Page 22 of Two Friends in Marriage
“No, he’s just a little miffed that I kept you a secret for so long.Not from our parents, but from him.”
“Oh.I don’t know anything about having siblings.I mean, I do have siblings, but they’re a lot younger than me.It’s not quite the same.”I pause.“I hope you don’t want to speed up the whole discussion-about-having-children thing because of what your parents said?”
“No.I’m not ready yet.We’ll talk about it next summer.”
As I get ready for bed, I’m overtaken by an urge that I haven’t had since before I was a married woman.In horror, I wonder if it’s because of the talk of us having children, but no.I think it’s just random.
Or is it related to the thought of going on a honeymoon with…someone?
I take my only vibrator out of its hiding spot, turn it on, and push aside my underwear.When I masturbate, I don’t think of sex, not exactly.Rather, it’s the feeling of being in bed with a man I want to have sex with.Thefeelingof being in love like that.
Something along those lines.I don’t even know how to describe it.Just whatever I can do to get myself off as fast as possible and rid myself of this inconvenient need.
Occasionally, I wish sex was something I wanted separately from love.Many years ago, I had a female friend who said that if guys could have casual sex without shame, then we should, too.When I told her it wasn’t something I wanted, even if it weren’t for the possible slut-shaming and danger of violence, she said I was a bad feminist and should free myself of my patriarchal mindset.I tried to convince her that this wasn’t the “problem,” such as it was, and she assumed I was a lesbian.
It was a while before I figured out that I’m on the ace spectrum, something I initially assumed I couldn’t be because I do have sexual urges.
Anyway, I’m fine with the way my body works now.I really am.But I think it’s human nature to occasionally wish that our lives could be a little different from what they actually are.
And that I did, for example, want to spend a whole weekend in a hotel room with my new husband.
Chapter 8
Evan
Ican’tbelievemymother ambushed Jane after the retirement dinner.Mom isn’t usually so pushy.I’ll have to keep a closer eye on her so she doesn’t scare off my poor wife.I really want them to have a good relationship, especially given the absence of other maternal figures in Jane’s life.
And somehow, this is all related to why I’m now hauling my giant penguin plushie downstairs while Jane is mowing the front lawn.I want to cheer her up, and this makes sense in my head.Obviously, a chubby penguin named Watson won’t make up for my interfering family, but it’s what I have on hand.
The plushie was actually a gift from an old boyfriend, but I like it, and it seemed a shame to throw it out just because we broke up, though it lived in the basement at my parents’ house for a while.But now, I have a house of my own that has room for stuff like this, and he’s been peacefully sitting in my walk-in closet.
Until now.
I set him by the back sliding door.After looking at the white-and-black plushie for a few seconds, I decide he needs more, for lack of a better word,pizzazz.I head back to my closet and peruse the options, eventually deciding that Watson would look dashing in a flamboyant purple scarf that I haven’t worn in years.Unfortunately, Watson’s neck (or lack thereof) is much fatter than mine, and I can’t quite get the look I’d hoped to achieve, but by the time I hear Jane turn off the mower—I think she’s moving to the backyard now—Watson is ready for her arrival.
Jane always mows from the left to right side of the backyard, and the back door is to the right.Watson and I watch her go back and forth a few times, and then, as she’s pushing the mower toward the house, she looks in our direction.Watson waves as best he can with his flipper.
She tilts her head curiously…and then a smile graces her face.
It’s beautiful.
She turns off the mower and walks toward us in the old running shoes that she uses for cutting the lawn.As she steps onto the mat—one of our other Canadian Tire purchases—my heart kicks up a notch, which is strange.
I hand her a water bottle.She nods in thanks.Weirdly, I find myself watching her throat as she takes a few gulps.
“What’s the penguin doing here?”she asks.
He thought you needed a laugh after your in-laws tried to force you to go on vacation.
Since that sounds a little too ridiculous to say out loud, I go for, “He wanted to see you cut the grass.”I speak in athis-is-only-sensiblevoice.
Her lips curve up again, and I’m unreasonably pleased to have caused this reaction.
“Where did you get him?”she asks.
“I’ve had him for a while.He was a gift from…an ex.”For some reason, I feel weird about admitting that, even though she knows I have many exes.She even met most of them.
“What’s his name?”
