Page 4 of Opening It Up
I pushed aside the fear.
Harley had done really well for us. With the profits from his famous podcast, we’d been able to buy a beautiful butter-yellow Victorian, with enough space for our two boys Rowan (9) and Teagan (5), my divorced father to stay in the basement apartment, a big playset, rose garden, everything I could ever want.
So why did it feel like Harley wantedmore?
Recently it felt like he was staying at work longer, acting less present at home. He was still a great father to the boys, but with me he seemed a little. . .bored.
My stomach roiled with nausea.
I’d never seriously considered the possibility that my husband might be dissatisfied with our happy, messy life.
What could it possibly be? We discussed all our important decisions together. What could be the problem? Was he secretly upset because my father had been living in our basement for a while after a messy fourth divorce?
No, the two of them got along great and Dad always loved watching the boys.
But there wassomething,and it made my skin prickle with uncertainty not knowing what it was.
I pulled out of my abstraction to focus on Harley’s voice coming from Abby’s phone speaker.
“I know what was scheduled for today’s podcast, but I’ve thrown the script out the window,” Harley said, in his deep, resonant voice.
My toes curled up just at the sound of it.
A bit embarrassing, really, how into my husband I was. The other wives in the PTA always had complaints about theirs—not enough time with the kids, half-ass sex, two pump chumps, husbands who disappeared to play golf and didn’t come back foe 3-5 business days.
Not me. I had the perfect husband. Kind, sensitive, caring, amazing with the boys, good cook, intelligent, sexy as hell.
“Today I’m wanting to announce something a little bit new and unexpected,” Harley laughed. “But it’s something I feel very strongly about, and it can save a lot of marriages that are on their last legs. If only people were open-minded enough to consider it.”
My face suddenly flamed as my stomach dropped to my toes.
Marriages on their last legs? What did Harley know aboutthat?
Was that supposed to be. . . our marriage?
My heart pounded with anxiety.
What was going on?
“What I’m about to say might be shocking to some people,” my husband continued, his deep rumbly tones reverberating through the room.
Usually his podcast was gentle and funny. Tips about how to clearly communicate with your spouse. Ideas for spicing up date night. Interviews with some of the world’s biggest celebrities, who all said how useful they found Harley’s advice. One tech billionaire even said Dr. Donaghy had saved her marriage.
But this didn’t sound like his usual content.
I saw some of the other moms start to dart curious glances at me, wondering what in the world this was about.
“It’s important when things. . . begin to feel stale, that both parties do some introspection.”
I glanced down at myself.
WasIstale? Was that the problem with our marriage? I was suddenly stale and boring?
Today I had been too busy getting Rowan and Teagan to school and then cleaning up for the PTA meeting to change into anything besides leggings and a T-shirt, and there was a big green stain on my T-shirt where I’d made slime with the boys that summer and it hadn’t washed out. My thick strawberry blonde hair was wound tight in its usual bun. I clearly looked like someone who did not give a fuck about her appearance.
Well, I was a mom. No one was supposed to be looking at me besides my husband anyways.
Over the speaker, Harley cleared his throat.
