlene,” he said calmly. “Where do you expect me to go?”
“I do not give a flying fuck,” I snapped.
“Char –”
“Go inside. Pack your bags. Go to a hotel. To your sister. To your skank. I don’t care.”
I was furious for the first time in years, and it felt good. It felt as if I was waking up from a long period of stumbling drowsily through life.
“Don’t call her that,” he said.
“How long have you been doing her?”
“Ch –”
“How. Long.”
“A little over a year. Almost two.”
I blinked and stared at him.
“Have we fucked since you met her?”
God, please make him say no, I thought. Please, please, please don’t make me have to go and get tested for diseases.
“Fucked,” he snorted. “It’s not like you ever enjoyed it.”
He was wrong. I had enjoyed it when we first met. The way he fumbled and didn’t quite know what to do had been cute, and I’d loved him. The fumbling hadn’t grown into something else, though, and always feeling like I had to instruct him when I didn’t exactly know myself what we were supposed to do had felt more like a chore than sharing pleasure. I’d realized several years ago that getting myself off when he wasn’t in the room was just easier.
“Bob,” I snapped. “Do I need to go and get tested for shit?”
I saw the answer on his face as he stared at me, closed his mouth, and swallowed.
“Jeanie-Mae doesn’t have –”
“Go,” I snapped. “You have one hour, and then you have to be gone.”
He swallowed again but left without another word.
I spent the hour staring at a milkshake at Mc Donald’s and making plans, but not really coming up with anything that made much sense. Get tested for diseases, yes. Crap, I’d need to find a lawyer. And who would I have to tell about this?
We never had any children. I had no siblings, and my parents had passed away a few years ago. After years of marriage, I’d lost touch with my girlfriends from college. The people I’d thought were friends to both of us seemed to all have known about his extramarital interests, but not deemed it necessary to tell me. My colleagues were just that.
I decided to make it easy for myself, opened Facebook and changed my status to single.