Before tonight, it had been weeks since Levi and I had sex. I have no doubt it’s the longest we’ve ever gone without some kind of sexual gratification between us. Even right after the twins were born, we still got each other off.
I shake my head, feeling the hard weight of it rolling over my laced fingers. Even when we’re intimate, we’re not. Not anymore. I feel lonely and disconnected from him more than usual. We’ve grown apart, and the expanse between us widens a little more every day. The sense of deep intimacy that once sustained us has been squandered, unappreciated until now there’s little, if any, left.
This thought brings about the niggling worry that’s been growing exponentially since I locked myself in here. Is he seeing another woman? Does he have someone more beautiful to put his dick into? It’s either that or he’s jerking off. I know all men jerk off, but it shouldn’t be their go-to move, right?
I deflate. He’d rather jerk off on the sly, like a perv at a peepshow, than fuck me. I swallow down the tight knot forming in my throat. It’s like fucking me is a chore.
The thought cuts deep and makes the insecurities within me flourish. I don’t like the feeling. I’ve had it before once or twice. It hangs on to my subconscious, throwing darts of doubt and fear at unwanted times.
I have gotten a little mommyish. It beats the hell out of me how and when it happened, but I’m going to have to take steps to correct it. I’m part of the problem too.
My thoughts wander to the items in my wardrobe I’m going to toss in an effort to fight the bore I’ve become. Eventually my thoughts drift as sleep envelopes me.
* * * *
I make a beeline through the snowy parking lot of my office building to my car, my black leather pumps sloshing through the wet snow. When I slam the driver’s door closed, the cold, silent twilight inside the car feels bleak and increases my anxiety. I make my way home on autopilot. As I drive, the sky darkens, turning to night, and the colors from the lighted signs identifying the fast food restaurants and stores in the middle of town reflect off the wet streets.
Tears fill my eyelids to the brim. I’ve wallowed in the events of last night all day. As a result, I’m walking an emotional high wire, just a breeze away from losing it. I tell myself I’m lucky. My life is perfect. Everybody is happy and healthy. Why can’t I be satisfied with that? No matter how many times I convince myself I’m not going to say or do anything to let him know how upset I am, I know this is not going to end well.
“God, please, please don’t let me find out he’s seeing someone else,” I whisper into the emptiness. I’m terrified because there’s no possible positive outcome for the discussion I want to have. It’s all bad, but to what degree? Is it I-don’t-find-you-sexy-anymore bad? Or is it I’ve-had-a-mistress-for-the last-five-years bad?
The thought of living the rest of my life without Levi by my side is debilitating. And that’s exactly what I would be forced to do if he has someone else. I make a quick right turn onto a side street and pull over. I cover my face with my hands and the tears finally burst out of me. Shit. I’m in a sinkhole. Feelings of rejection and self-doubt have sucked me in all day, submerging me slowly, until this issue is the only topic in my head.
When I finally finish with the pathetic blubbering, I wipe my tears and straighten myself so I can walk in the door and be Mom. As I pull myself together, a whisper of a feeling tingles down the back of my neck. I shudder. The immediate knowledge I’m at a crossroads right here, right now, assaults me like a slap to the face. It doesn’t matter what the details are, what answers he gives me to my questions, because my first instinct is to fight. No matter what is happening between us, I’m going to fight for my marriage. I’m not willing to settle for what’s left after the business of building a career, settling into a home and raising kids has pillaged it. If he doesn’t want me anymore, I’ll accept it. But if it’s anything else, I’m going to fight for us. I’m ready to start living again. It’s time for me and Levi to start living again. A quick swirl of determination breezes through me at the thought.
I can fix this…I think. Is it even possible to feel passionately in love and sexually exhilarated by someone I’ve been sleeping with for over fifteen years? There’s no reason why the two of us can’t pick up where we left off so many years ago, right?
I know what I have to do. The deafening silence between us has to be obliterated.
I move through my evening, cooking and discussing school with my daughters as if my life isn’t teetering on the edge of the unknown.
Later, after the girls leave the dinner table and I’ve finished doing dishes, I gather up my courage to open up this potential Pandora’s box of a conversation. Suddenly, opening my mouth is tantamount to cracking open a Tupperware from my fridge. It’s chancy because once revealed for my inspection, I’m not sure I want to know what’s inside.
“We need to talk,” I say to Levi, looking over my shoulder, making sure Ella and Luna are off somewhere else in the house.
He looks up from his laptop. “About?”
His deep brown eyes have the beginnings of laugh lines at the outside corners. He’s still so handsome. The years have been good to him, too good, maybe. Mature men can still be so gorgeous. Mature women? Not so much.
I clear my throat. Now that I have his undivided attention, I falter on how to start. I’m afraid to ask the questions wreaking havoc in my mind. I’m still not sure I want to know the answers. He sits back in his chair and waits, looking at me with his patient consideration. But his expression changes to concern as the silence stretches. He knows the longer it takes me to talk, the more serious the topic.
“What’s going on, babe?”
I swallow hard and in a soft voice, ask, “Do you still love me, Levi?” Fear rips through me as the words tumble past my lips and then spikes when he doesn’t answer me immediately.
But then, his face softens. “Of course I do. Why would you ask me that?”
“Are you happy…with me, I mean…with our relationship?”
I feel ill.
“Yes, I’m happy. Aren’t you?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“I feel a but coming.” He smiles at me. I don’t smile back.
“I feel like I’m not sexy to you anymore.”
A flash of surprise registers on his face. Levi pushes his laptop aside and sighs. “Ahh. This is about last night.”
“Yes and no. I miss you.” I whisper the words. “I miss our connection. The spark of lust in your eyes when you look at me.” I take a deep breath, not wanting to blurt out the next sentence, but I know it has to be done. “I know I’ve gained some weight over the years. Are you not attracted to me anymore?” His eyebrows pop up and genuine dismay shapes his features. Again he takes a few seconds before he speaks.
“We’ve been married a long time, Mia. I think it’s pretty normal for things to get…” He trails off, obviously smart enough to not finish the sentence.
Hot tears of humiliation begin to drop freely now because I still have the one last unasked question. It is the one weighing most heavily on my mind. “I don’t feel it from you, and I can’t figure out why you rarely make love to me anymore. And now when you do, it’s not good for you. Are you seeing somebody else?”
I hold my breath. This, by far, is the worst moment of my married life. I honestly think I’m not going to get an answer I can live with.
“Oh God, Mia, no! I’m not seeing anybody else.” He pauses and looks away from me. “Jeez.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry things between us have been so bad you’re asking me that