Life was exactly as I’d planned. Pearl was born. Fatherhood didn’t come as naturally to me as I’d assumed it would, but with the role model I had growing up, that was hardly a surprise. I was conscientious, though. I spent the time and put forth the effort. Cora bridged the gap and eased the way.
And then, if I’m really admitting the truth, somewhere along the way, I noticed that she has two smiles—the polite, compulsory one and the real one. No matter how much I analyzed, I couldn’t predict or plan for the real smile. They were pure variable reinforcement, like a slot machine. Wildly addictive.
I got real smiles for the most random things—giving Pearl the last bite of my cookie, tapping Cora’s ass with my boat paddle while she’s standing on the dock, returning her galoshes in the right cubby in the mudroom when she accidentally put them in Pearl’s cubby.
The two types of smiles weren’t the problem. It was that I waswaitingfor the real ones. I was angling for them.Cravingthem.
And since I didn’t know what I did to cause them, I knew I’d lose them. One day. So I started waiting for that, bracing for it, but I kept making bids for the smiles, too.
Like those stupid blue and yellow wildflowers. I bought them from a Ukrainian grocery in the East Village on a whim. I told Cora they reminded me of her and waited for a smile. She thanked me and took them away to put them in water.
The next morning, on my way to work, I saw the roses Ihave delivered weekly on display in their usual vase in the foyer. No wildflowers.
No smile.
I wasn’t hurt or angry. That would’ve been pathetic. Besides, there was nothing to be upset about. She was mine, and she was content. I had the life I wanted. She wasn’t going to leave me. Not with the prenup.
So I drove into the city, and after a few sleepless nights in the corporate apartment, I got drunk at a work function and fucked my director of finance.
Because my wife didn’t smile at me when I brought her flowers?
I cannot be that stupid.
I can’t be thatsmall.
But yeah—that’s why I did it. Because she didn’t love me. She only married me so I would take care of her, and one day, I’d have nothing to hold her to me anymore, and she’d leave. And I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take another day of waiting for her to leave me alone again.
So I blew up my marriage. The worst of it, the moment that now plays over and over in my mind, is the instant I looked into Cora’s eyes as she stepped out of that elevator—Iknew, although I didn’t admit it to myself, that shehadfelt something, and I’d killed it. I watched it die.
I’m a weak man, and I hurt her over a smile I wanted and didn’t get.
I’m not familiar with shame. It tastes like fucking ass.
My grip on Cora must tighten because she startles, her eyelids flying open. Her gaze floods with worry. I blank my face.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I rumble.
“What’s wrong?” Her whole body tenses.
“Nothing. Everything’s fine. How are you feeling?”
Her muscles slowly relax. She uncurls and winces. “Sore.” She glances at me warily. “What’s going to happen?” She’s talking about the car. The fear and dread in her voice curdles my gut.
I think quickly, trying to remember the outings I had planned for December. The family calendar has gone out the window the past month, but Michelle sets it up a quarter in advance.
“We’ll go get the Christmas tree.” I’m pretty sure I accepted an invite to that. “Do you think you’re up to that, or are you too sore?”
Her eyes have cleared. She’s rotated onto her back to stretch gingerly, but she’s not moving away from me. “I should be okay after a Tylenol and some coffee.”
“And breakfast.”
She glances over mid-stretch and smiles. It’s tight and rough and wary, but it’s real. “Blueberry muffins,” she says.
I smile back. I have no idea if it looks fake or not, or if she’d notice either way, but it’s real. I feel excruciatingly exposed, like my dick is out on Fifth Avenue. “And some protein.”
“And some bacon,” she agrees as she stiffly maneuvers herself up to sitting.
I have no business being happy. My wife is losing it, and our marriage is hanging on by a thread.
