Cheating on Myself (16 page)

Heather, still my favorite, stayed relatively quiet. From time to time, she’d insert comments under her breath only I could hear. I’d learned she had several grandchildren, but she didn’t talk about them in great detail, the way the other ladies did. Mostly, she just judged the rest of us and uttered strange wisecracks and comments about everyone else’s life.

I hardly ever said anything at all. I was still trying to fly under the radar and find my place amongst the group. After class on Tuesday after my Monday o’ Erik, I hustled into a private shower stall like always. But then I dawdled, wondering if maybe someone would have some good advice for me on what to do about Erik, and Joe, and my life in general. It wasn’t as if I could talk to my friends about my “office incident” with Erik—I could see the expressions on each of their faces, and it made me a little weepy. I decided I had nothing to lose, and that if anything, telling the water aerobics girls something about myself would help me feel more a part of things in class. Then, maybe I could slough off and chat during intervals, like they all seemed to do.

The confession, once I decided to come out with it, slipped out easily. I found once I’d begun to speak about my personal life, the women encouraged me and asked questions and egged me on, until I didn’t even realize I was spilling far more than I wanted to share. I told them the things I’d already shared with Heather… a brief history, the why of the split, the highlights of dating since.

“I think I may have met someone I’m interested in,” I said, moving into the more recent history. “Joe. He’s in a band.”

Everyone was wearing at least underpants by now, which made looking around a little easier. Barb was still wearing
only
underpants, but I’d take it.

“A band?” Rae scoffed. “What kind of band?”

“Don’t be quick to judge, Rae. My Jonathan is in a band, and he’s a good kid.”

“He’s not a kid, Barbara. He’s thirty-four and lives in your basement.” Fran knocked gently at Barbara’s head. “Stella, you should meet my son—he doesn’t live in a basement and he’s got a whole head of hair. Forty-five and not bald at all! Eh?”

“No more set ups,” I said, as kindly as possible.

Fran blew air through her lips. She sat down and her bare thighs slapped noisily on the wooden bench. She fixed Barbara with a firm glare when she said, “Kick the man out already, and tell him to get a life. Your Jonathan is—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, cutting her off and trying to move things along. “The point is, I like Joe, the musician, but he’s not my type and then this weekend on our first… well, our first date, I guess, he started talking about his ex-wife.”

“Still in love with the ex-wife? Get out of there
now
,” Barbara had moved on. “That’s not gonna change.”

“No, he’s not still in love with her. He just said some things about trying to make it work, and how maybe it’s better to stick it out with what you know and have spent time on than to start over. Like me.”

Heather was sitting on the bench, trying to get her left sock up to her knee. “Bah. That’s what I say. You weren’t happy. Get the hell out of there.”

“Right, so that’s what I did back in September, right?” I ran my fingers loosely through my curls while the other women gathered in a circle around me. I felt like prey. Mom prey. “Well, when Joe said all that, I got a little mixed up, and then Erik sent me flowers at the office and all of a sudden, I went to see him and we just sort of slipped back into some old patterns. But just once.”

Lydia looked at me over her glasses. “How do you ‘slip’ back together? You’re not stupid. You know there aren’t accidents when it comes to nookie.”

“The point being,” I said, and took one of the cookies Rae was passing around to everyone in the locker room. Wait—did they always have cookies after exercise class? “The point is, it was fun and exciting and very different from the old us. I don’t want to be
with
him
with him again, but I did enjoy
that
.” I suddenly blushed, realizing I was spilling my sex secrets with a bunch of retirees. They probably thought I was a harlot. That would be the word, right?

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what got me talking about this. It’s just my friends all hate Erik now, and I can’t really talk to
Erik
about Erik, and the only other person I’ve got is Erik’s mom and, well—”

“Have you heard some of the shit these women talk about?” Heather asked, patting my arm. “It’s a relief to get some variety in the locker room. Don’t worry about shocking us—we’ve gone through a few things in our years.” She looked around at the other women, all of whom were nodding. “Except Lydia. She married her high school sweetheart and is still with him to this day. They’re as sweet as French silk pie, but spending time listening to her talk about him gives you the same kind of bloat in your belly. It’s sickening.”

Lydia just shrugged. “There’s something to be said for consistency. But that doesn’t mean things were always great.” Lydia sat down and gestured to the cookie bag. She grabbed a second and a third, and started talking. “When we were just out of high school, young and foolish—”

“Here we go again,” Heather muttered. Lydia threw a cookie at her and Heather wasn’t nimble enough to duck. It chucked on her the shoulder.

Lydia continued, “As I was saying, there was a time when I was still young, when Gray was traveling a lot for work. He’d spend nights away, on the road, and I was lonely. I began to fantasize, noticing other men out at the shops, and there were a few times I wondered if maybe I’d taken the wrong path.”

Barbara cut in. “Get to the point, Lyd. There’s a sale at Nordstrom Rack you need to be getting to.”

“Anyhoo,” Lydia said, grinning like someone who’d certainly made the most of her life. “I stuck with him and we’ve got two beautiful children to show for it. He’s always been kind to me, and wants me to be happy. He’d give me the world, if I asked for it. That’s the one thing I’ll say about Gray. He’s a good man who makes me feel like a wrinkly old princess, even to this day, and that counts for something.”

Was Erik a good man? I wondered. I suddenly had a memory shake loose from a few years before, when Erik had been on a conference streak. He’d convinced Centrex to send him to several marketing conferences in one summer. He’d gone to San Francisco, New York, and Chicago all within a matter of a few months. I’d never been to San Francisco, and suggested I join him.

“I’ll be busy,” he’d said, making excuses. “You have work.”

“I can use vacation days—or call in sick,” I’d said, rubbing his feet that were resting on my lap beneath a blanket. “Isn’t it worth it?”

“Too impulsive,” he’d said. “The flight will cost a fortune—it’s less than two weeks from now.”

“But I want to go,” I’d argued, getting frustrated by his curmudgeonly attitude. “I’ve never been.” I’d saved enough money over the years that I could afford it, so money wasn’t the issue. Other things stood in the way.

“I’ve never heard you talk about wanting to go to San Francisco before—where is this coming from?”

“I’ve never mentioned it because it’s never come up. It’s not like my life’s goal is to go to San Francisco, but that doesn’t mean I don’t
want
to go. Sometime. And now seems like a perfectly reasonable time. We have a free hotel room, we can share meals, it will cost us virtually nothing.” At the time, we’d been saving for a house we never bought—instead, we moved into Erik’s place, the one out in a suburb I despised, decorated with all his mom’s old furniture hand-me-downs.

“We’ll plan a trip, somewhere else we want to go. Just you and me, no work obligations.”

“Really?” I asked, realizing then that we’d never planned a trip together. Early on in our relationship we’d been young and poor. Then, work had gotten in the way. Eventually, it just wasn’t part of the plan. “That would be amazing. I’ve always wanted to go to Italy.”

“I’ve already been to Italy,” he’d said, flipping the TV channel, away from
House Hunters
and onto
Sports Center.
“Somewhere new.”

“But Italy is my dream,” I’d said, sulking. “And I was watching that show.”

That night, we kept watching Sports Center and a few months later, we had booked a flight to England, with a short jaunt to Paris. I was still waiting for the trip I’d always wanted.

I turned my attention back to the ladies in the locker room, who were all dressed now and bundling up in their winter jackets.

“Do you want to come for a coffee, Stella?” Rae asked. She crumpled the plastic cookie bag in her hand and threw it away, empty. “We usually grab some lunch after class.”

“It’s eight-thirty in the morning!” I laughed.

“Well, I for one ate breakfast before class,” Lydia announced sourly. “That makes the next meal lunch. I don’t care what time it is.”

“Next time,” I promised.

As we walked out of the locker room and into the front lobby of the Y, Heather held my arm and said, “Do what feels right. Doesn’t matter if you look backward or step forward, just make sure you’re living for you.”

I squeezed her hand. “That doesn’t really help.”

“I may be old,” she said. “But I don’t have all the answers. I’ve made too many mistakes myself to be coaching anyone. But I do know life is usually long enough to screw up a few times without it biting you in the ass.” Heather pressed the button to open the front doors that would let us out into the chilly winter air. I felt my hair freezing into tight, crispy ringlets as we walked toward our cars.

“Sometimes, life can’t be planned. You strike me as the kind of girl who needs to be reminded of that from time to time. Just let it happen, and see how much fun you can have. Eventually you’ll have to decide where you want to go next, but not today. Not today.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I was in no condition to make any decisions immediately. Obviously.

Instead, I pretended the oopsie-sex with Erik had never happened and actually went so far as to automatically forward his emails to my junk mail folder (for a few days). I didn’t have to think about my date with Joe until closer to the weekend, so instead I focused my emotional energy on trying to get Lily to open up about the man who had made her a mistress. Not surprisingly, private Lil wasn’t talking, and she refused to show even a shred of emotion about the current state of things after her breakdown on Monday morning.

Anders was no help through any of this, since I couldn’t tell him about Lily, refused to spill about Erik, and had exhausted our analysis of Joe-as-potential-lover. Anders was eagerly urging me to carry-on with the internet date-a-thon, insisting a banjo player in a children’s band was not a good reason to stop the search. If he only knew it was actually Erik who had me rethinking things.

I finally made it through the week, and when Friday came around, I convinced Lily to take me shopping during lunch. She took me to Saks downtown, forcing me to buy a dress that cost something close to my monthly salary.

“It’s perfect,” she’d insisted, tucking my wild hair behind my ears. “When’s the last time you bought anything for yourself? Really?”

“I got some winter boots on sale last week. Now that I have to shovel for myself.”

“Make Anders do it. He’s your tenant—write some manual labor into the lease. He’s getting a little doughy anyway, and could probably use the exercise.” She pushed me back into the dressing room, and I heard the click of her Blackberry as she checked emails. “Besides, winter boots don’t count. Anders told me you have a closet full of ugly shoes. Should we get you something less sensible to go with this dress?”

“Thanks, Anders,” I muttered. Good to know my friends were talking about my lack of fashion. “My shoes might not be flashy, but at least they get me around in the winter. I’m not buying something stupid that I’ll wobble around on in the snow.”

“You’re going out with a rock star,” Lily chuckled. I knew she was being facetious calling him “rock star”—she’d made it clear all week long that Joe’s job would be an endless source of ribbing. “Do you want to get something a little edgier? I won’t force you into high heels if you insist on buying them from Aerosoles. But I will make you get a fabulous pair of boots. Something with noisy buckles, so when you’re rocking out to the banjo beat everyone will hear you. In honor of
Nashville
.” Lily and I had always loved TV dramas, and anything about fictional celebrities or actual, spoiled-rotten rich people were our favorites.

“Yeah, boots would work,” I agreed, refusing to laugh at her stupid banjo crack. In fact, I’d always sort of wanted a pair of amazing cowboy boots, the kind you could wear with jeans or floaty dresses. But I’d always felt they didn’t really fit the image Erik and I had designed for ourselves. Even still, there was this pair of turquoise boots I’d been coveting for years “I’ll buy impractical boots that totally do
not
suit me if you’ll tell me more about this hairy lover you’ve taken on.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she insisted, and when I peeked out of the dressing room, I could see she had her chin raised defiantly. “I’m serious, Stella. It’s embarrassing. Not that he’s hairy, but that I’m sleeping with a married man.”

“It’s not embarrassing.” What was embarrassing was the vision I’d started to replay in my mind of myself walking the walk of shame through Erik’s office after our little reunion on Monday. “It’s not the best decision anyone ever made, but you’re really not the one at fault here.”

“I knew he was married before we had sex.”

I breathed out, hoping the dressing room curtain would prevent her from hearing what was obviously a judgmental sigh. I was trying hard not to judge, but it was tough.

“Who is he?” I asked, zipping up my no-work-day jeans. I was excited I had the whole afternoon to prep for my date—I guess that was one of the pros of losing twenty-percent of my job. “Anyone I know?”

Lily groaned. “No, I don’t think so. He’s the creative head for one of our agencies. We went out to lunch a few months ago, after they’d pitched us their ideas for the Easter campaign. We’d been in meetings together before, and I guess I’d noticed him flirting, but I never thought anything would come of it. It just happened to be the week Chad decided not to come home because he wanted to go to his friend’s broomball tournament in Chicago.” She sighed. I opened the dressing room curtain and we walked toward the cash register. “I was feeling slighted, and depressed, and self-conscious because I’d found two gray hairs in my
eyebrows
that morning.”