“Maybe we could go to a marriage counselor.”
He jerked his arm out of my grasp and pointed at me, wagging his finger with every syllable. “I don’t love you. I love someone else. Someone who isn’t a joy sucker. Someone young. Tight. When was the last time you were tight, Eliza? When the dinosaurs roamed the earth?”
I touched my belly, which had never snapped back after my pregnancy. Steve was in perfect shape. A year before, he had hired a personal trainer.
His personal trainer, Tammy.
Tammy with the rock-hard abs and plastic boobs.
Tight Tammy.
They worked out together every morning and some nights.
Nights.
The realization hit me hard. Nights. Tight Tammy. “No,” I said. “No, no, no.” And then I believed myself. No, it couldn’t be. There was no Tight Tammy. Steve loved me, and we were going on a cruise around the world.
“But the midnight chocolate buffets,” I said, nonsensically.
“Joy sucker.” He pulled away from me and sat in the car.
“But I put a picnic basket in the trunk,” I wailed.
He popped the trunk. “Good. Take it out.”
I skipped to the back of the car and took the basket out of the trunk. “I’ve got it!” I called. “Let’s sit and talk this out. There’s fried chicken.”
But Steve wasn’t listening. He started the car, slammed his door shut, and peeled away, like he was running from the police.
I stood in the parking structure holding the picnic basket, while I watched my husband leave me. Leave the joy sucker with the flabby belly. I would have run after him, but I had blisters from my new shoes.
And I was in shock.
The sun was setting, and the parking structure was getting darker. It occurred to me I was four-hundred miles from home without a car.
But the mind is a strange thing. It’s a survivalist organ. A dream-maker. It can make its own reality when the real reality sucks balls. So, I didn’t believe Steve for a second. How could he not love me? How could he leave me? We were soulmates. We were forever.
When a bubble of doubt knocked against my wall of denial, my brain popped it. Then, I called a cab and went directly to the rental car agency.
I hopped out of the Honda Fit rental and ran into my house without closing the car door. “Hello? Hello?” I called once I got inside, but there was no response.
Steve and I bought the house fifteen years ago when he was made partner. He had always handled the money, and I didn’t know exactly how much he was making, but he said he was making more than enough for us to buy the two-story house in the most expensive neighborhood in town. The house had aGone with the Windstaircase and was decorated by someone who Steve said was the best. Sometimes I felt like I lived in a museum. So, I took refuge in a recliner that I had snuck in behind his decorator’s back and watchedI Love Lucyreruns while sitting in it.
Now, I entered the house, praying that my husband was there, that he had drunk a double Scotch and was feeling better. That had to be it. Maybe he was drinking and that’s why he didn’t answer. I ran through the entranceway to the Great Room and froze in front of the fireplace. Something was terribly wrong. First of all, there was no television above the fireplace, and the four remote controls on the coffee table were gone.
So was the coffee table.
The house had been cleaned out.
“Hello?” I said, sounding like a five-year-old. “Steve?”
But my wall of denial finally crumbled. My house had been ransacked, and everything that Steve had liked in our home had been removed. Only my recliner was still there and so was my Mickey Mouse vase on the kitchen counter, which he had disdained. I realized that Steve probably had given movers a list and ordered them in while we were celebrating Jamie’s graduation.
Where was my husband? Where had he gone? Was he watching TV somewhere in another house, using the four remote controls he took, sitting on our absconded couch with Tight Tammy? I hugged my traitorous, soft middle that had lost me the love of my life and a cruise around the world. My perfect life had crashed around me.
But then a ray of hope flashed through my brain. Maybe I could work out, get a tummy tuck, or learn French. Maybe I could win my soulmate back. Maybe Steve could love me again and bring back the television. What did Tight Tammy have that I didn’t? I took a deep breath and felt better. Of course I could win him back! I wasn’t dead. I still had some spice left in me. We had a lifetime of experience together. We had had a child together. And years of memories and experience together. Nobody threw that all away just to run away with his personal trainer, even if she could crack walnuts between her thighs.
No, my husband was just having a slight hiccough in his love for me. But hiccoughs end and our marriage would continue. I was determined. I put my purse on the kitchen counter and dug out my phone to call my husband. As I started to dial, I noticed some papers next to my purse. I turned them around and read the first few lines in bold. Smith and Goldstein Attorneys at Law, it read. My stomach clenched, and I lost my ability to swallow.
