My Time in the Affair (26 page)

“Not at first. I kinda wigged out. I kept saying I couldn't do it, that I wouldn't do it, I was shaking. I was a hot mess, I don't know why he kept going. But whoa, man, did he keep going. Things almost went down right in the elevator,” Misch snickered.

“That is so hot.”

“Yeah. Then in his room, while I was still freaking out, he just kinda grabbed me and kissed me. Carried me to bed. Did things to me … I still get breathless thinking about them,” Misch panted a little, fanning herself.

“Did you …,” Lacey rolled her hand for emphasis. They were besties, but talking about their sex lives wasn't something they often did, so Misch was surprised. But not embarrassed. Tal had actually cured her of a lot of her inhibitions involving sex.

Pity. I'm finally uninhibited, but have no sex drive.

“Oh yeah, like, multiple times. He went down on me, had me go down on him. We had sex in the bed, in the shower, on the balcony, all over that room. I came more times in that one night than I have in … I don't know, years? Forever,” Misch stated. Lacey turned bright red.

“I know it's wrong, but that sounds
awesome
,” she whispered. Mischa laughed out loud.

“It kinda was. At least until the next morning. Then I went home and it hit me, what I had done. I hated myself, Lace. I think that's another thing, another reason why I couldn't stop it. When I was with him, I forgot to hate myself,” Misch tried to explain.

“You don't have to hate yourself. Now c'mon, I wanna hear all about your sexcapades,” Lacey clapped her hands together.

So Misch blabbed. She'd been dying to talk about her experiences, really. She told Lacey about the time on the beach. About the time in the bathroom at the restaurant, about the guy watching them. About another time, when Tal actually tied her wrists to the bed posts. She'd never been tied down before; it had felt amazing.

“I've never been tied down, either,” Lacey confessed.

“Try it. I don't think you'll be disappointed.”

“Do you have a picture of this sex god?”

Mischa worried her lip again. She actually did have a picture of Tal. She wasn't sure when he'd done it, but some time between leaving her, and her leaving Istanbul, he had gotten into her room. Put some pictures in her bag.

There was the one of him in his army days, the one she had seen at his house, and then another one. The “love-slash-hate” one, as she called it in her mind. Loved it because it was of the two of them. They were walking down a street in Rome. She was wearing her fedora and sunglasses, a fitted tee and shorts. Always showing her legs for him. He had his arm around her waist, his thumb hooked inside her shorts, and she was molded to his side, just the way he always liked to walk with her. Tal was smiling, his head tilted down a little, and towards her. She was looking straight ahead, and was smiling broadly, as well. It was a great picture, caught them in that timeless space where they had been in love for a moment.

She hated it because it was a surveillance picture. Hated it because it had been taken without her knowledge. Hated it because Tal had written on the back of it.

“
Don't forget us.
”

She brought the photos out to Lacey, who oohhed and aahhed over them.

“Good god, Misch, he's fucking gorgeous,” Lacey sounded like she was about to drool.

“That he was. Even better naked,” she assured her friend.

“Really!?”

“Oh yeah. Like
wow.
”

“Like
wow
wow?”

“Like
oh-my-god-it's-so-big-it-might-not-fit
wow
.
”

Misch laughed as Lacey turned an even darker shade of red.

“That's, uh, that's good,” Lacey coughed out.

“It was better than good. And his body, Lace,
UG
, his body.
Sickening
. He was in the army before and he worked out like a mad man, it was phenomenal,” Misch groaned, flopping backwards over the arm of the couch. She had thought talking about Tal would be hard, but it actually felt good. If he'd been there, he would've gotten a kick out of it, would probably do a little strip tease for the girls. It made Misch feel close to him.

“Sounds great.”

Misch realized her friend was almost whispering, so she sat upright. Looked over the other girl's face. Lacey was looking down at the photos, frowning. She looked sad. She looked about to cry.

“I'm sorry, Lace. God, me and my big mouth. I told you, I'm a bad person. And it's not like Tal being sexy takes away from Mikey being sexy – he's still sexy. He'll probably always be sexy, and he was great in bed,” Misch babbled.

“Why'd you do it? Honestly. What made you decide to do it?” Lacey demanded, wiping at her eyes. Mischa winced.

“I was unhappy. I was lonely. I felt like I had nowhere to go. Mike wouldn't listen. I kept telling him something was wrong, he kept insisting things were fine. I'm not blaming him, I'm not. Not anymore. I should've had some balls. But I think … I mean,
I know,
I thought I could just get away with it. I know, I know, that sounds awful. I just finally gave up, you know? I wanted to feel desired. I wanted to feel sexy. So I decided to go out and find someone who would make me feel that way. I just didn't count on finding someone I'd want to hold onto,” Misch tried to explain.

When she finished, she realized Lacey was crying in earnest. The glossy surveillance photo was pressed to her face and she was sobbing into it. Mischa leapt off the couch and pulled the photos away before grabbing some tissue. Then she sat down right at Lacey's feet and grabbed her hand.

“I'm sorry,” Lacey hiccuped and cried.

“Don't be. I am. I'm sorry I was so weak. I'm sorry I hurt him. I really, really am. I'm sorry I did things the way I did,” Mischa tried to say something, anything, that would calm the other girl down.

“I'm a bad friend,” Lacey wailed.

“No, no you're not. Anyone would've reacted the way you did, you're not,” Misch promised her.

“No, not that.”

“Then what's wrong?”

“I wish you would've talked to me,” Lacey sobbed. “About anything. About how you were feeling. I thought you and Mikey were perfect. So perfect. I just … I just … I just ...”

Mischa got the other girl a glass of water. While Lacey sat up to drink, Misch squeezed in right next to her and wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders.

“Nobody is perfect, Lace. No couple. No one,” Misch stressed.

“When I got pregnant,” Lacey started whispering, “I was so happy. I'm awful, but I thought '
Ha! We did something before The Mikes, before Mischa and Mikey. I'm finally gonna be the perfect one
'.”

“Wow, Lacey, I had no idea,” Mischa was genuinely shocked.

“But I wish I'd known. I wish you would've talked to me. I wish I could've …,” Lacey's voice trailed off.

“No one could have stopped me, Lace,” Misch told her.

“No.
I wish I could've gone with you.
”

*

After Lacey calmed down, they moved to the bedroom. Had an old fashioned slumber party. She had resisted since moving home, but Misch figured if any night called for it, it was that one, and she put on the long sleeve shirt that had belonged to Tal. The only physical thing of him she had left. His smell had long since disappeared, she'd washed it several times, but she liked to think she could feel him when she was wearing it.

Lacey explained that things were not well in her own marriage, but for different reasons. Bob was a heavy drinker. Lacey was an enabler. Everyone knew this, it wasn't a secret, per se, it just wasn't talked about openly.

Lacey didn't want to cheat on Bob, but she figured it had taken strength for Mischa to do what she had done. Lacey wanted that kind of strength.

She wanted to leave her husband.

It wasn't much, but Mischa offered her home. The couch was a fold out, and it would do till Lacey could find a place of her own for her and her daughter. Lacey thanked her. Practically blessed her.

When the other woman fell asleep, Mischa stared up at the ceiling. Huh. Strength. She never thought of what she'd done as being strong. She thought of it as cowardly. As weak. As cruel and thoughtless and self-centered.

But if someone could actually benefit from her fucked up mistake, then maybe she wasn't such a horrible person after all.

See, Tal? I'm getting better already
.

“Where is my shoe?”

“Milk!”

“Just a second.”

“Seriously! I just had it!”

“MILK!”

“I said, just a second!”

“I'm so fu-, er, ahhhh, -dging … so fudging late already, I need my fudging shoe.”

“
MILK! MILK! MILK! MILK!
”

“I SAID JUST A SECOND!”

Mischa was glad she could help her friend out, she really was, but after a month of living with Lacey and her almost-two-years-old daughter, she was ready to shoot herself. She had thought that the little girl would stay with her daddy.

Turned out little girl's daddy was a frickin' douchebag.

Mischa finally located her shoe, hiding under three baby blankets and four stuffed animals. While the screaming continued, Misch slipped on her shoe and skipped out the door, hurrying out to the bus stop.

She had been given more classes to instruct at the studio. It was nice. No, it was
great
. She told herself that repeatedly. She had wanted to start dancing again, and now she was finally dancing. All was right with the world.

But it didn't feel right.

Mike still wouldn't answer the phone. All communication was done through lawyers. She still hadn't gotten any of her savings back. Her mother was unthawing, but not at a very quick rate. Her father plodded along, same as always.

And Mischa just existed. She got up, she went to the studio, she danced for eight hours, she went home. She got up, she went to the studio, she danced for eight hours, she went home. Rinse and repeat. The weekends she spent at the apartment, just chilling with the girls.

I depress myself.

When she got back from work that night, she expected more of the same, but was in for a surprise. No one was home when she got there. The sofa bed had been put away. The place had been tidied up. She walked around slowly, almost suspiciously. Then her phone dinged with a message, and it was Lacey explaining that they were having dinner with her parents. She would be out late, might even stay the night at their house.

Freedom!

Mischa took out a pint of ice cream and dug into it, all while sipping Baileys straight from the bottle. When the sugar became too much, she went down the street and got an unhealthy amount of Chinese food. Ate her weight in chow mein.

She was beginning to regret her choice of how to spend the evening when someone knocked at her door.

Did Lacey forget her key?

“Thank god you're here, I may have to be rolled into the -,” she started as she opened the door. But she stopped in mid-sentence. In mid-breath. In mid-existence.

“Hi,” Mike said simply.

She burst out crying. Just zero to sob, in nothing flat.

It's been so long.

He ushered her into the apartment. Sat her on the couch before rifling through her fridge. He poured a shot of vodka into the bottom of a tumbler and handed it to her. After she knocked it back, he automatically poured her another.

He still knows me.

“I'm … sorry, it's just … been a long … long time,” she stuttered, trying to catch her breath.

“Yeah, I know. I needed time. A lot of time,” he sighed.

“Of course you did.”

“I've been seeing a therapist,” he threw out there.

“That's great. Good for you, Mike.”

“And we've been working on forgiveness,” he went on.

“You don't have to forgive me,” she assured him.

“No. Working on me asking
you
for forgiveness,” he corrected her.

He could have hit her and she would've been less surprised.

“For what!?” she exclaimed.

“For treating you the way I did in Italy. I've never gotten physical with anyone, you know that. I still can't believe I touched you like that. I kinda hated you and maybe wanted you to die a little, but I didn't want to hurt you,” he told her.

“I know that, Mike. I knew it then. There's nothing to forgive.”

“Yes, there is,” he went on, taking a deep breath. “I took you for granted. I didn't listen to you. I pushed everything away, including you. I know you worked hard on us, and I know you tried to tell me, I do. I think … I think I was more obsessed with the idea of having the '
perfect marriage
' when I should've been trying to have the best relationship.”

“That's awesome, Mike, and I gotta be honest, it feels good to hear you say a lot of that. But I still shouldn't have done what I did,” she said softly.

“No shit,” he stated loudly, and they both laughed. “You should've walked out first, before you even went to Italy. God, I wish you would've.”

“Me, too.”

There was an awkward silence.

“I've got a cashier's check,” he blurted out.

“Excuse me?”

“The savings account. Sorry, I was angry,” he said, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket. It was a bank check, made out in her name, for a lot of money. A lot of money she had worked hard for in a job she'd hated.

“It was understandable,” she replied, taking the check from him.

“I don't know if I can be your friend yet. I just wanted … wanted you to know that I don't hate you anymore. I don't think I like you very much, but I don't hate you,” he told her. She smiled.

“I don't like me very much, either,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes.

“Is he … do you still … are you …,” Mike stammered. She shook her head and stood up.

“No.”

She didn't elaborate.

“I'm seeing someone else,” he offered up, his voice nervous sounding. She refilled her tumbler with water and sat back down.

“Really? That's great. Really,” she gushed, and she meant it.

“Well, just a couple dates. Just going slow. You know?” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. A nervous habit he'd had since they were nineteen.

“Of course. Slow is good. Slow is probably for the best,” she assured him.

“Yeah. My therapist said I should talk about that with you, too,” he went on, now rubbing his hands together. She thought it was cute, that he was nervous to tell her about his new girlfriend.

“Whatever you want, only if you're comfortable,” she told him. He took a deep breath and she took a sip of her water.

“He's a music teacher named Dennis that I met while -,”

Mischa spit out her water. All of it, straight out. All of it, all over his face. They blinked at each other, water dripping from his nose and her chin. She gaped at him, and he stared at her like he was terrified.

“Um …,” she began, mopping at her chin. “I'm sorry. I must have misheard.
Denise
, you said?”

“The whole forgiveness thing covers this, too. I got mad at you for lying, and what you did was shitty, but I've been lying, too,” Mike was almost whispering.

“About this? About a music teacher?” Mischa glanced around, like said music teacher was going to jump out of a dark corner.

“Yeah. I've … for a long time now … hell, since before you and I even hooked up, I've known I liked guys, too,” Mike confessed in a rush.

“
What the fuck!?
” Mischa shrieked.

“I know, I know. I didn't know how to deal with it! You know how my mom is! And then you came along, and god, Misch, you were so hot and so perfect, I just loved you so much, so quickly. So I figured nobody ever needed to know. We'd get married and be together forever, and it would be enough,” he explained. She gasped.

“Are you saying it wasn't? Mike, were you sleep-,”

“
No.
I'm not the cheater here,” he growled, and she was immediately chastised.

“I'm sorry.”

“But I did think about it. Fantasized about it a little. Not that you weren't enough. You just …,” his voice trailed off. She smiled sadly and placed her hand on his leg.

“Wasn't enough,” she finished for him.

It was wrong and fucked up. Mike had kept everyone in the dark about his sexuality. It had effected their relationship and driven a wedge between them. Mischa had used that wedge as an excuse to explore her own sexuality.

We were so fucked up. We were doomed from the start.

“Do you hate me?” Mike whispered. She gasped.

“God, no! How could I? I mean, I feel bad, that all those years, we could've been having awesome threesomes,” she joked, humor her ever-present armor. He laughed long and loud.

“Oh god, I missed you, Misch,” he struggled to breathe. She smiled.

“I missed you, too, Mikey.”

“Don't get me wrong. You were my wife. I never stopped thinking of you that way. I loved you. I thought … I thought we were going to grow old together. I still can't wrap my brain around it. When I wake up in the mornings, sometimes … sometimes I reach for you, like you're still next to me. Or I'll call out to you, thinking you're just in the kitchen. It's like someone died. You killed me in Italy, but then I came home, and you were the one who was dead. It's been awful. You were my wife.
My wife
,” he repeated the words, his voice trailing off. She worked hard to keep her tears at bay. She didn't deserve to cry, to release the pain. She wanted to bottle it up, remember it whenever she was feeling sorry for herself.

“I'm so sorry,” Mischa whispered. “I don't think I'll ever stop being sorry. I do love you. I just wish I could've loved you the way you needed.”

“I think we spent too much time talking about shit that didn't matter. Maybe we should've talked more about what we really wanted,” he suggested.

She decided it wouldn't be helpful to point out to him that she'd done just that. Several times.
All the time
.

“I always thought of you as my husband, Mikey. I still do most of the time. I don't think it'll go away for a while,” she told him. He chuckled.

“
The Mikes.
”

A nickname given to them by friends – Mischa could be Russian for “Michael”.

“Mischa. Russian, '
Who is Like God
'.”

“I love you, Mikey,” she sighed, then panicked. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Am I allowed to say that?”

“It's okay. I love you, too, Mischa. That's the worst part. Loving you so much at the same time as hating you,” he told her.

“Tell me about it. I go through that every day when I look in the mirror.”

They laughed together again, and she thought maybe, just maybe, they could get back to that place where they were good friends again.

“I gotta go,” he sighed, pulling himself into a standing position.

“Okay. Just … I gotta double check. Dudes. You're dating a dude. You like dudes,” she clarified. He blushed a little.

“Yeah. Yeah, I like '
dudes
',” he answered.

“
And
you like girls?”

“Very much.”

“Wow. You're so … progressive.”

“Shut up, Mischa.”

Old habits die hard, and he playfully smacked her on the ass. They both froze for a second, then laughed some more.

Maybe even best friends
.

“Stop by, anytime. Whenever. All the time. Or you know, take your time,” she rambled.

“Time. Will definitely take some time,” he nodded as he opened the front door.

“Thanks for coming over. Really,” she told him. He stopped in the hallway.

“I talked to your dad the other day,” he said quickly.

“Oh yeah? That's good,” she guessed, though she couldn't be sure.

“Yeah. We talked for a while. It was actually good, which is weird, considering we didn't talk a lot when you and I were together. He told me a lot of stuff,” Mike said. She raised her eyebrows.

“Well, that is good, I guess,” she laughed. Mike took a deep breath. Wouldn't meet her eyes.

“You should call him, Misch.”

“Huh?”

“I fucking hate him and I hope his dick rots off,” Mike snapped, surprising her. He wasn't prone to being nasty. “But … he made you happy. And I know you, and I can't imagine how lonely you must have been, to have done what you did. So yeah. Call him.”

“You're an amazing man, Michael Rapaport,” she whispered, blinking away the tears.

“Ah, too late now. Now someone else is experiencing this awesomeness,” he teased, but she could tell he was trying not to cry, as well.

“They better be worthy of you,” she teased back.

“I hope so, too.”

He nodded and walked off down the hall.

Wow. Wooooooooooow.

Mischa shut the door and immediately went into her bedroom. She went to lay on her bed, but saw that her cell phone was blinking with a new text message. She opened it up as she stretched out on her back. It was from Lacey.