The Book
A Tulip Kramer Short Story
You know when you first meet someone and everything is new and sexy and you conveniently forget about all the unattractive things that human beings are capable of? Fast forward twenty-one years and the sexiest thing you do is ram each other with your private parts in the dark while one of you constantly watches the door, waiting for it to unceremoniously swing open.
Young, sexy you pretended that neither one of you shit out of your respective assholes. Now you keep a communal supply of Charmin wet wipes under the bathroom sink because let’s face it, you need the cold comfort of aloe vera after you speed shit while your kids wait outside the door demanding snacks and iPhones.
I remember when I first met Dan. His family had just moved here from Ohio and he sat next to me in biology. We were fifteen. I love Dan, I always have. And he loves me. But something is missing. The spark, the fire, the…passion. We have this wonderful life, with these mostly wonderful children. But what about us? The us, before all of this?
I glance down at the book sitting on my dresser as I pull my sweater up and over my head.
Water Your Marriage
By Renalda Spitz
A step by step guide to aid you in reinventing your relationship
Two days ago I was mindlessly roaming the aisles at Target when I spotted it sitting on the shelf near the checkout. I picked it up without thinking and read it cover to cover that night while Dan was sleeping beside me, two of our kids wedged between us. According to Renalda Spitz, you need to be the change in order to see the change. I look up in the mirror, at my full coverage, extra wide banded bra and visibly shudder. Be the change, Tulip.
*
“You look really nice,” Dan says, putting the car in reverse and backing out of the driveway.
I look down at the ridiculously overpriced black cocktail dress that I bought this morning. My feet are already killing me in these sky high monstrosities, but I am determined to make tonight’s date night different.
“Thanks, you too,” I say. Dan always looks good. He’s one of those men who has always been cute but also handsome. We are both nearing forty but he still wears his thick brown hair in the same short, unruly way he did when we were kids. His blue eyes still twinkle with mischief on a daily basis and despite the fact that he’s one of the best chefs in the city, he still maintains his lean, muscular frame thanks to daily jogs around the park.
“Are you sure your parents are okay with spending the night?”
“Yes,” I say. “My dad will have them sugared up and passed out within the hour. If that doesn’t work, I’m pretty sure he brought over his DVD collection of Matlock.
We don’t usually spend the night away on date nights, but since I want tonight to be special, I booked us a room at the Silversmith downtown. As we make our way to the restaurant, I feel a surge of spontaneity.
Be the change.
“Pull over!”
“What? Why, are you gonna be sick? Were you eating that jar of Nutella in the cupboard because I think it went bad like a week ago.”
“No, Dan, just pull over,” I insist. “Over there, into that parking lot.
Once he puts the car in park, I glance around at the open lot. The only light in the abandoned space is coming from a rusted old lamppost and the twinkling lights of the cityscape around us.
“We should make this quick,” Dan says. “This neighborhood is pretty sketchy and we don’t want to miss our reservation.”
I unclip my seat belt and pull the keys from the ignition. “Fuck the reservation,” I say.
“Fuck the reservation?”
“Yes, Dan, fuck it.”
“Are you feeling okay? Seriously, did you eat that Nutel- “
“No, Dan! I did not eat the Nutella,” I say, hurling my body towards him.
I spear my fingers through his thick hair and press my mouth to his, pouring every ounce of frustration that I have into a kiss that makes him moan against my lips. His hands grip my shoulders roughly while I snake my hand down and unbuckle his seatbelt.
“In the car? Here?” he asks with a groan.
“Yes,” I breathe against his lips. “In the car, right here. Backseat, now.”
“Holy shit,” he mumbles.
I lift myself off of him enough so that he can crawl into the backseat but he fumbles backwards, landing on an empty bottle in the cup holder.
“Ahhh,” he shimmies forward. “Did you just ram your fist into my asshole?”
“No, you fell on a bottle of apple juice.”
I tumble into the backseat behind him and nudge him onto his back so that he’s laying down. I reach for his belt buckle and lean down, trailing my lips along his neck.
“Oh shit, this is so hot,” he says.
“So hot,” I moan against his neck. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”
He reaches his hand down while I shove my dress up and just as he’s about to feel my newly groomed swimsuit area, a bright beam shines in through the window. Tap, tap, tap.
“Excuse me, but I’m gonna need you to pull your dress down and step out of the vehicle.”
*
Almost four hours later we’re sitting side by side in a holding cell. I thought about calling my parents but it’s late and I figure at this point, we might as well wait until morning. We haven’t spoken a word since Officer Ted Miller knocked on the passenger side window of our Dodge Caravan.
“So,” Dan says. “Are we gonna talk about this?”
“What’s to talk about? We’re probably going to end up on the registered sex offenders list.”
“Nah, we’ll probably just get a fine or maybe some community service,” he says.
“How can you be so calm all the time?”
“What do you mean?”
“God, don’t you feel it, Dan? This whole shift between us? Tonight was supposed to be about reinventing our relationship and getting back the spark. Not sitting in a jail cell,” I half yell. “This place smells like stale cigarettes and bad choices.”
“What do you mean reinventing our relationship? Where is this coming from?”
“Renalda Spitz,” I say with a sigh. “She says that in order to see change, you need to be the change. I was just trying to, I don’t know,” I say. “I was trying to make things new again.”
“Are you not happy?”
“Of course I’m happy,” I say. “But I worry sometimes that if we don’t work on this stuff now, we’ll end up miserable and bored later on. I just want to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
He’s quiet for a moment, with nothing but the old vent rattling above us before he takes my hand in his.
“I could never be bored with you,” he says. “You’re my best friend, Tulip.”
“It doesn’t bother you that we seem to be in a constant state of routine?”
“Well, I’m not gonna lie, tonight was hot as hell,” he says. “But maybe we should work on this stuff together, ya know, instead of you going rogue and us ending up with more time behind bars.”
“I’d like that,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of Irish Spring and fabric softener.
“We need to put a lock on the bedroom door,” he says.
“And we need to quit letting the kids crawl into our bed,” I add.
“We should probably try to spend the night away at least once a month.”
“Maybe we should try tying each other to the headboard sometimes,” I say.
“I love you, Tully.”
“I love you too.”
We spend the next three hours curled up together on a metal bench that someone probably peed on at some point. But I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else. I think Renalda Spitz has it wrong. Maybe in order to see the change, you need to discuss the change. With the person you’ve spent twenty-one years loving. And who has loved you back.
The End