Is This What I Want? (3 page)

“YOU KIDS HAVE
a
fun date night,” my mom said with cheer, apparently oblivious to my dismal mood. We’re not kids, I wanted to say, we’re exhausted mid-thirties parents of two demanding young children. Our marriage is teetering on the brink of annihilation. And given that the last conversation we had alone was the kissing fiasco, I didn’t expect the evening ahead to be much of a date.

But I just grunted “mm-hmm,” and nodded with a fake smile as I pulled a slightly used tissue from my back pocket to wipe the stream of clear liquid running from Jack’s right nostril into his mouth. Unfortunately, Sam was watching and from the look of horror on his face, you would have thought I had pulled down my pants and relieved myself on the floor in front of him.

“That’s so gross, Mom. Couldn’t you just use a fresh tissue?”

His new germaphobic phase was trying my patience.

“Why waste a fresh tissue? This one’ll be good for at least another week or so,” I said, “in fact, you have a little something on your chin.” I moved toward him, waving the crumpled tissue in his face as he backed up and out the front door.

“Come on, Grandma, let’s get out of here!” he shouted from the front yard as my mom stood in the doorway holding Jack’s hand, waiting for a sign that I was ready for her to take my kids away for the night. She was wearing a new pale pink jogging suit and I wondered how many colors she now had them in.

I scooped Jack up into my arms and kissed his ruddy face all over. “You be a good boy for your grandma and grandpa. I’ll miss you. Love you.” More kisses. “I can’t believe you’re going to be two in a couple of months.” He gave me one return kiss on the cheek and I nuzzled his little face into my neck. “You’re still my baby. You’ll always be my baby.”

He tried to pull away. “Not your baby! I’m a big boy, just like Sam!” I felt a sharp pain in my chest and peppered his cheeks with kisses again before releasing him.

“Sam? You forgot something,” I called out to him. He was trying to open the door to the backseat of my mother’s car, even though he knew it was locked.

He rolled his eyes and took long slow steps back inside. Still, he couldn’t help but smile as I reached to grab him and pull him into me for a long hug. He hugged back, with reluctance at first, and then with full force, realizing that giving me what I wanted would be his quickest ticket to the wondrous world of Grandma’s house, where rules were nonexistent.

Rick emerged from the garage, where he had been fixing some gadget important enough to warrant immediate attention, giving him an excuse to skip the standard half hour of small talk with my mom. I wondered if he too was finding it difficult to pretend things were fine. He held his arms out and without needing to say a word, Sam and Jack ran into them.

I closed the front door after waving as they drove off and turned around to see Rick standing there staring at me, with a look on his face that didn’t quite feel hostile, but didn’t seem entirely friendly either.

“Some wine?” he asked, and I felt my shoulders drop. He knew the answer. Still, I nodded enthusiastically and he soon returned with an open bottle of Syrah and two glasses.

We sat silently sipping for a few minutes, both unsure of what to say. I picked at a loose thread on the old L-shaped tan couch we sat on, next to each other, but far enough so that no body parts were touching.

I was grateful when he broke the tension. “Want to just start with the weekly update?”

“That’s a great idea. Yes, please. It’s your turn to go first.”

He was the one who came up with the idea of calling it a weekly update. It was during one of our first sessions with Carly. We were talking about how it’s too easy for parents with young kids to forget to tell each other about the little things they experience and feel during their busy days apart. Carly told us about a study revealing that the average married couple with kids and jobs spend only four minutes a day alone together. It seemed surprising and accurate at the same time. She asked us to commit to at least one hour a week when we’d do nothing but sit together and share the things going on in our lives. The kids were not allowed to be there. We had to work it out to be alone.

It was one of the few things that worked for us, without fail. Maybe because we didn’t use that time to talk about our relationship. We carefully avoided that, following Carly’s instructions. We talked about our work, our goals, our friendships, our random thoughts. We also weren’t allowed to talk about the kids during weekly updates. That proved to be the hardest part. But when one of us slipped, and it was usually me, saying something like, “Oh, I forgot to tell you about Sam’s science project,” the other would provide a gentle reminder of the rule.

Rick refilled our wine glasses and sighed before starting.

“Well, work is…” He stared out the sliding glass door that led from the living room to the backyard. I turned to see what he was looking at. The grass was unusually overgrown. I knew he must have been beating himself up for letting it go so long.

“I can mow it tomorrow,” I said.

“No. I’ll do it. I like doing it. I enjoy taking care of the house. I just haven’t been able to focus lately. All this stuff going on with us is just…”

I sat up and set my wine glass on the rectangular coffee table, covering up the nick in the wood that Sam had recently made with the metal underside of a remote control car.

“Do you want to switch to relationship talk?” I kept my voice soft and inviting to show that I was open to either choice.

“No, no. That’s all right. I want to stick to the weekly update for now.”

I felt relieved and picked up my glass again. He looked into my eyes.

“Basically, I’m not happy at work. I never intended to be a corporate attorney. You know that. I wanted to make a difference, maybe in family law or estate planning.”

I considered how dissimilar the two of us were. To him, family law or estate planning would be work that makes a difference. I understood, in a way. Both involved protecting families, helping to create security and stability in their lives and futures. But to me, it all seemed tedious and boring—number crunching and piles of legal documents to deal with. I couldn’t imagine practicing any kind of law. I couldn’t imagine doing anything other than teaching. It was exhilarating and I still loved it. Even when I thought I wanted to be a writer and made it five chapters into a novel, part of me knew that even if I finished it, it wouldn’t become a new career. I couldn’t give up the high I got from teaching. Students looked up to me. They valued what I had to teach them. We had fun together. We laughed. We learned from each other.

Stop thinking about yourself, Beth. Focus on Rick. He’s opening up to you.

I nodded while he spoke, trying to show him that I cared and wanted to hear more. As I savored my second glass of wine, I felt my skin grow warm and my thoughts slow. Rick continued to share his dissatisfaction with his work. It made me happy that he still wanted to talk to me, but it made me sad that he didn’t enjoy his work.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been going on about this for too long. What’s going on for you with work? You must have a lot to do to plan for your classes to start soon.”

“Work is fine for me. You know how I feel about teaching. There’s nothing to say about it right now. I’ve had the summer off and I’m ready to go back. I miss it.”

“At least one of us is happy with work. That’s a good thing.”

“Why don’t you quit? Start your own firm doing what you want to do?”

“And who would pay the bills while I start up a business?”

“I could teach more classes. I could look into freelance training opportunities. Working part time while I was still nursing Jack was great, but he’ll be ready for preschool soon and both of our mothers are always asking to spend more time with the kids.”

The big grin developing on his face stopped me. He moved toward me and kissed the tip of my nose. I smiled.

“What was that for?”

“It’s because you’ve always supported me in doing whatever I want to do. I don’t take that for granted you know. Like how we lived on Top Ramen when I was in law school.” My smile grew bigger.

“I was in grad school too. We did it for each other.”

Rick looked at my wine glass, realizing it was empty again and moved to refill it. I touched his wrist and shook my head.

“I’m feeling it. I need to slow down. Don’t want to fade out during weekly update.”

He looked into my eyes and I got the feeling he wanted to ask me something but didn’t know how. I figured I’d take a stab at his question and ask it myself.

“Wanna take a break from the weekly update and finish another time?”

He nodded, eyes still locked on mine, and moved closer to me.

“Teach me,” he said at such a low volume that I barely heard him.

I didn’t understand at first. He ran his hand along my jaw line and then moved it to my lips, tracing them with his middle finger.

I had to look away. My eyes found a distraction in the form of a tiny spider crawling up the pine IKEA bookcase.

Rick turned me to face him, as he waited for my response.

“I should never have said… I have no right…”

“Of course you have a right. But I have feelings, you know? I try to be tough, but sometimes the things you say, or just the way you say them…” I closed my eyes, his pain and my pain flooding into my immediate awareness, all mixed up with the alcohol coursing through my blood.

My heart rate started to rise. I looked at him, taking in his salt and caramel hair, so full and soft. Suddenly I had to caress it with both hands. He leaned his head forward to welcome my touch. His sweet blue eyes revealed his vulnerability in the moment—the same eyes in which I had seen anger, disappointment, confusion, so many intense emotions in the recent months of our tumultuous journey.

I felt nervous, insecure, unequipped. Yes, I was a teacher. But I didn’t know how to teach
this
. Still, he sat waiting.

I massaged his temples and moved my hands lower, along his neck and back up to his chin, which I drew toward me.

I touched my lips to his softly and kept them there for several seconds before pulling back. I smiled, thinking I might actually enjoy this.

I kissed him again, pressing just a tiny bit harder and then moved away again, looking into his eyes, which showed complete submission. His lack of response only made me want more. I repeatedly touched our lips together, still barely making contact, and finally I felt the subtle sensation of his lips pushing back against mine, but only for a split second before he was still again.

I became aware of my nipples as they hardened and extended out to brush against the inside of my bra. Rick sat there, a block of clay waiting to be molded.

I kissed him over and over, feeling a little guilty that I was moving so slow, but proud of myself for taking full advantage of his invitation to let me take control. We must have kissed for five minutes without the involvement of a single body part other than our lips. Even I couldn’t stand it any longer at that point. My breasts ached to be touched or at least pressed against his hard, bare chest. My thighs tingled and stiffened as the sensations traveling up and down my legs intensified. But every stitch of our clothing remained intact and I kept my eyes averted from the bulge in his pants, telling myself that I now had the power to create exactly the long, slow build up I craved.

His breathing was heavy, but it was clear he wouldn’t make a move. It was up to me to initiate every step.

I climbed on top of his lap and grabbed his face, pulling it into mine. I was done with gentle kissing. My lips hit his with so much force that my tooth pierced my bottom lip. Not wanting to remove my mouth from his, I inserted my index finger and swabbed the area, pulling it out to see a drop of blood from the corner of my eye. He saw it too and it had the same effect on both of us. I kissed him harder and searched for his tongue with mine. He held back, unwilling to accept the invitation at first. So I continued, opening my mouth wider and plunging deeper, commanding him to join the dance.

Our kissing was almost violent now and I realized I liked it that way but I just needed to work up to it. I was on top of him pressing my fully clothed breasts hard into his muscular frame underneath me. I stopped abruptly and sat straight up on his lap, reaching to pull up his tee shirt from behind. He pushed my hands away, saying, “I thought you wanted to go slower.” This was too much.

Maybe seeing a little of me will weaken him, I thought, as I slowly raised the tight pink tank top I was wearing over my head, revealing a new white lace bra with a little yellow bow right in the crease between my breasts. Then I stood up and slid my denim shorts down to the floor, happy that I had worn the lacy white panties that matched the bra, just in case. I lowered myself back on top of him. Placing my face right in front of his but refusing to play the kissing game anymore, I rubbed my body up and down against his and sucked on his neck a little. He sat still, with me on top of him, clearly working hard to contain himself.

I felt his hands reach for the clasp on the back of my bra and relief washed over me. “Yes, please,” I whispered, struggling to catch my breath. But just as my bra fell to my waist, he moved back against the couch cushion, pushing away from me. He shook his head and I opened my eyes wide.

“Enough teasing, Rick. It’s enough. The kissing was perfect. That’s all I wanted. That’s all I need. I’m ready. Please.”

His eyes lifted from my breasts, which were erect with desire.

Looking into me, he let out a long breath before speaking. “I asked you to teach me. I meant everything. Not just kissing. Whatever you want from me. But you have to do it. You have to show me.”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

Easing myself onto the other end of the couch, I laid on my back and stretched out my body, now bare except for my panties.

I motioned for him to come to me, which he did. As he sat down next to me, I took his hand in mine and positioned his thumb and forefinger around my left nipple. It swelled as I took my own hand away.