Page 35 of The Husband Diet
He looked at me, unperturbed. ‘That you’re looking better and better every day, and that you should have a fling.’
Of course he was right, but I wasn’t ready to admit it yet. ‘I don’t want a fling.’
‘That’s because you don’t remember what it feels like. To feel your insides go all jittery and your heart flutter. Oh, the ecstasy!’
‘You’ve been reading too many romance novels,’ I quipped.
‘I love Carl and I’m going to miss having him around,’ Paul confessed in a sigh. ‘With all his uptightness and dedication to those stupid scripts and no time for me… I still think we were made for each other.’
I smiled, thinking how similar we were, even if he didn’t realize. ‘Then don’t leave him, Paul. Give him a chance. Everybody loves somebody, like the song.’
‘No, honey, the song I remember says “everybody needs somebody”. And you need this principal–spider guy to give you a good—’
‘Quit sayingspider. I hate that word and I hate thinking about that episode.’
Which was bull. I thought about him all the time, reveling in the feeling of his strong arms around me, protecting me, his lips against my ear, soothing me. And now Principal Foxham had gone and spoiled even my fantasies by being a respectable man and not a sex toy for my…
I sat up and listened, my ears pricking while mother instinct (even I had it by now) told me the house was too quiet. I listened some more, waiting. Nothing. But a trip down the corridor was enough to kill me.
All over the walls, at Maddy-level, were big bright wax lines of every color imaginable. She’d been trying every single one of her new 64-pack Crayolas. As I stepped toward her, she turned and gave me one of her sweetest smiles. I wanted to cry on the spot, but instead I scooped her up and put her back to bed, while Paul came to the rescue with a sponge, chasing all the drawings around with the bottle of Fantastic he’d bought and put under the sink, where I’d be sure to see it, eventually.
‘It’s OK, see?’ he said. ‘All gone.’
‘Marry me?’ I said. ‘Now?’
He slapped my shoulder with a giggle. I didn’t care if he was gay, didn’t care if we wouldn’t be having sex. He’d be a major improvement on my present marital situation, as we were way more intimate than my husband and I had ever been. All I really needed was someone on my side.
‘We’re already married, remember?’ Paul soothed, running a hand up and down my arm.
The first adult male contact I’d had since Spider Hunk’s hands around my arms weeks ago. I wondered where he was and what he was doing, and what his girlfriend or wife was like. Was he nice to her, or had the daily grind beaten them both into the ground, too? I couldn’t imagine someone so kind telling his wife he didn’t like the way she looked or anything. I was sure that if he had kids, he’d be a great father. Kind and dedicated.
‘But I’ll forgive you if you sleep with another man. Invite Julian out for a coffee. Go out and have fun.’
Fun? I looked up at Paul. He was right. I was going to try to raise the amount of enjoyment in my life. Screw the walls, the windows, Ira and his scowls. From now on, I’d start thinking about me as well. And the little things in life thatI’d always wanted to achieve. Like… growing real live flowers and not just my cactus-like succulents, for instance. And start painting again. And maybe, just maybe, have a fling…
13
Two Beds are Better Than One
I soon discovered that although at first humiliating and painful, separate beds actually meant oodles of freedom. You get double the space, you can watch late-night movies, make long-distance calls (it was irrelevant that I didn’t know anybody long-distance apart from my fellow hotel managers scattered across North America), eat in bed, receive a booty call or whatever took your fancy.
A week later, I had to leave the safety of my car and venture into the school yard with the risk of seeing Julian. The school was having a bake sale and baseball match, and I’d had the suicidal idea of volunteering, just to show Julian Foxham I wasn’t the total loser of a mother he thought.
Don’t ask me why – they say the heart has reasons that reason cannot comprehend – but that day I took extra care with my grooming. I guess I wanted to make sure I looked tidy, clean and stable – the exact opposite of Julian’s first impression of me – so I wore my best (and smaller-sized) skirt and a nice green top. Proper, but still casual and not trying too hard. I’d got over my cold and sent that damn burlap sack-of-potatoes suit to the dry-cleaner, hoping maybe they’d misplace it for me.
I baked the biggest and prettiest cake I could and after greeting everyone politely (himincluded – I didn’t want him to think I was a nasty grudge-holder), I clung to the cake stand and served fruit juices: strawberry, orange and even a green kiwi that matched my top.
And then he came to stand next to me and helped with the drinks (personally, I could have used a Bloody Mary), making apparently harmless chit-chat. He told me that he’d moved to Boston from England when he was aladand that he was bullied because of his accent.
‘No, what accent?’ I said, and he grinned, his eyes twinkling, reaching some deep, deep layer inside me.
I found myself smiling back and gulped down an entire glass of kiwi juice in one swig. He seemed to have that effect on me – the dry throat, I mean.
So far everything was going OK, he informed me. The kids (my kids) were having fun and had I said or done anything in particular lately, because they seemed happier.
‘Mr. Foxham,’ I said softly but with an edge of impatience, like when I told Ira off on one famous evening way back into the annals of our story. ‘Theyarehappy kids. Maybe a bit wiser than those who come from more solid couples, but I can assure you that everything is going to be alright.’
‘What happened to calling me just Julian?’ he asked quietly.
