Page 71 of Lucky Night

She returns to the chair. He empties the last of the wine into their glasses.

Caroline is a great partner, he says. She’s conscientious and smart and thoughtful. We’re in sync about the big things—how we raise Jill, how we spend money, dealing with in-law bullshit. She’s fully committed to the life we have, which is smooth-running and comfortable, thanks almost entirely to her. We communicate well and look at the world the same way. We have similar tastes, similar opinions. The same things interest us and bug the shit out ofus.

So what you love about her is that she’s a lot like you, she says.

He laughs, shaking his head. You’re really breaking my balls tonight.

I pitied them earlier, she says. I’m trying something new.

Lucky me. Can I say what I don’t like about her now?

Go crazy.

She’s overly preoccupied with the opinions of other people. Family, friends, the neighbors—she’s deeply concerned with whatthey think about her, about us, about the state of our landscaping. Way too many of her decisions are dictated by how other people will react to them. I’m not only talking people we know—I’m talking total strangers. Given the chance, she’ll always take sides against me with a waitress, or a salesperson. Even when I’m not being a dick. Go ahead, look shocked, but I am, occasionally, not a dick. I’ll be asking a question, or maybemildlyobjecting to something, and Caroline starts making these little consoling faces. Like she has to soften me, in order to protect them.

You want her to be on your side.

Or to stay neutral. Whatever, he says, it’s not a big deal, and it’s far from the only thing she cares about. But it’s frustrating.

Has she always been like that, or has she changed? Wait, I forgot, she says. People don’t change.

No, they don’t. And she hasn’t. It just took a while for me to see it. But you know how it is, he says. Insufficient information never stopped anyone from falling in love. In fact, it’s pretty much a prerequisite.

True, she says. Very true.

Can I say something else I don’t like about her?

No, she says. Or, you can, but you have to say another nice thing first.

Fine. She’s a generous and patient caretaker to her aging parents. Also, she’s totally lost interest in sex.

But you just said—

I know. We do have sex. She even initiates sometimes, which totally stumps me. Because she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t delight in it anymore.

Has she said that?

She doesn’t have to. Her mind is clearly elsewhere, every time. I’ll have just finished—making sure she came first, of course—

Such a gentleman.

I do try. Anyway, I’ve just finished, I’m lying there trying to catch my breath, gather my wits. I’m feeling replete, it’s very quiet.Then out of nowhere, she’ll say something like, Did you remember to call the guy about the tuckpointing?

Jenny laughs, choking on her wine.

How long she’s been thinking about the tuckpointing guy I don’t know. But she’s moved on from our mutual pleasure. I haven’t. I need a minute.

Because of the loneliness, she says.

Because of the loneliness, exactly. I want to rest inside her, me and my poor, detumescing cock. I don’t want to discuss home renovations. But if I dawdle, pretty soon I feel this two-pat, quick, on my ass.Pat-pat.Like, that’s it, bud. Pack itin.

She laughs again. She can’t helpit.

And so I do, of course. I pack it in. I get the message: she’s not into it. Orme.

Is that what you meant when you said her beauty doesn’t do you much good?

Did I say that?

---